By the Time You Read This. Lola JayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
right,’ she replied with a yawn. I nodded my head as Carla scraped strands of silky hair around her perfect ear, which was decorated with a massive hoop earring.
‘Bummer, Lo Bag, another book to read,’ said Corey, chewing furiously on the gum.
‘Can you not call me that?’ I asked – although I knew it was pointless, considering he’d been referring to me as ‘Lo Bag’ since, like, forever. As I explained about The Manual AGAIN, Corey’s index finger disappeared almost whole into his left ear as Carla stifled yet another yawn.
‘He gives me advice and stuff…’
‘So, what you’re saying is, your dad tells you what to do even though he’s dead?’ asked Corey, eyes searching the street ahead for his mates who were meeting him in ten minutes.
‘No…not really…’ I replied defensively.
‘Bummer,’ he added again anyway as Carla shook her head in apparent agreement with her brother. I sighed inwardly, disappointed that my friends found it so difficult to understand my new situation. But then, I couldn’t really expect them to.
An offensive bang on the chip-shop window interrupted our conversation.
‘Hey you kids, buzz off if you ain’t buying anything! Bloody loiterers!’
‘Charming!’ I said.
‘Sod off!’ shouted my friends as Corey placed two middle fingers firmly against the smeared window. Feeling a little left out, I spat a weak, ‘No, you buzz off!’ in the proprietor’s direction as I followed my friends across the road. My weak attempt at rebellion before the usual indignity of school the next day.
So the countdown begins. Bet you can’t wait to officially become a teenager. If only you knew that one day you’ll realise turning your clock back every winter is not enough. You’ll want another five, ten, twenty years back soon. But I won’t bore you with that right now, I may come back to it later. For now, it’s my hope you’ll manage to do one thing this year you’ll remember for ever and ever.
Can you think of anything?
Dad will give you a clue.
When I was twelve, I remember my dad taking me kite-flying for the very first time. It was a great day. The sun was shining brightly and I had to really squint as my eyes chased the red and blue kite floating in the sky. I was exhausted by the end of it all – so much so that when I chased the ice-cream van, I found I couldn’t catch up. I was so angry, while my dad was in fits! But that was okay because I was out with my dad, being boys, being free… just me and him and away from Philomena, Ina and Mum. I’ve never forgotten that day – even now at my age – because it was one of the last times I really remember feeling like a kid.
I know we can’t have those days together, but I really hope you and your mum have taken time out to make some lovely lasting memories of your own. Even so, I want you to make one more lasting memory this year.
Promise?
*
I searched my brain, tackling the events of the past year: Mum getting serious with then marrying the Bingo Caller; her constantly having a go at me; being marched up to the local market and suffering the very public indignity of picking out a ‘training bra’. Frankly, it had been a rubbish year, but I owed it to Dad to do ‘something to remember’ before I hit thirteen.
I mentioned it to Carla that evening.
‘We could go ice skating,’ she offered unhelpfully. Since getting her hair cut even shorter last week she’d decided to switch identities and was now all sophisticated – and stupid. I wondered what would happen if I took the scissors to my own mass of frizz. Nevertheless, I loved being around her and the family, as without them I’d be stuck at home with Mr and Mrs Boring. Popping round for Sunday lunch reminded me what a normal family could be like. Her mum was not only as beautiful as any movie star, she knew about stuff I cared about and dressed really good. Even Carla’s dad was quite good-looking – if you liked geriatrics (he was at least thirty-five). And apart from Corey disappearing to the moon minus a return ticket, Carla mostly got everything she wished for – records, clothes, shoes. And, most importantly, I’d yet to witness a spat between her parents – unlike Mum and the Bingo Caller. I also wished to be as pretty as Carla – soft, spot-free skin with the slimmest waist, just like her mum – although possibly, all I had to look forward to in that department was ‘The Great Auntie Elizabeth Gene’, but fingers crossed.
‘How about ice skating?’ she reiterated.
‘We do that all the time!’ I protested as Corey barged into the room for the fourth time that evening, baggy trousers hanging way below the waist and almost exposing the crack of his skinny bum, rolled up at the ankles and held in place with elastic bands. I’d seen the look on some guys down at the rec, but on Corey it just looked stoopid.
‘What are you two girls talking about, then?’ he asked.
‘GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU CRETIN!’ spat Carla as I took in the familiar scene of brother and sister mid-squabble. Corey was responsible for most rows, as he seemed to enjoy teasing his younger sister and behaving like the biggest idiot that ever lived. He also reeked of cigarettes.
‘Lo Bag?’ he said for no particular reason, flashing a dimpled smile.
‘I said, get out of my room. I’m telling Mum!’ said Carla, looking for something to chuck. These days, Carla and I were becoming more consumed in our own secrecy as Corey spent more time with ‘the boys’. And since reading The Manual, I’d felt miles older than the two of them anyway. Things were changing between us.
Carla finally found one of her old teddies and launched it towards her brother.
‘Cow!’ he spat, reaching for the door.
That night, Carla and I swooned over a poster of Bobby Brown and practised vogueing in front of the mirror, but not once did she ask me about The Manual.
I slipped back next door and into my room as Mum lay on the couch cuddled against the Bingo Caller, whispering sweet nothings. I changed into my yellow pyjamas decorated with pink dots and pulled The Manual from its secret hiding place under the bed. The one-eyed teddy stared at me, like he had something to say, and I started to wonder if I was getting too old to have him on my bed.
You’re in secondary school now.
A place where all the curly-haired kids want straight hair, the tubby kids dream of looking like beanpoles, and everyone is des perate to latch on to someone resembling a best friend.
This is fine, but having a bunch of other mates is always a good idea. At least I thought so when I was at school. In the jun iors I had three good friends – one was good at Maths, one great at football, the other okay at English. This all helped considering Maths and English were my least favourite subjects!
When I got to secondary school, things were a little different. Just getting through the day without being called certain names was really important, and it didn’t hurt to be around a bunch of boys who were feared, but the rules remained the same. So, now, what was his name…? John or Johnny, I think? Now he was brilliant at both Maths AND English. And there was Nick, who everyone was scared of (which obviously brought the name-calling down to a minimum). And then there was Charlie (secretly, my favourite best mate) who was basically good at… well, mucking about mainly.
Look at it this way: some will be good at geography, others good for advice. Whatever their strengths, I’m sure they’ll make such