TJ shrugged. ‘Nah. Don’t think so. Maybe as a mate but nothing else. No chemistry.’
‘OK. TJ. Free. You want a new boy?’
TJ shrugged again. ‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Nesta sighed heavily. ‘God, get a life, you guys. Show me some enthusiasm here. OK. Me. No boy. Love of my life left in Italia and he can’t write English so no chance of any love letters. Not good but hey, as Lucy said, life must go on and that’s precisely why I brought this issue of boys up. My philosophy is that the best way to get over one is to find a distraction. Preferably another boy.’
I laughed. Didn’t take her long to recover, I thought. On the plane coming back, it was Marco this and Marco that, but then she had only pulled him on the last night so it wasn’t exactly like they’d had a whole week to fall truly in love. Lucy on the other hand, had spent almost the whole week with someone – a lovely American boy called Teddy who she’d hooked up with, but then he lives on the other side of the world, so not much chance of that coming to anything while they’re both at school.
‘Hey, did you tell Tony about Teddy?’ I asked.
‘No way,’ she replied. ‘At least, not the whole truth. I said we met a load of boys while we were there and spent some time hanging out with them and having a laugh. He didn’t seem to want details, which was a relief and as Teddy lives in the States, it’s not likely to come up.’
‘Yes,’ said Nesta. ‘We need boys who live locally.’
‘So what about William, Nesta?’ I asked. ‘Not like you to let someone as cute as him slip away.’
Nesta grimaced. ‘Luke’s mate? Yes. I did consider him for a nanosecond but crossed him off the list. Friend of Luke’s. Don’t want to go anywhere near there again.’
TJ looked at the floor. I think she still felt uncomfortable about the ‘Luke’ situation. Before Christmas, he’d been going out with Nesta and then he made a play for TJ and I think she genuinely did fall in love with him and thought he was her soulmate. It all got v. complicated and almost split us up as mates, because I sided with TJ and Lucy sided with Nesta. In the end we all decided that it wasn’t worth losing our friendship over a boy who couldn’t be trusted. I think it left TJ feeling a bit bruised though and she doesn’t like to talk about him much. Shame about William. We only met him after it was all over and he seemed really nice and clearly fancied Nesta. But I understood her reluctance to get involved with him, being Luke’s friend and all.
‘Izzie? What about you?’ asked Nesta. ‘You going to see Jay?’
‘Hope so,’ I said. I decided that now was the time to ask the question that I’d been wanting to ask all day. ‘Hey, listen guys. I need you to tell me something and I want you to be really, really honest . . .’
‘Sounds serious,’ said Nesta.
‘It is. I want you to tell me, do you think I’ve put on weight?’
Nesta, Lucy and TJ looked at each other.
‘No,’ said TJ after a moment too long. ‘Not really. Well, we all did a little. So no more than the rest of us.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
‘You look great, as always,’ said Lucy, ever my ally. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Well, I have to. My jeans don’t fit.’
‘OK . . .’ said Nesta. ‘Seeing as no one around here is telling the truth, yes you have put on a little weight. I noticed in Italy, actually, and didn’t want to say anything but . . .’
‘Nesta,’ interrupted Lucy. ‘You are always putting your foot in your mouth. In fact you only ever open your mouth to change feet.’
‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ said Nesta. ‘You didn’t even let me finish. Yes, Izzie, you have put on a little weight but no big deal. You can carry it. You’re the tallest of us all, so no biggie.’
‘Hmph. I’d say it is a biggie. And I’m the biggie, to be precise. Tell me honestly, do I look fat?’
‘No way,’ TJ and Lucy chorused.
‘Am I as big as Angela Roberts in Year Eleven?’ I stood up and stuck my stomach out for them. ‘See, I look pregnant.’
‘No way,’ said TJ. ‘That’s a huge exaggeration.’
‘OK, so is it my bum or my turn or my legs that look biggest?’
TJ and Nesta exchanged a look and the next thing I knew, they had pulled a pillow out from behind Lucy, wrestled me to the floor and shoved the pillow over my face.
‘For heaven’s sake, shut up about being fat,’ said Nesta. ‘Not fat, not fat, not fat. You are curvy.’
Curvy? I thought as I tried to fight them off. Curvy? That’s just a polite way of saying fat. Curvy. Oh dog doo.
Suddenly I wished I hadn’t asked.
I got home later to the alluring smell of garlic and onions. Mum had been doing pasta in a tuna and tomato sauce with parmesan cheese. Calorific and a half. No way could I eat that even though I was hungry. I’d hardly eaten all day. As Nesta and TJ had tucked into their sandwiches at lunch-time, I had binned mine and just eaten my apple. Then, later at Lucy’s when her mum brought us up tea and cookies, I hadn’t had one.
I quickly checked that Mum and Angus (my stepdad) were busy watching TV then went back to the kitchen. This is how it has to be, I thought, as I binned my supper and hid it under some newspaper so that Mum wouldn’t notice. Then I made myself two ryvitas with a scraping of marmite. I have to accept that I have to suffer to be beautiful.
When I went to bed a couple of hours later, my stomach was rumbling and all I could think of was food. The song from the musical Oliver! began to sing in my brain, ‘Food glorious food . . . hot bangers and mustard . . . While we’re in the mood, baked apple and custard . . .’ Or something like that. Plates of steaming pasta, baked potatoes with lashings of butter, slices of toast and peanut butter, chocolate cake and blueberry muffins began to play across the screen of my mind. I am starving, I thought as my body seemed to rise of its own accord from the bed like a sleepwalker and make its way down the stairs and into the kitchen where it began to raid the fridge. I’ll start properly tomorrow, I thought as I made myself a hot chocolate then ate my way through a huge chunk of wholemeal bread with peanut butter and damson jam, two cookies and a piece of marzipan-covered cake.
Phew, that feels better, I thought as I went back to bed full of good resolutions for the morning.
Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow, we may diet.
Chapter 2
Teen Talk
‘Don’t you keep your mobile on?’ asked Nesta when I got to the school gates the next day. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you all morning.’
Lucy and TJ were already there hanging out with her and trying to delay the moment of actually having to go in for as long as possible. Even though it was cold and drizzly, we all preferred to be outside rather than in.
‘I only spoke to you last night,’ I said as I rubbed my arms to try and keep warm. ‘What could possibly have happened since then that can’t wait?’
‘Opportunity of a lifetime,’ she said with a grand sweep of her hands. ‘My dad told me at breakfast this morning. He was having a drink with one of his producer friends last night and he told him about a new telly programme he’s launching and he wants teens to be in it. Us. We can go for it.’
‘Er, slow down a moment, Nesta,’ said TJ. ‘One slight problem. Like we have to come to school.’
‘And we’re not actresses,’ said Lucy.
‘Not a problem. It’s going to happen on a Saturday. It’s going to be called Teen Talk, a discussion show sort of thing and they want teens in the audience to participate and a few for a panel to give their views . . .’
‘Views on what?’ asked Lucy.
Nesta shrugged. ‘Dunno. Life. Dunno. Who cares? They want opinions, we have them and if we haven’t got them, we’ll get them. Anyway, he asked Dad if we’d be interested in going to the preliminary meeting on Thursday. They’re seeing a whole bunch of people and are going to pick about thirty and then they’ll film a pilot episode in a couple of Saturdays’ time. You up for i
t?’
‘You bet,’ said Lucy.
‘Not me and anyway, I can’t do Saturdays,’ said TJ. ‘I have the magazine to do at the weekends and I’m a bit behind now after the Italy trip.’
TJ edits the school magazine, For Real, with Emma Ford from Year Eleven. They do a brilliant job but it’s time consuming for TJ and often she can’t hang out with the rest of us on a Saturday because of it.
‘Oh, can’t you get out of it?’ asked Nesta. ‘It will be so top. All of us together. A real laugh. Get Emma to do the magazine for a few weeks.’
TJ shook her head. ‘I can’t leave her with it. She’d kill me. Anyway, you know being on TV isn’t my kind of thing. I don’t mind writing opinions down but I turn into Noola the Alien Girl if I have to say much in public.’
We all laughed. We knew Noola, TJ’s alter ego well. TJ, who is easily the brainiest of us all, comes out with this strange language (she calls it Outerspaceagongalese) if she’s put on the spot and particularly when she meets a cute boy. It was hysterical the first time we witnessed it. It was when she met Tony and started mumbling alien speak. She could only say words like uh or nihwee or ug.
‘What about you, Izzie? You in?’ asked Nesta.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ I nodded, but in my head I’d gone into a panic. I’d read somewhere that the television camera adds ten pounds to your weight. Ten plus the five at Christmas plus the three from the Italian trip. That’s eighteen pounds. Oh God. I’d look enormous. But on the other hand, I’d really love to do it. Oh hell. Maybe I’ll be able to drop the weight in time for the pilot. ‘What’s the first meeting for exactly?’ I asked.
‘It’s for the producers to check that we’re not mad and likely to do something weird like strip naked and run in front of the cameras waving our knickers in the air . . .’
‘As if,’ I said. ‘We’d wear them on our heads like normal people.’
Lucy and TJ laughed, but Nesta ignored what I’d said and continued.
‘Then if we get selected, there’s the first run-through on Saturday. If the pilot is a goer, they’ll go into production in the autumn. Oh come on guys. We have to do it. It could be our first break. You never know who might be watching the show. We could be discovered and on our way to the bright lights of Hollywood.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘And pigs might fly.’
‘No, we’ll come. Won’t we, Iz?’ asked Lucy.
‘Yeah. Sure,’ I said. They usually pick a whole variety of people for audiences to represent all backgrounds and types.
I could be the token fat person.
After school, I took a detour to the local newsagent’s on the way home and spent a good chunk of my pocket money on magazines. I knew exactly what I was looking for. Ones that said anything like, ‘Lose ten pounds in ten easy steps’ with a picture of a skinny girl holding up her old ginormous pair of trousers to show how she’d shrunk ten sizes – that kind of thing. Luckily there were loads.
I raced home, up to my bedroom and began to read.
The Atkins diet, sounds good. Good results. No carbs, only protein. Hmm. Could be difficult as I’m vegetarian. Maybe I could eat meat just for a few weeks. No. Can’t. Even though I’m desperate, I still couldn’t eat one of those sweet baby lambs’ legs or chew my way through a cow’s buttock. Bleurghh. Maybe I could eat just fish. That’s protein. And supposed to be good for the brain. Fish for supper every night? Ohmicod. Maybe not. What else is there?
The next magazine raved on about the Hay diet. I hoped that wasn’t just eating hay but no, it was all about not mixing your carbohydrates and your proteins at the same meal. That sounded more do-able and seemed like a healthy option. Tick. I’ll do that. What else?
Eat Right for your Blood Type, said the next mag. Some celebrities swear by it.
‘Mum,’ I called down the stairs. ‘What blood type am I?’
‘I have no idea,’ she called back. ‘Red, like the rest of us. Why? Are you thinking of becoming a vampire?’
Oh, very funny. Mum’s discovered she has a sense of humour. Not, I thought as I went back to my magazine and read more about that diet. Nope, sounds too complicated. You have to have a blood test to find out what kind of blood you are and I hate needles.
Bananas and milk one day, eggs and grapefruit the next. Some of the models use it when they need a quick fix. Tick. Might try that one.
The cabbage diet. Yuck. I hate cabbage. But tick. Might try that one.
No carbs after midday. Tick. Easy. I’ll do that as well.
Drink at least six glasses of water a day to help eliminate toxins and keep your digestive system working well. Tick. Do that.
And low fat everything. Tick. Do that.
Hmm. But if I’m on the Atkins diet, that says I can have cheese and cream and butter. That’s high fat.
Now I’m getting confused.
‘Izzie,’ Mum called from the kitchen. ‘Supper’s on the table.’
This is going to be interesting, I thought as I put my magazines aside and went down.
She’d made cheesy baked potatoes and salad. Healthy enough but . . .
‘Sorry, Mum, but I can’t eat that,’ I said as I sat at the table.
‘Why not?’ asked Mum as she served out pork chops for her and Angus.
‘I’m not eating carbs after midday any more,’ I explained. ‘And I’m on the Hay diet so I can’t mix my carbohydrates and my proteins.’
Mum sighed. ‘And why is that?’
I pinched a good wedge of flab on my hips and stuck my stomach out for her. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m enormous. I have to go on a diet. And the Hay diet says . . .’
Angus laughed. ‘But there’s nothing of you. You don’t need to diet.’
He is clearly blind.
‘I’ll eat the salad,’ I said while I tried to decide whether to have the cheese or the potato. Maybe the potato because cheese is high fat but if I’m on the Atkins, cheese would be all right. But then, if I had the potato, it’s carbohydrate and I’d decided not to have carbs after midday. Oh hell, this isn’t going to be easy. Maybe I’ll just stick with the salad.
‘Have you put dressing on the salad? Because I’m also only having low fat stuff from now on.’
Mum rolled her eyes and Angus grimaced and began to eat his meal. I think he knew what was coming, as I did. A lecture.
‘Low fat products are often high in sugar and have more calories. Anyway, you do not need to go on a diet, Isobel,’ Mum began. (I always know that she’s serious when she calls me Isobel.) ‘You might have a bit of puppy fat on you but you’re a growing girl and it will soon –’
‘Growing in all directions, Mum. I have to do something about it. And I’m fifteen. Way past the puppy fat stage.’
‘Izzie, I have bent over backwards to get you food that you will eat. First it was no meat. And then it was we have to eat more healthy food. I’ve done that. And now you want to do the Hay diet or whatever. No. I’m not having it. Nor any other mad fad diets. You will eat sensibly and that’s the end of it. A baked potato is very healthy and not going to put weight on you. Have it without the butter if you must but you will eat something.’
There are times when there’s no point in arguing with Mum. And this was one of them. I have learned (from Nesta) that if I need to get her to agree to something, the best time to get her is when she’s watching one of her favourite TV programmes and doesn’t want to be disturbed. She’ll agree to anything then if only to get me to shut up.
‘OK,’ I said as I cut a tiny piece of my potato up and put it in my mouth. ‘You know best. Er . . . what’s on TV tonight?’
Mum gave Angus a ‘what’s going on?’ look but he just shrugged. He tries to stay out of our arguments.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. Oh . . . talking of telly. One of Nesta’s dad’s mates is launching a new TV show and they want teens for the audience. He asked if we’d like to be part of it so can I go? They’re selecting on Thursday and they’ll do
a run through on Saturday. It’s a sort of discussion show thing. Very intellectual. And . . . be, er . . . great work experience.’
Mum put her knife and fork down. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’ve just been to Italy for a week. You’re behind on your homework and need to catch up.’
I was about to object but could see that her back had stiffened and she was sitting up very straight as if primed for a fight. She was definitely in ‘no’ mood. Take a deep breath, I told myself. Pick your time. I took another mouthful of my potato. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I guess I do need to catch up on schoolwork.’
She gave me a suspicious look but I smiled back sweetly. I’ll get her later when she’s ensconced in the telly, I thought. Oh ja. Ve have vays of making you give in.
The skipping diet: Skipping breakfast, skipping lunch, skipping supper.
Chapter 3
The Tummy Song
Wednesday weigh-in. Arrghhhhhh. I’d put on half a pound since Monday! How could that have happened?
Drastic measures are called for, I thought, as I had half a grapefruit and a boiled egg for breakfast, followed by two large glasses of water. Mum tried to get me to have cereal as well so I poured myself a bowl then poured it back into the packet when she was in the hall spraying posh hairspray all over her hair (which is cut into such a perfect bob that it doesn’t need spray to keep it in place). I think Angus saw me as he was making himself some toast but he didn’t say anything.
School was unbelievably embarrassing as halfway through PHSE, my stomach decided to sing the tummy song. Gurgle, wurgle, woggle, schlosh. And it wasn’t just once. It went on and on. I went bright purple and tried breathing in and even holding my breath but schlosh, schlosh it went. A few girls started giggling and then a few more and even Miss Watkins began laughing in the end. And it takes a lot to get her to laugh.
‘Someone’s tummy is hungry,’ she said finally. ‘Did you miss breakfast, Izzie?’
Mates, Dates and Chocolate Cheats Page 2