Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture! (28 page)

Though she could still see the blonde girl over Fred’s shoulder. She had swum off beyond the breakwater and was talking, possibly about breast stroke, to a hairy-chested man lying on a surfboard with a chain round his neck.

How totally stupid I was to lose it like that
, thought Jess. Her jealousy had nearly ruined everything.

‘I love it when you’re jealous!’ said Fred mischievously.

‘I wasn’t really jealous!’ said Jess.

‘Yes you were – your face went red.’

‘That was just good acting.’

‘How disappointing!’ said Fred. ‘I was insanely jealous myself. You and that hunky ice-cream man getting all lovey-dovey over the whipped-cream cones.’

‘Fred! He was a hundred years old and bald with no teeth!’

Fred grabbed her feet and started to tickle. Jess plunged and screamed with laughter.

‘Not fair! Not fair!’ she gasped, swallowing water and coughing. ‘Stop! Stop!’

‘I won’t stop until you apologise for getting cross!’ said Fred. ‘And wasting the ice creams.’

‘Well, what hope is there for me, with blonde bombshells like her taking a fancy to you? And that girl at the caterer’s – Rosie,’ said Jess.

‘Blondes are not my type,’ said Fred. ‘I prefer a horrid little dark podgy girl! Especially when she’s angry! And by the way, Rosie was a complete invention.’

‘So you even go out of your way to make me jealous!’ said Jess, splashing water in his face.

‘I can’t help it!’ spluttered Fred. ‘You’re magnificent when you’re angry! Hey! This is our first row. Isn’t it great? I can’t wait till the next one.’ And he put his arms round her and kissed her with magnificent panache, while cleverly avoiding drowning.

‘I’m sorry I was jealous,’ said Jess after the kiss. ‘But I quite like this making-up bit.’ Jess had to accept it: there would always be gorgeous blonde girls hovering when her back was turned. Girls with tanned faces and hair bleached by the sun. Granny had been right about the beach being a dangerous place.

She just had to hope and pray that Fred persisted in his weird, perverted preference for her rather grotesque pallid self. And oh no! She had to slosh on the Factor 30 as soon as they got out of the sea. Red was so
not
her favourite colour. Especially for noses and shoulders.

They swam out a bit further and let themselves be lifted up by the ocean swell.

‘Help!’ said Jess. ‘I’m totally out of my depth!’

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ said Fred, ‘just lie on your back and imagine you’re a dolphin!’

Fred grabbed her legs and whirled her round and round in the water. Jess lay back and felt the sky wheel above her, and the sea whirl all around her, until it all became a blur, just a single, glorious blue.

Hi, guys!

Yo
u
’re so brilliant reading this and i
t
’s really cheered me up, as Fred is being a bit of a toad at the moment — not that h
e
’s covered with warts and is shooting poison out of his neck (but give him time). Sometimes I feel that yo
u
’re my only friend, especially when Flor
a
’s at orchestra practice. So please, please, do me a ginormous favour and visit my fabulous, dazzling, low
-
calorie, high
-
energy website —
www.JessJordan.co.uk
!!!!

I
’m going to be blogging away (I wrote glogging by accident at first and I kind of like it, so I might be glogging too) and I can promise you loads of laughs, polls, quizzes, interactive stuff, downloadable goodies, plus sensational secrets that Fred, Flora, Ben, Mackenzie and Jodie have begged me to never reveal! Do
n
’t tell them I sent you — and promise yo
u
’ll be there!

Love,

Jess!

Jess Jordan’s Top Tips for Travelling with Parents

1) Get a T-shirt printed that says: The
y
’re not my parents. The
y
’re my butler and PA.

2) If your parents try to take you into a museum, scream, ‘Help!
I
’m being abducted
!
’

3) On the beach, before your dad has a chance to start playing volleyball, bury him up to his neck in sand.

4) Make sure your mum has a huge supply of gossip mags to keep her quiet. Always plaster yourself in Factor 30 sunscreen before she starts nagging you about it.

5) Once plastered with sunscreen, roll in the sand and then you can enter the fancy-dress competition as a giant Scotch egg.

For more top tips from Jess, visit
www.JessJordan.co.uk

Loved this story about Jess?

You’ll adore

Pants on Fire!

Chapter 1

Fred and Jess were sitting under their tree in the park. They’d worked a bit on their latest script, based on the Queen delivering her Christmas message as a rap artist. They’d shared a chocolate ice cream the size of a small piano. A cute dog had visited them and refrained from pooing. Everything was just about as perfect as it could be, except that they had to go back to school tomorrow.

‘Did your dad send you a Commandment today?’ asked Fred.

Jess located it on her mobile and handed it over. Fred read it and laughed.

‘It’s ironical really,’ he said. ‘Your dad is just about the least commanding guy I’ve ever met.’

‘True,’ said Jess. ‘If you were looking for somebody to play God in a bad mood, Dad would be the last person you’d choose.’

‘You’d probably choose Irritable Powell,’ said Fred thoughtfully. Mr Powell, universally known as Irritable, would be their new Head of Year when they got back to school tomorrow. A treat in store.

‘I hope I never irritate him,’ said Jess. ‘His shouting fits can cause structural damage.’

‘I wish we were back in St Ives with your dad,’ said Fred. ‘That was such an amazing trip. I was astounded that he accepted me as your . . . gentleman companion. And frankly, rather disappointed. I was expecting him to horsewhip me or throw me into the sea.’

‘Yeah, it was a brilliant holiday,’ sighed Jess. ‘I sort of hoped that Dad would be OK about us. But even my mum seemed to tolerate the idea. It was immensely cunning of you to compare her to Jane Austen, you ruthless charmer!’

‘We learnt that in our first week at gigolo school,’ said Fred. ‘It’s an appealing career choice, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

‘Just make sure the next old lady you fascinate is a tad richer than my mum,’ said Jess. ‘It was so embarrassing when Dad and Phil had to pay for the birthday curry!’

Jess’s birthday the previous week had been celebrated in an Indian restaurant among towering piles of popadoms and seven different vegetable dishes. Her mum, however, had behaved badly by losing her purse and having a panic attack. The purse had turned up later that night, back home under a pile of dirty laundry.

‘Thank goodness Phil had one of those flashy gold credit cards!’ said Jess in rapture. ‘In fact, he’s completely divine. What could be better than a camp stepfather with a boutique and a boat? I can’t wait to get back to school tomorrow and boast about my dad being gay.’

Jess sent her dad a text message saying,
PICNIC IN THE PARK WITH FRED. WISH YOU WERE HERE. SCHOOL TOMORROW. YOU’LL BE FAMOUS BY LUNCHTIME. OR SHOULD I SAY INFAMOUS?

‘I don’t know how to say this,’ said Fred suddenly. There was an odd, sad note to his voice. Jess’s heart missed a beat. He looked up at her, his head resting on his hand.

‘What?
What?
’ said Jess. ‘You’re not ill or something, are you? You’re not going to die? I have nothing to wear that would be suitable for your funeral.’ Inside, she was suddenly
really worried
.

‘You’re going to hate me for this,’ said Fred.

‘I already hate you more than anyone else on earth,’ said Jess. ‘So go for it! Spill the beans.’

‘The thing is,’ Fred rolled over on to his back and stared up through the branches of the tree to the sky, ‘I have real problems about going back to school.’

‘Don’t we all?’ said Jess, though really she was looking forward to it. It would be so cool. Her dad was gay, which would enormously increase her prestige. And, even more wonderful, everyone would know she and Fred were together. She was going to be so immensely proud, she might just have to sell their story to the newspapers.

‘No, I mean . . .’ Fred hesitated, and rolled over on to his chest. ‘I don’t mean just the routine back-to-school nausea and boredom stuff. I mean, I have problems, with . . . you know, our so-called relationship.’

An invisible spear hurtled down through the air and pinned Jess’s heart to the earth.

‘What do you mean?’ She tried for a light-hearted tone, but somehow it came out in a desperate gasp, as if she were a fish that had suddenly found itself out of its beloved water and trapped in the horrible dry burning air.

‘I’m sorry to be such an idiot,’ Fred went on, not looking at Jess, but staring instead at the grass just below his face, ‘but the thought of everybody at school giving us a hard time . . . You know, uh – the ridicule . . . the jokes . . . Nightmare! The thought of it makes me want to walk over to the railings over there and hurl my recent lunch into the nettles.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Jess. Her hands had started to shake. ‘Nobody’ll be even the slightest bit interested.’

‘It’s just,’ said Fred, suddenly taking refuge in a silly posh voice, ‘that I’ve got my reputation to think of, my dear. My identity, you know? I’m the – how can I put it? Eccentric loner. I am famously unable to form relationships. If everybody knows that we’re together I shall lose whatever street cred I ever had and be despised as a doting nerd.’

Jess’s arteries were now pumping to maximum. Her fight-or-flight mechanism had kicked in. How could Fred be saying these horrible, heartless things? Had she never really known him after all? Did he really care more about his so-called glamorous loner’s identity than his relationship with her?

Everything glorious that they had shared that summer suddenly took on a sad, doomed kind of air, even the fabulous time at the seaside with her dad and Phil and Mum and Granny. She was so proud of Fred, she couldn’t wait for everyone at school to know they were together. But it seemed he wasn’t proud of her. Oh no. He was
ashamed
of her, apparently.

‘Well, I’d hate you to be inconvenienced in any way,’ she snapped. ‘Obviously it would be a disaster if you should be thought a doting nerd. So what is all this? Are you dumping me?’

‘Oh no, no, not at all, of course not,’ said Fred, avoiding her eye. ‘It’s just, well, I thought we might just keep it all under wraps, as we used to say in MI5.’

He’d put on the posh voice again. Though Jess usually loved all Fred’s comedy voices, right now it infuriated her. It was as if he was escaping from her by pretending to be somebody else.

‘You know,’ Fred went on. ‘We could avoid being seen together, except in disguise. Never actually talk, just leave notes in each other’s lockers – in code. We could even stage a massive row. Or put out some misinformation – pretend we’re deadly enemies.’