Turning Point by Barbara Spencer Page A

you’re not their girlfriend. I mean – think about your reputation.’ Travers grinned mockingly.
    â€˜Shut up, Travers. You know perfectly well it wasn’t like that, because you were there. It was indoor athletics, you know, the nationals,’ she quickly explained. ‘Travers’ brother Beau was scheduled to compete in the hurdles so Jay and Travers went along to watch. I was in the four hundred, and we sort of got talking. But don’t you dare tell people I’m your girlfriend – I’ll sue.’
    Jameson placed his hands over his heart. ‘It’s not for want of trying. Give me the word, tip me the wink, and I’ll be there. I have been your devoted slave, ever since… um… help me out here, someone!’ He gazed dewy-eyed round the little circle of friends. Removing his specs, he batted his eyelashes at them, and even Jenny spluttered with mirth at his antics.
    Scott could tell his friend had, once again, fallen under the spell of a girl and was covering his real feelings with play-acting. That’s what girls never cottoned on to with Jameson, believing him shallow and flippant when they first met him, not realising that his charm and gaiety disguised a very serious and quite brilliant thinker. Eventually, though, even the most resistant succumbed to his charms.
    Travers, on the other hand, was the opposite. Good-looking and athletic, girls swooned before him, even though he was not a great talker unless you got him onto the subject of his particular sport – rugby. He and Mary had been together now more than a year and seemed a permanent fixture.
    He eyed Jenny, guessing her show of annoyance was play-acting too.
    â€˜Besides, Jay,’ the sports captain struggled to keep her expression serious, ‘I never go out with guys shorter than me.’
    â€˜Ouch, ouch, ouch!’ Jameson hopped up and down on one foot. ‘Below the belt. Besides, I’m only shorter because I had my hair cut yesterday.’
    In the distance they heard the loud clanging of a fire bell. Automatically, the groups chattering in the school yard looked down at their watches, knowing it was the five-minute warning.
    Still laughing, the six friends made their way through the school-gate, the year-sevens, who had only been at school for a couple of months, drawing politely back to let the sixth-formers into the yard first.
    The comprehensive school had had its origins in the grammar school system, which had been popular in the previous century, although none of the present generation had even heard of grammar schools and, some years previously, in pursuit of modernisation the red brick turrets of the old school had been torn down to make way for a two-storey glass building. The severity of the radiation leak from the Iran nuclear disaster had forced school authorities to coat the windows with a special polymer, which meant lights were needed twenty-four-seven. It was only in the last few years that levels had dropped low enough for sports to take place outside again. Now, in summer, the grassy playing fields had once again become a gathering place rather than the school library.
    Travers gave the youngsters a friendly grin as he passed. ‘Were
we
ever this timid?’
    â€˜You weren’t but we were,’ Mary said. ‘So, Hilary, your news?’
    â€˜Later, later, later,’ Jameson chanted. ‘And we will be, if we don’t hurry. I’ve got important stuff to tell you, too.’
    â€˜And me.’ Travers wrote a word on his hand to remind him what it was.
    â€˜Let’s meet up at break and you can tell us then.’
    The bell rumbled into life again. Automatically students broke into a run, aware they had less than two minutes to get to class, and anxious not to earn a late penalty. With a wave the six friends parted. Jameson clutched Scott’s sleeve to stop him moving, his gaiety vanished.
    â€˜You weren’t expected back