Live and Fabulous! by Grace Dent

has stiffened to a frown since Dumb and Dumber showed up.
    â€œComing to get some lunch?” asks Aaron.
    (He’s not exactly inviting me along too, it should be noted. Saying that I’ll probably just get in the way of all those grrrreat fart stories they always tell.)
    â€œGive us a minute, lads?” says Jimi, waving them away, turning to me rather grumpily. “Look, are you going to start acting like a normal human being and come for lunch with me or what?”
    â€œI beg your flipping pardon?” I growl back.
    Naz and Aaron chortle wildly at Jimi’s cheekiness.
    â€œOkay, obviously not,” Jimi grunts, being oh-so-much-more laddy now that he has an audience. “Well, suit yourself, lady.”
    â€œOh, I will! Don’t worry,” I huff.
    â€œOh, and say hello to my friend Fleur for me, will you?” he shouts.
    â€œShe misses you desperately too!” I snap, picking up my bag and turning on my heel sharply.
    â€œEr ... okay then!” shouts Jimi back. “Well, I’ll see you around then!”
    â€œDon’t be so sure!” I yell over my shoulder, storming off.
    â€œHuh ... pghhhh ... ,” splutters Jimi, slightly pathetically. “And you can give me my Final Warning CD back too!”
    â€œOh, whatever!Your stuff’s all in a trash bag. Come and get it before I give it to a thrift shop.” I grunt, storming toward the dining hall to tell Fleur the whole highly irritating saga.
    Fleur says jimi Steele’s a pig.
    She says I should just forget all about him and date Miles Boon in the lower sixth, as she’s sure that he likes me.
    â€œAnd he’s not at all like Jimi,” says Fleur. “He does charity fun runs for Third World famine relief! So he’s like totally sensitive as well as hot.”
    I groan, stuffing another lump of Millionaire Shortbread into my face. The last thing I need is another boyfriend.
    â€œAnd anyway, Ronnie,” continues Fleur seriously, “Miles has got a VW Golf with tinted windows. He’s, like, so totally streets ahead of Jimi.”

poor life choices
    Just after final break, which was livened up by the traditional end-of term hoax fire alarm and an appearance by four gorgeous firefighters who took their tops off and grappled with a hose (phew), I grab my bag and head for life studies. In case you’re not familiar with Blackwell School’s curriculum, life studies is that weird compulsory class every pupil has to take weekly at some point where teachers are paid to dissuade you from “making poor life choices.” Y’know, stuff like having babies too early with Royston Potter, sniffing aerosol cans, auditioning for the Peppermint Palace All-Nude Dancing Bar or even growing your shoulder hair into tufts and parading about in a T-shirt.
    Okay, I made that last one up.
    Weirdly enough, I rather enjoy life studies. Especially when we have rollicking class debates about the stuff we’re studying. It seems that I, Veronica Ripperton, have emerged this term as the number one class debating maestro! Okay, I do get told off for being sarcastic to my opponents quite a lot, but when it comes down to the vote, I’m always winning.
    Praise be! I do have a skill, after all.
    Claude, on the other hand, loathes life studies. She simply cannot get her head around why people would even consider making any of these retarded life choices in the first place. She spends every double period with the countenance of a girl being heavily patronized. It’s actually pretty funny to watch. Especially last week when the class debated, “Is passing your GCSE exams important in the outside world?”
    Ha ha ha! She went properly loopy at anyone who dared to say no! That was really great.
    Today, as a final treat, we’re being allowed to watch a DVD. The girls’ choice won the vote, so Notting Hill with Hugh Grant is screening on the telly and everyone’s making a huge