time,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Speaking as one of the so-called stars of this rather sordid little charade,’ snapped Jess, ‘I’d be grateful to anyone who was idiot enough to destroy it.’
‘No need to be so touchy,’ said Flora. She didn’t like it when Jess snapped at Mackenzie. ‘It’s only a bit of fun.’
‘You wouldn’t think it was only a bit of fun if you’d been in that bathroom, doing private stuff on camera!’ Jess turned on Flora.
Flora frowned, looked away and sighed, as if Jess was being tiresome and childish. Jess scowled and glared at the horizon, because Flora definitely was being tiresome and childish, as well as being on the side of the boys, which was the worst betrayal of all. Ben Jones looked admiringly at his trainers. He hadn’t spoken for ten minutes. Yes, they were a happy little foursome.
Suddenly Ben turned to Mackenzie. ‘Um, what extras are there on your dad’s new PC?’ he said.
Mackenzie looked relieved. They plunged into a geeky discussion about computers.
Typical! thought Jess. Can’t cope with emotion.
‘Strange how males like to escape into technology,’ observed Jess. ‘The only one I know who doesn’t is Fred.’
Although her own dad hadn’t a clue about technology either, and when his car once broke down he had begged and pleaded with it to start again instead of masterfully plunging into the engine and redwonking the piston flagelongas. ‘Please, please, Ada, I beg you! Be a good girl and start for me and I’ll give you a lovely new can of oil for your supper tonight!’ he had said. Then, when Ada had refused to start, he had shouted, ‘You traitor! We’re finished!’ And got out and kicked the car’s side. Jess realised, however, that her dad was a bit unusual in this respect. He was, after all, an artist.
‘You have to admit Fred is a bit weird,’ said Flora.
‘Weird?’ snapped Jess. ‘What’s weird about him? Original and brilliant, possibly, and if that’s your idea of weird – well, stick with mediocrity if it makes you feel more at home.’
Flora frowned. She wasn’t fiery-tempered like Jess. But she always argued like a dog with a bone, gnawing away stubbornly and never letting go.
‘Well, he is a bit of a loner, isn’t he? And the way he talks – like he thinks he’s Mr Darcy or something. And you’re always trying to copy him.’
‘I do NOT try and copy him!’ exploded Jess. Ben and Mackenzie twitched nervously.
‘Do you rate Goth War Final Destruct?’ enquired Mackenzie. They were on to computer games now.
Ben thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, but not in the same league as, well, um – Black Lords Search and Destroy.’
‘Well, since most boys seem to prefer talking like robots,’ observed Jess icily, ‘somebody who talks like Mr Darcy ought to be given a medal, not treated as a fool.’ She got up off the wall and walked away, seething.
She hated the way Flora always seemed to take sides with the boys. Filming girls in the bathroom wasn’t a bit of fun; it was an invasion of their privacy. But it was all right for Flora – she’d escaped unscathed, as usual. Protected by the guardian angel who seemed to watch over all blonde high-achievers with perfect rich families, Flora had miraculously not wanted to pee.
All through French, Jess brooded. She sat on the other side of the room from Flora, and at change of lessons ignored her and walked quickly away. In her head, she rehearsed a scene in which Miss Jessica Jordan drew up in her coach outside a muddy hovel. She wound the window down – or whatever you did with coach windows – and peered contemptuously out.
Miss Flora appeared at the door of the hovel, her head hanging in shame, her clothes in rags.
‘Forgive me, dear Miss Jordan!’ she cried, and threw herself to the ground. ‘I was mistaken. Sir Frederick is a man of exemplary character. I was misled by the attentions of other gentlemen. Forgive me, I pray!’
‘Do not humiliate yourself so
‘Speaking as one of the so-called stars of this rather sordid little charade,’ snapped Jess, ‘I’d be grateful to anyone who was idiot enough to destroy it.’
‘No need to be so touchy,’ said Flora. She didn’t like it when Jess snapped at Mackenzie. ‘It’s only a bit of fun.’
‘You wouldn’t think it was only a bit of fun if you’d been in that bathroom, doing private stuff on camera!’ Jess turned on Flora.
Flora frowned, looked away and sighed, as if Jess was being tiresome and childish. Jess scowled and glared at the horizon, because Flora definitely was being tiresome and childish, as well as being on the side of the boys, which was the worst betrayal of all. Ben Jones looked admiringly at his trainers. He hadn’t spoken for ten minutes. Yes, they were a happy little foursome.
Suddenly Ben turned to Mackenzie. ‘Um, what extras are there on your dad’s new PC?’ he said.
Mackenzie looked relieved. They plunged into a geeky discussion about computers.
Typical! thought Jess. Can’t cope with emotion.
‘Strange how males like to escape into technology,’ observed Jess. ‘The only one I know who doesn’t is Fred.’
Although her own dad hadn’t a clue about technology either, and when his car once broke down he had begged and pleaded with it to start again instead of masterfully plunging into the engine and redwonking the piston flagelongas. ‘Please, please, Ada, I beg you! Be a good girl and start for me and I’ll give you a lovely new can of oil for your supper tonight!’ he had said. Then, when Ada had refused to start, he had shouted, ‘You traitor! We’re finished!’ And got out and kicked the car’s side. Jess realised, however, that her dad was a bit unusual in this respect. He was, after all, an artist.
‘You have to admit Fred is a bit weird,’ said Flora.
‘Weird?’ snapped Jess. ‘What’s weird about him? Original and brilliant, possibly, and if that’s your idea of weird – well, stick with mediocrity if it makes you feel more at home.’
Flora frowned. She wasn’t fiery-tempered like Jess. But she always argued like a dog with a bone, gnawing away stubbornly and never letting go.
‘Well, he is a bit of a loner, isn’t he? And the way he talks – like he thinks he’s Mr Darcy or something. And you’re always trying to copy him.’
‘I do NOT try and copy him!’ exploded Jess. Ben and Mackenzie twitched nervously.
‘Do you rate Goth War Final Destruct?’ enquired Mackenzie. They were on to computer games now.
Ben thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, but not in the same league as, well, um – Black Lords Search and Destroy.’
‘Well, since most boys seem to prefer talking like robots,’ observed Jess icily, ‘somebody who talks like Mr Darcy ought to be given a medal, not treated as a fool.’ She got up off the wall and walked away, seething.
She hated the way Flora always seemed to take sides with the boys. Filming girls in the bathroom wasn’t a bit of fun; it was an invasion of their privacy. But it was all right for Flora – she’d escaped unscathed, as usual. Protected by the guardian angel who seemed to watch over all blonde high-achievers with perfect rich families, Flora had miraculously not wanted to pee.
All through French, Jess brooded. She sat on the other side of the room from Flora, and at change of lessons ignored her and walked quickly away. In her head, she rehearsed a scene in which Miss Jessica Jordan drew up in her coach outside a muddy hovel. She wound the window down – or whatever you did with coach windows – and peered contemptuously out.
Miss Flora appeared at the door of the hovel, her head hanging in shame, her clothes in rags.
‘Forgive me, dear Miss Jordan!’ she cried, and threw herself to the ground. ‘I was mistaken. Sir Frederick is a man of exemplary character. I was misled by the attentions of other gentlemen. Forgive me, I pray!’
‘Do not humiliate yourself so
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