Coleen Style Queen
Dress To Impress
HarperCollins Children’s Books
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Best Mates Mirror
Coming Soon!
Acknowledgements
The Coleen Style Queen series
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
So, I’m on the side of this freezing cold pitch, stamping my feet and totally wishing I had a special ankle heater. No disrespect to my little sister, but watching footie in the winter is a nightmare. Especially when there are no goals and the match is practically over.
Em plays on the wing in our local under-eights team. She’s dead keen and brilliant with it, and the whole family goes to watch her most weekends. I’m proud and all, but why do footie matches always have to be so cold?
“Pass the ball, Em!” yelled my dad, racing past me with his whistle bouncing on his tracksuit like a twinkly silver necklace.
“I’m not sure your dad should be telling Em what to do, Coleen,” Mum murmured to me as Dad pelted back the other way, still roaring instructions at my sister. “As the ref, isn’t he supposed to be neutral?”
“Asking Dad to be neutral in a game of football would be like asking me to wear school uniform at the weekend,” I announced between chattering teeth. I swear my toes were about to fall off.
Mum glanced at me from underneath her dark blue beanie hat. She had her famous annoyed-but-resigned look on her face. “Getting you to wear a coat would be a start,” she said.
My outfit was a little summery for a cold day, I have to admit. But I’d spent ages customising my T-shirt that morning with a bunch of safety pins all threaded with these brilliant neon-coloured beads. They made excellent patterns all down the front and jangled when I walked. There was no way I was going to hide my handiwork underneath a coat.
“Boots might have been an idea too, Coleen,” Mum said wearily. “Who on earth wears sandals in October?”
“I wanted to try out my new nail polish,” I said, admiring my dark blue toenails. The cold was totally worth it every time I looked down.
“Your toes are practically as blue as the polish,” said my best mate Mel.
Mel was more sensibly dressed than me, with a scarf wrapped tightly round her neck and a woolly hat with a peak at the front sitting neatly on her head. Beats me how she got it on over her crazy curls. The hat is new: we bought it together yesterday, and it totally rocks. The colours are perfect for her.
Standing beside Mel was my other mate Lucy. She’s gorgeous, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Her plain blouses and ironed jeans drive me crazy, and I spend most weekends at the shops persuading her to try new stuff. She’s as different from Mel as France and England – which makes me the Channel Tunnel, I guess, cos I’m the link that joins them together!
“Which one’s Em again?” Lucy asked, peering across the windy pitch to where a blur of muddy knees and blue team strip identified the Hartley Juniors.
“Th…th…that one,” I shivered, pointing to the far side of the pitch.
A small, brown-haired streak of mud and energy was flying down the wing, dribbling the ball like a pro. As we watched, a little blond lad raced up beside her. Em neatly passed him the ball, totally foxing the boy on the other team who’d been chasing her.
“Go, Em!” Mum yelled, clapping enthusiastically.
“Yay!” cheered Mel and Lucy.
Believe me, I wanted to clap. But my hands were tucked too tightly into my armpits. So I clapped like mad inside my head instead.
The blond lad who now had the ball for Hartley Juniors raced on down the pitch. He dodged a couple of opponents, and then lofted the ball right up and smack into the net, just as the final whistle went. Goal! Our side of the touchline erupted.
“Hartlee! Hartlee! One-nil!”
“Billy, Billy, Billy!”
“I guess that’s Billy,” Mum observed as Em and her team mates clustered around the blond lad and tried to lift him off the ground in celebration.
I squinted at the lad. I’d never seen him before. He was obviously a new member of the team. Then I forgot all about him as something blissfully warm settled down on my frozen toes.
“Rascal,” I gasped, looking down at our hairy black spaniel who had curled himself up on my feet. “You total hero!”
“Psst,” Lucy whispered in my ear. “Coleen, look over there! He’s gorgeous!”
I stared at where Lucy was pointing with one finger over her shoulder. A father and son were standing together on the touchline a little further along. Judging from how madly they were clapping and grinning and waving at the little blond goalscorer as he trotted towards them, I guessed they were his family. The dad was tall and strong-looking, with close-cropped blond hair. The lad standing with him looked about the same age as us.
I have to say that I find most lads boring – with the massive exception of Lucy’s older brother Ben. Ben Hanratty is totally the boy I’m going to marry one day, when he opens his eyes and sees that there’s more to me than just his kid sister’s mate. But even I could see that the lad down the touchline was quite cute. He was blond, with a lovely straight nose and bright blue eyes whose colour you could see even in the sludgy October light.
“There’s no need to be so obvious,” Lucy hissed.
I whipped around and had this wild urge to giggle, which is a sure sign that I’m losing it. “Do you think he noticed us looking?” I mumbled.
Mel peeped over Lucy’s head. “Yeah,” she said with a grin, “I think he did. He’s coming over.”
Lucy groaned and hid her face in her hands. Sure enough, he was heading towards us. I bit down hard on my tongue, which made my eyes water but at least killed the giggles – for now.
“He’s really looking at you,” I said in a low voice to Lucy.
“As if!” Lucy squealed, sounding totally delighted.
The boy stopped beside Lucy. Lucy went bright red and stared furiously at the ground. Unable to catch Lucy’s eye, he turned to me instead. “That your sister then?” he said to me, nodding at Em as she jumped around with Dad up by the goal. “She made a really great pass.”
“Thanks,” I stuttered.
There was a funny silence. Lucy waggled her eyebrows madly at me, which I took to mean, “Keep him talking.”
“Um…” I said. “That your brother then?”
I realised just too late that I sounded totally like a parrot. It was exactly the same question he’d just asked me, apart from the sister bit.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Billy’s going to make us all famous one day.” He grinned as he said it, then he glanced hopefully at Mel and Lucy. “All right?” he asked.
Mel grinned back. Lucy just looked like she wanted to sink into the ground and die right there. Lucy’s funny like that – all shy around people she doesn’t know, especially boys who obviously like her!
I quickly introduced myself and my mates.
“I’m Frankie Wilson,” said the lad, “and the tall bloke’s my dad. But don’t try and talk to him,” he warned. “He’ll bore you to death with football statistics.”
“He should meet my dad,” I said. “There’d be a footie stat stand-off.”
For some reason, I decided that this was the most hilarious thing I’d ever said. Snorting giggles roared out of me, huge and loud and uncontrollable. Frankie Wilson looked a bit surprised.
“Don’t mind Coleen,” said Mel as I h
owled away hopelessly. “It’s a medical thing. Doctors from around the world can’t cure her. There’s nothing we can do except wait until they’re over.”
Frankie looked over at Lucy. “You always this quiet?” he asked with a gentle smile.
Lucy immediately blushed to the roots of her hair. What with me still in fits and Lu doing her beetroot thing, it was all down to Mel to keep Frankie talking.
“Lucy’s a singer,” Mel said. “She saves it for the stage.”
Frankie raised his eyebrows. “Is that right?”
Lucy gave a tiny nod and stared at the sky.
“What stuff are you into?” Frankie pressed on, looking pleased to have started a conversation with Lucy at last.
“R‘n’B,” Lucy whispered.
Frankie grinned. “Cool,” he said.
“Frankie!” yelled Frankie’s dad, his arm wrapped around his younger son’s muddy shoulders. “Time to go!”
Frankie scuffed the ground with the toes of his trainers. “Right,” he said, sounding a bit reluctant. “Gotta go. See you around, yeah?” And giving Lucy one last shy smile, he hurried off.
“Hey!” I said, starting forward. “What school do you—”
But the rest of my question was totally lost as I pitched right over and half-buried my nose in the mud. I’d forgotten about Rascal, who was still draped over my feet. And by the time I’d stood up again, and Mel and Lucy had stopped laughing their heads off, Frankie Wilson was out of sight.
“That was so embarrassing,” I moaned. “First I stare like a crazy person, then I laugh like a snorting pig and then I fall over and get covered in mud! My top’s ruined.”
“It could be worse,” Mel said.
“How?” I demanded.
Mel shrugged. “Dunno,” she said honestly.
“Coleen?” Lucy said. “Could I…maybe…come to the footie again with you next week? It’s been really fun.”
“Sure you can, Lu,” I said absently. Dad was beckoning me. “Gotta go. See you in school tomorrow, yeah?”
With a wave to my mates, I headed across the pitch with my family in the direction of home.
“Look at the state of you!” said Mum as I caught up with her. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing, Mum. Don’t make a fuss.”
“Well you’d better get cleaned up and change into something sensible when we get home.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“Billy Wilson’s brother seems like a nice lad,” Mum said.
“He’s cool,” I said. “I think he really likes Lucy.”
“Billy’s the best forward Hartley Juniors have ever had,” Em said, slinging her footie boots over her shoulder and holding Dad’s hand. “The Wilsons only just moved to Hartley last week. Wasn’t his goal brilliant?”
“All set up by you, Princess,” said Dad in the gruff voice he uses when he’s getting emotional.
“Good on you, Em,” I said, cuffing my little sister lightly round the head.
And then the whole world came crashing down around my ears.
There ahead of me was Ben Hanratty, walking towards us. And not only was he heading our way, but he had his arm draped over Jasmine Harris’s shoulders.
I’ve never had anything against Jasmine Harris. She’s another Year Ten like Ben, and she’s tall and shiny-haired. But I do have a problem with her snuggling up to my crush.
“Isn’t that Lucy’s brother?” asked Mum as they came closer.
My eyes were glued to Ben. He was leaning towards Jasmine now. They were about to…
“See you later,” I blurted to Mum and took off sideways, away from the path and the sight of Ben and Jasmine kissing. Kissing.
Ben Hanratty has a girlfriend!
Two
“What’s up with you, Col?” Dad asked at dinner that night.
“Nothing,” I muttered, prodding the green beans around my plate.
“The last time I saw a face that long, I was stood next to a crocodile,” Dad continued.
“Ha, ha.” I squinched up my face at Dad to show him that his joke was totally unfunny.
“Come on, love,” Mum coaxed. “Eat up your tea. There’s apple pie for afters.”
My mouth watered a bit. Mum’s apple pie is the best. She puts in loads of cinnamon and her pastry is always crumbly and sweet. But then I thought about Ben and Jasmine…
“Sorry, Mum,” I said gloomily. “I’m not really hungry.”
Em was still rabbiting on about Billy Wilson. “He’s got the best right foot ever,” she said between mouthfuls of chicken and beans. “And he tackles like a train. And he’s starting at my school after half-term!”
“You’ll be married before we know it,” said Dad gravely, pouring himself a glass of water. “I’ll book the church.”
“Dad!” Em squealed, giggling at the thought of marrying Billy Wilson.
All this talk about marrying was putting me off my food again. What did Ben Hanratty see in Jasmine Harris? OK, so she was in Year Ten with Ben and I was only a little kid in Year Eight, but that wasn’t supposed to matter when it came to love. I decided gloomily that it was the height thing. I’m only a bit over five feet, while Jasmine is so tall she probably spends her free time pulling jumbo jets out of her hair. They say the best things come in small packages. It looked like Ben Hanratty thought differently.
“Apple pie,” Mum announced, clearing the plates and putting a slice of pie each and a jug of thick, creamy custard down on the table.
With my mind still on Ben and Jasmine, it took me a while to register the pie. I should’ve moved quicker. Before I knew it, Em had scoffed her slice, snatched mine and was already gobbling it down.
“Emma!” Mum snapped. She only calls my sister Emma when she’s done something naughty.
“Starving,” Em mumbled between mouthfuls. “Col said she wasn’t hungry.”
I goggled at the empty pie dish. Maybe there were worse things than broken hearts after all.
Going back to school after half-term is always tough. You get into the holiday habit of late morning lie-ins, and then – wham! When I heard my alarm on Monday morning, I rolled over and turned it off, same as I’d done all week. Then I snuggled back down into my cosy duvet and drifted away again.
The next thing I knew, the covers had been whipped right off me.
“Coleen!” Mum said. “Don’t you realise that it’s eight fifteen? I’ve been calling you for the past twenty minutes. You’re going to be late – get a move on!”
I shot out of bed like my PJs were on fire. My usual bus reaches the stop at around eight twentyfive every morning. Getting the bus after is always pushing it as it usually gets caught up in the middle of Hartley’s rush hour. Besides, it wouldn’t have Mel and Lucy on it – and I seriously needed to talk to Lucy about Ben and Jasmine.
Mum left me to it as I swung around my bedroom like a boomerang. Knickers! An ironed shirt – some hope. Where was my school jumper? And my skirt?
“Mum!” I roared, hopping around as I wriggled into my tights. “Have you seen my—”
A jumper and skirt sailed through the door and landed at my feet.
“Cheers, Dad,” I panted as my dad shook his head and jogged down the stairs.
“See you later, Coleen!” Em called, heading out the door with Mum.
I yanked my tie over my head, slid up the knot like a lasso and took the stairs in one leap. (This is only possible if you get the angle right and try not to put all your weight on the banister. I took the banister off the wall this one time, but that’s another story.) Grabbing my school bag, an apple and a slice of bread, I sprinted through the front door and tore down the street like an Olympic athlete in uniform. Then I groaned. Despite my best efforts, I was too late.
Panting to a halt, I watched miserably as my bus honked past, gusting out a smelly whoosh of exhaust. Mel and Lucy were pressed to the glass, waving sympathetically at me, while Dave Sheekey – Ben Hanratty’s best mate and the most annoyinglad at Har
tley High – pulled stupid faces at me out the window. Ten minutes to wait till the next bus, then twenty minutes of biting my nails as I got later and later for register. I slumped down on one of the bus-stop seats and pulled out my apple. It wasn’t all bad, I supposed. At least I could brush my hair. And I was sure I had some tic tacs somewhere…
At five to nine, I burst through the classroom door like one of those cowboys you see in films who gets hurled through a saloon window.
“Ta-da,” I declared. “Not late!”
“Whoop-de-doo,” drawled Summer Collins, my least favourite girl in the whole of my class. Summer’s mates Hannah Davies and Shona Mackinnon sniggered on cue as Summer pushed back her long blonde hair with one hand. Hello? I thought. Who is she trying to impress?
“Sit down, Coleen,” our form teacher Mr Andrews said. Mr Andrews is OK, if you dig goatees and physics. “We’re almost at the end of register.”
I hurried to my seat and flopped down beside my mates. “Lucy,” I began, keen to get to the bottom of the whole Ben/Jasmine thing as soon as possible.
“Ravi Singh?” Mr Andrews read from the register. “Daniel Thorburn?”
As Ravi and Daniel grunted at Mr Andrews, I realised Mel and Lucy were both looking weirdly at me.
“What?” I said, my hand going instantly to my head. Doing a high ponytail at a bus stop without a mirror never really works. Did it look totally awful? I’d never seen Lucy looking so pale and agitated. She didn’t normally get freaked out by bad hair.
“Coleen,” Mel whispered, “you know the footie at the weekend?”
“Like I’m going to forget what an idiot I made of myself,” I said, lolling back in my chair. I couldn’t work out why Mel was talking so quietly. No one ever whispered at register. “That Frankie lad we met was nice, wasn’t he? I think he liked you, Lucy.”
“Shhhhh!” Lucy hissed wildly.
“Tanya Williams?” Mr Andrews went on.
“Here, sir,” said Tanya.
“And last of all, our new face,” Mr Andrews said. “Frankie Wilson?”
At Frankie Wilson’s name, I let out a loud snort. Again. Oh noooo. I swung around and gawped at the familiar-faced lad sitting at the back of the room. Frankie Wilson? Here at Hartley High?
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