nestled together in her locker. She
picked up the book. “We did this in Year Nine,” she said to Holly. “Do you
think they want it back, or shall I chuck it?”
“Leave it on a desk. Not yours,” advised Holly. She was
doing her whole-face smile. “You like Toby, don’t you? It shows in your face
every time you talk about him.”
“I’m sad, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re lovely!” She started to pack her bag. “I’m
so lucky with my friends! Pascale’s on the other end of the scale from you, Jo.
And I get the best of both.” She took a bar of chocolate from her locker and
sniffed it. “Do you think this is edible? It’s only six months past its sell by
date.”
“Throw it away,” advised Jo, wondering about the scale . The scale of what?
Attractiveness? Flirtatiousness? Ability to play a whole basketball match
without going red in the face? With boys watching? Pascale could certainly do
all of those things one hundred percent better than Jo.
It crossed Jo’s mind how weird it was that Holly hardly
ever saw her, just her , without Pascale,
outside school. She never seemed to go to Holly’s house any more, though she’d
hardly been out of the place when she and Holly had been at primary school
together. They’d gone to each other’s parties and sleepovers, and Jo had become
very attached to Holly’s mum, who was so unlike Tess that nine-year-old Jo had
once confessed to Holly that she wished they were sisters. She’dwanted a mum who had a serious job
(Holly’s mother was a senior nurse), but could act like a nine-year-old herself
when she was playing dominoes or Pictionary with them. Tess never played games. Except golf, which
didn’t count.
Once Jo and Holly had started at Kingsgrove and met
Pascale, they’d stopped going to Holly’s house, maybe because it was a bus ride
away, or maybe because her mum had to sleep during the day when she was on
night duty at the hospital. Jo’s house had quickly become headquarters. And
whatever they did there, it involved either all three of them or Jo and
Pascale.
“Why do you think Toby likes me , though?”
Jo had wanted to ask Holly this for a long time. She
couldn’t say it in front of Pascale, but Pascale did German instead of
Sociology and she’d already finished her exams. Jo had to take advantage of
this rare opportunity to talk to Holly alone.
“Why shouldn’t he like you?” replied Holly.
This was a typical Holly tactic. Answer a question you
don’t want to answer with another question.
“I mean, what do you think he likes about me?” said Jo.
“How should I know? He’s a bloke. Who knows what blokes
like?”
Holly had done it again. Jo persevered. “I think you
know what blokes like, Hol.”
Holly removed her padlock and left the locker door
open. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “Sixth Form lockers next year! It’s
going to be so cool being in Sixth Form! Pick up that chocolate wrapper
immediately! Where’s your tie? God, I’m going to love it.”
That was the other thing Holly did. When she didn’t
know what to say, she changed the subject, often so successfully that Jo never
got back to what she’d asked. But today Jo was determined. “But Toby’s so
good-looking and I’m so ordinary.”
“Why is he so good-looking?” asked Holly, interested. “I mean, what is it about his
face that – ”
“Stop asking me questions !”
Jo’s exasperation spilled out. “Can’t you just listen ?”
Holly’s prettiness disappeared for a moment under the
face she made when she was offended. It involved a wrinkling of the nose and a
crumpling of the forehead, and a hooking downwards of the mouth. If Holly ever
saw it in a mirror, thought Jo, she’d never do it again. “I am listening,” she said testily. “I always
listen. But what do you want me to say? That you’re not ordinary, you’re
lovely? Well, I’ve already said that. Or do you want me to tell you that
good-looking boys always go for girls who
picked up the book. “We did this in Year Nine,” she said to Holly. “Do you
think they want it back, or shall I chuck it?”
“Leave it on a desk. Not yours,” advised Holly. She was
doing her whole-face smile. “You like Toby, don’t you? It shows in your face
every time you talk about him.”
“I’m sad, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re lovely!” She started to pack her bag. “I’m
so lucky with my friends! Pascale’s on the other end of the scale from you, Jo.
And I get the best of both.” She took a bar of chocolate from her locker and
sniffed it. “Do you think this is edible? It’s only six months past its sell by
date.”
“Throw it away,” advised Jo, wondering about the scale . The scale of what?
Attractiveness? Flirtatiousness? Ability to play a whole basketball match
without going red in the face? With boys watching? Pascale could certainly do
all of those things one hundred percent better than Jo.
It crossed Jo’s mind how weird it was that Holly hardly
ever saw her, just her , without Pascale,
outside school. She never seemed to go to Holly’s house any more, though she’d
hardly been out of the place when she and Holly had been at primary school
together. They’d gone to each other’s parties and sleepovers, and Jo had become
very attached to Holly’s mum, who was so unlike Tess that nine-year-old Jo had
once confessed to Holly that she wished they were sisters. She’dwanted a mum who had a serious job
(Holly’s mother was a senior nurse), but could act like a nine-year-old herself
when she was playing dominoes or Pictionary with them. Tess never played games. Except golf, which
didn’t count.
Once Jo and Holly had started at Kingsgrove and met
Pascale, they’d stopped going to Holly’s house, maybe because it was a bus ride
away, or maybe because her mum had to sleep during the day when she was on
night duty at the hospital. Jo’s house had quickly become headquarters. And
whatever they did there, it involved either all three of them or Jo and
Pascale.
“Why do you think Toby likes me , though?”
Jo had wanted to ask Holly this for a long time. She
couldn’t say it in front of Pascale, but Pascale did German instead of
Sociology and she’d already finished her exams. Jo had to take advantage of
this rare opportunity to talk to Holly alone.
“Why shouldn’t he like you?” replied Holly.
This was a typical Holly tactic. Answer a question you
don’t want to answer with another question.
“I mean, what do you think he likes about me?” said Jo.
“How should I know? He’s a bloke. Who knows what blokes
like?”
Holly had done it again. Jo persevered. “I think you
know what blokes like, Hol.”
Holly removed her padlock and left the locker door
open. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “Sixth Form lockers next year! It’s
going to be so cool being in Sixth Form! Pick up that chocolate wrapper
immediately! Where’s your tie? God, I’m going to love it.”
That was the other thing Holly did. When she didn’t
know what to say, she changed the subject, often so successfully that Jo never
got back to what she’d asked. But today Jo was determined. “But Toby’s so
good-looking and I’m so ordinary.”
“Why is he so good-looking?” asked Holly, interested. “I mean, what is it about his
face that – ”
“Stop asking me questions !”
Jo’s exasperation spilled out. “Can’t you just listen ?”
Holly’s prettiness disappeared for a moment under the
face she made when she was offended. It involved a wrinkling of the nose and a
crumpling of the forehead, and a hooking downwards of the mouth. If Holly ever
saw it in a mirror, thought Jo, she’d never do it again. “I am listening,” she said testily. “I always
listen. But what do you want me to say? That you’re not ordinary, you’re
lovely? Well, I’ve already said that. Or do you want me to tell you that
good-looking boys always go for girls who
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