Читать книгу The It Girl: Superstar Geek - Katy Birchall - Страница 9

The school dance stresses me out. And it’s NOT because I won’t have a date.

It is actually because school dances highlight the dictation of a dominating society on a youthful generation to locate a suitable partner of similar social standing with whom to spend the evening, not based on intellectual or personality compatibility, but on visual attraction alone. School dances are a staple of the dominant ideology in which we live, serving only the interest of a certain elite platform of students to exert their superiority and their peer influence, thus maintaining the existing state of the school’s social context.

OK, FINE, it’s because I’ll never find a date.

Ever since term started everyone has been talking about this Beatus dance, which takes place at the end of the spring term. It’s for Years 9 to 11 and apparently is kind of like a smaller version of the sixth form ball.

‘What on earth is the Betty dance?’ I’d asked Jess one afternoon when I overheard for the third time that day someone in the toilets talking about who was going to be elected for the committee.

‘It’s the Beatus dance, you mongoose,’ Jess laughed.

‘It means blessed or fortunate in Medieval Latin, Anna,’ Danny explained gently, giving Jess a shove. This was typical Danny behaviour, always on hand to remind Jess when to be a little more patient.

I once told him that I thought he was probably one of the nicest people I had ever met. ‘And your hair complements that.’ I smiled.

‘Huh?’ He automatically ran a hand through his thick blond curls that really are quite spectacular.

‘I think when it comes to you, Danny,’ I’d said matter-of-factly, ‘your hair reflects your kindness and comforting nature.’

That didn’t actually go down too well. It turns out boys don’t really strive to be kind and comforting. Danny, Jess had informed me after he’d left grumpily, gets tired of always being ‘the nice one’ who girls want to be friends with.

The very next day after the curls comment I made sure to say, immediately as he walked in, ‘Danny! You look very rugged today. I think it’s the way you’re carrying your rucksack on one shoulder.’ I ignored the muffled snigger of Jess next to me and continued with the confidence boost. ‘Seriously, something very manly going on there.’

He looked surprised – but I’ve noticed he’s carried his rucksack on one shoulder ever since.

‘It used to be called the spring term dance for lower years,’ Danny had continued.

Meanwhile Jess smiled at me and muttered, ‘Betty dance. Honestly!’ under her breath.

‘Our last headmistress picked the name because, as she continually reminded us, the lower years were very lucky to have a dance at all when most schools just have a sixth form prom.’

‘She had to give it a Latin name to try to make it sound boring and educational.’ Jess grinned.

‘Sounds fun to me.’

‘Not really.’ Jess shrugged. ‘It’s really just an excuse for people like Sophie Parker to show off.’

‘Oh come on,’ Danny laughed. ‘You had a good time last year.’

‘The highlight was when you fell over on the dance floor.’

‘I did not fall over,’ Danny protested, going bright red. ‘I was doing the worm.’

‘Do you go with a . . . date?’ I asked timidly, pretending not to really care.

‘Most people do. Danny and I just went together.’ Jess sighed. ‘Although I pretended I didn’t know him when he fell over.’

‘I told you, I was doing the worm!’

‘It didn’t look like the worm. It looked like you fell over and had hurt your hip or something.’

I had worried about the dance all over the school holidays. If Jess and Danny were going to go together again, who would I go with? They weren’t going to want a tag-along.

Now that I’ve set a girl on fire I don’t think my chances of getting a date are much improved.

I did consider putting a bow tie on Dog and going down the comedy route but then I decided that I should play it safe and if I was going to bring anyone they should probably be human.

Sophie Parker and Josie Graham are representing our year on the Beatus committee of course. This means that they have to give up some of their lunch breaks to stand behind a table and sell raffle tickets to try to raise money for the dance budget. The prize is a two-week internship in the Easter holidays with Brendan’s mum who is a photographer.

‘Your dad should have offered an internship,’ Jess commented, as we watched Sophie and Josie giggle with some other pretty girls in the year who were buying plenty of tickets each. ‘Everyone would have bought tickets then, not just the school’s princess contingent.’

I snorted. ‘Sadly you exaggerate. I hardly think anyone at this school is interested in tanks.’

‘Whatever – he interviews celebrities all the time.’

‘I guess.’ I shrugged. ‘Most of the time he just sits at home yelling about writer’s block and standing still with his forehead against the wall. He says it helps him think. He can stand there for about half an hour. Once I stood with him with my forehead against the wall to see what happened. I got no inspiration whatsoever. We both just stood there in silence with our heads touching the wall until I finally got hungry and left him to it. Not sure an intern would be a good idea.’

‘They’re so embarrassing.’ Jess shook her head as Josie took out a pocket mirror and admired herself. ‘I bet Sophie has already bought half the tickets. The idea of getting in there with Brendan’s family will be the only thing she cares about. She couldn’t care less about the internship.’

‘Why don’t you buy a raffle ticket? You’re pretty good at photography.’

Jess burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, on my camera phone. Not sure that counts.’

‘Go on, it’s only one pound a ticket and if you win, I bet you’d get to go on some cool fashion shoots too. You’d be brilliant!’

I wasn’t lying. Jess is good at photography; she has a framed photo on her wall at home that she won a competition with when she was younger. Plus she is artistic too, her mum has shown me some of her paintings.

I made sure that when Jess came over to mine for the first time Dad hid my pottery attempts that he usually displays on the mantelpiece. Not proudly, he always likes to tease me, but because they are excellent conversation starters. I don’t protest this. My Christmas robin is quite literally a blob of clay with a red circle in the middle.

‘Anna,’ Jess sighed. ‘They won’t be looking for someone like me, will they? I’m sure Brendan’s mum will be much happier with someone like Sophie who can hang on to her every word and look the part.’

‘You look the perfect part,’ I said crossly. ‘Come on, if you don’t get one then I’ll buy one for you.’

She finally gave in to my pestering and we made our way over to the table. Sophie saw us approaching and nudged Josie in the ribs, who looked up and immediately scowled. ‘What do you want?’ she spat, folding her arms.

‘I’m so sorry about Chemistry, Josie,’ I squeaked, feeling genuinely bad. ‘If there’s anything I can do –’

‘Personally,’ Jess interrupted chirpily, ‘I think your hair looks much better that length, Josie.’

‘That hardly makes things OK,’ Sophie replied angrily, tilting her head.

‘Yes,’ Josie pouted, taking her cue as ever from Queen Sophie. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it now.’

‘Great, glad that’s all sorted,’ Jess said firmly. ‘Now, I’d like to buy a raffle ticket please.’

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You. You would like to buy a raffle ticket.’

‘Yes, one please.’

‘But,’ Josie sniggered, looking her up and down, ‘you clearly don’t care about . . . the way things look.’

Jess’s cheeks started to go red.

‘I’m not really sure it’s up your street, Jess,’ Sophie said with a tone of mock regret and then shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t bother buying a ticket. It’s professional photography.’

Jess looked at the ground, embarrassed, and I’m really not quite sure what came over me but suddenly words were coming out of my mouth.

‘Ten tickets please.’

They all stared at me in shock. ‘Yeah, ten.’ I repeated in a squeakier tone than I would have liked. I reached into my purse and held out the money.

Sophie snorted and Josie followed suit but there was now a small queue beginning to form behind me. Josie looked at Sophie for instruction. Sophie pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. Josie snatched the money and shoved the tickets across the table.

I walked away triumphantly, my heart slamming against my chest.

‘Well, what do you know.’ Jess grinned as I passed her the tickets. She gave me a small grateful nudge. ‘Thanks.’

Sitting in French later that afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Beatus dance. What would happen if they didn’t let me in because I didn’t have a date? Even worse, what would happen if they did let me in but then everyone was dancing in pairs and I was the ONLY one not dancing?! What would happen if everyone started pointing and laughing at me because I was so pathetic?! WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I GENUINELY DID HAVE TO BRING DOG AS MY DATE?!

This called for emergency note passing with Jess.

Hey - can I ask you a question?

Anna, you’re passing notes in French? Are you mad?! She’ll catch us! Miss Brockley is very cunning – she does archery in her spare time.

It’s important.

OK, go on then, ask away.

Would you date me?

What?

If you were a boy, would you date me?

This is uncomfortable.

No it’s not. I need to know.

Well I don’t know. Probably not.

WHAT? WHY NOT?

Because of your obsession with your dog. He’s cute and everything but you’re out of control.

Do I talk about Dog lots?

Yes. But maybe not so much around boys so they might not know about the obsession, which is a good thing. You could keep it under wraps until you marry the guy and then, BOOM. Let out the truth about your weirdness.

Oh. OK.

Why does it bother you so much that you don’t have a date? It’s just a dance. Who cares?

It is not just a dance. Everyone is talking about it. And it’s only the beginning of term so it will get worse in the lead-up.

I don’t have a date.

You have Danny. And anyway you CHOOSE not to have a date. I bet every boy in the year would do anything to be your date to the Beatus dance.

You have Danny too. We’ll go as a three.

What about the slow dances?

What ABOUT the slow dances?

We can’t dance as a three!

Why not?

BECAUSE. That would look weird. How would you even do that?

We could all hold hands in a circle and sway.

Like some kind of cult? I don’t think that would go down very well.

We could chant too.

I can tell you’re making fun of me now. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed but I am actually being serious.

Why do you get so worked up about stupid things like this? It’s a DANCE. Only people like Sophie get worked up about stupid things like this.

People like Sophie never get worked up about things like this. They don’t need to. She doesn’t need to ever worry about having a date. I bet she’s going with Brendan Dakers.

Word on the street is that he hasn’t asked her. Anyway, forget about Queen Sophie. Why don’t you take Dog as your date?

Ha! Jess, you really do have the most bizarre brain! As if that would even crop up as an idea!

You considered it, didn’t you?

What?! You’re ridiculous. Of course I did not consider taking Dog as my date to the Beatus dance.

You thought about putting a bow tie on him, didn’t you?

This conversation is neither here nor there. Stop passing me notes please. Miss Brockley is coming this way and I already have detention for a whole term.

I think there are lots of people out there who would date you.

Really? You do?

Lesson number one about making friends and finding a date for the dance: play it cool. Seriously.

Got it. Should I write this down??

I was mocking you.

Oh. You should be clearer about things like that.

I’m going to go away now.

OK! We can chat after class.

You have detention, dummy. Email me when you’re home. Oh and, Anna?

Yes?

The only reason you wouldn’t be able to find a date to the dance is because no one in this school is good enough.

Are you mocking me again?

No.

How can I tell?

By asking me. I just told you I wasn’t mocking you.

That was a very nice thing for you to say! Like seriously nice. Like a true best friend thing to say! You never say nice things!

Don’t be embarrassing.

I’m keeping that note forever.

Don’t do that.

I’m going to stick it in my diary. I don’t have a diary but I’m going to buy one ESPECIALLY so I can stick that note in it. And draw hearts around it.

Stop this.

And then one day I’ll blow it up into a massive poster and frame it.

I would not put any of this past you. Leave me alone now. I’m not passing any more notes.

Fare thee well, Jess! You are a true and wonderful friend who believes in me. I will spread your kindness far and wide. You have brought hope and love to a troubled soul. Bless you and your people.

I strongly dislike you.