Louise Rennison - ‘It’s OK, I’m wearing really big knickers!’

She came and sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand on my foot. I said, “Owww!!!”

She said, “Look, love, I know this is all a bit complicated, especially at your age, but this is a really big opportunity for us. Your dad thinks he has a real chance to make something of himself over in Whangamata.”

I said, “what’s wrong with the way he is now? Quite a few people like fat blokes with ridiculous moustaches. You do.”

She came on all parenty then. “Georgia, don’t think that rudeness is funny because it isn’t.”

“It can be.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Well you laughed when Libby called Mr Next Door’nice tosser’.”

“Well Libby is only three and she thinks that tosser is like Bill or Dad or something. Can’t you see this trip as an exciting adventure?”

“What, like when you are on your way to school and then suddenly you get run over by a bus and have to go to hospital, or something?”

“Yes, like when…NO!! Come on, Georgie, try to be a pal, just for me.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You know that your dad can’t get a job here. What else is he supposed to do? He’s only trying to look after us all.”

After a bit she sighed and went out.

Life is treès merde and double bum. Why doesn’t Mutti understand I can’t leave now? She can be ludicrously dim. It’s not her that I get my intelligence from. It is certainly no thanks to her that I came top in…er…well anyway, it’s nothing to do with her what I do. I am just the unfortunate recipient of some of her genes. The orang-utan eyebrow gene, for instance. She has to do a lot of plucking to keep her eyebrows apart and she has selfishly passed it on to me. Since I shaved mine off by mistake last term they seem to have gone even more haywire and akimbo. The shaving has encouraged them to grow about a metre a week. If I left them alone I’d be blind by October. Jas has got ordinary eyebrows, why can’t I?

Also, while I am on the subject, the worst news of all is that I think I have inherited her breast genes. My basoomas are definitely growing. I am very worried that I may end up with huge breasts like hers. Everyone notices hers.

Once, when we were on the ferry to France, Dad said to Mum, “Don’t stand too near to the edge, Connie, otherwise your chest might be declared a danger to shipping.”

I’ve just had a flash of whatsit!! It’s so obvious, I am indeed a genius! Simple pimple. I’ll just tell Mum that I’ll stay behind and…LOOK AFTER THE HOUSE!! The house can’t just be left empty for months because…er…squatters might come in and take it over. Anarchists who will paint everything black, including, probably, Mr and Mrs Next Door’s poodles. They’ll be begging for Angus to come back.

Excellent, brilliant fabulosa idea!! Mum will definitely see the sense of it.

I’ll promise to be really mature and grown-up and responsible. I mainly want to stay in England because of the terrifically good education system. That is how I will sell it to Mutti.

“Mutti,” I will say, “this is a crucial time in my schooldays. I think I may be picked for the hockey team.”

Thank goodness I didn’t bother Mum with my school report from last term. I saved her the trouble of reading it by signing it myself.

You would think that Hawkeye could think of something more imaginative to write than, Hopelessly childish attitude in class. Just because she caught me doing my (excellent) impression of a lockjaw germ.

I could have groovy parties that everyone would really want to come to. I’m going to make a list of all the people I will ask to the parties:

First– Sex Gods

Robbie…er, that’s it.

Second– the Ace Crew

Rosie, Jools, Ellen and, I suppose, Jas if she pulls her pants up and makes a bit more effort with me. She has been a bit of a Slack Alice on the pal front since she got Tom.

Third– close casuals

Mabs, Sarah, Abbie, Phebes, Hattie, Bella…people I like for a laugh but wouldn’t necessarily lend my mum’s leather jacket to…then acquaintances and fanciable brothers.

I may even allow crap dancers like Sven to come if they have pleasing or amusing personalities (and gifts).

I tell you who I won’t be asking– Nauseating P. Green, that’s who. She is definitely banned. If I am made to sit next to her again next term I will definitely kill myself. Why is she so boring? She does it deliberately to annoy me. She breeds hamsters. What is the matter with her?

Who else will be on the exclusion list? Wet Lindsay, Robbie’s ex. It would be cruel to invite her and let her see Robbie and me being so happy and snogging in front of her, etc. Also she would kill me and that would spoil the party atmosphere.

Who else? Oh, I know, Jackie and Alison, otherwise known as the Bummer Twins. They can’t come because they are too common.

Looking out of my window. I can see Mark, the boy with the biggest gob in the universe, going off to town with his mates. People are out there having fun. I hate that. I haven’t got any real friends– as soon as a boy comes along they just forget about me, it’s pathetic.

I could never be that shallow.

I wonder if the Sex God is having second thoughts about me because of my nose?

Jas phoned. Tearing herself away from Tom for a second. She said, “Have you told her you are not going, yet?”

“No, I try but she takes no notice. I told her that it is a very important time for me as I am fourteen and poised on the brink of womanhood.”

“On the what?”

Jas can be like half girl, half turnip. I said, “Do you remember what our revered headmistress, Slim, said at the end of summer term? She said, ‘Girls, you are poised on the brink of womanhood, which is why I want to see no more false freckles painted on noses. It is silly and it isn’t funny or dignified.’”

“False freckles are funny.”

“I know.”

“Well why would Slim say they weren’t?”

“Jas.”

“What?”

“Shut up now.”

I’ve got Libby, her scuba-diving Barbie doll, which has arms like steel forks, and her Thomas the Tank Engine, all in my bed. It’s like sleeping in a toy box only not so comfortable. Plus Libby has been making me play Eskimo kissing; it has made my nose really sore. I said, “Libby, that’s enough Eskimo now,” but she just said, “Kwigglkwoggleugug,” which I suppose she thinks is Eskimo.

What is the matter with my life? Why is it so deeply unfab?

Looking at the sky outside my window and all the stars. I thought of all the people in history and so on who have been sad and have asked God for help. I fell to my knees (which was a bit painful as I landed on a plate of jam sandwiches I had left by my bed). Through my tears I prayed, “Please, God, let the phone ring and let it be Robbie. I promise I will go to church all the time if he rings. Thank you.”

So much for Our Vati in Heaven. What on earth is the point of asking God for something if you don’t get it?

Decided to buy a Buddha tomorrow.

As time is short it might be all right to ask Buddha for something before I actually invest in a statue of him.

I don’t really know how to speak to Buddha. I hope he understands English. I expect, like most deities, it’s more a sort of reading your thoughts job.