The Number One Rule for Girls. Rachel McIntyre

did it. The room was in uproar again. I don’t think anyone even noticed Badger sit down, cheeks flaming fifty shades of red as he slid the beanbag over to me.

      Poor SpongeBob. My hands itched to deliver a little slap-justice on his behalf and I briefly daydreamed about running round the room, smacking every single guffawing goon across the chops.

      This of course should’ve been Flip-flop Phil’s job (maybe not the violence), but our tutor was being (in the immortal words of Nana Green) about as much use as an inflatable bloody dartboard. Flapping his arms, going, ‘Hey . . . quiet now,’ in an attempt to calm the cackles.

      Yeah, like that was going to work.

      With the beanbag in my hand and a blandly plastic smile on my face, I stood up as the howls faded to sniggers. Toby le Gorge was watching me, no trace of a smirk clouding those perfect features, but I hardly even noticed. I held out for pin-drop-level hush, then kept them waiting one beat, two beats, three beats more. Deep breath and:

      ‘Hi everyone, my name’s Daisy Green. My parents own a wedding business called Something Borrowed and I work part time for them. I love vintage clothes and playing football. And I absolutely, with a passion, hate bitchy people.’ Then I chucked the beanbag, hard, at the girl in the neon, doll-sized dress. I’ll give her this, she didn’t bat an eyelid as she got to her feet.

      ‘Thank you, Debbie. My name’s Brittany Bentley and three amazing facts about me are: my mom’s from England, but I grew up in Texas. I’m a cheerleader and my team made it to nationals in Atlanta this spring, which was awesome; I love competitive dancing, especially disco and Latin; I got into the televised rounds of America’s Got Talent last year and I want to be . . . famous!’

      As she flashed a creepy pageant-princess smile, my immediate thoughts were: a) That’s not three things and b) Who the hell is Debbie?

      No one else seemed to notice though, and loads of the boys started wolf whistling and awwwoooo-ing. (Toby and Badger-not-Humphrey earned instant brownie points for their non-joining in.) Brittany flicky-flicked her hair and did a fake aw shucks curtsy.

      Famous? Yawn. Way to go, Stereotype Girl.

      Me and Badger smiled at each other.

      ‘Daisy, yeah?’ he whispered, holding out his hand. ‘As in flower?’

      ‘Badger, yeah?’ I replied, shaking it. ‘As in vicious, striped woodland creature?’

      ‘Erm, yes. Hello.’

      ‘Hi.’

      ‘Did you hear the one about the beanbag?’ he said.

      ‘No?’

      ‘It didn’t break the ice.’

      Arf arf. Lame cracker jokes aside, at least he was friendly, which instantly catapulted him above the rest of the people I’d met so far. Then he said bye he had to rush off to music, and I got my timetable out. Now, where was D Block?

      By the time I’d worked out I was already in D Block (duh), the room was empty except for Scarily Handsome Toby. Odd. I glanced around, expecting to see a crowd of his mates lurking somewhere, but no. He was waiting for me.

      His sulk-face had been erased by a smile so hot it probably had the power to vaporise knickers (Other girls’ knickers anyway. Mine were 100 per cent smile-proof thanks to Matt.) ‘Are you on a free now?’ he asked.

      ‘No, I’m just late for next lesson,’ I said. ‘Got my Spanish induction.’

      ‘No worries,’ he said with a wink, an action that would normally set me cringing for England. Except from him it weirdly kind of didn’t. ‘I’ll see you later then, Daisy.’

      ‘Yeah, bye,’ I said, smiling.

      Nice guy. Cute. It almost made up for catty Brittany. Almost.

      And I suppose the rest of the day wasn’t that bad, not burning-in-the-sulphurous-pits-of-Hell bad anyway. More un-good, like finding an umbrella in your Christmas stocking: hardly Yay, gift of my dreams, but not quite Kill me now territory either.

      I guess the biggest shock was how similar college was to school. Maybe there were no bells, no uniform, no registration. (No friends . . . sigh.) But from the Dirty Porridge painted walls, to the perma-reek of Lynx and chips, I could have been back at St Mary’s.

      The Rule #8 Think Positive List

      Here, I could be Just Daisy not

      DaisywhogotdumpedbyMatt.

      The toilets were clean.

      No uniform.

      OK-ish teachers.

      It wasn’t a mistake. Right?

       Right?!

      And speaking of mistakes, Brittany must’ve though it was fancy dress herself. I mean, why else would anyone walk round dressed as a Bratz doll?

      After college, I caught the bus to footie training and then me and Ayesha went back to hers.

      ‘How was school?’ I said as I sat down on her bed. ‘Everyone missing me already?’

      ‘Well, me and Beth certainly are,’ she answered. ‘And Mr Fox asked after you in registration.’

      ‘Old Captain Comb-over? Really?’

      Given our years of mutual loathing in form time and maths I was stunned he didn’t get the party poppers out when I failed my GCSE. Or fall to his knees and weep with joy when I told him I wasn’t coming back.

      ‘Shocker, I know. He said to give you his best wishes for college.’

      Blimey.

      ‘And I think he really meant it.’

      Double blimey with sprinkles on top. He must have been wetting his flares in case I changed my mind about leaving.

      I opened my mouth, ready to cast a think positive spin on my day when the doorbell rang. It was Beth. Apparently she wasn’t grounded as long as she agreed to her dad following her wherever she went. As in he was sitting outside in the car. Beyond creepy.

      However, my initial mad-dad sympathy soon drained away as the endless tears Beth snotted down Ayesha’s cardigan turned my heart to stone. And after five minutes of her, But I loooove Shaneeey, driving me up the Wailing Wall, I could not hold my tongue another second.

      ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe your dad’s got a point.’

      Beth’s head popped up, a mascara-smeared meerkat sensing danger. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Maybe it’s time you tried being single for a bit.’

      ‘Single? What the hell for?’ She sounded genuinely surprised.

      ‘Oh God, I don’t know. Because you’ve never tried it? Because you’re making yet another mistake?’

      ‘What mistake?’

      ‘I mean . . .’ I breathed in deep. ‘From what I’ve heard, I don’t think this Shaney is good news.’

      ‘Oh yeah?’ she said, folding her arms and giving me the bring-it-on eyes. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, for starters, he followed you home from school.’

      ‘Only to talk!’

      I rolled my eyes. ‘Talk . . . stalk . . .’

      ‘Daisy . . .’ said Ayesha in a warning tone.

      ‘I’m staging a Rule number 5 intervention,’ I said defensively. ‘Always be honest . . . ’

      ‘. . . even when it’s painful,’ Ayesha finished. ‘I know, I know. But I don’t think now is the right time.’ She gave an exaggerated nod in