Hello hello. None of these characters are mine as they are Louise Rennison's… although of course I wish Dave the Laugh was all miney mine mine.

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Sometime of night, sitting by the side of road

Doesn't matter what time

As I have no life

--

So here I am once more on the rack of love. Or you might call it the curb of love, seeing as there is a curb. And I am sitting on it like a sham in a skirt. I feel a bit like a movie star in one of those old black and white films where they are all melancholy and dramatic and everything is in slow motion and sad music is playing.

Except the heroine back then probably didn't just mess everything up with an Italian Stallion of Luuurve by dancing with a Tart. (And, ok, getting to 4-almost-5 on the snogging scale, but that is by the by). She would probably be sitting sadly on a curb because her love had flown off to war, and she didn't know when she'd see him again, and he'd left her with a little locket to remember him by, and no way would she be sitting there on that curb wishing that the Tart of a boy would come and give her a hug and make her feel better.

It's not like I need a hug anyway. I have my pals.

Unfortunately I told said pals about my sad music playing feeling and they have decided to helpfully provide that music. For someone who doesn't even like violins Jas is playing her imaginary one very enthusiastically.

So now I am on the curb of love surrounded by tone deaf loons.

After a few songs I would like to hit Jas over the head with her violin stick thingie, but I don't, because I am full of maturiosity. Sometimes. Mostly. Also being on the curb of love makes me sad and drains me of the vital energy that is needed for hitting.

'I can't believe there were almost fisticuffs over you, Gee,' Rosie says eventually, and quite cheerfully really. She sounds how I thought I would feel, having two boys take a stand over me (sort of), but I feel strangely not happy at all. I feel a bit sick inside actually. As usual my confused brain is not being of any help. Why can't my brain not just tell me, Georgia, do not be a nut. But no. No, my brain seems a little underdeveloped in that area. My mother probably dropped me on my head as a baby; it wouldn't be surprising.

The thing is, I am here, and I am miserable, but I am not completely sure why.

I feel like the worst kind of person for making Masimo look at me like he did. All sad and like I was the most crappio girl in the world and he didn't even have anything to say. He just walked off.

But then there is this weird little part of me that is almost relieved.

But sad.

But confusled.

And then my brain will not stop wandering back to Dave the Laugh and wondering where he went off to after he so unhelpfully ruined everything with Masimo. Well. Helped me to ruin everything.

He is probably off with Emma, making her laugh about something, and she is probably being nice and not breaking people's hearts. Because that is what nice people do. They are capable of not having big red bottoms and they know nothing of Horns, except for ones that sound only for one person.

I am trying my best not to cry but I cannot stop the tears squeezing out my eyes, and the ace gang stop singing Silent Night and put down their air guitars and air violins and air tin whistles and try to make me feel better. Jas even gives me a bit of a hug.

Then she ruins it by saying 'but you did bring this on yourself, you know.'

Thanks Jas.

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Monday

I haven't seen anyone except Libbs and my so-called parents for eternity. The ace gang have called a few times but I told them I have the lurgy. Really I am dying of the broken heartedness. Except my heart isn't exactly broken, it is just malfunctioning. Why can't it decide who it likes best?

Therefore I cannot risk going outside, ever. Not until it will behave itself. Or else eventually I will be puckering up to complete strangers.

And who knows where the lack of control ends?! First good looking strangers. Then I'll run out of them and I'll be snogging any random lad who shows interest, and I probably will die of some disease.

I told Mutti that I couldn't go to school today because it would ruin my life.

She said 'don't be dramatic Gee,' and continued to make Libby 'breakfast.' (Biscuits and the non mouldy cut offs of an apple.)

I hate my life.

---

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Morning break

Interrogation headquarters

'So have you seen Masimo?' Jools asks, munching away on her biscuits.

'No,' I say. 'So how was everyone's weekends?'

'Ha. Nice try Georgia,' Rosie says. She is trying to put her feet behind her head. I don't know why. But it doesn't stop her interrogating me. 'I still can't believe the Italian Stallion was going to fight Dave the Laugh. But you know what I can't believe more?'

Before I can say anything Jas joins in, 'that Dave the Laugh was going to fight HIM! I thought Dave had a girlfriend?'

They all look at me.

'Well, he does.'

'So why is he out there getting his fighting mittens on for you?'

'Who has ever understood the workings of a boy's brain? Besides, it wasn't Dave's idea,' I say. 'He was just going along with it.'

'Well,' Jas says in her annoying owly know it all voice, 'if Dave the Laugh was MY boyfriend I wouldn't want him fighting someone over another girl.'

'Well,' I say in the same voice, 'luckily he isn't your boyfriend.'

But if I am honestly honest I have been wondering the same thing. What is he doing? Would he do that for all his matey mates?

Rosie has one foot behind her neck now. Her undercrackers are almost visible for the world to see, but despite her bizarre position she still manages to look thoughtful. 'So is it over now between you and Masimo? Or are you into Dave the Laugh?'

Everyone is looking at me.

'I don't know,' I say. 'I am pretty positive Masimo thinks I am worse than the worstest slug at the moment. He will probably say mean things to me in Italian next time he sees me and I won't even know what he's saying.'

'But what about Dave?' Jools asks.

Luckily the bell rings and we have to untwist Rosie, who is now stuck, so I am saved from answering.

---

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Wednesday

Hockey practise after school again, hooray. However I now have no boyfriend to wait for me and no one to look good for so it doesn't even matter that my head has morphed into its tomato self and I smell like someone who has just been tortured around a hockey pitch in the freezing cold for hours. Ie; not good. And a bit more like compost than I would prefer.

But it is nice smashing the ball round the place. Especially when Lindsey is within the vicinity. I crack the ball so hard towards her I'm surprised my stick doesn't break under the pressure. Unfortunately it doesn't hit her, but there's always next time. Miss Stamp was very impressed by my determination, which is understandable; I am pretty excellent.

Actually got to shower after training this time, which is nice. There is still a touch of the tomato about me but I must remember I am trying to be a good person, and that is what matters, not whether your cheeks (and forehead)(and nose)(and ears; god, why do I go so RED?) are a little (very) flushed.

Half of me is expecting to run into Dave the Laugh since I always seem to when I am out of sorts, but I don't see anyone at all til I get to my street, and when I do bump into someone I almost fall over my feet and squash my tomato head. I would be tomato juice. …Luckily I manage to stay standing.

'Robbie?'

The (original) sex god is standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking at me in his sex goddy way. There is no other way for him to look at me really, and you can't blame him for that. It's odd though, I feel strangely disconnected. Not like my usual brain dislocation, but like I'm looking at him through goggles. I can SEE that he is a sex god. But I am not turning jelloid.

Maybe I am sick?

'Hey, Gee,' he says, and turns to walk with me down my street.

I can think of about five million and one things to say, including 'hello,' 'how are you?', 'what brings you to these parts?', and so on etc normalness lalala.

Instead:

'Er.'

He doesn't seem to notice that I am a dithering spaz.

'How have you been?' He asks, still looking at his lovely shoes, still with his lovely hands in his lovely pockets. I may not be jelloid but I am not blind.

I manage to squeeze out 'okay?'

He nods, and then kind of takes a deep breath and says really fast, like he's thought about it a lot, 'I heard about what happened the other night. With Masimo and Dave. And I just wanted to say, I think you're a great girl –'

Oh no. He is not declaring his love for me as well? I am having enough trouble deciding between two! Sort of. Not that I am interested in Dave the Laugh as we are mates. And he has a girlfriend. But still.

'-but you can be kind of silly sometimes.'

Huh. That doesn't sound so much like a declaration of love as it does an insult.

'Which is funny!' He hastens to add. 'A lot of the time. But the thing is, Gee, Masimo really liked you, and you kind of messed him around.'

I have found my brain again and it is not happy.

'I was just doing the twist,' I say, cross, 'not snogging for England or anything like that-' I'm about to go on and defend my honour and twistingness and say how much I like Masimo (do I?) but Robbie cuts me off again. Lindsey must be rubbing off on him.

'Yeah. But you were doing the twist with Dave. Who has been crazy about you forever. And that's what I'm trying to get to; you can't see what's in front of your nose. I know you're a nut Georgia but if you just stop and think for a second you'll realise what you're missing.'

And then before I can say anything he turns and walks back up the street.

I am gobsmacked.

I want to yell something witty after him but my mouth and my brain and even my legs do not know what to do. I may have to sit down.

--

--

Five minutes later

Sitting down on a fence.

Going over Robbie's little speech.

It seems to me that he has just told me I should be with Dave the Laugh. And has told me off for hurting Masimo's feelings.

I cannot believe the shammity sham that my (so-called) life has become.

Since when do ex-boyfriends go round to tell their ex-girlfriend off for hurting their new, most likely ex, boyfriend's feelings? (Especially when you kind of dumped them for that boy?) And tell you who you SHOULD be with?

And how come Robbie is always so keen on me being with Dave the Laugh?

Besides.

Dave the Laugh has a girlfriend.

--

--

Ten minutes later

I open the front door and yell down the hall, 'Vati, I am going to make a phone call. Before you say anything it is very important and if I do not speak to Jas right now I will actually explode. Like my brain will not be able to compute information and the hall will be covered with my brain juice and YOU will have to clean it up.'

There is no response. Weird. But no time to dwell on small miracles.

Jas answers the phone, thank God; I am not in the mood for rehashing recent events with Jas' mum.

'Gee?'

'Jas, you will not believe what just happened.'

'You accidentally snogged someone else?'

'No, I-'

'You did something else to make Lindsey mad and you have detention for a week? I'm not waiting for you again like last-'

'No, Jas, shut up and listen.'

'…'

'Good. Okay, so I was going home tonight and GUESS who I bumped into? Actually don't guess. I will tell you. Robbie.'

'Robbie Robbie? Tom's brother Robbie?'

I sigh. 'No, Robbie Williams. Of course Tom's brother.'

'Why was he there?'

Talking to Jas is like talking to an annoying thing of annoyance.

'I am about to tell you ma petite pal. He pretty much told me off about Massimo, he said "you kind of messed him around"-

'Well, you did.'

'Shut up. And then he said Dave has always liked me and I cannot see what is under my nose. Which is Dad's fault, if he had a smaller nose then maybe I would be able to see under mine. Hahaha.'

I am a bit hysterical.

I must be, if I am expecting Jas to give me helpful advice.

'Well,' Jas says, and for once I am not mad at her for using her Wisdomosity voice since I am hoping she will say something wise, 'I think Robbie is right. Dave obviously likes you… even though he has a girlfriend… and you obviously like him since you are always accidentally snogging… maybe he is just trying to be a good friend to you and Dave the Laugh and get you together?'

I hate to admit it when Jas makes sense but she actually kind of sort of maybe does.

'But does that mean I don't care about Massimo any more?'

Jas makes a huffing sound and I go back to wanting to kill her. 'I can't tell you how you FEEL Georgia.'

Some best friend she is.

--

--

5 minutes later

No one seems to be home.

Typical.

I will have to scavenge for dinner.

--

--

25 minutes later

Mmm, peanut butter on toast.

Nutritious.

-

--

Later

Lying in bed, thinking.

Wishing a little angel or something would pop up in my room and say 'Georgia, do this.'

And I would say ' okay, wise little angel. Say thankyou to Baby Jesus from me.'

But no little angel. No little Buddha either. Religion is letting me down.

I should probably see Masimo and say I'm sorry. I hope he doesn't hate me. He was so nice and gorgey to me. And so excellent at snogging; I wonder if being born in another country makes you naturally good at snogging? But no, that can't be true, because Robbie was fantastical at snogging too. And Dave the Laugh. Mmm Lip nibbling…. Shut up brain, shut up. …Would Masimo still like me if I said sorry?

If he would take me back would I say yes?

I hate my brain.

If only it were as good at life as it is at coming up with dance routines.

Then I would be free and easy and carefree like a bird, hand in hand… or wing in wing… with my birdy love. And there would be no question of whether I was snogging (pecking?) the right bird. No hint of a red bottom.

Le sigh.

--

--

10 Minutes later

I am just about to doze off in the happy land of nod, where no one hates me and it doesn't matter who snogs who, when I hear a plonk sound at the window.

My first thought is, oh no, Angus has worked out how to make the leap from the fence to my room. I am admiring this feat – he is an amazing specimen of cat – when I realise Angus is actually curled up on top of my cupboard. Purring like furry motorcycle.

Huh.

There is another PLONK, this one a bit louder, and I actually see the rock hit the window pane. I'm surprised it doesn't shatter the glass. What fresh hell is going on? People around these parts have been reading far too much Romeo and Juliet.

I go to the window and a part of me is expecting someone in tights standing beneath my window bellowing about stars. And stuff.

Instead I can see Dave the Laugh hiding by the fence, about to throw another rock. When he sees me he grins, considers throwing it anyway, but decides against it.

'Hello, Kittykat,' he calls up casually. Like he always chooses to wake people up this way in the middle of the night. And maybe he does.

'What are you doing?' I whisper back in my loudest whisper. We do not need a Vati bounding out in his 'pyjamas,' attempting to attack an intruder with a shovel.

'Want to go for a walk?'

I look pointedly at the night sky and then my pyjamas.

'Are you checking out your nungas, Gee? Couldn't you do that later? It's a bit nippy noodles down here.'

'Well, whose fault is that,' I say.

If I am an honest person, which I am, I have to say that I quite badly want to go outside and find out what he wants. But I am also afraid if I get too close my magnetic lips will find their way to his and I will be in even more of a sham than before.

Oh what to do, what to do.

Well I can't just leave him standing down there in the coldy cold by himself. That would be rude. Plus, I would go quietly insane wondering what he wants, and who wants to succumb to insanity? No thankyou sir. I better get a coat and some warm pants. And maybe some lip gloss.

Bit of mascara, blush.

Okay good to go, warm and snuggly, hair restrained from wildnosity.

I tip toe down the stairs hoping to God, Buddha and Baby Jesus that Mutti and Vati are either still absent or fast asleep. Hopefully snoring loudly. Never would I have thought to appreciate Vati's elephantine snuffles but tonight is their night to shine.

Unluckily, and I would say typically of my brilliant life, I am just about to creep out the door when the knob turns, and I freeze. And watch as the door opens. I don't seem to be able to do anything. I am never becoming a spy as I would freeze the moment something unexpected happened, and then the Russians would catch me and I would give away top secret M16 information. I have no idea why I have nothing in my genes to program me for danger. Yet another thing I have to do without.

The door is still opening. I could probably have run away 10 times over by now but instead I am still standing like a frozen fish finger, gaping at the ever widening doorway.

Which is now filled with the figures of Vati and Mutti, who are looking at me, bemused, and possibly somewhat cross.

'Georgia? Going somewhere?'

'Er. No. I was just waiting up for you. You know how I worry.' Shifty glance outside to see if Dave the Laugh can see my predicament. He is probably laughing somewhere in some bush. I hope it's cold and prickly.

'How lovely of you. And you even put on some lippy and mascara for us!' Mutti is smirking at me.

I hate her, I hate her.

'Yes, well, a girl must look her best at all times. Now that I know you're home safely I'll just be off to bed then. Night night.'

As I turn and go up the stairs I can hear Vati mutter something. I don't know what it is but I'm sure it's vulgar; and they wonder why Libbs gets suspended from preschool. Who even heard of being suspended from preschool?

Back in my room and I peer outside. Dave is still there, now leaning against the fence. Luckily it's the one next door built and not dad, or else he'd probably have knocked it over by now and the whole neighbourhood would be awake.

I lean out the window and inspect the drain pipe. My nunga nungas might interfere with my climbing but on the other hand I do have excellent hand eye co-ordination. Plus! I am tall. So there is less distance between me and the ground. Maybe. Or maybe just more of me to fall? I wish I could talk to Angus at times like these. How do cats land on their feet and not snap bones? Hmmm.

'Gee, you're not thinking of climbing out that are you?'

I consider. 'Well, it doesn't look too high.'

'Haven't you seen Pollyanna? Don't you know what happens to cute young girlies who climb out windows?'

'Have you any better ideas? I seem to recall you waking me up.'

'Yes but that was because I need to talk to you. So it is your fault.'

I am busy trying to climb out the window and so don't answer straight away, what with attempting not to die and so on. They make this sort of thing look so easy in movies but I can tell you something for free: it's not.

'Uh, Gee, I admire your resolve… but maybe you should take the sane option and creep out the front door?'

I would but I don't think I can climb back inside any more. I'm stuck with my legs dangling attractively out the window; thank God I didn't decide to wear a skirt or Dave would be peering up my undercrackers like no tomorrow.

Trying to feel the drain pipe with my feet; it is a little more rickety than I would like. Considering that it will be holding my entire body weight. Including my not the smallest nungas.

…

Who even knows what will happen next? Not me. Well maybe me. Sort of.

Lalala.