Love Is a Many Trousered Thing

by Louise Rennison

  Good grief.

  ten minutes later

  I suppose in some horrific way the camping fiasco will pass the time until I can figure out how to get to Masimo.

  in my room

  I wonder how Robbie is. Every time I can’t avoid going near Wet Lindsay she says something about him to one of her slimey mates, implying that they are an item. Maybe they are. Well if they are, it is a good way of curing me of him. Anyone who could choose someone as nobbly as her can’t be all good.

  one minute later

  But he did ask me if I wanted a lift home before she trapped him with her octopussy extensions.

  one minute later

  And Dave the Laugh said he thought Robbie liked me, but he was playing cool bananas because of the Masimo fandango.

  one minute later

  Oh no, I’ve been thinking about Dave the Laugh again. He somehow still pops up! Oo-er. If I think of anything funny, I always want to tell him about it. I don’t because, well, it seems a bit odd just being mates with him. It was cool on Saturday night when he saved the little titches.

  I wonder if he laughs with his girlfriend Emma like he laughs with me?

  I wonder what number on the snogging scale they have got up to. Shut up, brain.

  Phone rang.

  Maybe it’s Masimo! I ran down the stairs. No one is in because Mum said she’d decided I couldn’t be trusted to look after Libbs so she has taken her over to Grandad and his knitted live-in lover. Oh much more trustworthy. Not. I nearly said that to Mum, but it’s difficult when you are not speaking to someone. Why can’t I have normal parents who do stuff for me? Mum and Dad have gone to Uncle Eddie’s first booking as a baldy-o-gram.

  And that in anybody’s language is not normal behavior.

  I answered the phone.

  It was Robbie.

  Crikey.

  three minutes later

  I have agreed to meet him on Thursday for a “talk.”

  Whatever that means.

  Well, in my case it will mean me going, “Blah blah, rubbish, rubbish, dribble, dribble, arse.”

  thursday july 28th

  last day of term

  Got the “whole school is looking to you for an example” speech from Slim about the camping trip. And she said, “We are all looking forward very much to the interesting stories and observations that Ten A will be coming back with.”

  Oh yes, the merry hours we will have talking about the night we saw a badger scratch its bum-oley. And how many sausages we ate.

  As we lurched along to Latin, I said to Rosie, “Why isn’t Slim coming with us, actually? I personally would give quite a lot of money to see her in a tent.”

  Rosie said, “She was wearing one today.”

  Jas was hysterical with twig madness. “Have you packed yet, Gee?”

  “No.”

  “I have.”

  “Really, how many pairs of knickers are you bringing?”

  “Well I thought just in case of nippy noodles weather I would bring those thick long ones that—”

  “Jas, I am not serious.”

  She huffed off.

  She is so self-obsessed it’s amazing. It’s all just me, me, me, Tom, me, stuffed owls, knickers and er…me with her. If you see what I mean and I think you do.

  I told her on the way to Stalag 14 this morning that I was on the horns of a whatsit vis-á-vis the maybe-two-boyfriends situation. And I am. I am feeling quite weird about seeing Robbie this evening.

  She gave me the usual Jas lecture. “Well, you have to choose and then stick with your decision. You can’t just do what you like, tart around all your life. Choosing new boyfriends at every wiff and woo.”

  At every wiff and woo? What is she talking about? And “tarting around.” That’s nice talk, isn’t it?

  I said, “Jas, I am not a tart, I am a teenager. Just because you have thrust aside your red bottom with a firm hand and are subscribing to Vole Weekly doesn’t make you right, you know.”

  She said, “Yes it does.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “It does.”

  “Jas, it doesn’t make it a debate when one person just keeps saying ‘yes it does.’”

  That shut her up for a nanosecond, and then she said, “Yes it does.”

  She is so annnnoyyyyiiing.

  in my room

  teatime

  Robbie will be here in a minute. Blimey. I hope it doesn’t rain, it’s looking a bit overcast. Oh God, that has just reminded me when I first went round to Robbie’s house. The very first time, I can’t believe it’s only a few months ago. I have become a woman since then. I have lived, loved and suffered.

  one minute later

  Well I’ve suffered and my nungas have grown quite a lot.

  two minutes later

  When I first met him I didn’t even wear a bra. How weird is that? And stupid as it turns out, because it rained on my T-shirt and I got soaking wet when I was going round to his house. And when I looked down at my T-shirt there were two bobbles sticking out. And it was my nip nips and I couldn’t get them back in again. I had to keep my arms crossed over my nips for ages. Then he played me one of his songs and I sat there not knowing what to do, so I let an attractive (I like to think) half-smile play on my face. Unfortunately it was a long song and by the end of it my cheeks were aching quite a lot, and I was trying to keep my nose sucked in as well. I had to go to bed when I got home with face strain.

  And then after all that effort the Sex God dumped me because I was too young for him and said that he knew someone that I might like called Dave the Laugh. And that is when Dave the Laugh entered stage right and I tried to use him as my decoy duck to make Robbie interested in me.

  I still feel slightly bad about that bit, the decoy duck bit, especially as Dave spotted it. Actually it’s quite amazing that we are mates.

  two minutes later

  Because that is what we are. Tip-top mates. Which is good. And how it should be.

  We would have been no good as a boyfriend and girlfriend because…erm…

  Well, he’s not a Sex God or a Luuurve God. He’s just a sort of Dave God. And that is not on the God list. You don’t have Thor and Woden and Dave, do you?

  two minutes later

  He is funny, though.

  Ten minutes and Robbie will be ringing the doorbell. I have tarted myself up to within an inch of my life. I don’t think I can stand being in the house just waiting. Maybe I will go and sit on the wall and wait for him there. Does that seem a bit keen? Yes, it does. I’ll just stay here and use disciplinosity and glaciosity.

  sitting on the wall

  Right. What am I going to say to him? What about the snogging question? What if he wants to snog me? I can’t really snog him when I am nearly officially the maybe girlfriend of a Luuurve God. Can I? We should have a snogging scale for exes. For the “once just for old time’s sake” type snogging.

  Mind you, I’ve snogged Dave the Laugh a number of times since he has been my ex. So the “just for old time’s sake” rule seems to be “Yes, yes and three times yes.” Well, it used to be. Nothing has happened like that for ages. Maybe he has gone off me? I don’t know why he should unless he really really likes his “girlfriend.” Maybe he thinks she is nicer than I am. Maybe she is nicer than I am. But that is clearly not my fault; look at my parents.

  Shutup about Dave, how did he get in here???

  two minutes later

  Then Robbie came round the corner and into my street. He looked very cool and sort of grown-up. I remembered all the months and months I had followed him around and dreamed of him, and gone to Stiff Dylans gigs hoping to bump into him. Or for him to talk to me. And then he had kissed me, and said we should see each other. And for a few days I had been soooooo happy. And an irresistible man magnet. And then he dumped me again! To go to Kiwi-a-gogo land and play guitar with wombats. Or was it the maracas? I didn’t know.

  I was about to get off the wall and say someth
ing normal(ish) to Robbie, but then he completely surprised me by just bending down and kissing me on the mouth. And not just a soft friendy kiss. A proper kiss, quite hard that lasted for about thirty seconds. My brain was chatting on about, oooh I must get a watch because Jas is sure to ask me how long I think a proper kiss lasts, and how did I know it was thirty seconds, did I time it by the sun’s shadows, etc…. Shut up, brain, shut up.

  And then just for a moment or two my brain did shut up and I just felt stuff.

  Then he stopped kissing me and said, “Hi.”

  And I went, “Hi.” Almost like a normal person.

  He sat down on the wall next to me. I looked at him, and he smiled back at me.

  He said, “Shall we amble down to the park, like we used to?”

  in the park

  It was lovely in the park. The light was filtering through the trees and making leaf shapes on the ground and there were the sounds of children laughing. I mean proper children’s laughing, not like the mad heggy heggy heg heg that my sister did. Just merry little friends playing together. And a few couples holding hands and wandering about or sitting on the grass. We hadn’t been talking much. I didn’t mind because, to be frank, there wasn’t much in my head that I wanted to let people know about. For instance I found out today in history that Shackleton, so-called hero and explorer, got stuck in the ice on his ship and so he shot his cat Mr. Chippy to make more room or make the boat lighter or something, and then they got rescued anyway! And Mr. Chippy had been the ship’s cat for years and years and years. Why didn’t he shoot himself if he wanted to make more room? Historical people are vair vair selfish. I must tell Dave about Mr. Chippy when I see him.

  I came out of my little cat tragedy to hear Robbie saying, “Do you remember this tree, I think it was here that I sang you the song I wrote for you, do you remember?”

  Yes I did, actually. And if I am honest it wasn’t altogether a vair fond memory because Robbie had sort of encouraged me to put my head in his lap whilst he…

  Robbie said, “Let’s sit down for a bit, I think I can remember the words more or less…”

  Oh no. It was all happening again. Well this time I was definitely not going to put my head on his lap.

  one minute later

  Oh dear God I had my head on his lap and I was once again glancing up his nostrils whilst he sang me a song about a dolphin.

  in bed

  10:00 p.m.

  Blubbing.

  I thought I had plumbed the depths of tragicosity, boywise, but I was wrong. I don’t even know why I am crying really, it’s just so sad. Robbie was my very first one and only Sex God and he still is, but…oh I don’t know. He sang me the song and I did the avoiding the nostrils scenario and also I had to keep an eye on any undue nunga jiggling AND try not to let my brain run wild and free. So in the end I was all sort of tensoid and not really myself. Which of course Jas would say was a good thing.

  Robbie and me snogged and did a bit of No. 6, and he is very good at it. No one can deny he is good-looking in the top-twenty sort of way. His clothes are nice. (Apart, it has to be said, from the rubber shoes from the vegetarian shop) and he did say that he and Lindsay are absolutely not an item.

  And he walked me home holding my hand and when we got to my gate he kissed me really hard and long. I don’t think there was any sign of virtual No. 7, but you never know.

  Then he was looking at me in the moonlight (so were five other eyes until I threw my shoe at the wall and Angus, Naomi and Gordy took off). I looked at him and he had a lovely face, really lovely. And he was lovely. But…oh I don’t know. I felt my eyes suddenly fill with tears. I couldn’t help it. Everything seemed so sad, and sort of not quite right. I looked down so that he wouldn’t see my blubbing.

  And he stroked my hair and said, “Gee, what are you thinking?”

  Oh no, what was I thinking?

  I just blurted out, “Well, you left me and you have been gone so long, and the wombats and so on and then I, well, I started liking Masimo and he…”

  Robbie looked really sad, and then he sat down next to me on the wall and was quiet. I didn’t know what to say.

  After a minute he said, “So you really like him, then?”

  I couldn’t make my voice work, I just nodded.

  He still didn’t say anything. I looked sideways at him. He was looking straight ahead, and as I looked a little tear came out of his eye and slipped slowly down his face. Ohhhhhhhh this was unbearable.

  I was going to say, No, no, don’t cry, I’ll go out with you. Anything, but don’t cry…. But I still couldn’t make my voice work.

  And then he sort of cleared his throat and said, “Georgia, don’t feel bad. It’s always tough to hurt someone and tell them the truth. I know that. You’re a really lovely girl. Lovely…mad…but lovely. I’ll always like you. Don’t worry.”

  There was another little pause. And then he stood up and said, “Anyway, I suppose you’d better be off, you’ve probably got a train to catch.”

  At least he smiled when he said that. Which was good because I could feel the old waterworks coming on big-time.

  midnight

  The long and the long of it is that he is going back to New Zealand. He says there is a girl that likes him there. I stopped myself from saying “Is it Wilma the Wombat,” but it did make me feel a bit funny to think of him with someone else. And also him going away again.

  Oh I don’t know. Would I want to go out with him if he was staying?

  It’s all very well writing books about how to make any twit fall in love with you, but what do you do when you have got them? That should be book two, What to Do with a Collection of Twits When You Have Accidentally Done What Some Fool in a Book Told You to Do and Now They Are All Hanging About with You.

  12:05 a.m.

  Rosie and Sven seem happy together. And they are, as we know, planning to marry in eighteen years’ time. But will they? They quite clearly have nothing in common, besides snogging, snogging, snacks, mad dancing and snogging. But perhaps that is a good relationship.

  Who knows?

  And then there is Jas’n’Tom. They have far far too much in common, but they seem happy.

  one minute later

  The only thing is, to be happy like Jas I would actually have to be Jas.

  No, I just cannot go there.

  I have to be me.

  And I have to face the fact that I have sounded my cosmic horn and therefore my red bottomosity has led me into the oven of luuurve, onto the rack of pain and out again onto the horns of a whatsit.

  Oowwwww.

  Well I have made my decision, now I will have to lie on it.

  tent head

  friday july 29th

  Mum woke me at 8:30 a.m.

  “Gee, can I borrow your leather skirt, you won’t be taking it on the camping trip, will you?”

  I was blinking in the blinding light because she had ripped my curtains open and was scrabbling through my wardrobe.

  “Mum, why would you want to borrow my leather skirt and who are you lending it to? Which incidentally you can’t.”

  Damn! I had broken my vow of silence!!!

  Mum said, “I’m not lending it to anyone, the girls and I are going to another of Uncle Eddie’s gigs on Saturday. It’s a sort of showcase thing and there will be him as the baldy-o-gram, there’s a Viking Thor-o-gram, a Postman Pat–o-gram and there is a—”

  “Mum, please stop there, as you know I am very artistic and this could send me over the edge. Are you trying to tell me that you are intending to wear my leather skirt and go watch mad blokes ponce around in their undercrackers?”

  She said, “Oh no…they take those off as well.”

  How disgusting!!!

  half an hour later

  I’ve let Mum borrow my skirt and she has said that she will talk to me about Pizzaa-a-gogo land when I get back from camping. Yessssss!!!

  I accidentally told her about the Robbie thing. And for her she
was quite nice about it. I cried again when I told her. And I said I felt like a mean and wormy girl.

  She said, “Well, it is true that you are a pain in the bum-oley most of the time. But I suppose as a teenager it’s really your job. I think I was the same before I grew up.”

  I didn’t say, Are you mad?

  Then she went on, “Actually, I am quite proud of you. It’s hard to tell the truth sometimes, especially if you don’t want to hurt someone. And you did. You said what you feel. And you must do what is right for you, not what other people say is right.”

  She gave me a big hug and to my amazement, I gave her a spontaneous kiss. Which surprised both of us.

  11:00 a.m.

  We have to be at Stalag 14 to meet the coach at 3:00 p.m. I wonder if I just didn’t turn up they would bog off without me. I doubt it. I should think they would send out a hanging party led by Mr. Attwood and Wet Lindsay. Ooooh I cannot believe I have to go on this ludicrous camping thing.

  It’s pointless taking any beauty products because unless I suddenly go mad and start fancying Herr Kamyer, there will be no other males around, apart from Miss Wilson. I am just going to bung some jumpers and jeans in a bag with some essential snacks and hope that I can sleep through the next two days. Maybe I could get one of the ace gang to hit me over the head with something and knock me out and I could wake up smiling on Sunday.

  I wonder if Wet Lindsay knows that Robbie is going back to Kiwi-a-gogo land. She will go ballisticisimus. So every cloud has a silver lining.

  2:00 p.m.

  Lugging my bag up the hill to Stalag 14. Jas has scampered ahead because Tom is helping her carry her things to school. She’s only phoned me four times to tell me how excited she is. I said to her in a moment of lighthearted repartee, “Jas, have you got a special toothbrush mug?”

  And she said, “Of course, who hasn’t?”

  stalag 14

  Things have gone horribly wrong already. Herr Kamyer is wearing shorts. That cannot be right. Or even allowed. I tried not to look at his legs. They are incredibly pale and have sort of ginger hair on them. Erlack.

  We piled onto the coach and the ace gang secured the back seats. Rosie said, “We could moon the drivers behind us.”