Not Pretty Enough Read online

  “It’ll be gone by then. By tonight even. It’s just a mistake,” I finally manage.

  “No kidding. You could sue the hairdresser who did that to you.”

  “I’m sure I could,” I reply. He doesn’t need to know I did this to myself.

  I can’t believe I’m talking to Lloyd Layton in Superdrug in the middle of the Easter holidays, and I can’t believe I look like an extra from a Stephen King novel while I’m doing it. If only I looked hot. Even looking normal would do at this stage. This is the first time Lloyd has so much as looked at me since the sneezing incident, why couldn’t it be perfect? Maybe this means he’s forgiven me or doesn’t think I’m disgusting and we can finally move past it and become friends.

  “Four ninety eight, please,” the cashier says and oh hell, I hadn’t realised we’d moved that far up the line.

  I turn away from Lloyd and begin fumbling in my purse for some money, but I’m so nervous my hands are shaking and I drop the purse, spilling the entire contents across the aisle of Superdrug.

  “Sorry,” I say to the cashier, bending down to pick everything up, heat flaring in my face. I can hear Lloyd laughing to himself but I don’t look up to see him.

  I’m so humiliated. Why do I turn into a complete imbecile in Lloyd’s presence?

  When I’ve finally gathered the contents of my purse up, and I should probably thank my lucky stars that there wasn’t a tampon or something equally embarrassing in there, I practically throw the money at the woman tapping her foot impatiently behind the till in my rush to get out of here. As much as I would love nothing more than to have a proper conversation with Lloyd, I think it’s asking for a bit much on a day like today. Right now, I need to get out of here before I do something even worse like, oh I don’t know, vomit on his feet or something. I am feeling a little queasy after all.

  “See you in school,” I mumble, as I grab my bag and half run out of there with my head so far down that I don’t see the doorframe until I walk right into it.

  Ouch.

  Lloyd bursts out laughing again, he doesn’t even try to hide it this time, and I disentangle myself from the doorway and run out even faster, ignoring the throbbing in my head.

  Damn it, could that have been any worse? Did I absolutely have to bump into Lloyd Layton on the day I look my absolute worst? Not that I ever look particularly great anyway, but I don’t usually look quite this horrific.

  The only good thing about this whole day is that the brown hair dye worked and I no longer have half my head a weird pinkish-reddish colour.

  CHAPTER 7

  I’ve learnt something about so-called wash-in-wash-out hair dye. It should be renamed wash-in-will-never-wash-out. It’s the first day back at school after Easter and I still have brown hair. It’s showing no signs of fading either. This stuff will grow out before it washes out. I don’t mind too much, to be honest. It was a bit of a shock at first but I’ve got used to having brown hair for the time being.

  By lunchtime, I’ve even got a few compliments on it. Okay, they were mostly from Debs and one from Ewan, but it’s the thought that counts. Maybe Lloyd will notice too. Maybe he prefers brunettes.

  Debs and I are walking across the yard at lunchtime when the heavens open. It had been a nice day until now but suddenly it’s pouring. We just happen to be near Lloyd’s Archway, and Ewan just happens to be standing there beckoning us inside for shelter.

  The archway itself is the only remaining part of a long-since-demolished old building that was once a church. From the very first day in school, Lloyd and his friends adopted this archway and they now spend every lunchtime there, rain or shine. Girls aren’t usually allowed in the archway unless they’re going out with one of the gang. No one complains when Debs and I squeeze inside though. Neither of us are going out with Ewan, no matter how much Debs would like to, but I suppose friends count too. Ewan isn’t even one of Lloyd’s gang, not really, but he spends his lunchtimes in the archway with them.

  We never venture near the archway, because I’m usually too nervous to spend any extended period of time in Lloyd’s company, and they’re all boys who talk about nothing but boring stuff like sports and cars.

  But today is a good day to infiltrate the archway. It’s raining, so we have a valid reason for being there, and there are only about ten minutes of lunchtime left, and seriously, how big a fool can I make of myself in ten minutes? Even I would struggle with that one.

  “Hi,” Debs says as we sidle in and stand next to Ewan.

  He grins like seeing her is the best thing to happen all day. Lloyd doesn’t even acknowledge our presence. He’s having a conversation with Darren about car racing, which doesn’t sound very interesting to me. At least Ewan talks to us. I’m not really paying attention to him, because Lloyd is like three feet away from me, but he’s talking to Debs so I nod occasionally and try to look like I’m involved in the conversation too.

  Lloyd doesn’t even look up in the next ten minutes. He’s debating intensely with Darren about race car drivers. He hasn’t even seen my new hair yet.

  Eventually the buzzer rings, and one of the lads steps aside to let us girls run out first, which is very considerate of him. I shout a thank you back as I put my head down and step out. I don’t have a hood on this stupid jacket, and I didn’t bring an umbrella today.

  I’m rushing in the direction of our form room with my head down so low to try and stop my hair frizzing out that I can’t see where I’m going, and I only get a few steps before I run smack bang into someone.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say. I hear laughter burst out from the archway behind us. What could they possibly be laughing at now?

  “I’m really sorry,” I say again to the person I ran into. My head is throbbing so I must’ve hurt him as well. “Are you okay?” I ask, looking up.

  And then I realise why they’re laughing at me. It’s not so much of a someone that I ran in to. More of a something.

  I am currently apologising to a lamppost.

  Oh God. Why me?

  I have ten minutes to not make a fool of myself, and what do I do? I run into a lamppost and apologise to it. I have to be the world’s biggest klutz.

  I slink away, looking where I’m going now – stuff the hair, let it frizz. I’m sure frizzy hair is less embarrassing than having a chat with a lamppost.

  “You don’t have to try so hard, you know,” Debs says when we get to class.

  “But I do,” I moan. “Especially now he’s just seen me do that.”

  “God, I wish you’d just tell him you like him and put yourself out of this misery.”

  “I can’t. He’ll just say thanks but no thanks, and I don’t want to hear that. I know that Lloyd doesn’t like me, but I want to make it so he does like me before I say anything to him.”

  “Chessie…”

  “I just want him to know I exist.”

  “Oh, I think he knows you exist by now,” Debs says.

  “I want him to acknowledge me then. Lloyd has barely even looked at me since day one, so how is he ever going to like me or know that I like him if I can’t even get him to look at me?”

  “Chess…”

  “Forget it. I think he and I would get on really well, if only we had a chance. I don’t want to be rejected by him.”

  “You don’t know he’s going to reject you.”

  “He doesn’t even know my name. Of course he’s going to reject me. I’m not pretty, or clever, or rich, or anything else that might possibly attract him to a girl. I’m just plain old Chessie Clemenfield, and he’s never going to pay any attention to me unless I make him.”

  “As far as I know, most men appreciate the forward approach. You can drop hints for years and they still won’t get it.”

  “What, like you do with Ewan? If you’re so into the forward approach, why don’t you tell Ewan how you feel about him?”

  “It’s not the same,” she says.

  “You like him the way I like Lloyd. The
only difference is that Ewan is your friend and his face lights up every time he sees you.”

  “Exactly. Ewan is our friend. He’d never want to be anything more.”

  “You don’t know that unless you try.”

  “This is not about me and Ewan, okay? It’s about you and Lloyd. Just go up to him, tell him you like him, and see what happens. You don’t know unless you try either. Staring at him a lot and changing your hair won’t let him know how you feel.”

  “Lloyd will get it eventually. We have loads of stuff in common. He just needs the chance to see it.”

  “Chess, the only thing you have in common with Lloyd Layton is the fact that you’ve got big boobs and he’s about nine feet tall.”

  “That’s not the point. I understand him. I know what it’s like not to fit in.”

  “Lloyd fits in. Have you seen how many boys he hangs around with at lunchtime? It’s not like he’s short of friends.”

  “But it must be hard for him, you know, being different.”

  “He’s not different. He’s just…”

  “Taller than most of the teachers,” I finish. “People treat him like a freak. They stare at his height the way they stare at my chest.”

  “You can’t form a relationship on him being tall and you having a big chest.”

  “We understand each other. What better basis for a relationship is there?”

  I’m not really that confident but I don’t tell Debs that. I know that I don’t have anything in common with Lloyd Layton. He’s rich and probably lives in a mansion. I get a tenner a week pocket money in return for doing chores and live in a house that always needs a plumber, or a builder, or a repairman of some sort called in. He gets a taxi to school, I ride a bus that rattles and breaks down at least once a month. He has a huge gang of friends who hang out in the archway with him every lunchtime. I have Debs and we usually hang out in the library or on the steps outside our form room. He’s into sports and cars and probably action movies where people get blown up a lot, I’m into make-up, shopping and romantic comedies where the girl always gets the guy.

  Debs is right. The only thing we have in common is first and last name alliteration, but I can’t give up yet. Lloyd could like me, he just doesn’t know me yet.

  CHAPTER 8

  May.

  Can I just say that I hate geography? The tables are arranged in a square around the perimeter of the room, so you’re all looking at each other. Lloyd is right down the other end of my line, so I can’t even see him. If there’s one good thing about some lessons, it’s that you can watch Lloyd Layton without being noticed, but not this one.

  I’ve been in this school for two and a half years now. I’ve had this teacher – Mr Edmond – for a year and a half of them, and he has not yet realised that I am not interested in geography. In fact, the only thing even mildly interesting in this classroom is the fact that Lloyd Layton is in it.

  I don’t know if it’s because my seat is directly opposite the teacher’s desk, or if it’s because he just doesn’t like me, but he loves to do quick fire questions, usually before you’ve even settled at your desk and got your books out. I’m always the first one he picks, and it’s always some rubbish about the Earth’s core or volcanoes that erupted fifty years ago. I never get it right, and I think Mr Edmond thinks I’m teasing him by pretending to be stupid when the truth is that I can just about find my way home from the bus stop.

  “Miss Clemenfield,” Mr Edmond begins just as we are settling down in our chairs. “The population of Japan is?”

  “Um…”

  “Wrong. The population of Japan is not um. It is in fact…” He stops and stares at me for a moment. “Francesca, are you okay?”

  I look up. “Yes, thank you. Yourself?”

  “No, your face. It’s all red.”

  “I had to run down from my last class. Mr Griffiths kept us behind.” I nod emphatically. Okay, so I’m seriously unfit. Why don’t you point it out to the whole class and have Lloyd Layton turning to look at my red, sweaty self, panting due to a short run from the maths block?

  “If you’d like to go and get a glass of water from the fountain, you’re welcome to go now before the lesson begins.”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He walks away and starts the quick fire questions down the other end of the room.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Ceri, who sits on one side of me, asks.

  “You know, you do look a bit red and blotchy, Chess,” Ewan says from the seat on my other side.

  “All right, I’m unfit,” I snap. “Why don’t you just announce that I’m a fat cow during school assembly and be done with it?”

  “Sorry.” He holds his hands up and starts intently reading his textbook.

  Leigh leans across from where she sits a few chairs down. “Don’t worry, Chessie,” she says with a sickly sweet smile that’s as fake as plastic flowers. “I suffer from PMT too. Do you want me to ask for a tampon for you?”

  “At least mine’s not permanent,” I snap at her.

  After ten minutes or so goes by, the teacher is about to fire another dumb question when he stops in his tracks and stares at me.

  “You know, Francesca, I really think you ought to go and see the nurse.”

  God, won’t anyone just leave me alone today?

  “It’s Chessie, please.” I grab my bag from the floor and dig around in it until I find my compact mirror. “Is there something wrong with the lighting in this class or something today, Mr Edmond? Because I’m absolutely fi—”

  Oh God. My face is all red and blotchy. It’s like I’ve come out in some sort of a rash. Crikey, no wonder the teacher was worried about me.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly.

  “Ewan, Ceri,” Mr Edmond addresses them. “Could you two move your chairs away a little bit, just in case it’s contagious. If everybody could just shift down a little.”

  Contagious. Contagious? He thinks I’m contagious? And he’s just announced it to the rest of the class, and suddenly thirty pairs of eyes are peering at me and talking amongst themselves.

  Crap.

  Couldn’t he just have said something to me quietly, without making the entire class think I have the bubonic plague? That’s just great, isn’t it? Now Lloyd will never look twice at me because I’m like a walking wart. A giant walking wart that is contagious.

  Although, perhaps a more pressing matter is what on earth is wrong with me. Why is my face all rash-like? I look like I’ve been sleeping in a nest of stinging nettles.

  “I think you should go to the nurse, Chessie.” Mr Edmond puts unnecessary emphasis on my name.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I grab my bag and rush out the door, grateful to be able to walk away from the staring eyes.

  The nurse’s office is just down the hall from the geography room and I wait patiently while she finishes dealing with a first year boy who has a headache.

  “So, Miss Clemenfield,” she says. “I can see why you’re here.”

  Thank you, I think. Don’t make me feel better or less conspicuous about it, will you?

  I sit down as she turns my face towards the light and starts examining it with a magnifying glass. Wearing her rubber gloves, obviously. Wouldn’t want her to catch anything contagious.

  “This looks like an average allergic reaction, Chessie. Have you eaten anything you shouldn’t have lately? Tried anything new? Gone for any walks in the countryside?”

  I shake my head.

  “How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?”

  Does embarrassment count as pain? Because I think it should.

  “Well,” she says. “I’ll give you a couple of antihistamine, they should do the trick for now, but I think you should keep a diary of all the things you eat and do, just in case this comes up again, we need to be able to eliminate certain things that you might be allergic to, such as dairy products.”

  “I’ve eaten dairy products all my life. I don’t think I’m
allergic to them.”

  “It was only an example.” She angles my face to the light again and has another look.

  Great. Now she’s wiped off all my new foundat… Oh.

  “Um, I have a new foundation on today. Is that likely to be the cause?”

  “Oh,” she says. “You should have told me that before. You’ve never suffered with this before?”

  I shake my head.

  “And you’ve never worn this foundation before?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think it’s safe to say that we’ve found your problem. Go to the sink in the back room and give your face a good wash, I think it’ll clear up in no time then. And I’d highly recommend not wearing that foundation ever again.”

  “But it cost six quid.”

  “People wear foundation to cover imperfections in their skin. I don’t think this has done its job quite right, do you? It’s your choice, Chessie, but I should warn you that if you continue to use it your face could end up scarring.”

  “Great,” I mutter under my breath as I scrub my face with soap. Perfect. So much for invisible bloody foundation.

  “Now then,” the nurse says when I come back out with my red, blotchy but clean and make-up free face. “Do I have to remind you of the school rules regarding make-up, Miss Clemenfield?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say automatically. “It was this invisible stuff, it wasn’t supposed to notice.”

  “No make-up means no make-up, Francesca. Make-up is make-up whether you can see it or not.”

  “Okay, I won’t wear it again.”

  “Good. I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you. If you re-offend then I will be forced to send you to the principal.”

  If I re-offend? What am I, some kind of criminal?

  I make my way back to the geography class and immediately thirty pairs of eyes swivel in my direction.

  “It’s okay, you won’t die from sitting near me,” I announce. “It was just an allergic reaction to my make-up.”

  “Miss Clemenfield, you must be aware of—”