Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 06 Read online

  Dave said, “Ah, the old running into your legs, riding off backward and calling you slags thing. Ah-hum. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “They fancy you.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Uh-huh. Clear as daylight.”

  “But why don’t they say ‘I fancy you’?”

  “Because you might reject them in front of their mates.”

  “So they think running into my legs on their bikes is better?”

  “Yep.”

  “And calling us slags?”

  “Yep.”

  “And they think that after they have done that, I will say, “Gosh, yes, I would love to go out with you. Once my legs heal up.”

  “Yep.”

  “But that is mad. Boys are mad.”

  Dave looked all wise and did his eyebrow thing again.

  We slurped a bit more, then I said, “But why? How does it work? You know at break at school, when you talk about personal stuff, well…”

  Dave said, “Let me interrupt you there, kittykat. Lads don’t talk about ‘stuff’ at break. They play footie or that other well-known game ‘Do you know any good dentists?’”

  I said, “What?”

  “You know: ‘Do you know any good dentists? Because you are going to need one in a minute when I have to deck you.’”

  Blimey.

  Dave went on. “Of course we lads have the same feelings, we just communicate in a different way. Sometimes it does get personal, though.”

  I looked at him. This was better.

  “Yeah, for instance, yesterday one of the fifth form hung his girlfriend’s knickers out of the Science block window.”

  5:30 p.m.

  Walked home after my session with the Hornmeister still in a bit of a daze. When we said s’later he gave me a kiss on the cheek and didn’t attempt tickly bears or anything. Perhaps he is going straight. Who knows? But on the plus side he has said he will find out all he can about Masimo for me. He is such a good boy-type pal. He didn’t mention Rachel, which is a bit odd, as she’s supposed to be his girlfriend.

  5:35 p.m.

  Crossing into High Street I bumped into Tom. I like Tom, even though I think he is mad to go to Kiwi-a-gogo land. And go out with Jas. And go on camping fiascos. And go on about food produce. Other than that, I like him.

  He seemed to have a touch of sadnosity about him when he said, “Alright, Gee?”

  “Yes, fanks, alright as an…alright thing. And you?”

  He was unusually silent for him and eventually just said, “You’ll look after Jas for me, won’t you?”

  I said, “You bet your gol’darn bottom dollar, mister. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  He just looked at me.

  Like I was talking complete rubbish or something.

  6:00 p.m.

  Home in my room, covered in ungents for tip-top beautosity.

  I will say this, mashed banana is vair vair good for the luuurve complexion, which is not easy to say when you have a face full of mashed banana.

  I wish I had a photo of Masimo. I hope I don’t forget what he looks like. I’ll just lie down in my (unusually empty) bed and have a mental snog with him.

  6:25 p.m.

  Oh, buggering God’s bum. Angus and Gordy have come in and started playing the “mouse disguised as a foot” game. They attack my feet for a bit really viciously until I pull my feet up under my bum, then they lie down and go to sleep. But they are not really asleep, they are just pretending to be asleep. As soon as I snuggle down to snooze off into Masimo land they leap on my foot underneath the blankets and wrestle it. Then they “go to sleep” again. They don’t really think that my foot is a mouse and that it will creep out when it sees they are asleep, do they?

  6:40 p.m.

  How did Ms. Furry Tart, aka Naomi, get past the armed warden (Vati) and into my bed?

  Blimey, I am quite literally lying in a cat basket.

  6:45 p.m.

  I wish she wouldn’t do that lying on her back with her legs spread open thing on my bed.

  6:50 p.m.

  Gordy is sniffing her bottom. This is disgusting!!! In front of his dad. This is kitty porn—surely there must be some sort of helpline for this. A kittykat helpline.

  It could be called Paws for Thought.

  7:30 p.m.

  Oh, Masimo, soon we will be together and you can tell me all about Pizza-a-gogo land. The music. The art. The snogging. I wonder if they have special techniques that go with their passionate Mediterranean temperament? I hope he doesn’t get carried away and nibble my lips off.

  7:35 p.m.

  No, I hope he does!!! Nibble away, Luuurve God!!!

  wednesday may 11th

  in my bedroom

  7:07 p.m.

  How many hours is it till we go to Hamburger-a-gogo? Jas will know. I’m not phoning her though.

  Doorbell.

  I went quietly to the top of the stairs and looked down. Crikey Loon Alert! It was my grandad and he was wearing shorts! Not his huge, all-encompassing grandad shorts that he wore during the Boer War, but bicycle shorts. In Lycra. Good grief.

  Please, please tell me he has not taken up cycling. Please.

  I went back to my room quietly. Maybe if I hide behind the door they will think I am out and JUST GO AWAY.

  one minute later

  Oh, yeah. Dream on.

  Mutti called up, “Georgie, Grandad’s here!”

  I kept silent behind the door. Naomi, Angus and Gordy were all in my bed—again—doing their idiot cat staring at me. They had better not give my position away. It would be alright if it was just Gordon—because of his cross-eyedness you would have a one in two chance of not being caught because although one of his eyes is fixed on me, the other is glancing out the window. The advance loon party came clanking up the stairs.

  “Gingey, Gingey, it’s meeeeeeee, Libbbb-eeeeee…. Where is you?”

  I heard her huffing and puffing outside my door and doing her alarming laugh. “Hoggyhoggy. Here I come, reggy or nut.”

  Then she kicked my door and it burst open, very nearly flattening my nose.

  “Owwwwww.”

  She put her mad little face around the door and smiled at me. When, and how, did she lose her front teeth? And why did she think it was attractive to push her tongue through the gap?

  “Gingey, there you is! Cheeky monkey.”

  She threw all the cats off the bed and started tucking Scuba Diving Barbie and Jesus/Sandra up nice and comfy under the duvet. I tried to reason with her.

  “Bibsy, that’s not really Barbie and, er…Sandra’s bed, is it? It’s my bed and there is no room for—”

  She put her arms up to me and said, “Kiss.”

  Oh, blimey. She is cute, though. I picked her up to give her a little cuddle and she put her hand on my nose and was sort of squeezing it and twirling it around. It’s quite painful, actually—dear God, I hope it doesn’t swell up.

  Grandad was the next to arrive at the open bedroom loon party. He popped his head around the door and said, “Hello love, I’ve just been to the doctor because I’ve got a steering wheel down my shorts. I said to him, ‘Doctor will you do something about this steering wheel down my shorts, it’s driving me nuts!!!’ Do you see? Steering wheel, driving me nuts!!! Do you get it? Do you?”

  How DISGUSTING!

  He’s an octogenarian.

  My ears feel like prostitutes.

  8:00 p.m.

  Thank the Lord, Grandad has gone, unfortunately not before giving me a present from his “girlfriend” Maisie. I am sorry I ever suggested that Grandad was mad. His girlfriend has reached new and giddy heights of bonkerosity. Have you ever been given knitted toeless socks? In green, yellow and purple?

  No, I thought not.

  Grandad is going to house-sit the kittykats for the week we are away. I said to Mutti, “
Let’s just burn the house to the ground before we go. Because that is what it will be like when we get back. Face it.”

  Mum said, “You are so rude, Georgia, you’ll be old one day yourself.”

  I was going to go put my toeless socks on to give her the gist of what I was saying about the elderly insane, but then I realized I was on a charm mission. Also, Jas’s parents were coming round in half an hour. So I said, “Shall I make some snacks for when Jas’s M and D come round?”

  She looked at me like I had just suddenly turned into a talking egg.

  Even Gordy stopped eating Mum’s mules and looked at me with one eye.

  9:30 p.m.

  Phew. Me and Jas did secret thumbsie upsies as she and her mutti and vati left. Yessssss! And thrice yesss! We are off to Hamburger-a-gogo land!!

  Jas has got one hundred squids for spendies. It turns out that we are going to Memphis. I don’t know where that is exactly, but how far can that be from where Masimo is? Wherever that is.

  11:00 p.m.

  All’s well that ends well. Libby is in her own bed with Barbie and Our Lord Sandra, and the big cats have been thrown outside to lay waste to the vole population. Gordy is in his basket in the kitchen. So I can get some well-earned beauty sleep. My nose doesn’t seem any more swollen than normal.

  11:15 p.m.

  Dad says that Elvis Presley lived in Memphis and he was a musician (not that you would know that from the crap songs that Dad sings). Anyway, he was a musician and Masimo is a musician, ergo Memphis must be somewhere that musicians hang out.

  midnight

  Pray God that Dad doesn’t take his Elvis Presley quiff with him. Sometimes for a “joke” he sticks the quiff on and starts shaking his hips about—it’s disgusting. And also probably very dangerous hipwise for a man of his years.

  He and his lardy mates, the “lads,” think it is hilarious.

  It isn’t.

  12:05 a.m.

  Anyway, what do I care, I am on Cloud Nine in Luuurve Heaven.

  We go on May 22nd, which is eleven days away. I am sooooo excited.

  12:10 a.m.

  In the past Hawkeye has called me a ninny and has said that I “had the attention span of a pea,” but what she doesn’t know is that I have powers of discipline that would surprise a lot of people who accuse me of laziosity.

  When I put my mind to it I can do stuff. For instance, even though I am tired now and it is midnight, it is imperative that I get up and go to the bathroom and cleanse and tone my…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

  thursday may 12th

  on the way to school

  ten days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  “Jas, I am so vair vair full to the brim with excitementosity. Aren’t you?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Yes, so am I. Let’s sing ‘New York, New York’ to get us in the mood.”

  “No.”

  “That’s the spirit. You see, that is why coming to Hamburger-a-gogo is sooo good for you—it will broaden what there is of your mind.”

  I started to sing, “‘I want to be a part of it, New York, New YORK!!!!!’”

  I stopped because of intense pensioner glaring when we passed the post office.

  Jas was slouching along by my side like a trusty…badger.

  “Jas, why do they call it that? New York, New York? We don’t say London, London, do we?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Perhaps it is because Hamburgese people are a bit on the slow side and don’t get it immediately, so they have to say it twice.”

  9:30 p.m.

  Vati made us watch a really old film tonight with John Wayne in it.

  midnight

  I was right to be worried about them being a bit on the slow side. Crikey, John Waaaaaaayne speaks slowly. If all Americans speak so slowly I’ll be there all day queuing up behind people as they ask for a cup of “caaaaaawwwwwfffeeeee.” (And I don’t even know why I am in the queue, as I don’t even like caawwfffee.)

  Also, if Dad doesn’t stop singing Elvis songs I may go insane.

  friday may 13th

  dawn

  nine days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  Dad burst into my room in his pajamas and Elvis quiff, singing “Heartbreak Hotel.”

  Now that I am up I will make a list of stuff to take to the States.

  7:25 a.m.

  This is my packing list.

  1. Makeup essentials

  2. Really gorgey clothes

  I’ve gathered my makeup essentials together and they fill a suitcase.

  I wonder if I can get Jassy to put some of my makeup in her bag. Mind you, knowing her, she’s already filled her bag with her ginormous knickers—or big “panties,” as we must learn to call them now.

  Although “big panties” reminds me of incontinent knickers.

  Still, let the Americans have it their way. I love them all. And I mean that most sincerely.

  Even though I have never met them.

  chaos headquarters

  8:00 a.m.

  Mutti was dragging Gordy out of Libby’s haversack. And Libby was hitting Mum on the head with her spoon.

  “Bad Mummy, bad.”

  Libby had hidden Gordy in her havvy because she wants to take him to kindy with her. But even Mum noticed the haversack walking around by itself.

  Then the phone rang.

  Mutti yelled at me, “Get that, Georgia, its bound to be one of your daft friends.”

  Oh, that is nice, isn’t it? It is much more likely to be one of her daft friends.

  I answered it and said, “Yes, hello. Reception speaking, Hotel Insane.”

  It was Dave the Laugh. Oh my giddygod, and I hadn’t even got any lip gloss on.

  He said, “Hi, Sex Kitty, Hornmeister here. I’m in a hurry but thought you would like to know that the extremely flash Masimo, who I personally feel might be on the gay side handbagwise—”

  “Dave…”

  “OK, OK. All I can find out is that he is staying in Manhattan and his surname is Scarlotti.”

  I said, “Oh, thank you thank you, Dave.”

  “It’s cool. I’m sure we can think of some way you can repay me—it may involve heavy snogging. ’Bye.”

  And he put the phone down.

  Yipppppeeeee!!!

  Manhattan, here I come.

  8:30 a.m.

  Ran to meet Jas.

  She was all flustered like a fringy loon.

  I said, “Howdy.”

  “Come on, Georgia, we’ll be late.”

  As we galloped along I said, “I am going to speak American all day today.”

  Jas went pant pant. “They speak English.”

  I said, “Don’t be mad.”

  Pant pant. We arrived on time, but only just. Wet Lindsay was on sadist duty. She looked at us as we panted by her like we were a couple of turds in uniform.

  “Can’t you two grow up and be on time for once?”

  I gave her a big smile whilst gazing at her ear.

  I said, “Howdy. Now you all have a nice day. You hear?”

  She stomped off to terrorize some first formers, but she was fingering her lug holes. Hahahahahaha. And also hasta la vista, baby. Possibly.

  maths

  God, maths is boring. And complete bollocks.

  When I marry Masimo I will have manservants to do my adding up for me.

  And my quadratics equations, which I will never use.

  lunchtime

  Operation Track Down the Luuuuuuuuuurve God.

  Made Jas come to the library with me.

  Miss Wilson almost fell off her stool when we came in.

  I calmed her by saying, “Alrighty? Now you all have a nice day.”

  We lugged the big atlas to a table and I leafed through the maps until I got to America and found New York, New York.

  I said to Jas, “Now, where is Memphis, Memphis?”

  Jas found it and
said, “It looks a bit far down.”

  For once she is not wrong. On the plus side, Manhattan is only about an eighth of an inch long.

  But it is about two feet from Memphis.

  Still, there must be buses surely.

  4:30 p.m.

  On the way home I was singing “Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play.” To Jazzy. She loves a bit of a singsong.

  I said that. I said, “You love a bit of a singsong don’t you, Jazzy.”

  “No.”

  “See, I knew you did. You do a little dance whilst I sing the chorus. You could do a dance based on a deer. Go on, do the little deer dance, make your feet like—”

  And that is when she kicked me. She can be very violent.

  She said, “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Hunk—er, I mean Tom, about Hamburger-a-gogo land.”

  I looked at her in amazednosity. Radio Jas, the voice of the nation, had not told Hunky something?

  She said, “I can be just as independent and adventurous as him.”

  I didn’t laugh, even though I have seen the amount of knickers that Jas thinks she will need for seven days.

  I MUST sort out my clothes this weekend.

  le weekend

  11:00 a.m.

  Now then, I am going to take a “capsule” wardrobe. It’s what Naomi Campbell and all the top models do. They just take the absolute essentials with them when they travel.

  12:00 p.m.

  I’m exhausted, but I have managed to whittle my capsule wardrobe down to six cases.

  12:01 p.m.

  And a rucksack.

  12:03 p.m.

  Apart from my shoes, which I can’t get in, but Mum will probably put them in her case.

  12:30 p.m.

  Nobody has yet told Libby that Angus and Gordy are not coming with us on our holidays.

  12:35 p.m.

  When someone does tell her, I will tell you one thing for free: it will not be me. I need all my limbs for my Luuurve quest.

  12:40 p.m.

  Libby has made Gordy a paper bikini for his holidays, which might come in handy if he were coming on holiday.

  And cats wore bikinis.

  And if he hadn’t immediately destroyed it and then buried it in the rubber plant.

  sunday may 15th

  midday

  seven days to hamburger-a-gogo land

  I hate my dad. He is so unreasonable it’s like dealing with a spoiled child. I asked Mum if she would be so kind as to slip my shoes in her case and all hell broke loose. Dad said, “Why don’t you put them in your case?”