Dress to Impress

I’ve never had anything against Jasmine Harris. She’s another Year Ten like Ben, and she’s tall and shiny-haired. But I do have a problem with her snuggling up to my crush.

“Isn’t that Lucy’s brother?” asked Mum as they came closer.

My eyes were glued to Ben. He was leaning towards Jasmine now. They were about to…

“See you later,” I blurted to Mum and took off sideways, away from the path and the sight of Ben and Jasmine kissing. Kissing.

Ben Hanratty has a girlfriend!

Two (#ulink_7ef55b0b-a8e4-547e-a89a-a7ceb9e66cf9)

“What’s up with you, Col?” Dad asked at dinner that night.

“Nothing,” I muttered, prodding the green beans around my plate.

“The last time I saw a face that long, I was stood next to a crocodile,” Dad continued.

“Ha, ha.” I squinched up my face at Dad to show him that his joke was totally unfunny.

“Come on, love,” Mum coaxed. “Eat up your tea. There’s apple pie for afters.”

My mouth watered a bit. Mum’s apple pie is the best. She puts in loads of cinnamon and her pastry is always crumbly and sweet. But then I thought about Ben and Jasmine…

“Sorry, Mum,” I said gloomily. “I’m not really hungry.”

Em was still rabbiting on about Billy Wilson. “He’s got the best right foot ever,” she said between mouthfuls of chicken and beans. “And he tackles like a train. And he’s starting at my school after half-term!”

“You’ll be married before we know it,” said Dad gravely, pouring himself a glass of water. “I’ll book the church.”

“Dad!” Em squealed, giggling at the thought of marrying Billy Wilson.

All this talk about marrying was putting me off my food again. What did Ben Hanratty see in Jasmine Harris? OK, so she was in Year Ten with Ben and I was only a little kid in Year Eight, but that wasn’t supposed to matter when it came to love. I decided gloomily that it was the height thing. I’m only a bit over five feet, while Jasmine is so tall she probably spends her free time pulling jumbo jets out of her hair. They say the best things come in small packages. It looked like Ben Hanratty thought differently.

“Apple pie,” Mum announced, clearing the plates and putting a slice of pie each and a jug of thick, creamy custard down on the table.

With my mind still on Ben and Jasmine, it took me a while to register the pie. I should’ve moved quicker. Before I knew it, Em had scoffed her slice, snatched mine and was already gobbling it down.

“Emma!” Mum snapped. She only calls my sister Emma when she’s done something naughty.

“Starving,” Em mumbled between mouthfuls. “Col said she wasn’t hungry.”

I goggled at the empty pie dish. Maybe there were worse things than broken hearts after all.

Going back to school after half-term is always tough. You get into the holiday habit of late morning lie-ins, and then – wham! When I heard my alarm on Monday morning, I rolled over and turned it off, same as I’d done all week. Then I snuggled back down into my cosy duvet and drifted away again.

The next thing I knew, the covers had been whipped right off me.

“Coleen!” Mum said. “Don’t you realise that it’s eight fifteen? I’ve been calling you for the past twenty minutes. You’re going to be late – get a move on!”

I shot out of bed like my PJs were on fire. My usual bus reaches the stop at around eight twentyfive every morning. Getting the bus after is always pushing it as it usually gets caught up in the middle of Hartley’s rush hour. Besides, it wouldn’t have Mel and Lucy on it – and I seriously needed to talk to Lucy about Ben and Jasmine.

Mum left me to it as I swung around my bedroom like a boomerang. Knickers! An ironed shirt – some hope. Where was my school jumper? And my skirt?

“Mum!” I roared, hopping around as I wriggled into my tights. “Have you seen my—”

A jumper and skirt sailed through the door and landed at my feet.

“Cheers, Dad,” I panted as my dad shook his head and jogged down the stairs.

“See you later, Coleen!” Em called, heading out the door with Mum.

I yanked my tie over my head, slid up the knot like a lasso and took the stairs in one leap. (This is only possible if you get the angle right and try not to put all your weight on the banister. I took the banister off the wall this one time, but that’s another story.) Grabbing my school bag, an apple and a slice of bread, I sprinted through the front door and tore down the street like an Olympic athlete in uniform. Then I groaned. Despite my best efforts, I was too late.

Panting to a halt, I watched miserably as my bus honked past, gusting out a smelly whoosh of exhaust. Mel and Lucy were pressed to the glass, waving sympathetically at me, while Dave Sheekey – Ben Hanratty’s best mate and the most annoyinglad at Hartley High – pulled stupid faces at me out the window. Ten minutes to wait till the next bus, then twenty minutes of biting my nails as I got later and later for register. I slumped down on one of the bus-stop seats and pulled out my apple. It wasn’t all bad, I supposed. At least I could brush my hair. And I was sure I had some tic tacs somewhere…

At five to nine, I burst through the classroom door like one of those cowboys you see in films who gets hurled through a saloon window.

“Ta-da,” I declared. “Not late!”

“Whoop-de-doo,” drawled Summer Collins, my least favourite girl in the whole of my class. Summer’s mates Hannah Davies and Shona Mackinnon sniggered on cue as Summer pushed back her long blonde hair with one hand. Hello? I thought. Who is she trying to impress?

“Sit down, Coleen,” our form teacher Mr Andrews said. Mr Andrews is OK, if you dig goatees and physics. “We’re almost at the end of register.”

I hurried to my seat and flopped down beside my mates. “Lucy,” I began, keen to get to the bottom of the whole Ben/Jasmine thing as soon as possible.

“Ravi Singh?” Mr Andrews read from the register. “Daniel Thorburn?”

As Ravi and Daniel grunted at Mr Andrews, I realised Mel and Lucy were both looking weirdly at me.

“What?” I said, my hand going instantly to my head. Doing a high ponytail at a bus stop without a mirror never really works. Did it look totally awful? I’d never seen Lucy looking so pale and agitated. She didn’t normally get freaked out by bad hair.

“Coleen,” Mel whispered, “you know the footie at the weekend?”

“Like I’m going to forget what an idiot I made of myself,” I said, lolling back in my chair. I couldn’t work out why Mel was talking so quietly. No one ever whispered at register. “That Frankie lad we met was nice, wasn’t he? I think he liked you, Lucy.”

“Shhhhh!” Lucy hissed wildly.

“Tanya Williams?” Mr Andrews went on.

“Here, sir,” said Tanya.

“And last of all, our new face,” Mr Andrews said. “Frankie Wilson?”

At Frankie Wilson’s name, I let out a loud snort. Again. Oh noooo. I swung around and gawped at the familiar-faced lad sitting at the back of the room. Frankie Wilson? Here at Hartley High?

“Present,” said Frankie Wilson with a smirk. “And may I thank the lovely laydee two tables down for such a warm welcome.”

I blushed like a tomato, while everyone in the room – especially Summer and her mates – laughed themselves sick. Lovely laydee? What a creep!