Boys for Beginners by Lil Chase Page A

the floor tells me that I’m not going to like what I am about to hear. ‘No, er . . . this is my “Mates” group. I put Jenny into my “Girls” group.’ Jenny beams, but when Charlie turns to look at her she drops the smile. ‘Sorry, Jenny, I hope you don’t mind.’
    Jenny nods in a kind of forgiving
that’s OK
kind of way.
    I am destroyed. Charlie doesn’t think of me as a girl. He thinks of me as a mate! And obviously not a nature-show-type mate.
    â€˜I can put you in under “Girls” instead, Gwynnie. If you like.’ He grabs the phone off me and gets to the Girls group, then hands the phone back to me.
    I am astonished at how many girls he has in his phone. It just makes it all the worse that he doesn’t think of me as one of them.
    â€˜Whatever,’ I say, and type in my number.‘Anyway, see you at school tomorrow.’ I give him back his phone and run away from them, not able to even say goodbye.
    Maybe if I was more ladylike then he wouldn’t just think of me as a mate. Maybe Kevin’s right: I have to act more like a girl if I want guys to notice me.
    Will it work? Maybe it won’t. I’ll have to give up football and Xbox and start hanging around with all those stupid BB girls. But then again, it would be so amazing to be Charlie’s girlfriend, to kiss him, to go out on dates and stuff.
    OK . . . That’s it . . . I am going to do it.
    Gwynnie Lewis is going girlie!

Chapter 11
    â€˜Honey, you look gor-geous!’
    We’re at the bus stop and everyone hears Jenny’s screech. First they look at her. Then they look at me. Then they all start looking at each other and whispering.
    Rewind three hours:
    I get up stupidly early, have a shower and wash my hair. My hair takes ages to dry but luckily I’ve got Mum’s old hairdryer so I set it to high, aim it at my head, and sort of shake it around like I’ve seen women do on adverts.
    But when I look in the mirror it’s not like the adverts at all! My hair’s gone frizzy and mad. I need straighteners to fix it. Trouble is, I don’t have straighteners. Then I realize, I do have an iron.
    As I run the iron over my hair I hear this sizzling noise. And what’s that burning smell?
    â€˜Ow ow ow ow ow ow!’ I’ve singed the top of my ear!
    When I look in the mirror I see that the straightening hasn’t gone well. Half my hair is like Neanderthal woman, and the other half is straight, but emitting smoke. Not a good look.
    To try and hide the frizz I put it in one of those high ponytails the BB girls sometimes wear. But unfortunately the ponytail reveals my left ear, which was burnt by the iron, and the tip is blistering like a heel after playing football in new boots.
    Oh well. Next: back upstairs for make-up.
    I’d better start with my eyes as, although they were closed when Jenny did them, I think I know what to do. I find the black pencil and try to draw a straight line around my eyes. A four-year-old could have done a neater job, but it certainly brings out the definition and gives them the wow factor.
    I get out the mascara and try to swipe it along my eyelashes. But I seem to miss my lashes and get it all over my eyelids. I have to spit on my finger and rub it off – which just smudges the eyeliner. Still, it looks okay from a distance.
    Now for the terrifying bit: the eyelash curler.I bring the big scary object to my eye, clamp it around my lashes and squeeze. Just as I have the contraption holding firm, my dad shouts up, ‘Gwynnie! It’s nearly time for school!’ and the shock of his voice makes me jump and I pull out nearly half my eyelashes!
    â€˜Ohgodohgodohgod!’ It really hurts and I automatically rub my eyes as they start to water. I now have make-up all over my cheeks as well as my eyelids, and half an eye that’s completely bald. But there’s no time to do anything about it so I just plaster