Withering Tights. Louise Rennison

      Honey said, “Oh yeth, I’ve got two on the go, actually. Thafety in numbeth, my mum thayth. I don’t think I can go a whole thummer without boyth.”

      After lunch, we walked off towards Heckmondwhite. Vaisey, Jo, Flossie and I were slightly ahead of the others. Flossie said, “Oooh, look, a couple of jolly farmers in their fields. One of them is cheerily waving his stick at us. Would it be a stick or a crook? It’s not a gun, is it?”

      I said, “Oh, what larks, it’s the grumpy bloke I accidentally kicked on the train.”

      As we ambled along, Jo said, “Do you think that Honey really has got two boyfriends?”

      Vaisey said, “She seems a bit more ‘mature’ than us, more experienced, don’t you think?”

      I said, “I’ve had my bottom felt.”

      Flossie said, “Who by? Not your mum?”

      I said, “No, it was an actual boy.”

      Vaisey said, “Was it nice?”

      I said, “Well, not really, because he pretended it wasn’t his hand, it was his kitbag.”

      Jo said, “I’ve had my bra undone through my T-shirt.”

      I said, “Great balls of fire, who did that?”

      Jo said, “I don’t know which one, because they all bombed off on their bikes before I could see.”

      Vaisey said, “My cousin put an ice cube down the front of my T-shirt and then offered to get it out for me.”

      I said, “Is that it then? A maybe fondling of a bum, a hit-and-run undone thing, and an ice cube incident?”

      Flossie said, “No, not quite…”

      We turned to look at her.

      She said, “Well, this is how it happened. It was a hot steamy night, you know, those kind of nights when you feel restless. You want something to happen and you don’t quite know what? Like you were in a play set in Mississippi and you can hear the damn crickets. Going on and on.”

      Jo said, “They don’t play cricket in Mississippi.”

      Flossie said, “Someone kill her while I carry on.”

      We stopped walking.

      Flossie took off her glasses. And loosened her hair and tossed it about. Then she stretched her arms above her head and sighed and went on in a sort of Texan drawl. “Now y’all know how damn hoooooottttt it can get in high summer. To get some air, I decided to peg out some washing. My smalls, actually. Although I hadn’t washed them in dirty bathwater. What a fool I feel now.”

      I said, “Will you get on with it?”

      Flossie went on in a quiet voice. “I was peggin’ out some of my pants when I saw a couple of young fellas watchin’ me. One of them was quite handsome. When I turned round, he ducked behind a bush. I thought, ah, he’s kinda shy. So I kinda half-smiled in the direction of the bush and set off, slowly into the house.”

      Flossie mimed picking up a washing basket and sashaying down the road. “Then I heard a rustlin’ behind me. Aah, I thought, now he will say ‘Miss Flossie, you are so goddam beautiful’. But the rustlin’ was followed by pingin’ and one of those boys was wearin’ my pants on his head. And ran off wearin’ them.”

      When we got to Heckmondwhite it took us the usual minute and a half to go round the village. Some of the girls pretended to be interested in the cards in the post office. But it is very hard to be interested in ten copies of a card that has a picture of that fat bloke from Little Britain on the front. And you open it and it says, “I want that one.”

      Vaisey wanted to go home and go to bed and start dreaming on whatever our assignment is. Which I think is slightly cheating because it’s only six o’clock. The other girls had to be back at Dother Hall for tea, so I slumped off home to the Dobbins’ house.

      I am exhausted. I could hardly eat my ham sandwiches. And trifle. And Eccles cake. The Dobbins were on rope-weaving duty and so they went out after tea. Dibdobs gave me a little huglet as she went.

      “Come and do a bit of weaving, Tallulah, it’s fun! Mr Barraclough often brings us ginger beer and does impressions. He did a very funny one of a ferret up his trouser leg last time.”

      I said I would pass.

      In my squirrel room, I looked out across the moorlands. Some of the pigs are being herded down the path at the back. The boy who was driving them along looked familiar, sort of wild and dark. As he passed by, two of the piglets charged off and he went after them with a stick to prod them. He shouted, “Ay up, Smoky and Streaky, get tha sens back on to path.”

      Smoky and Streaky.

      How mean was that?

      Everything is so different here. And even though the girls are only messing about, I know for a fact that Honey plays the piano, and so does Vaisey. And Vaisey has been a suicidal nun.

      Should I drop that thing that cousin Georgia said about Norwegian art into the conversation? What did she say it was called? Sled-werk.

      There must be something I am good at. Besides being able to get stuff down from the top shelf.

      Maybe there’s going to be a violent thunderstorm. I’m glad I’m not in the dorm with a blanket over my head. It’s hot and sticky, even though it’s after nine o’clock. I’ve done my corkies-rubbing exercises and I can’t say I can see any difference yet. Although my arms look slightly bigger.

      Right, I am going to open my envelope to find out about the assignment for tomorrow:

       Tomorrow we begin our big adventure. Be prepared. Sleep.Bring comfortable workout clothes.And now…think of a word, or words, that sum you up.Dream on it.Bring it to the college tomorrow.

      A word or words that sum me up?

      I lay in the squirrel bed thinking.

      Nobbly?

      Long?

      Corkie-less?

      Oh, that’s attractive, isn’t it? In conclusion, I am a long, nobbly person with no corkers.

      Help!

      I can’t sleep, it’s no use. I’m too hot. And I’m too worried (and nobbly and long).

      I’ll think about something else. What though?

      Oh, I know. Dad sent me a book through the post from wherever he is. Anyway, it turns out to be a James Bond book. In his note, Dad said I would learn a lot from it. He says he did.

      I’ll just open it randomly.

      Oh, here’s some stuff about boy things. James Bond and Honeychile. Ooh, that’s funny, isn’t it? Being a bit like Honey.

       It was unbearably hot in the hotel bedroom in Jamaica. Outside, the geckos and parakeets were settling down noisily for the night.

      I’ll just have to try and imagine the noise of the parakeets above the baa-ing and grunting outside my window.

       Honeychile got up from the bed and took off all her clothes. She went and stood next to the window.

      Crumbs.

       Bond went across to her and took a breast in each hand. But still she looked away from him out of the window.

       “Not now,” she said in a low voice.

      Is that what you’re supposed to do?

      I went to the open window. And when I looked down I saw a boy and girl, um, snogging. The girl had her back to me and her arms wrapped round the boy’s neck. I couldn’t see his face. I wondered