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it when I was scrabbling in the fridge hoping there might be something green in there to save me from rickets. There was something green in there as it happens, but I don’t like MOSS.”
    Mum shouted: “Oh here’s an idea, why don’t YOU clean the fridge sometime? And, anyway, don’t I have any right to be myself? You know I’ve got aerobics on Thursdays, it keeps me in shape.”
    I said, “Wrong.”
    She stormed out then in a huff and a tizz and a strop. “You are HORRIBLE!!!”
    And she slammed the door. How childish.
    7:45 p.m.
    I’m not horrible. She’s horrible.
    8:00 p.m.
    What time is it now?
    Oh dear God.
    9:00 p.m.
    I can’t sleep. I may even have to do my French homework to take my mind off Masimo and Lindsay.
    What were they talking about for twenty minutes?
    9:10 p.m.
    Here we go. Chapter 14 in my French textbook. Jools and Jim and their fantastic excursion to the Bois de Boulogne. Why are they so excited about going to some woods? It’s like reading the froggy version of Jas and Tom. I could write a book called Jas and Tom and Their Fantastic Excursion to the Bois de Boulogne .
    Clearly no one would buy it because it would be so boring.

on the brink of madnosity
    friday june 24th
dawn
    Birds singing, clouds cludding, heart thudding. What if he comes to meet me after Stalag 14? What if he just decides spontaneously to come to school and pick me up? That’s what boys do. They don’t think about the preparation that has to be done. Makeup and mood planning and so on.
    Oh Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers.
    Also if he was thinking the age gap was a bad thing, the last thing he needs to see is me in my stupid school shirt and tie. I must take a change of clothes just in case. I’ll have to dash off to the tarts’ wardrobe after the MacUseless rehearsal.
    one minute later
    But what if he doesn’t know about the MacUseless rehearsal and comes at the normal time they open the prison gates?
    Even if I keep things to the minimum, lip gloss, foundation, mascara, it is still going to take me ten minutes and the changing as well. Oh this is so stressful. Why do we have to go to school? I’ve been going for the last ten years and where has it got me? Still at school, that is where it has got me.
    7:40 a.m.
    Packing my rucky.
    I’ve put in my clothes and essential makeup. So clearly there is no room for my books and homework. C’est la vie. Anyway, I am only going to school in the first place to fill in time and to stop my mutti and vati going to jail. I don’t know why I bother, though. Mum is still ignorez vous ing me. She is so vair vair immature.
    8:30 a.m.
    Mum didn’t even say good morning or look at me when I rustled around in the kitchen. She is still having the hump and strop because of what I said about her shape. You know, not having one. Maybe that was going just that tiny bit too far.
    8:35 a.m.
    Maybe not, though.
    When Mum bent over to hand Libby a spoon for her eggy and soldiers, she knocked over a cup of tea with her nunga-nungas.
    8:40 a.m.
    I said, “S’laters” as I went, but Mrs. Giant Basoomas didn’t say anything. My lovely sister didn’t ignore me, though, unfortunately.
    She snogged me and said, “Here is your runch, Ginger, yum.”
    And gave me a bit of soldier with egg on it. It is not as such unchewed.
    8:45 a.m
    Jas is being “cool,” it is vair vair vair annoying and driving me to the brink of madnosity.
    I wanted to know what she thought the Luuurve God would decide. She knows this is the big decision day. She is trying to be philosophical about my situation like she is some beardy monk or something. She said, “ Que sera , whatever will be, will be, the future is not ours to see. Que sera, sera. ”
    I said, “Don’t say que sera again, Jas, unlessyou want a duffing incident.”
    She just raised her eyebrows, but I know that she is