Posh and Prejudice Read Online Free PDF Page B

with a pom pom and scarf looking like him off of
Where’s Waldo
?
    I don’t wanna change if I go to Sixth Form. I like being me.
    7:30 AM —Have just called Carrie for wardrobe advice. Carrie reckons the dress code today is “smart-casual” or “smart-caj” as she
     is calling it. Carrie says there is a section on smart-caj in the “Dress to Impress” chapter of her
Butterz to Babe
book. Carrie says that Tabitha Tennant says that smart-caj means “businesslike with a chilled-out twist, possibly with a
     nod toward sportswear.”
    EH? What does that mean? That newscaster blouse Mum got me for Aunty Glo’s silver wedding anniversary party with some track
     pants? My mother’s betting-shop jacket with my Von Dutch cap and carrying along a Ping-Pong paddle?
    8 AM —Right. This is what I’m wearing: My best jeans from TopShop. My pink T-shirt with the white swirls on it from Wet Seal. My
     pink Ellesse trainers, and my white McKenzie hoodie. I’m wearing my hair loose and back in a gold metal headband and my big
     gold hoops. That’s final. I ain’t changing again. End of.
    8:15 AM —Oh and my gold locket that Wesley bought me of course with the pictures of us in it from when we went to see DJ Tim Westwood.
     I gotta wear it ’cos Wesley’s giving me a lift to school and he gets the hump a little bit if I don’t ’cos it cost a proper
     bomb and it was money he could have spent on rims. Gotta go.

TUESDAY 9TH SEPTEMBER
    OH MY DAYS. Yesterday was proper hectic. I’m going to try and write it all down as this will certainly be a well important
     chapter in the life of Shiraz Bailey Wood when I give my diaries over to the person who writes my autobiography.
    So we got to Mayflower School in the morning and we turfed out Murphy from the backseat for his first day in Year Ten then
     Wesley held my hand for a bit and he was all like, “Good luck, Shizza, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry, innit.”
    But to be quite honest Wesley looked more worried than me. ’Specially when he saw all these boys going into the new Sixth
     Form center all bustin’ their proper best clothes like they were going to a shubz not to school at all.
    So Wesley says to me, “Shiraz? Do you, like, know all of these Sixth Form boys and that, innit?”
    And I said like, “Nah. Not really,” ’cos I hardly reconized any faces. For the first time I suddenly realized that Mayflower
     Sixth Form weren’t just going to be Mayflower School kids that I knew. It was going to be kids coming from all other schools
     too—like Regis Hill Boys Academy and Walthamstow Grange and Thomas Duke in Leytonstone.
    I felt really sick again then ’cos I think I’d been fooling myself that me and Carrie were going to stride in there and it
     was going to be like our turf and all people we knew. Now I saw that we were going to be swamped with all these totally new
     folks and we were going to be new girls too.
    So I kiss Wesley goodbye and I walk into the new Sixth Form Center and there’s this big white room with sofas and beanbags
     in it that looks like somewhere to hang out between classes and there’s all these kids just standing about reading the Center
     of Excellence handbook and there’s loads of Year Nines and Year Tens all outside pushing their faces up against the window
     and staring in at us like we were fish in a tank while teachers kept shouting at them to move away.
    There was a little kitchen in the corner with a tea kettle and a microwave, and a TV at the far side of the room which was
     already turned on and this boy with floppy brown hair, baggy jeans, and proper strong cheekbones was watching
Fast-Track Family Feud
presented by Reuben Smart. The cheekbone lad was laughing well loud at the folks who go on that show. “Look at this lot,
     Saf!” he was saying to his mate who was this well choong black kid sitting beside him sending a text, wearing those limited-edition
     Nikes they just got in Niketown that every boy is going on