The Number One Rule for Girls. Rachel McIntyre

      

      First published in Great Britain in 2016

      by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

      The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text copyright © 2016 Rachel McIntyre

      The moral rights of the author have been asserted

      First e-book edition 2016

      ISBN 978 1 4052 7345 9

      EBook ISBN 978 1 7803 1625 3

       www.egmont.co.uk

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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      For Christina Kiley

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Acknowledgements

       Also by Rachel McIntyre

       From the author of THE #1 RULE FOR GIRLS

      I was ripping the firelighters open when Ayesha arrived.

      ‘What the . . .?’ She peered down at the barbecue. ‘Oh, Daisy, please tell me that’s not your school uniform.’

      ‘I’m making a Symbolic Gesture,’ I said, placing my tie on top of the pile.

      She tutted as she picked up my blazer. ‘Man-made fabrics don’t burn, they melt. And what about the buttons and zips? Why couldn’t you take it to a charity shop, like a normal person?’

      ‘Because I need to rise from the ashes of these polyester school chains,’ I said as I picked up the matches. ‘To be reborn to a new life at sixth-form college. A phoenix –’

      But she’d already gone to the back door to ask my mum for a plastic bag.

      Now Beth would’ve been up for my sacrificial inferno; crazy, impulsive yin to Ayesha’s sensible yang that she was. But according to Facebook she was out somewhere ‘feeling excited’ with her new boyfriend.

      Fast-forward half an hour and we were sitting on a bus heaving with Saturday shoppers. As we pulled into the station, Ayesha looked up and down the street.

      ‘Aha,’ she said, flapping her hand at a green shopfront. ‘How about that one?’

      The idea of going back to St Mary’s had been depressing me for weeks. Since the day Matt dumped me in fact. So donating my school uniform to the Samaritans . . .?

      ‘Perfect,’ I said, stepping on to the pavement, the bag containing my old life clutched tightly in my hand.

      ‘Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?’ Ayesha asked as we crossed the road. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to stay on at school with me and Beth?’

      ‘No chance,’ I said, symbolically dumping my blazer, tie,