Жаклин Уилсон: Girls In Love

It’s great when you have a best friend. It can be even better when you have

two

best friends. Ellie, Magda and Nadine are in Year Nine and they make a fantastic threesome. I invented them in the space of half an hour! I was staying at my daughter, Emma’s flat, and she was patiently teaching me how to use her computer. I am a total technophobe and a very slow learner. I found myself getting very upset and irritable as I struggled with her unfamiliar keyboard, making all sorts of silly mistakes.

I decided to distract myself by making up a new story. I wanted to write about teenagers for a change. I typed

Three girls

on Emma’s computer. I thought about my first girl. I liked the name Ellie so I typed that too. I decided she would tell the story. I wanted her to be lively and creative and very good at art. I didn’t want her to be a super-girl with a fabulous figure and absolutely everything going for her. I decided she’d be an ordinary comfy girl size – so she’d worry a bit about getting fat. I gave her little round glasses and a lot of wild, curly dark hair. I liked her a lot.

I felt that Ellie might have a weird, cool gothic girl as one of her friends. I found my fingers typing the name Nadine. She’d be into alternative music and wear black all the time and be much more daring than Ellie. She’d also be one of those irritating girls who could stuff Mars bars all day and still stay as thin as a pin.

I wanted my third girl to be a bright, blonde, bubbly girl, full of fun. I called her Magda. I thought she’d be boy-mad, a little bit spoilt, but basically a great friend to Ellie and Nadine.

There! I had my three girls sorted out by the time I’d typed a page. I found I’d mastered the new keyboard – and I was all set to start my story!

There are four stories about Ellie, Magda and Nadine. The first is Girls in Love. Magda has a boyfriend, Nadine has a boyfriend – and Ellie wishes she has a boyfriend. She’s met a weird, geeky younger boy called Dan on holiday, so she says he’s her boyfriend, but she pretends he’s really this fantastic, gorgeous looking guy. Not a good idea . . .

‘This sequence . . . is far more believable and emotionally valid than other fiction of its ilk’

Scotsman

‘Wilson has street cred and a sure touch for writing on contemporary subjects without patronising’

Independent

‘The portrayal of the girls’ relationships and of their love lives is agonisingly accurate. No wonder girls cannot get enough of Jacqueline Wilson’

Good Book Guide

For

Girls in Love

:

‘An absolute must’

Daily Telegraph

For

Girls under Pressure

:

‘As usual Wilson gets right inside her characters and their feelings, portraying them with understanding and sympathy . . . excellent and timely book’

Kids Out Book of the Month

For

Girls out Late

:

‘A surefire bestseller for everyone’

Bookseller

For

Girls in Tears

:

‘An easy-going, humorous tale’

Publisher’s Weekly

Stephanie Dummler and Year Nine Venus (1995), Coombe Girls School.

Becky Heather and Year Nine Chestnut and Beech (1995), The Green School for Girls.

Jane Ingles and the pupils of Hillside School.

Claire Drury and the pupils of Failsworth School – especially Jackelyn and Rachel.

Sarah Greenacre and the pupils of the Stoke High School.

De Reading and the pupils of St Benedict School.

Angela Derby.

Becki Hillman.

To all the other schools who made me so welcome in 1995 and 1996.

The first day back at school. I’m walking because I missed the bus. Not a good start. Year Nine. I wonder what it’ll be like.

Number nine, number nine, number nine . . .

It’s on that classic Beatles White album, the crazy mixed-up bit at the end. I’ve always felt close to John Lennon even though he died before I was born. I like him because he did all those crazy little drawings and he wore granny glasses and he was funny and he always just did his own thing. I do crazy little drawings and I wear granny glasses and my friends think I’m funny. I don’t get the opportunity to do my own thing though.

It’s half past eight. If I was doing my own thing right now I’d be back in bed, curled up, fast asleep. John Lennon had lie-ins, didn’t he, when he and Yoko stayed in bed all day. They even gave interviews to journalists in bed. Cool.

So, if I could do my own thing I’d sleep till midday. Then breakfast. Hot chocolate and doughnuts. I’ll listen to music and fool around in my sketchbook. Maybe watch a video. Then I’ll eat again. I’ll send out for a pizza. Though maybe I should stick to salads. I guess it would be easy to put on weight lying around in bed all day. I don’t want to end up looking like a beached whale.

I’ll have a green salad. And green grapes. And what’s a green drink? There’s that liqueur I sipped round at Magda’s, crème de menthe. I can’t say I was that thrilled. It was a bit like drinking toothpaste. Forget the drink.

I’ll phone Magda though, and Nadine, and we’ll have a long natter. And then . . .

Well, it’ll be the evening now, so I’ll have a bath and wash my hair and change into . . . What should I wear in bed? Not my own teddy-bear nightie. Much too babyish. But I don’t fancy one of those slinky satin numbers. I know, I’ll wear a long white gown with embroidered roses all colours of the rainbow, and I’ll put a big flash ring on every finger and lie flat in my bed like Frida Kahlo. She’s another one of my heroes, this amazing South American artist with extraordinary eyebrows and earrings and flowers in her hair.

OK, there I am, back in bed and looking beautiful. Then I hear the door opening. Footsteps. It’s my boyfriend coming to see me . . .

The only trouble is I haven’t got a boyfriend. Well, I haven’t got a Frida Kahlo outfit or a bedside phone or my own television and video and my bed sags because my little brother Eggs uses it as a trampoline whenever I’m not around. I could put up with all these deprivations. I’d just like a boyfriend. Please.

Just as I’m thinking this a beautiful blond boy with big brown eyes comes sauntering round a car parked partly on the pavement. He steps to one side to get out of my way, only I’ve stepped the same way. He steps to the other side. So do I! We look like we’re doing a crazy kind of two-step.

‘Oh. Whoops. Sorry!’ I stammer. I feel my face flooding scarlet.

He stays cool, one eyebrow slightly raised. He doesn’t say anything but he smiles at me.