Girls in Tears

by Jacqueline Wilson

  'Well, at least it was a quick way to go,' I say.

  'So, what have you done with her body?' asks Nadine with interest.

  'Nadine!' I say. I know she's a Goth but sometimes she's way too ghoulish.

  'I've put her in my best Pied à Terre shoe box,' Magda says solemnly. 'I thought I'd bury her in the garden today.'

  'Great! Then we can have a funeral after school, right?' says Nadine. 'We'll all wear black and I'll compose a sad hamster requiem and you can read a poem in Fudge's memory and we'll paint the shoe box to look like a coffin. Ellie, you can design a little portrait to put under plastic and stick onto Fudge's gravestone.'

  Magda is keen on the idea.

  'We can have funeral baked meats, whatever they are. They don't have to be real meat, do they? Let's have black food! We could have very rich dark chocolate cake, which looks almost black, and black cherry cheesecake too. And we could raise a champagne flute of Coke in fond memory of poor little Fudge,' I suggest.

  Then I remember. 'Oh bum! I can't. I'm seeing Russell.'

  'We can have the funeral straight after school,' says Nadine.

  'No, he's coming to meet me from school. I'm going back to his place.'

  'You can do that any old day, Ellie. But we'll have to have Fudge's funeral now or she'll start to decompose,' says Nadine.

  Magda gives a little whimper.

  'Yeah, look, you're upsetting Mags. Don't friends come before boys? That's what you're always drumming into us,' says Nadine.

  'It's different with Russell. He's not any old boy. It's getting serious,' I say, going pink. I look down at my ring.

  Magda notices at last. She gasps. 'Russell's given you a ring, Ellie?' she says.

  'Yeah, off a kids' comic,' says Nadine nastily.

  'I don't care where he got it from. It's the sentiment that counts,' I say loftily. 'I like my ring better than the biggest diamond.'

  I twist it proudly round and round my finger, trying not to let the ugly green mark show.

  I can't help thinking Nadine is stained metaphorically green with jealousy. It's probably because her relationship with Liam didn't last. Russell and I are in love. We are going to go out for ever and ever.

  Chapter Four

  Girls cry when

  they hate the

  way they look

  Four

  Girls cry when

  they hate the way they look

  Russell is waiting for me outside our school. I spot him the minute Magda, Nadine and I set foot in the playground. Russell waves and I wave back self-consciously. Lots of girls are staring. I feel silly with everyone looking, but proud too. I'm thrilled that I've actually got a real boyfriend meeting me. He looks great too, even in his school uniform.

  I feel especially ultra-hideous in mine. Despite all my efforts to look cool I've got paint all down my sweater and my skirt's all crumpled and my shoes are muddy from taking a short cut across the playing field to the Art huts. And I couldn't find any unladdered tights this morning so I'm wearing childish socks that ruck around my ankles.

  Loads of Year Nine girls are peering at Russell, eyeing him up and down, seemingly impressed. Magda and Nadine do not look impressed.

  'Why don't you get him to have a haircut, Ellie? That flopping-in-the-eyes style is so last year,' Magda says snippily.

  'Are you sure he's really Year Eleven? He looks much younger,' says Nadine. 'I'd never feel kind of right, going out with a schoolboy.'

  I know they're both just winding me up. They're not really serious. But it gets to me all the same. 'I think Russell's hair is fantastic. I'd hate it if he cut it,' I say. 'And I think he looks at least sixteen. How old is this wonderful new guy of yours, Nadine?'

  'What new guy?' says Magda.

  Nadine looks mysterious. She taps her nose. 'Ah! So you suddenly both want to know. Well . . . he's nineteen!'

  'Oh, Naddie! Look, didn't you learn your lesson with Liam?' I groan.

  'Ellis isn't a silly loser like Liam,' Nadine says.

  'Ellis?'

  'Yeah, Ellis Travers. Cool name, or what?'

  'So why is this ultra-cool nineteen-year-old Ellis wanting to go out with a schoolgirl in Year Nine?' I say. 'As if I couldn't guess!'

  'Guess all you like, Ellie, I don't care.'

  I care, though. Russell is frowning at me, exaggerating his waves. He's obviously wondering why I'm not rushing over to him straight away. But I feel I've got to find out about this new guy of Nadine's. She's so infuriating. Why does she do this to me?

  'Is he really nineteen, Nad?' Magda asks.

  I can tell she's irritated too. She's the prettiest. She's the one who should have heaps of boys desperate to go out with her. But all she's got is an on/off relationship with Greg, while I've got a proper boyfriend and now Nadine has got a guy of nineteen—

  'He's only five years older than me. It's no big deal,' says Nadine airily.

  I hate it that Nadine and Magda are fourteen now. I'm still stuck at thirteen, which seems sooo much younger. And in my school uniform I know I don't look a day over twelve.

  'Ellie!'

  Russell is yelling at me now. I'll have to go. But Nadine is going round to Magda's for Fudge's funeral service. She'll tell Magda all about this Ellis. I can't stand it if Nadine and Magda tell each other secrets and I'm left out.

  I stand there, dithering. Russell gives me one last angry look. He jumps down from the school wall, about to stride off. I have to rush after him. I give Magda a quick kiss to apologize for my non-attendance at the funeral. I give Nadine a kiss too to remind her we've been soul sisters since we were in nursery school and smeared pretend red Smartie blood over our wrists and that I need to be in on things when she tells all about this Ellis.

  Ellis! I thought Russell was posh enough. I am a bit fussed about meeting his dad. They live on the other side of town. The posh side. Those houses cost a fortune. OK, Russell and his dad and Cynthia, his dad's girlfriend, just live in the garden flat but it's still pretty fantastic.

  Russell doesn't even look round when I call after him. I have to run like crazy in my clumpy school shoes to catch him up.

  'Hey, Russell, wait What's up?' I have to hang onto his arm before he'll stop.

  'Oh, Ellie! Goodness! I'm visible now, am I?' he says, dead sarcastic.

  'What are you on about? Why did you rush off without me? We're going to your place, aren't we?'

  'Well, I thought so – but you seemed more interested in hanging about with your friends, having a lengthy natter for half an hour.'

  'Half an hour! Don't be daft. Half a minute, more like!'

  'But you can gab away to them all day long at school.'

  'We don't gab. Look, Russell, they're my friends!

  'I don't know what you see in them. That Nadine looks like she hangs upside down in a bat cave – and as for Magda!'

  'What about Magda?' I say sharply.

  'Well, she looks so obvious – all that make-up and stuff, and her . . .' Russell gestures at his chest with a roundabout motion.

  'She isn't wearing any make-up today and she can't help her figure, you nut. I wish I looked like Magda.'

  'I'm glad you don't. I like you just the way you are, Ellie,' says Russell, looking at me properly at last. He looks down at my hand. 'Still wearing my ring?' he asks softly.

  'Of course I am. I'm never going to take it off,' I say.

  I can't confront him about the kids' comic. It doesn't matter anyway. I wouldn't care if it was made out of silver paper. I love it because I love Russell. It's such a relief he's not cross any more. He puts his arm round my shoulders, giving my cheek a quick kiss. Some idiotic Year Seven girls run past giggling and wolf-whistling but I try to ignore them, though I know I'm blushing!

  'You've got lovely skin,' says Russell. 'I love your rosy cheeks.'

  The whole world turns pink. Russell doesn't mind that I blush like a fool. He likes it. I haven't got lovely skin. Nasty little spots erupt all over the place,
and my nose is so naturally shiny you could use it as a mirror, though I've powdered it quickly in the cloakrooms (plus dabbed on more deodorant, tugged a brush through my hair and cleaned my teeth).

  We walk along companionably, Russell keeping his arm round my shoulders. I fit snugly under his armpit.

  'You're so little, Ellie,' he says, giving me a squeeze.

  I love being called little too. It makes me feel all weeny and cute and elfin instead of a dumpy roly-poly dwarf. I love love love having Russell for a boyfriend. We've been going out together for weeks and weeks and yet I can still barely believe my luck. I finger my ring. Maybe we'll stay going out together for months and months, then years and years, and one day change the ring for a real one.

  I've never felt like this before, never never never. Russell isn't exactly my first boyfriend, but daft dopey old Dan doesn't really count. We were never much more than mates. We did kiss a bit, but nothing more. I suppose we had a few laughs together, but I never felt this swooping dizzy happiness. My lips can't stop stretching into a smile and I sing Russell's name inside my head at every step.

  He's my soul mate, my other half. I hadn't realized up till now how lonely I've been. Ever since my mum died I've felt this emptiness inside. I've got Dad, of course, and I love him. I love Anna now. I even love Eggs. But it's not the same. I've got Nadine and Magda, and they'll always always always be my very best friends – but they're not the same as a boyfriend. We can have a great girly time together, but my heart doesn't pound if Nadine puts her arm round me, my pulse doesn't throb at the sound of Magda's voice. I love them both, but I'm not in love with them.

  I can understand Russell getting fed up because I spend so much time with them. But he's only got to look at me to see he comes first. First and last and all the stages in between.

  I snuggle closer still and he kisses the top of my head.

  'Sorry I was all huffy with you, Ellie,' he whispers.

  'Sorry I kept you hanging about,' I say.

  'Come on, let's get over to my place,' says Russell. He gives me a little hug. 'Dad and Cyn will be at work, so we'll have it all to ourselves for a good hour or so.'

  My heart beats faster and faster and faster . . .

  Chapter Five

  Girls cry when

  people copy

  their ideas

  Five

  Girls cry when

  people copy their ideas

  Russell's flat is beautiful. It's so big our whole house could fit inside it and it's utterly pristine. There are huge cream sofas without a spot on them, Bohemian glass arranged on shelves in precise formation, and even the glossy magazines on the coffee table are laid out with geometric precision. If Russell's dad and his girlfriend Cynthia ever have any children they are in for a big shock. If we let Eggs loose in this room for ten minutes heaven only knows what havoc he'd wreak.

  'It's beautiful,' I say politely, setting my grubby rucksack gingerly on the pale carpet.

  'It's boring, like a display in a furniture shop,' says Russell. 'It's not a home!

  Just for a moment he stops being my big boyfriend who's two years ahead of me at school. He looks like a lonely little kid, his head hanging down, his hair falling in his eyes. I go to him and put my arms round him. I just want to comfort him, to show him I know what it feels like having to fit in with your dad's girlfriend.

  He misinterprets my gesture. His hands go round my waist and he pulls me tightly against him and starts kissing me. His hands are in my hair, his finger stroking my ear, and then he very gently nibbles the lobe and starts kissing my neck down at the very sensitive part where it meets my shoulders. Then his hands are carefully unbuttoning my school shirt. . .

  'No! Don't, Russell. Don't do that, please don't.'

  It feels so wonderful – but I'm a bit scared. I don't want to go too far. And what if Russell's dad or Cynthia comes home early and discovers us thrashing around on their splendid cream sofa?

  'We could go to my room,' Russell whispers in my ear.

  'No! Look, I've told you ... I don't want to.'

  'You do want to,' says Russell.

  'Yes, OK, of course I do – but I'm still not going to.'

  'Even though we love each other?' Russell says, taking my hand and kissing the ring on my finger.

  'Even so,' I say, wriggling away from him and trying to smooth my clothes and compose myself, though I'm hot and trembling and I love him so much that I don't want to be sensible in the slightest. . .

  I do go to his room. I say it's just because I want to see what it's like. It's fascinating, not scrubby schoolboy at all – no mess of old socks and tacky mags and congealed snacks. Russell's room is ultra-hip and cool, with cream blinds and dark brown carpet and a guitar and a soul singer poster. He's got a fantastic sloping desk and high white stool with a spotlight overhead, and the most amazing paints and pastels and coloured pencils and a stock of sketchpads and drawing books and some sweet working drawings of a little cartoon elephant. It's a variation of my own little Ellie Elephant, which I draw all over my school jotter and squiggle beside my name when I write letters.

  'It's my Ellie Elephant!'

  'Well, it's an elephant,' says Russell.

  There's a pink leaflet paperclipped to the top drawing. I have a peer at it, though Russell is trying to pull me away, lifting my hair and kissing my neck insistently. It's an Art competition for children, but there's a section for teenagers too. You have to invent your own cartoon character. The winner has a proper animation made of their work and it will maybe be shown on television. And Nicola Sharp is one of the judges! She's my all-time favourite children's illustrator – I love her Funky Fairy books.

  'Oh wow, Russell! Why didn't you tell me about the competition? I want to go in for it too.'

  'You're too late, Ellie. It's past the closing date. I've already sent mine off.'

  'So what cartoon character did you invent?'

  'Well, obviously . . .' says Russell, indicating all the little elephants.

  'But that's my character!' I say.

  'No it isn't. You draw your Ellie Elephant with much bigger ears, and you don't do the trunk so wrinkly, and the expression's totally different.'

  'Not really. Look, that's exactly how I do my Ellie Elephant when she's happy, sort of kicking her leg up sideways and her trunk high in the air,' I say, stabbing at his drawing pad with my finger.

  'Well, that's the way all happy elephants look,' says Russell. He taps me gently on the nose. 'Don't go all huffy, Ellie. You don't have the copyright on all cartoon elephants.'

  He tries to kiss me and I eventually respond, but nowhere near as enthusiastically as before. He's stolen my Ellie Elephant from me. She's mine. I feel like a toddler and someone's snatched my favourite cuddly toy. I know I'm being childish but I'm nearly in tears. It seems so sneaky of him to have kept quiet about this competition. We could have worked on it together. But I don't want to do that now. I'm going to go in for the competition myself. And I'm not conferring with Russell. I'm not even going to tell him.

  Russell tries to get me to lie down with him on his dark brown bed but the mood has gone. It's his turn to go a bit huffy. Still, he quite likes it when I have a good peer at all the books on his shelves. He's got lots of Art books, well-thumbed Harry Potters and Philip Pullmans, all the Discworlds, The Lord of the Rings, several Stephen Kings, some Irvine Welsh and Will Self but also old tattered Thomas the Tank Engines. When I have a little nose in his cupboard I find several tattered teddies and a tiny army of toy soldiers in the woolly dungeon of his sweater drawer.

  We're actually in the middle of a complicated war game, with the toy soldiers spread out all over the carpet, when Cynthia gets in from work. I think she's lovely – very glamorous even though she's getting on a bit, with red hair and a smart cream suit and a lot of gold jewellery. She tries so hard, fixing us proper coffee and special American brownies, asking all sorts of questions, trying to keep the conversation going. I do my best but
Russell barely bothers to grunt his replies.

  I wonder if I was as bad as this when Anna first came to live with Dad? Maybe I was worse. It must have been hell for Anna, especially when she was only a student herself. I'm going to try harder to help her. She's working too hard with her knitwear designs and Dad's being the typically unreconstructed male, grumbling and groaning and acting up worse than Eggs.

  So I'm chatty with Cynthia and help her start preparing the supper. Russell acts annoyed, wanting me to play around on his computer with him. He says he'll teach me how to do all these fancy graphics. He always wants to teach me stuff. If he knows it all, why does he steal my Ellie Elephant?