Not Pretty Enough (5 page)

CHAPTER 10

IT is one of our best lessons of the week. Mr Hayes, the
teacher, is really laid back. Either that or he’s so old that by the time he
makes it up the four flights of stairs to the computer room, he’s in danger of
keeling over with a heart attack. Debs and I always get a computer next to each
other, and Mr Hayes always gives us a simple task like setting up a spreadsheet
or sending an email. It never takes more than ten minutes, and Mr Hayes either
disappears for the rest of the lesson or sits with his feet up on the desk
reading a book. Debs and I spend the rest of the lesson playing Minesweeper. He
never gives us anything else to do.

I have never been very good with
computers, but here is not the place to learn.

Lloyd is a genius with
computers. When the teacher is out of the room, it’s always Lloyd who goes
around fixing everyone else’s machines when they crash. And he’s always being
really productive in the lesson. Not that I think playing Minesweeper or
Solitaire is not productive, but Lloyd is always like “Sir, can I do the next
page in the textbook?” or “Sir, can I read this magazine about computers?” or
the worst one, “Sir, can I do my homework early to get ahead?”

Now I come to think about it,
Lloyd is a real overachiever. It’s quite unattractive really. There’s no excuse
for finishing your homework before you actually get home. I can’t imagine me
ever doing that. After all, why is it called
home
work
if not for the reason that it allows you to play computer games in class
because it should be done at
home
?

Today’s lesson goes as expected.
Mr Hayes gives us a spreadsheet to do; Debs and I copy off each other and
finish within ten minutes. Debs says she wants to go online and chat on Robbie
Williams message boards. I’m not a fan, so I decide to amuse myself by playing
with the graphics program on the computer. If anyone asks, I can say I’m
practising for art next term. I’ve never used the program before, and once it’s
open, the only thing I can think of to draw is Lloyd Layton. What else would you
do when you’re bored in lessons but draw a picture of your crush who’s sitting
right across the room?

The result is, well, if I
thought I was bad at drawing on pen and paper, I’m absolutely horrific at
drawing with a mouse. My interpretation of Lloyd looks like a cross between a
troll and a Tyrannosaurus rex. I’ve given him long legs, short arms and big
hands. I’ve even added a caption to my masterpiece. I wrote, “My name is Lloyd
Layton, and I’m the tallest, coolest guy in school!” in a little speech bubble.
I can’t help giggling at the drawing because it’s so awful. As an afterthought,
I add, “And I look down on everyone!” to the picture.

I look over at Debs to show her,
but she’s still caught up in her message boards, so I decide I’ll email it to
her instead. I might not be an artist, but it’s a fun way to waste an IT
lesson. Maybe next week I’ll try doing Ewan. I click on the send button and
mail it over to Debs. I know she’s online so she’ll get it straight away. I sit
back and wait for her to laugh.

I see her look up at the ping of
the new email sound. It’s strange though, because that ping was so loud, it
sounded like every computer in the room pinged. I’m about to tell her to turn
the volume down when I notice a few people are looking at me. Ewan has burst
out laughing, and someone across the room shouts out, “Nice one, Chessie!”

“Are you insane?” Debs hisses at
me.

“What?” I ask, offended. “You
can surf Robbie bloody Williams websites in a lesson, but I can’t mess around
with PaintShop?”

“No, Chess. What are you doing?
You sent this from the school email address, not your own.”

“So?”

“Didn’t you bother to log in?”

I shrug. “No, I just sent it.”

“We’re on a network, Chessie.
Every computer in the school just got this.”

What
?

“What?” I splutter. “
Every
computer?”

“Uh huh.”

“Even…” I gulp and point behind
me to where Lloyd is sitting.

“Even him.”

“No way.”

“I thought you knew about the
internet and stuff now,” Debs says.

“I do… well, I thought I did.”
I’ve sunk down so far in my chair that it’s fifty/fifty whether I can get up
again without falling on the floor. Actually, falling on the floor, crawling
under the desk and hiding for the rest of the year sounds good right now. I
want to look around and see if Lloyd has opened his email yet, but I’m too
scared to see his reaction. Who am I kidding? Of course he’s opened it. His
buddies are still rolling around and slapping their thighs. I wish you could
un-send email. Someone should invent that. But it’s too late for me. The whole
school has seen my interpretation of troll-like Lloyd Layton, and everybody
knows it came from me because like a total idiot, I signed the damn drawing
like a proper artist would. I have to be the stupidest girl who ever lived.

All I can do is hope that Lloyd
can take a joke. I hope he understands that the comment was about the
picture
of him, not about
him
himself. And then there’s the whole trying to explain why I’m drawing pictures
of Lloyd Layton in IT lessons in the first place, regardless of captions. Why,
oh why, did I sign that stupid picture?

“What’s going on in here, then?”
Mr Hayes asks, coming back into the room. “I can hear you laughing from down
the hall.”

“Oh, please sir, you have to see
this,” Leigh says, beckoning him over.

Mr Hayes looks at the screen
over her shoulder and laughs.

“Well, Chessie,” he finally
says. “I hope your art teacher appreciates what a fine artistic talent you have
for graphics.”

“I don’t think he does, sir,”
Leigh interjects, laughing. She always has to get her word in, stupid bitch.

Blessedly, the bell rings at
that moment. The class begins a stampede towards the door. I briefly consider
jumping out of the window to get to the bottom. We’re only four floors up, I
probably wouldn’t smash many bones. Even if I did break a few things, I’d get a
few weeks off school, and that would suit me just fine right now.

I slink towards the door with
Debs. Lloyd is still at his desk, gathering up his books as I pass. He doesn’t
even look at me. I think that I should probably stay behind and apologise or
something. Explain that the caption was just a joke and I didn’t mean it
nastily. I didn’t mean that he thinks he’s better than everyone else, just that
he literally looks down on everyone because of his height. If I was suave and
sophisticated and not a bumbling idiot, I could be all clever and make a joke
and turn the whole thing into a chat up line. I could hang back, walk down the
stairs with him and say something smart like, “I don’t know about tallest, but
you’re definitely the coolest guy in school.” He’d thank me and say he found
the picture hilarious, and he’d blow off his boy mates and hang out with me at
lunchtime and show me how to do the maths homework we were given last lesson.
Except he’s probably already done his on the computer, and my face is still so
red that I think I’ve got a temperature, and I’m too much of a wimp to face him
anyway. So I run out of class and as far down the stairs as I can get before
Debs shouts at me for going without her.

The next morning as Debs and I
walk into the cafeteria to get a flapjack for breakfast – flapjacks are the
only good thing about our school cafeteria – guess what is pinned up on the
notice board? My picture of Lloyd.

Of course it is. I should have
known that it wouldn’t be forgotten about overnight as I was hoping it would. I
should have known that someone would print it out and put it somewhere public.
Judging by the way Leigh is grinning at me, it was probably her.

I rip the picture down.

“Francesca Clemenfield, I’m
surprised at you,” Miss Gleave says, coming over. “You know better than to
touch school property without permission.”

Why does there always have to be
a teacher roaming the cafeteria when you least want one, but the time that
Leigh accidentally on purpose tipped coffee over my bag, there wasn’t one in
sight?

“Miss Clemenfield, do you have
permission to remove that notice?” Miss Gleave asks.

I shake my head. “No, but…”

“Then please put it back. Only
teachers and students with permission are allowed to touch the notice board.”

“But I…”

“Put the notice back, Miss
Clemenfield, or we can go over the school rules in detention.”

I reluctantly pin the picture
back on the board and watch as Miss Gleave reads it. I can tell that she’s
suppressing a laugh.

“Thank you,” Miss Gleave says.
“You know the rules better than that, Francesca.”

I want to yell after her as she
walks away. I want to yell, “Please let me take it down, wasn’t it bad enough
that the whole class, Lloyd himself and God knows how many other people saw
it?” But I don’t yell anything.

Usually Debs and I go to sit at
a table with Ewan and some others who get here early, but today Leigh is
sitting there, so while Debs queues up for our flapjacks, I go and find the
darkest corner of the room, throw my bag on the floor and sit on it. I want to
disappear into the wall behind me. The worst part is that I know Lloyd will
come in soon. It’s another good reason for coming to the cafeteria in the
mornings – Lloyd always comes in with his buddies. Sometimes he even comes and
sits at our table to talk to Ewan, but he ignores me. I’m like Invisible Girl
to him. Unfortunately, I won’t be invisible this morning when he realises that
I’ve basically told the whole school that he looks like a cross between a
dinosaur and something out of
The Three Billy Goats
Gruff
.

The only thing I can hope for is
that Lloyd doesn’t read the notice board. Which actually could happen, because
now I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him read it. That’s
promising.

Right on time, Lloyd and Darren
come in the doors and walk over to our table. Lloyd sits in my seat. Usually
this would make me jump up and down in excitement (He’s sitting in
my
seat!) but today it makes me feel so queasy that I
give my flapjack to Debs.

Leigh looks over at me, winks,
and then I watch her lean over the table, tap Lloyd on the hand and point him
in the direction of the notice board. I should have known she would never let
him walk out without seeing it.

I follow Lloyd’s gaze as he
looks. He actually looks angry. He throws his bag down onto the floor, shoves
his seat back, stalks over to the board, rips the picture off and tears it into
little pieces before throwing the pieces on the floor. Only Lloyd could get
away with a dramatic display like that. Where is Miss Gleave now? Isn’t she going
to dive on him out of the shadows and tell him to glue it back together or
something? Of course she doesn’t. Lloyd gets away with everything, and I really
am just that unlucky.

CHAPTER 11

July.

I have decided that I believe in karma. I am being punished
for all the times I faked having a sprained ankle to get out of cross-country
running in games. The one activity that I hate more than all the others is
cross-country running. It’s when the teacher divides you into groups and makes
you go for a forty-five minute jog through the forestry that surrounds the
school. We have to do it once a month and almost every month Debs and I fake
each other notes from our parents saying that we have sprained ankles
preventing us from physical exertion that week. Then Miss Raine, our form
teacher and head of the PE department, either lets us stroll along while the
rest of our group runs, or even better, stay in the gym unsupervised.

This week, however, I have a
genuine sprained ankle along with a genuine note from my mum, because I really
did fall up the stairs at home yesterday. Most people fall down stairs, but not
me. I manage to fall
up
them. I’m covered in
bruises and, for once, my ankle is genuinely painful. We’re gathered in the
yard outside the gym, and I’m just about to limp over to Miss Raine and hand
her the note when she starts calling out our groups.

“Chessie, Deborah, Ewan, Lloyd,
Cole, Darren.”

No way
.
The groups are always picked depending on who you’re standing next to, and yes,
okay, Debs and I are quite near to where Lloyd and Ewan are standing so it is
logical that we would be in a group together, but why now? Why today?

I can barely think of any better
way to spend a Tuesday afternoon than a walk or even a light jog with Lloyd
(jogging makes my boobs more noticeable) but the problem is that I can’t really
walk. My ankle hurts. The only thing I’ve managed to do today is limp between
lessons. I know that if I give this note to Miss Raine she will let me, no,
scratch that, she will
make
me stay in the gym
and do nothing, because my ankle is so swollen up I could just about get my
shoe on this morning. My mother has even told me that if it’s not better by
tomorrow, I’ll have to go for an x-ray.

But, this is a one time only
chance. We’ve had cross-country running every month for the past two and a half
years in this school and this is the first time I’ve been put in a group with
Lloyd Layton, and by that logic, will probably be the only time. I can’t miss
this chance. So what if I can barely walk? Lloyd is so good looking that he
probably has some sort of healing qualities anyway.

“Right, everybody in their gym
kits immediately,” the teacher yells. “I expect you at the gate in five
minutes, understand?”

A collective groan reverberates around
the schoolyard.

“Good, hop to it,” Miss Raine
shouts.

Debs nudges me as we make our
way to the changing room. “Give her the note or you’ll get detention for being
late.”

“No,” I say. “I’m going to
attempt it.”

Debs stares at me open-mouthed.
“Chessie, I…”

“I know, okay? But when am I
ever going to get a chance to be in a group with Lloyd again?”

“I know you like the guy, but
don’t you think all that walking is going to hurt? You could barely make it to
the form room this morning.”

I shrug. “Don’t they say you
need to exercise injuries like this, keep them active?”

“Have you looked at your ankle
lately?” she asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s about the
same width as my thigh. What of it?”

“You’re crazy.”

“This is Lloyd Layton we’re
talking about. He’s worth a little pain.”

“Well, just so you know, I’m not
carrying you home tonight if you break something.”

“It’s just cross-country
running. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Famous last words, as usual. If
I’m honest about it, I hadn’t realised quite how bad my ankle actually is. At
least, I hadn’t until I tried to pull a trainer on. That
hurt
. I even had to leave the laces undone because my
foot is so swollen that I can’t do them up.

I lean on Debs as we make our
way over to the gate where the rest of the class are waiting. Great. Three
forms waiting just for the two of us.

“Miss Clemenfield,” Miss Raine
says. “Something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” I grate out. “Just
pulled a muscle.”

“Well, it’s good to see you
working through it for a change.”

Are all teachers this sarcastic
or is it just the ones I have?

“Okay,” Miss Raine continues.
“Whichever group is the first to return gets to do the activity of their choice
for games next week. Go!”

We all set off. You have to walk
down the road single file until you get to the forest turn off, and then split
into your groups and, well, run.

As soon as we hit the turning,
Lloyd, Darren and Cole charge off ahead like they are on some kind of
power-walking trip. I’m still leaning on Debs for support and Ewan is lagging
behind with us because, as he repeatedly tells us, he’s good at the academic
side, not the physical side of school.

“What are you even doing here,
Chess?” he asks. “Usually you’re begging to get out of cross-country, and the
one day when you’ve got a genuine reason, you’re doing it.”

“How much of a wimp would I look
like if I just backed out of every activity because of a little twinge?” I
mutter. Ewan doesn’t need to know quite how large my crush on his friend is.

“Pffft,” Debs says loudly.

“Any time today, you lot,” Cole
yells back at us. “We want to win this thing. We need that choice of what to do
for games next week so we can practice our discus throwing for sports day.”

“Big whoop,” I say. “Why can’t
boys do something that you don’t need to run nine miles to practice?”

“Because they have egos when it
comes to sports,” Ewan says.

“You don’t.”

“I like chemistry, not sweat.”
He laughs.

The three boys ahead of us come
to an abrupt stop and turn around, obviously waiting for us. They huff out annoyed
sighs and tap their feet on the floor like a frustrated Sonic the Hedgehog.

“Could you girls go any slower?”
Lloyd asks.

Nobody answers.

He mutters something under his
breath. “Okay, I know a shortcut. We used to do this in the first year, but we
haven’t needed to lately because we don’t usually get stuck with
girls
.” He spits the word out like we’re so pathetic
he can’t even bear to say it. “We have to be careful not to get caught, but if
you follow me and Darren, we’ll be back to the school ages before anyone else.”

I think that this might be a bad
idea, but I am not about to argue with Lloyd Layton.

“Right.” He climbs over a rock
and disappears into the thickness of the trees. “This way. Try to keep up,
girls
.”

“The teachers will kill us all
if they find out,” Ewan says. “We’re not allowed to go off the path.”

“How will they find out?” Darren
gives us a threatening look.

Ewan shrugs. Obviously it won’t
be because of us.

I don’t like to criticise, but
Lloyd’s shortcut is kind of overgrown. And steep. We’re climbing through the
forestry. Literally climbing right through it. Holding onto tree trunks for
balance. The ground is covered by ferns, leaves and God knows what else. In
fact, I haven’t seen or felt solid ground for what feels like miles. And saying
that my ankle is hurting would be the understatement of the year.

I wish I was wearing trousers
instead of shorts because so far I’ve been entangled in approximately seven
bramble bushes and my legs are torn to bits. In fact, I think they might be hurting
more than my ankle.

Debs is trying to help me
through the forest as best she can, but she’s had a few trysts with bramble
bushes herself and is bleeding almost as much as I am.

“There was a clear path through
here the last time I came,” Lloyd mutters.

“That was, like, two years ago,”
Ewan says.

Lloyd has broken a branch from a
tree and is using it to beat down the bushes ahead of us so we can tread over
them.

“Why don’t we just turn back?” I
ask. “We’ll still make it before the buses leave.”

“No,” Lloyd says without even
looking at me. “We’ll still win easily, just as soon as we get through these
stinging nettles.”

So far none of the three boys
have even noticed that there is anything wrong with me, and I feel a little
stupid to be honest. I thought Lloyd Layton was more considerate than that. I
thought he would at least notice that I’m limping, maybe even care a little
bit. Possibly even offer to carry me for a bit.

But no.

Wait… Did he say stinging
nettles?

He did say stinging nettles, but
what he should have said was ‘monstrously big stinging nettles that come up
past the waist and will sting you everywhere if you so much as
move
.’

It’s okay for him. He’s tall
enough to avoid them. I have been stung everywhere from my legs to my arms.
I’ve even been stung on the neck.

By the time we’re nearing the
school, I’m feeling very dejected. Lloyd, Darren and Cole charged on ahead,
leaving me, Debs and Ewan alone to get past the stinging nettles, hidden rocks,
muddy puddles and bramble bushes that I swear grew bigger as we trod on them.
In fact, they only stop and wait for us when we reach the road just outside the
school gate. Not because they care but because it’ll look suspicious if we
arrive back separately.

Lloyd ignores us completely and
Cole gives us a distasteful look. “Wipe the blood off your legs before someone
notices.”

We won anyway. Cole and Lloyd
will get to practice their discus throwing next week.

The only bright side to the whole
thing is that I will probably miss maths tomorrow morning when I go to the
hospital for an x-ray.