Geek Girl (12 page)

ow I’d love to stand on ceremony,” Wilbur says as he physically pushes my parents into a little office at the back of the room. “But we don’t have a minute to lose. I have another engagement in six minutes. So let’s get this done speedio and make the magic happen, right?” He holds his hand up to Dad.

“Right!” Dad says and high-fives him.

“For crying out loud,” Annabel sighs as Wilbur shows us to little plastic seats. “Will somebody other than me please take this seriously? And you should know that I’m making notes,” she adds sternly, getting out her notepad.

“How funalicious!” Wilbur cries. Annabel writes one word down, but I can’t see what it is. “Now,” he continues, “are we definitely set on the name Harriet?”

We all look at him in shock because… well, it’s my
name
. I’ve been sort of set on it for the last fifteen years.

“My name,” I tell Wilbur in the most dignified voice I can find, “was inspired by Harriet Quimby, the first female American pilot and the first woman ever to cross the Channel in an aeroplane. My mother chose it to represent freedom and bravery and independence, and she gave it to me just before she died.”

There’s a short pause while Wilbur looks appropriately moved. Then Dad says, “Who told you that?”

“Annabel did.”

“Well, it’s not true at all. You were named after Harriet the tortoise, the second longest living tortoise in the world.”

There’s a silence while I stare at Dad, and Annabel puts her head in her hands so abruptly that the pen starts to leak into her collar. “
Richard
,” she moans quietly.

“A
tortoise
?” I repeat in dismay. “I’m named after a
tortoise
? What the hell is a tortoise supposed to represent?”

“Longevity?”

I stare at Dad with my mouth open. I don’t believe this. Fifteen years of the worst name ever and I can’t even blame my dead mother for it?

“We could try Frankie?” Wilbur suggests helpfully. “I don’t believe there were any famous reptiles, but I’m sure there must have been a cat or two.”

“She stays Harriet,” Annabel says in a strained voice.

“You have to admit it was worth a punt,” Wilbur whispers to me, but I’m too busy giving my father the evil eye to say anything back.

“Now,” Annabel continues. I can see that she has a list in front of her. “Wil
bur.
You’re aware that Harriet’s still at school?”

“Of course she is, Fluff-pot; the others are decidedly too old.”

Annabel glowers at him. “I see I need to rephrase that.
What happens with Harriet’s school work?
”

“We work around it. Education is so
very
important, isn’t it? Especially when you stop being beautiful and perhaps get a little fat.”

Annabel’s eyes narrow a bit more. “How much is this going to cost?”

“Gosh, she’s to the point, isn’t she?” Wilbur says approvingly, winking at Dad. “If it’s a testshot, everyone works for free and it costs nothing. If it’s a job, Harriet gets paid and the agency gets a cut of that. That’s sort of the point, isn’t it? I’m not here just for the free dinners.” Wilbur pauses thoughtfully. “I’m a little bit here for the free dinners,” he corrects. “But not entirely.”

“And who looks after her? She’s only fifteen.”

“You do, poppet. Or Panda Senior over there. At fifteen she has to have a chaperone at all times, and I’m going to suggest that it’s one of you two because the total strangers we drag off the streets just don’t seem to care as much.”

I glance quickly at Dad and note that his excitement levels are getting dangerously high. Annabel scowls at him. “And who was that crying earlier?” she hisses. “
Why
were they crying?”

Wilbur sighs. “We had to turn a girl away, Darling-cherub. If we made everyone who wanted to be a model a model, we’d just be an agency for human beings, wouldn’t we? Fashion’s exclusive, my little Butternut-squash. That means
excluding
people.”

“That was a child,” Annabel says in an angry voice.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Wilbur shrugs. “It’s hard to tell: sometimes they just don’t eat very much. Confuses the growth hormones, you know? Either way, we sent them packing.” And then he beams at us all. “I won’t be sending
you
packing, though, because you’re here by special invitation of
moi
.” And he throws the Polaroids from The Clothes Show on the table. “Your daughter is adorable. I’ve never seen such an alien duck in my entire life
.
”

“A
what
?”

“Frankie here looks just like the ginger child of an alien and duck union, and that is so
fresh
right now.”

“
Her name is not Frankie
,” Annabel hisses in barely contained frustration. “It’s
Harriet
.”

“Could you not at least have smiled, Frankie?” Dad sighs as he studies the photos. “Why do you always sulk?” He looks apologetically at Wilbur. “She ruined eighty per cent of our photos when we were in France last summer.”

“
Her name is Harriet!
” Annabel almost shrieks at Dad.

“Oh, no,” Wilbur says earnestly. “That works for me. People like their high-fashion models to look as deeply unhappy as physically possible. You can’t have beauty
and
contentment: it would just be unfair.” He looks at the photos again with a satisfied expression. “Harriet looks thoroughly miserable: she’s perfect. Once we’ve straightened out that lazy eye, obviously.”

“
What are you talking about?
” Annabel shouts and her voice is getting higher with every sentence, as if she’s singing it. “
Harriet does not have a lazy eye
.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Wilbur says, waving his hands around in an attempt to calm her down. “What’s a more politically acceptable way of putting it? Directionally challenged?”

Annabel looks like she’s about to bite him.

“Are you sure
,”
I finally manage to interrupt before Annabel rips the entire room to shreds, “that I’m what you’re looking for? That there isn’t some kind of mistake?”

Because with all of the nerves and the tension and the shouting, I haven’t been able to get a word – or a thought – in edgeways, but some of the things I’ve heard have kind of stuck. Words like:
ginger, tortoise, alien, duck, lazy
and
eye.
This isn’t quite the magical metamorphosis moment I was looking for. I don’t feel very beautiful at all. In fact, I think I feel worse than I did before I came in here.

“My little Tortoise,” Wilbur says, reaching out to grab my hand as my squinty, directionally challenged, short-lashed alien eyes start welling up. “Cross-eyed or not, there’s no mistake. You’re perfect just the way you are. And it’s not just me that thinks so.”

“No, your daddy does too,” Dad says, leaning over and ruffling my hair in an attempt to make peace with me. I growl and bat his hand away crossly.

Wilbur smiles. “
Actually
, I’m rather enigmatically referring to an
enormously
important fashion designer who saw the Polaroids and wants to meet Harriet asap.” He pauses and looks at his watch. “Asap is an abbreviation of as soon as possible,” he adds.

There’s a long silence while Annabel, Dad and I stare at Wilbur with blank expressions. After twenty seconds of nothing, Annabel finally snaps. “What the hell are you talking about, you strange little man?
When?
”

Wilbur’s watch starts beeping. “Now,” he says, grinning and standing up. “It’s the other engagement I was talking about.”

“
Now?
”

“Yes.” And then Wilbur looks directly at me. “She’s sitting next door.”

ow I know many things.

I know that the word ‘mummy’ comes from the Egyptian word for ‘black gooey stuff’. I know that every year the moon steals some of the Earth’s energy and moves 3.8cm further away from us. I know that when you sneeze, all bodily functions stop, including the heart.

And I know nothing about modelling.

However, I’m pretty sure that this is not how the story is supposed to go. The agency are supposed to assess me and then think about it, we’re supposed to assess them and think about it, and then we’re all supposed to make lots of careful decisions and go through lots of boring waiting time before anything interesting happens.
If
anything interesting happens.

They’re not just supposed to lob a fashion designer at me the way Alexa lobs a netball at my head before the game has even started. What’s more, I haven’t been transformed at all yet. I’m not ready
. I’m still a caterpillar.

“
What?
” Annabel finally stammers in total disbelief. “She’s
what
?”

In the meantime, Wilbur has manually picked me out of my chair and is pushing me towards the door on wobbly Bambi legs. “She’s next door,” he repeats. “You know, they sell the most fabulous little ear syringes in chemists that will clear these hearing problems right up for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Annabel hisses, starting to get out of her chair too.

“Oh, they do,” Wilbur insists. “It’s like
pop
, and suddenly you can hear again.”

Annabel clicks her tongue in frustration. “I mean, Harriet’s going nowhere.”

Wilbur looks at Annabel in confusion. “But it’s a
super important designer
, my little Door-frame. I don’t think you quite understand. Frankie’s a very lucky little girl to even get a chance to meet them.”

“I don’t give a flying duck if they’re Queen of the World,” Annabel snaps. “Harriet’s not just being thrown into it like that.”

Wilbur sighs. “Let’s be rational about this,
non
? You haven’t signed anything and you haven’t decided anything. You can still say no. But isn’t it best to know what you’re saying no to? That’s just basic maths.”

“It’s not maths,” Annabel sighs. And then her head furrows in the middle. I can see the logic has started worming its way in.

“Plus, Annabel,” Dad says anxiously. “
What if it’s the Queen of the World?
”

“Oh, for the love of
Pete,
” Annabel says after staring at Dad for a few seconds, and then she turns to me. (“Are you Pete?” I hear Wilbur whisper to Dad.) “Do
you
want to meet this person?”

“Uh,” I say because everything has suddenly gone very far away and quiet, and my whole body is shaking – even my thumbs.

This cannot be happening
. This is not on the plan. This is not on
any of the plans.

They want me to go in without a plan?

Yes. Apparently that’s exactly what they want me to do.

“
Perfectomondo!
” Wilbur cries and – before I can work out what my next thought is going to be – he pushes me out of the door and closes it behind us.