Wasted by Nicola Morgan Page B

the leader. Her long, straight, sweeping hair is the palest blonde to the roots. Her facial bone structure is cover-girl-perfect, lips large and soft, skin pale and undeniably interesting, cheekbones to die for and accentuated by the clever use of blusher. Bubble-gum-pink strappy top, stopping just on her navel, with flesh on show beneath it. And a tight little stomach with nothing bulging anywhere. She works hard at the being beautiful thing.
    Her legs are long and bare. They are smooth, lean and flawless, beneath a very short white skirt. Heels push her centimetres higher. She’s a walking cliché. Straight off the pages of a cheap magazine.
    But it’s when you see her face that you decide whether you do or don’t like Kelly Jones. She could smile at you angelically, and often does at teachers, or she could turn you to ice with the arrogance of her sneer. To be honest, even when she’s doing the angelic bit, “likeable” wouldn’t really be the word, unless you were some rather short-sighted elderly relative taken in by her sugary voice. Or a boy who wasn’t interested in “likeable” anyway. If beauty is within, even the most powerful torch would fail to find it in the furthest depths of Kelly Jones’s soul.
    Arrogant sneer is definitely what is on show right now, as she looks down at Jack. Samantha and Charlie stand a little behind. Charlie’s skin is expensively tanned, with hennaed hair tumbling deliberately over her shoulders. Samantha is the paler version, razor-thin eyebrows arching over highly decorated eyes in an opal face, her hair streaked with gold and straight as paper.
    All are slim, tall and very high-maintenance.
    â€œWhy, it’s Charlie’s Angels,” says Ella.
    â€œWhat do you want, Kelly?” asks Jack, not looking at her.
    â€œI heard that there’s some crap band playing at the leavers’ prom,” says Kelly, her voice drawly.
    â€œYeah,” adds Charlie. “We heard that somebody’s daddy persuaded Willow to let his little boy play.”
    â€œAnd how do you imagine he did that?” Kelly looks at each of her friends in turn.
    â€œMaybe lots of money for the school library?” asks Samantha.
    â€œOr something more, um, personal?” Kelly looks at Jack now. Kelly Jones has been watching too much television and she has the LA-bitch smile down to a fine art.
    Jack’s face shows his anger. He opens his mouth to say something. But Tommy speaks: “Ignore her, Jack. She’s not worth it.”
    Then Kelly seems to see Jess for the first time. Something else crosses her face now as she looks from Jess to Jack, sees how closely they are sitting.
    â€œWell, look who’s here! Hanging out with losers as usual, I see.”
    Which is when Jess makes her mistake. “Drunk as usual, I see,” she says. She does not quite know why she says it. It just slips out. It’s one of those insults that can be equally useful in many situations. Kelly, in fact, does not look particularly drunk, but then the night is yet young and she may well be later.
    But that is what Jess says and it is, by chance, the one thing she should not have said. Not if she wants to keep the forces of darkness chained up for the night. But then she does not know this.
    There is an intake of breath and the noises of the bar swell around them. Over the smooth shoulders of the three girls, Jess is aware of other drinkers, laughing, shouting, doing the things that they do on an ordinary night out. And then her attention comes back to her own group.
    Several things happen in exactly the same moment.
    Kelly seems to grow another few centimetres, as she bristles like a cat about to fight.
    â€œUh-oh,” says Chris, with a grimace.
    â€œOK, bye, then, Kelly – see you around, eh?” says Ella, firmly.
    Tommy sinks his head down and slowly bashes it against the table in mock despair.
    Samantha and Charlie both