Screw Loose Read Online Free PDF

There’s a desperate need for better manners and better grooming among some of the riffraff at this school. Before we meet any private school students, some of you are going to have to lift your game!’
    The laughter drained off into silence. There was one loud sigh.
    â€˜If we have these social events, I’m going to have to start etiquette classes.’
    She’d done this before, but at her house and with boys only. Chelsea had many agendas.
    â€˜What’s etiquette?’ asked a young girl in the front. This was followed by a boy who asked what riffraff meant. Chelsea frowned and, like a teacher, waited for silence.
    A Year 9 girl turned to face the boys. ‘Etiquette is a French word.’ She tossed her hair.
    Chelsea nodded. ‘Thank you, Traycee.’ Then she went on: ‘Etiquette is manners. Manners is an Australian word. All those in favour of social gatherings with the Mary Magdalene girls and St Ethelred’s boys, hands up!’
    Joshua lifted his hand fairly slowly; he thought Chelsea was sailing blindly into trouble.
    â€˜Unanimous. We’ll talk about it in detail at the next meeting. In the meantime, Joshua and I will see Mr Dunn to get his approval.’ She slapped her folder shut. ‘Meeting closed. Go have your lunch.’
    â€˜Them Magda girls are hot!’ Joshua heard one of the boys say as they streamed out of the room. ‘Teach me etiquette now, Chelsea!’
    Chelsea rolled her eyes at him. She was already heading for the door. ‘Come on, Joshua. Spit spot. We’re off to make a time to see Mr Dunn.’
    He followed dutifully.

CRUEL BUT
DELICIOUS
    G EORGIA D ELAHUNTY WAS truanting, at the Park Hyatt. She had fallen out of love with Vistaview Secondary College. There were lots of reasons. The hockey team had been eliminated in the first round of the finals, for starters. Zeynep Yarkan had insisted on becoming friends with busybody and snob Chelsea Dean. Matilda Grey, whom Georgia had befriended in retaliation, was a major challenge. And that wasn’t even the half of it.
    Over the last year, Georgia’s life had gone pear-shaped. Firstly, she’d discovered that her parents were still living, and were not, as her aunt and uncle had informed her, buried under an avalanche in the Himalayas. Then she’d found out that her father was an Indian maharajah, which she found a little embarrassing, because that officially made her a princess. She didn’t want the publicity. What she wanted was a girlfriend.
    Mary Magdalene, the school Georgia wanted to move to, had a thousand girls: the odds of finding someone there would surely be better. So she’d rung her parents in India and asked them if she could change schools. Her parents, perhaps because they really didn’t have enough to fill up their days, had flown straight to Australia to discuss the matter. Now the three of them were sitting in the elegant ground-floor restaurant of her parents’ hotel exchanging small talk.
    Her parents always began with very small talk, usually about their own lives. Georgia was more inclined to jump right into the big things. So far today, they’d chatted about the air-conditioning, the waterlilies at the Fort, and a tribe of troublesome monkeys. Their dawdling conversation was accompanied by a snowfall of piano notes, the muffled voices of other diners, and the tiny chimes of silver striking china. This was a very expensive restaurant.
    She always enjoyed meeting them – this was the fourth time – although they did make her rather nervous, particularly her father. He was amazing to look at. His teeth were very white; his moustache jet black. As he sat tapping his fingers happily on the tablecloth, the precious stones on his fingers flashed blues, reds and greens. He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m jolly hungry,’ he announced.
    When she examined her father’s face Georgia saw some of her own features, but