Louise Rennison_Georgia Nicolson 04 Read Online Free PDF

bounceability and whatsit and I am on detention.”
    She said, “Well, you shouldn’t be so silly.”
    What is silly about disco dancing?
    She wanted to show me her love bite, but I couldn’t summon up any interest.
    r.e.
    Miss Wilson has written on the board: “Relationships—what are the ingredients?”
    Good Lord, she would be the last to know, and also I don’t think I have ever seen anyone over the age of six months wearing a pink smock, apart from her. Has she really not got one single mate who would have said to her, “Put the smock in the bin and we will never mention it again”?
    I wonder if I should make Naomi a little pregnancy smock. In the spirit of Christmas?
    Rosie has made some dreadlocks for her pencil and stuck them on to the end of it. She wrote me a note: “As a Rastafarian he has strong views on religious freedom.”
    I wrote back: “It’s a pencil, you fool.”
    And she wrote: “That is what makes it even more remarkable.”
    But we are only trying to cheer ourselves up because of the Peter Pan fiasco.
    What am I going to do about the Sex God? He is supposed to meet me after school. I wrote to Jas: “If I tell SG I have been given detention duties helping complete prats into tights he will think I am a silly little schoolgirl.”
    She wrote back: “You ARE a silly little schoolgirl.”
    Cheers, thanks a lot. Good night.
    last bell
3:50 p.m.
    I ran down the corridor to the cloakrooms and threw myself in front of the mirror. This was my plan: emergency makeup, dash to the school gates, quick snog, explain to Robbie about my unfair incarceration by the Nazis (but not exactly mention the “Let’s go down the disco” incident, in case it was construed as a bit on the childish side), another quick snog, possibly number four, then quick as a bunny back to the main hall before ten past four.
    Pant, pant. Alors, alors. Mascara, lippy, lip gloss, rolly-over skirt, bouncey hair, bouncey hair.
    Right. Ready for the Sex God in five minutes and thirty seconds. A new world record.
    When I stepped out into the corridor, I walked straight into Hawkeye lurking like a piranha. Oh, Scheissenhausen .
    She loomed over me. “Georgia, you are helping with the Christmas entertainment. Why does that require mascara? Remove it and go along to the main hall NOW!”
    I slunk back in the loos. This called for the famous getting-out-through-the-loo-window-and-jumping-onto-the-back-field routine. I almost decapitated two First Years getting out of the window, but I made it. I ran along the back field and then down fag-ash alleyway (so called because it is where the Bummers hang out) that runs between the Science block and…there he was, waiting for me. Sex God unleashed. He looked amazingly groovy. All the girls streaming out of the gates were eyeballing him as they went by. He said hi to Ali King and she practically evaporated on the spot.
    After a quick suck in of the nostrils I sauntered out with an attractive air of casualosity and said, “Hi.”
    Blimey, I’d managed to say something normal to him. That was a turn up for les livres . He smiledhis smile and said, “Hi.”
    He put his hand through my hair (feeling its incredible bounceability, probably) and leaned down and kissed me. Wow. I knew that everyone walking past us was looking, but I had my eyes closed. I did try slightly opening my eyes, but I could only see a big sort of blurry pink thing, which gave me a bit of a turn, until I realized it was my nose really close up.
    4:15 p.m.
    Probably because I am such a kind and caring person, Jesus has decided to take me for His sunbeam by letting me off the hook. The Sex God told me that he had to go and have a conference call with some record people from Hamburger-a-gogo land and so he couldn’t see me tonight.
    I feel a mixture of sadnosity and reliefosity, with just a hint of peckishness.
    4:30 p.m.
    Rosie