Читать книгу The It Girl: Team Awkward - Katy Birchall - Страница 9

Five reasons why the whole world should get rid of doors:

1. They are kind of pointless. I mean, what do they really do? If you think about it, they have no real function.

2. They might keep things out, but isn’t that negative? Doors contribute to negative thinking. And we have enough negative thinking in the world already without doors.

3. Fingers can get caught in them. Doors are a danger to mankind.

4. People walk into them the whole time. Not only are doors a danger to mankind, but clearly we have not developed enough intelligence to handle their complex and cruel nature.

5. People are very irresponsible with them. Like when they just swing one open without checking to see if someone is leaning on the other side of it about to have their FIRST KISS.

‘Anna, are you OK?’ Connor’s face popped into view as he knelt over me. I blinked up at him.

‘Is there any chance that you didn’t see that happen?’

His face broke into a look of relief and he chuckled. ‘I didn’t see a thing, I swear.’ He reached out for my hand and gently pulled me up into a sitting position.

‘Anna,’ said my dad’s voice. ‘What’s going on? Oh, hello Connor.’

‘Hi, Mr Huntley,’ said Connor.

Oh, brilliant. My dad was getting in on the act.

‘Why are you on the floor?’ Dad asked. ‘Were you trying to salsa again? I told you the last time, it’s just not the dance step for you.’

There it was. Things could always get worse.

‘No, Dad, I was not trying to salsa.’ I clambered to my feet and peered into the hall. Standing behind my dad were several men and women, all dressed in expensive-looking black tailored trouser suits. The men had their hair slicked back, while the girls had their hair in high, ridiculously-neat ponytails and sported bright red lipstick.

‘Who are these strange people?’ I looked round at them all. ‘Er, no offence. I meant strange as in new. Not strange as in . . . strange. I’m sure you’re all lovely. Whoever you are. Hello.’

Next to me, Connor sniggered and I elbowed him in the ribs.

‘This is the wedding team.’ Dad didn’t sound too happy about it. ‘But what happened to you, Anna?’

‘Nothing! I fell through the door. What’s a wedding team?’

‘Anna! There you are, darling!’ Helena breezed into the hall from the sitting room, looking very smart in a black knee-length dress and peach blazer. ‘I thought I heard a commotion.’

‘She fell through the door,’ Dad informed her as she pulled me into a hug.

‘Nice to see you, Miss Montaine,’ said Connor politely.

‘Connor, I’ve told you, call me Helena,’ Helena gushed, embracing him dramatically. ‘How is your Art going? Anna says you’re the most talented artist she’s ever seen.’

WAY TO PLAY IT COOL, HELENA.

‘Um, did she?’ asked Connor, sounding uncomfortable. ‘Well, I’ve been going to some Art classes, so I think I’m getting better. I could show you some stuff next time I come over?’

‘That would be simply fantastic, I just love art,’ Helena declared, so enthusiastically it sounded as though she thought Connor was the next Picasso.

‘If you’re OK, Anna, then I should probably head off,’ Connor said, now looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything there was a loud crash from the sitting room, a shrill scream and an explosion of panicked voices shouting.

‘What the . . . ?’

Suddenly about fifteen owls came flying towards us down the hall, flapping wildly.

‘SHUT THE DOOR,’ yelped one of the wedding team, and another threw himself courageously at the front door, slamming it closed just in time. Connor and I ducked as the owls, shut off from their escape route, were forced into a mass U-turn back towards the sitting room.

Then the wedding team leapt into action. They rushed away and reappeared wearing long, brown-leather gloves. The owls, noticing them, calmed and flapped over to them obediently.

‘Gosh, how interesting,’ Dad said weakly, patting himself down as he got up from his crouching position by the telephone table.

‘What on EARTH is going on?’ I demanded, completely bewildered.

‘It’s an idea for the wedding,’ Dad said in a very, very strained voice.

‘Don’t you think it’s precious?’ Helena cooed, patting her hair.

‘No, I don’t think it’s precious. There are OWLS casually flying around my house! Where’s Dog? That could have been carnage!’

‘One of the wedding team took him for a walk,’ Helena explained as she led us all into the sitting room.

‘YOU WHAT?’ Letting Dog be taken for a walk by a STRANGER? That was completely unacceptable. What if someone stole him? It would be understandable – Dog is one of the most beautiful and intelligent creatures on this earth, after all. Also, Dog always gets sulky with me when other people take him on walks. It makes him think that Dad and I are neglecting him. Once, when Helena took him for a stroll because I was staying the night at Jess’s house and Dad was on a tight deadline, Dog punished me by sneaking into my room and eating chapters one to ten of The Hobbit.

Dad looked at me apologetically. ‘We had to get him out of the house while the owls were here. Helena insisted on seeing the birds herself. I made sure the dog walker was very trustworthy – Fenella assured me that he was very good with dogs.’

‘Who is Fenella? What is going on? Why owls? Why has my house turned into Hogwarts?’

‘Um, Anna?’ Connor spoke up, patting my arm lightly. ‘I really am going to have to head home now. Nice to see you again, Mr Huntley, er, Helena.’

He waved goodbye awkwardly. As the door shut behind him, I slapped my palm on my forehead. ‘Well, that was mortifying. Dad, what is going on?’

Dad gestured dejectedly towards the sitting room and I marched past him to see for myself. I was greeted with what looked like a scene out of those totally random arty films that Dad loves: several empty owl cages, the wedding team standing around the room holding owls and clipboards, what appeared to be an extremely disgruntled bird handler sitting on the windowsill with his head in his hands, and Helena in a frenzied conversation with a woman who looked like she had walked out of the Vogue head office. Marianne was slumped back on a sofa fanning herself with a newspaper.

‘Anna, come and meet Fenella,’ Helena instructed jovially, leading the tall Vogue woman towards me. ‘She’s our wedding planner.’

‘Yeah, hi.’ I offered my hand, which Fenella took rather reluctantly. ‘Why are there owls everywhere?’

‘I thought we could have one carrying the ring. What do you think?’ Helena clapped her hands excitedly.

‘It’s the stupidest idea of all time,’ Marianne grumbled, rubbing her forehead. ‘Did you not just witness the chaos?’

‘I told you not to let them all out at once,’ the bird handler growled.

‘What’s the point in having birds if they can’t fly about? I didn’t realise they would go mental.’ Marianne rolled her eyes. ‘Anna, did you see them flying about everywhere? We can’t have them at the wedding, they’re completely wild.’

‘Yeah, I did happen to notice them when they flew at CONNOR’S HEAD.’ I sat down in a strop, pausing to accept the sparkling water that one of the wedding team offered me.

‘Connor was here?’ Marianne perked up at that.

‘Connor is Anna’s beau,’ Helena explained to Fenella, who looked like she didn’t care in the least.

‘He is not my “beau”!’ I groaned.

‘I’ve told you this so many times, Mum. Stop using the word “beau”,’ Marianne instructed. ‘You sound weird.’

‘I am not weird!’ Helena protested. An owl behind her made a loud hooting noise, prompting all the other owls to start hooting too. She glanced around. ‘OK, fine, this is a slightly weird situation.’

‘I think it is time we take our leave,’ Fenella announced, and she clapped her hands three times.

The wedding team acted at once. They moved around the room at lighting speed, impressive considering their very tight black uniforms. They gathered together boxes of material and folders and rushed them outside to the line of black cars that I only noticed now were parked along our road.

‘It looks like we’re being investigated by the FBI,’ Marianne observed as she pulled herself forwards to watch from the window. She was wearing a t-shirt with I’m dating the band on it.

‘The FBI is American,’ I corrected, spilling my sparkling water down my top and trying to act like nothing had happened.

‘I’m glad that’s over,’ Dad said when the last owl had been carefully carried from the house and Dog had been returned, clearly very annoyed at not only missing out on whatever had left the strong bird-like scent in his house but also at being walked by a strange man. I knew it was Dad he was mad at – I saw him sniff agitatedly around before sitting his furry bottom down on Dad’s reading glasses. Still, I ran upstairs when he wasn’t looking and quickly moved all my books, just in case.

‘No owls at the wedding,’ Marianne stated firmly, looking at her mother.

‘You’re all very boring indeed,’ Helena pouted.

Marianne ignored her. ‘So, Anna, how was it with Connor?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh come on,’ Marianne grinned. ‘Are you guys properly together at last, or are you still playing it cool?’

‘I think her coolness factor went out the window when she fell through the door,’ Dad observed.

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Coming from the man who writes books about tanks and sings Disney songs in the shower?’

That shut him up.

‘You fell through the door? Anna!’ Marianne said, throwing up her arms and causing all of the bangles around her wrists to jangle loudly. ‘Why do you keep falling over all the time? What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing! I was leaning against the stupid door and someone opened it for no reason.’ I looked accusingly at Helena. ‘Someone from the wedding team. What even is a wedding team?’

‘They’re putting the wedding together for us,’ Helena explained, flicking through a bridal magazine. ‘I make all the decisions, they do all the work.’

‘We make all the decisions,’ Dad corrected. Helena ignored him, engrossed by a feature on cake.

‘Why were you leaning against the door?’ Marianne asked. ‘Why weren’t you just opening it?’

‘Because . . . we were chatting.’ I shrugged and kicked off my shoes. ‘I’m going to go upstairs and change.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ Marianne gasped. ‘Was he about to kiss you?’

‘What? No!’ I blushed furiously.

‘He totally was! You’ve gone bright red!’ She squealed. ‘You guys!’

‘No, he wasn’t. We were chatting,’ I explained to the room. ‘There was no kissing, or attempted kissing.’

‘I should hope not,’ Dad went all huffily. ‘You’re only fourteen.’

‘Oh Nick.’ Marianne looked at him sympathetically. ‘You’re so naive.’

‘Look, there was no kissing and there probably never will be,’ I announced, standing up. ‘Everyone at school has seen the plant pot video. Including Connor.’

‘Connor doesn’t care about plant pots,’ Marianne said smugly. ‘He’s just potty about you.’

‘Very nice, how long have you been waiting to say that?’

‘Basically since the video went viral. But I needed the right moment. Don’t worry about it, he’ll kiss you soon enough.’ Marianne winked.

‘Not under my roof. And I think Anna’s mother would agree with me too,’ Dad added.

Marianne snorted. I knew what she meant. My mum and dad had never actually been married, or even really together, and they were both very happy with this arrangement. Mum was what you might call a free spirit, and me kissing a boy was something I suspected she would have been delighted at, especially as she kept telling her friends that, unlike her, I was a ‘late bloomer’. Mortifying. She and Helena were just as bad as each other when it came to the topic of my barely-existent love life.

‘Everyone!’ Helena suddenly exclaimed from where she was perched on the end of the sofa. She held up her magazine for us all to see. ‘How do we all feel about exploding cakes?’

From: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

To: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

Subject: YAWN

OK, where are you? It does NOT take this long to walk back to your house, even if you’re distracted by . . . oh, I don’t know . . . KISSING A BOY????

Come on. Spill. And make it snappy. Mum keeps yelling at me because she can’t find the power button on the TV controller.

J x

From: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

To: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

Subject: Re: YAWN

There was no kissing. I fell through the front door.

Love, me xxx

From: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

To: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

Subject: Wow

You fell through the front door. Seriously?

What is wrong with you?

J x

From: anna_huntley@zingmail.co.uk

To: jess.delby@zingmail.co.uk

Subject: Re: Wow

I’ve been asking myself that question a lot this evening.

Love, me xxx