Not Pretty Enough
by
Jaimie Admans
Not Pretty Enough © Jaimie Admans.
First Kindle Edition.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents portrayed in it are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author.
First published in 2013 by Jaimie Admans.
Cover design by Jaimie Admans. Image © BeauSnyder/iStockPhoto.
Find out more about the author at http://www.jaimieadmans.com
Extra special thanks to two lovely friends and wonderful authors – Sharon Sant and Bryan Thomas.
Also by Jaimie Admans:
Afterlife Academy
Kismetology
Creepy Christmas
CHAPTER 1
There’s a common misconception that everyone wants big boobs. Let me tell you something: they don’t. If they’re fourteen and have a chest bigger than most of their school, including the teachers, they don’t. I’m a DD cup. People pay thousands of pounds to have their boobs enlarged to be smaller than mine. I can’t remember the last time I passed for a half fare on the bus. Or the last time a bus driver asked my face and not my chest for the fare. Everyone notices boobs when you’re my age. In fact, the only human in the world who doesn’t notice them is the one person I would quite like to notice them.
Lloyd Layton.
I’d quite like him to notice my personality too, but at this point just noticing my mere existence will do. If I have to use my boobs to lure him in, then so be it. The thing is, Lloyd Layton is hot, popular, and really, really tall. Taller than everyone else in our year. Taller than the teachers. Occasionally taller than the doorways. He knows what it’s like to be picked on for a physical attribute you can’t control. He’s different too. He knows what it’s like to be an outsider. Okay, when it comes to Lloyd Layton, he’s not really an outsider, because he’s absolutely gorgeous and loads of people like him, and I doubt anyone would dare to pick on him for anything because he could knock them flying with one swoop of his gigantic hands. But still. He’s taller than everyone and I have bigger boobs than everyone. We’re clearly a match made in heaven. It’s just a shame that he can’t see it yet.
But I’m sure he will one day soon.
I’m actually moving closer to that goal because he said one sentence to me back in December.
One sentence. Three small words. Not the three words I would like to hear him say, but I’ll take what I can get.
It was the last lesson of the last day of term before the Christmas holidays. Double technology. Not usually something to get excited about, but we came to the conclusion that the Christmas spirit had gone to Mr Vale’s head because he let us watch a movie in class instead of doing any work.
The Princess Bride.
We were allowed to pull chairs in around the TV and sit and watch a movie for two hours. Guess who pulled his chair in not that far away from mine?
Lloyd Layton.
I don’t know what happened next. I can’t explain it. It was like having an out of body experience. I’ll never understand how I had the courage to do it, but halfway through the film, I leaned over and said, “This is a good movie.” To Lloyd Layton. Better than that, he actually replied. He said, “Yes, it is.”
Three whole words.
It got even better than that again because after it was over and we were putting the chairs up on the desks, he smiled at me. A real smile. And it wasn’t at the person behind me because I was next to a wall. He smiled at me.
Now I haven’t seen him for two weeks because of the school holidays, so he’s probably forgotten I exist again. But things are going to be different this year. I’ve made some decisions. They aren’t New Year’s Resolutions as such, because I read in a magazine that people are more likely to give up on New Year’s Resolutions, and I am not going to give up on Lloyd Layton.
So, these are my New Year’s Decisions:
1. Lloyd Layton will know I exist. He has already said three whole words to me, so this is obviously progress. If I do not get a proper conversation out of him soon, then I’ll take my top off and streak through the cafeteria, because nobody could fail to notice these boobs.
2. I will not get expelled for streaking through the cafeteria.
Those are my resolutions and I’m going to stick to them, come what may. Lloyd Layton will know of my existence. You never know, maybe I’ll even be off to a jump-start and he’ll remember me as the girl who thinks The Princess Bride is a good movie.
CHAPTER 2
January.
I stare at the back of Lloyd’s shaggy brown hair as I follow him across the yard. He doesn’t know I’m following him, of course. I’m not even following him, not really. Not this time, anyway. Debs and I are just casually strolling across the yard towards the buses and he happens to be in front of us.
“Chessie!” Debs shouts at me just a second too late as I walk smack bang into the side of a bus.
Ouch.
Lloyd turns around at the sound of the clattering thunk I make.
Usually I like the sound of Lloyd’s laugh, but not today. Not when he’s laughing at me.
“You couldn’t have told me just a second earlier?” I ask Debs.
“Sorry,” she says. “I was talking to you and didn’t realise you weren’t listening until it was too late.”
Luckily the bus I’ve just walked into happens to be our bus, and I throw myself onto it with such force that I nearly come out the other side.
“You all right, love?” The driver asks. I ignore him and heave myself down into my seat with a huff.
I am all right. My boobs are so large they hit the bus before the rest of me did, otherwise I’d probably have a bruised face as well as the bruised ego. Once, just once, couldn’t these things happen to me when Lloyd isn’t watching? It’s not too much to ask, is it?
“Maybe if you spent more time watching where you were going and less time watching Lloyd, these things wouldn’t happen in front of him,” Debs says.
I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“But he’s just so… watchable.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s talkable to as well, you know, if you tried.”
The thing is, I have tried. Lloyd brings out the worst in me. He brings out the most nervous, clumsiest, downright embarrassing side of me that doesn’t even exist unless he’s in the immediate vicinity. Well, maybe it exists but it doesn’t show half as much if Lloyd’s not there.
“Why don’t you?” Debs is saying. “Just go and talk to him. You’re a great girl. He’d be lucky to have you.”
“Oh, please. Lloyd is popular, rich, and gorgeous. He doesn’t even have to get a bus to school, the lucky bugger. I’m the complete opposite.”
No one even knows where Lloyd Layton lives. He has a taxi bringing him to school every morning and picking him up outside the gate every afternoon. I get to ride on this rustbucket with Debs twice a day. He’s popular, always surrounded by a gang of equally popular mates, and always the first to be picked for sports teams. I’m unpopular, always surrounded by no one but Debs, and always the absolute last to be picked for sports teams.
“Come on, Chessie,” Debs says. “You’re not ugly and you’re not unpopular. No one dislikes you.”
“No one particularly likes me either.”
“I particularly like you. Ewan does too. We’re your friends.”<
br />
“I love you for trying to make me feel better but I’m average all round and you know it. The only person who has any feelings towards me whatsoever is Leigh, and she intensely dislikes me.”
“Leigh is just a bitch. She intensely dislikes everything.”
Leigh Marlow is our class bully. She walks around the school like she owns the place, flanked on either side by two other bullies who think the sun shines out of her backside. If she doesn’t get what she wants, someone gets hurt. What she wants this year is our friend Ewan, who isn’t interested in her in the slightest. She thinks this is somehow our fault, so Debs and I are her current targets. Me in particular.
This is why I made those resolutions. Not because of Leigh, but because I have to do something. I’m sick of being the girl who doesn’t stand out. I doubt most of the kids in my form could even tell you my name, and I’ve been in class with them for over two years. I get good enough marks but never good marks. I’ve never done anything memorable in my life. The most memorable thing about me is the size of my boobs and how frizzy my hair goes in the rain.
So I’m going to make Lloyd Layton fall in love with me. On most days it seems like the unlikeliest thing that could ever happen, because apart from those three little words last month, he barely even glances in my direction. I want to prove to myself that I can do things if I put my mind to it. I’m not pretty, I’m not smart, but I think Lloyd and I have lots of deeper, more important things in common. I want to prove to people like Leigh that looks don’t matter, and not being as pretty as her isn’t the end of the world.
CHAPTER 3
I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on Lloyd Layton. It was during a school assembly in June last year. He was sitting in the main hall, a row in front of me as we all sat in lines, gathered for a mind-numbingly boring lecture from the principal.
I noticed Lloyd because he was talking to Ewan. Ewan and I have been friends forever. I’ve known him, literally, since nursery school. Our mums are really good friends. My dad died when I was seven and Ewan’s mum came to stay with us for a few days to help my mum get over the shock.
Here in Wales, at Bach Afon Comprehensive School at least, each form is made up of a few kids from each primary school in the area, and known by the year and an alphabet letter. We’re in 9B. Lloyd is in 9C.
Debs, Ewan and I are the ones from our primary school in our form. We’ve all known each other for years, and so we’re good friends and usually stick together unless Ewan decides to be all macho at lunchtime and hang around with a gang of boys instead. His own friends from primary school are in different forms so he only sees them in the yard or if they’re in the same set for lessons. We’re divided into sets depending on our exam results from the previous year. Set One are pupils who got over sixty percent, Set Two are those who got thirty to sixty percent, and Set Three are the ones who got under thirty percent.
Anyway, this huge tall guy was talking to Ewan a row in front of me. He had to be new because I’d never seen him before, and at that size, he wasn’t exactly someone you could miss. At first glance I thought he was a year eleven, but there was no way any year eleven would let themselves be seen dead talking to a year eight, so he had to have been thirteen like the rest of us.
“Who was that?” I hissed at Ewan when he crawled back into our line.
“Lloyd Layton. He just joined 8C. He’s friends with Darren.”
Darren was Ewan’s best friend from primary school, the one who wasn’t in our form.
“He’s huge,” Debs said on the other side of me.
We didn’t see how tall he actually was until we all stood up to leave. Holy cow. I’d always thought I was quite tall. At five foot five, my growth spurt had come when I was much too young for it, and I was now one of the tallest girls in our class, and taller than most of the boys. But this new boy, Lloyd, was much taller than me, and by the looks of it, taller than most of the teachers too. He was at least six foot something. Our maths teacher is six foot three, and Lloyd looked at least that size, if not more. At thirteen, in amongst a lot of five foot nothing teenagers, you couldn’t help but notice him. He stuck out like a sore thumb.
That was six months ago. Since then we’d all moved on to year nine, up to fourteen-years-old, and I’d spent the best part of a year salivating over that tall guy.
Lloyd ended up in my set for most classes. This is fortunate or unfortunate for me, depending on how many times I embarrass myself in class. I never plucked up the courage to speak to him, but he must’ve been super intelligent. He never seemed to struggle with the work like I did. I had managed to get myself put in Set One for most classes but I didn’t belong there. People like Ewan belonged there, people who had aced all their exams with a ninety-eight percent score. Not people like me who had scraped sixty or sixty-one percent and got put into Set One because technically it was over sixty percent. Set One was for clever people. Not people who wanted to spend all their time daydreaming and chatting to Debs when the teacher wasn’t looking.
CHAPTER 4
March.
Sometimes I think I must be the unluckiest person in Wales, and other times I think that fate must be on my side for once to make up for all the other stuff. Like now, for instance. We’re in maths with our teacher, Mr Griffiths. We don’t have assigned seating as such, but you choose your seat on the first day of class and it’s assumed you will sit there for the rest of the year. I usually sit halfway down the back row, next to Ewan. This is a very desirable seat, being next to Ewan, because he’s so good at maths and I’m so rubbish at it. He explains what I don’t understand and don’t want to look stupid by asking the teacher to explain it again. The problem today is that I was kept behind in geography, and when I rush into maths class, I’m late and flustered. Leigh has obviously assumed I’m not coming and taken my seat next to Ewan. It’s like she thinks sitting next to him will make him fancy her as much as she fancies him.
So now, I’m squished on the end of the row by myself. But here is the part where fate cuts me a break. Miracle of miracles, I’m not the last into the lesson. Lloyd is. And his seat is taken too.
“Where should I sit, sir?” he asks, out of breath from running to make it on time.
“Go and grab a chair and squeeze in on the end there next to Francesca,” Mr Griffiths points at me, grinning like he has just said something hilarious.
“Chessie,” I mutter under my breath. I hate anyone using my proper name.
Holy crap. What am I going to do? Lloyd Layton is going to sit next to me. Next to me. I have no idea what to do. Do I attempt to chat to him without slobbering? Do I act all cool and aloof and pretend that I am not nearly peeing myself with excitement and breaking out in a cold sweat simultaneously?
Lloyd dumps his bag on the floor next to mine. (Our bags are touching! It’s a sign! Or maybe I’m delirious.) He doesn’t acknowledge me at all as he waves to his mates on the other side of the room. I decide to be cool and aloof and not the bumbling idiot I normally am. At least I’m sitting down so I can’t trip over my own feet or walk into anything. I’ll look all relaxed and intellectual, and Lloyd will be impressed that I understand maths so well. Maybe he’ll even ask me for help with a question. Me. I wonder if I should attempt to start a conversation with him, I could say something like “bloody teacher kept you behind too, huh?” but Mr Griffiths has already started twittering on about something to do with algebra, and I don’t really understand a word of it, and that will never do for looking cool in front of Lloyd. So I pull out my new pink fluffy pen and try to look productive. I’m really glad I bought this pen at the weekend, it’s bound to impress Lloyd. It’s very cute, and it makes my writing look super neat.
Mr Griffiths mentions a page number, so we all open our textbooks and start reading the page. It’s gobbledegook. I don’t understand a word. I can’t put my hand up and ask Mr Griffiths to come and explain it to me with Lloyd sitting right there. I’m supposed to be good at this. I’m supposed to know
this stuff. So I just start writing. I am writing gibberish. I have no idea what the hell sequential algebra is or why anybody would want to learn about it, but I want Lloyd to be impressed by my mathematic ability, so I just write a load of numbers in my book. I figure it doesn’t really matter what I write, as long as it looks like I’m working to Lloyd, I can tear the pages out at breaktime and get Ewan to explain it to me then.
Then a funny thing happens. I hear the words, “Sir, I don’t get this,” come from the seat next to me. This is very strange because it sounds like Lloyd’s Welsh accent, but Lloyd is some kind of genius and always gets maths stuff. I risk a glance towards him, and sure enough, he has his hand in the air and is beckoning for Mr Griffiths to come over. Wow, I think. Lloyd doesn’t get this, and I look like I do. He must be so impressed.
But Mr Griffiths is a bit busy. He is bending over Cole’s work, shaking his head and muttering. He looks at Lloyd distractedly. Then he looks at me. Then he says a terrible, terrible thing.
“Ask Francesca to explain it to you, she knows what she’s doing.”
Oh, crap. Why can’t we be doing something easy?
I immediately go to put my hand up to object, but Mr Griffiths has gone back to Cole’s work, and Lloyd is looking at me expectantly.
Okay, deep breath. All I have to say is one simple sentence. All I have to say is, ‘actually, I don’t really understand it myself,’ and all will be well. The teacher will come over and explain it to both of us, and Lloyd will ask me what I’ve been writing in my book for the past twenty minutes, and I might have to admit that it mainly involves CC loves LL doodled in various fancy handwriting with my new pen. So instead I say, “Sure, I’ll explain it to you.”
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