to, if you were a bit different. The bit that was different wasnâtalways easy to know till someone picked on you and made it clear.
After more than two years at the school sheâd worked out that there were things she had to act about, to make up for. These were: One â being small, which included looking way too young to be a credible thirteen, going on fourteen. Ellie, taking after her mother, was one of the littlest in her year and still child-shaped, though (thank goodness) acceptably pretty and with long glossy brown hair and a curvy mouth that went up at the corners, so people always thought she was smiling even when she was in a fury. To be a credible thirteen you actually had to look old enough to get served in a pub, to look as if youâd already had so much sex you were bored with it (even though hardly anyone had) and to have had periods since you were in primary school. Ellieâs hadnât even started yet, which was why she kept Tampax loose in her bag and let them fall out on the classroom floor now and then.
Two, you had to have home problems that you could moan about. Top of that, best, you needed a struggling lone mum who scraped by on the social, with men who were a pain and maybe even smacked her about a bit. Ace would be a stepdad on remand for something dangerous. Ellie had two nice friendly parents who liked each other. On the plus side, her mum was often seen around driving her Dishing the Dirt van, so sheâd told everyone she was a cleaner, not that she owned the company. But they were borderline posh, a bit suspect for living in a house that was practically mansion-size by her classmatesâ standards. It didnât have many rooms downstairs. There was just the sitting room (square-shaped and comfy) and the kitchen (huge, with space for a sofa and massive glass doors and roof) but that was because her dad had had most of the walls taken out. It was also arty and mad-looking, with weirdglass bits designed by her dad tacked on all over the place. Imogen was going to be useful, now she was pregnant and only twenty and shacked up with a plumber. Ellie wouldnât bother to mention that she lived with no real difficulties at all (apart from cool student poverty) in their basement flat, and that her bloke Tristan might be a plumber but heâd been to school at Eton and had got five A levels.
âWhaddya think?â Tasha stood in front of the mirror, holding up a scarlet bra that had silver lace and a vicious-looking underwire. Ellie smiled, loathing her own deep need to please. âItâs OK. Looks a bit . . .â
Tash narrowed her eyes, daring Ellie to come up with something that would prove first opinions right: that she was snobby, spoony, different.
âIt looks like it would show a lot through a top,â Ellie said, rushing her words. âThe lace, I mean, itâs very knobbly.â
âHmm. Yeah, I suppose.â Tasha put the bra back on the rack and calmly flicked through a few more. âWhat about this one for you?â She held up a pale lilac one, a rigid balcony effort that Ellie wouldnât even half-fill. Ellie laughed, hoping she wasnât going red. âYeah right. And if anyone prodded me thereâd be a dent!â It was the only defence, putting yourself down before someone else did. You learned that fast enough.
âOK, bored now, letâs go.â Tasha crashed off again, out through the rails, diverting a bit to the right so they went out through the shopâs side door. Ellie raced after her, puzzled.
âBut what about . . . ? I thought you wanted . . .â she hissed at Tasha as soon as they were a safe hundred yards round the corner away from the store. Tasha grinned at her, glancing back slyly to where theyâd just come from, then hauled Ellie into Starbucks doorway and grabbed her school bag from her shoulder. Elliewatched open-mouthed as Tasha pulled the zip back. Inside her own bag was a