HELLO! Bonnie Story Here. This Is A Wierd Sort Of Cross Between The Book and TV Version On The Vampire Diaries. For The Purpose Of This Story...

1. Everyone Is Human, Except Yangtze - He's A Cat.

2. Bonnie's Sister Mary Is 3 Years Old.

3. Bonnie Lives With Her Sister, Dad, Grams and Step-Mother Hannah.

4. I Am English.

5. All Rights For This Go Straight To Louise Rennison Who Wrote This. I Only Changed The Names And A Few Of The Details.

I Do Not Own The Vampire Diaries, Or Angus Thongs And Full Frontal Snogging.

Sunday 23rd August.

My Bedroom.

Raining.

10:00am

Dad had Uncle Eddie round so naturally they had to come and nose around and see what I was up to. If Uncle Eddie (who is bald as a coot – too coots, in fact) says to me one more time, "Should bald heads be buttered?" I may kill myself. He doesn't seem to realise I no longer wear romper-suits. I feel like yelling at him "I am sixteen years old, Uncle Eddie! I am bursting with womanhood! I wear a bra! OK, it's a bit on the loose side and does ride up around my neck when I run for the bus… but the womanly potential is there, you bald coot!"

Talking of breasts, I'm worried that I may end up like the rest of the women in my family, with just the one bust – like a sort of shelf affair. Grams can balance things on hers when her hands are full – at parties, and so on, she can have a sandwich and a drink and save a snack for later by putting it on her shelf. It's very unattractive. I would like a proper amount of breastiness but not go too far with it, like Kelly Michaels, for instance. I got the most awful shock in the showers after hockey last semester. Her bra looks like two shopping bags. I suspect she is a bit unbalanced hormonally. She certainly is when she tries to run for the ball. I thought she'd run right through the fence with the momentum of her "basoomers" as Elena so amusingly calls them.

Still in my room.

Still Raining.

Still Sunday.

11:30am.

I don't see why I can't have a lock on my bedroom door. I have no privacy: it's like Dick Clark's New Years Rocking Eve in my room. Every time I suggest anything around this place people start shaking their heads and tutting. It's like living in a house full of chickens dressed in frocks and trousers. Or a house full of those nodding dogs, or a house full of… anyway… I can't have a lock on my door is the short and short of it.

"Why Not?" I asked Grams reasonably(catching her in one of the rare minutes when she's not at Italian evening class or the Bingo).

"Because you might have an accident and we couldn't get in," she said.

"An accident like what?" I persisted.

"Well… you might faint," she said.

Then Dad joined in, "You might set fire to your bed and be overcome with fumes,"

What it the matter with people? I know why they don't want me to have a lock on my door, it's because it would be a first sign of my path to adulthood and they can't bear the idea of that because it would mean they might have to get on with their own lives and leave me alone.

Still Sunday.

11:35am.

There are six things very wrong with my life.

I have one of those under-the-skin sports that will never come to a head but lurk in a red way for the next two years.

It is on my nose.

I have a three year old sister who many have peed somewhere in my room.

In fourteen days the summer break will be over and then it will be back to Stalag 14 and Overfűhrer Frau Simpson and her bunch of sadistic "teachers."

I am very ugly and need to go into an ugly home.

I went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive.

11:40am

OK, that's it. I'm turning over a new lead. I found an article in Hannah's Cosmo about how to be happy if you are very unhappy (which I am). The article is called "Emotional confidence." What you have to do is Recall… Experience… and HEAL. So you think of a painful incident and you remember all the ghastly detain of it… this is the Recall bit, then you experience the emotions and acknowledge them and then you JUST LET GO.

2:00pm.

Uncle Eddie has gone, thank the lord. He actually asked me if I'd like to ride in the sidecar on his motorbike. Are all adults from Planet Xenon? What should I have said? "Yes, certainly, Uncle Eddie, I would like to go in your pre-war sidecar and with a bit of luck, all my friends will see me with some mad, bald bloke and that will be in the end of my life, thank you."

4:00pm.

Elena came round. She said it took her ages to get out of her cat suit after the fancy dress party. I wasn't very interested but I asked her why out of politeness.

She said, "Well, the guy behind the counter in the hire shop was really good-looking."

"Yes, So?"

"Well, so I lied about my size – I got a size 6 instead of an 8."

She showed me the marks around her neck and waist, they are quite deep. I said "Your head looks a bit swollen up."

"No, that's just Sunday."

I told her about the Cosmo article and so we spent a few hours recalling the fancy dress party (i.e. the painful incident) and experiencing the emotions in order to heal them.

I blame Elena entirely. It may have been my idea to go as a stuffed olive but she didn't stop me like a pal should. In face, she encouraged me. We made the stuffed olive costume out of chicken wire and green crepe paper- that was for the "olive" bit. It had little shoulder straps to keep it up and I wore a green T-shirt and green pantyhose underneath, it was the "stuffed" bit that Elena helped with mostly.

As I recall, it was she that suggested that I use crazy colour to dye my hair and head and face and neck red… like a sort of pimento. It was, I have to say, quite funny at the time. Well, when we were in my room. The difficulty came when I tried to get out of my room. I had to go down the stairs sideways.

When I did get to the door I had to go back and change my pantyhose because my cat Yangtze has one of his "Call Of The Wild" episodes.

He really is completely bonkers. We got him when we went on holiday to Scotland last year. On that last day I found him wandering around the garden of the guest house we were staying in. Tarry-a-Wee-While, it was called. That should give ou some idea of what the holiday was like.

I should have guessed all was not entirely well in the cat department when I picked him up and he began savaging my sweater. But he was such a lovely looking kitten, all tabby and long-haired, with huge yellow eyes. even as a kitten he looked like a small dog. I begged and pleased to take him home.

"He'll die here, he has no mummy or daddy," I said plaintively.

My dad said, "He's probably eaten them." Honestly, he can be callous. Hannah said she had a cat just like him when she was a kid – all three years ago, then. And eventually Grams gave in and I brought him home to dad's dismay. The Scottish landlady did say she thought he was probably mixed breed, half domestic tabby and half Scottish wildcat. I remember thinking, Oh, that will be exotic. I didn't realise that he would grow to the size of a small Labrador. I used to drag him around on a lead but, as I explained to Mrs Next Door – he ate it.

Any way, sometimes he hears the call of the Scottish Highlands. So, as I was passing by as a Stuffed Olive he leaped out from his concealed hiding place behind the drapes (or his lair, as I suppose he imagined in his cat brain) and attacked my pantyhose or "prey". I couldn't break his hold by banging his head because he was darting from side to side. In the end I managed to reach the outdoor brush by the door and beat him off with it.

Then I couldn't get in Dad's Volvo. Dad said "Why don't you take off the olive bit and we'll stick it in the boot."

Honestly, what is the point? I said, "Dad, if you think I am sitting next to you in a green T-Shirt and pantyhose, you're mad."

He got all shirty like parents do as soon as you point out how stupid and useless they are. "Well, you'll have to walk then… I'll drive alone really slowly with Elena and you walk alongside."

I couldn't believe it. "If I have to walk, why don't Elena and I both walk there and forget about the car?"

He got that stupid, tight-lipped look that dads get when they think they are being reasonable. "Because I want to be sure of where you are going. I don't want you out wandering the streets at night."

Unbelievable! I said, "What would I be doing walking the streets at night… dresses as a stuffed as a stuffed olive – gate crashing cocktail parties?"

Elena smirked but Dad got all outraged and Parenty. "Don't you talk to me like that; otherwise you won't go out at all."

What is the point?

When we did eventually get to the party (me walking next to Dad's Volvo driving at five miles an hour), I had a horrible time. Everyone laughed at first but then more or less ignored me. In a mood of defiant stuffed oliveness I did have a dance by myself but things kept crashing to the floor around me. The host asked me if I would sit down. I had a go at that but it was useless. In the end I was at the gate for about an hour before Dad arrived, and I did stick the olive bit in the boot. We didn't speak on the way home.

Elena, on the other hand, had a great time. She said she was surrounded by Tarzans and Robin Hoods and James Bonds (Guys have very vivid imaginations… not.)

I was feeling a bit moody as we did the "recall" bit. I said bitterly, "Well, I could have been surrounded by boys if I hadn't been dressed as an olive."

Elena said, "Bonnie, you thought it was funny and I thought it was funny but you have to remember that boys don't think girls are for funniness."

She looked annoyingly "wise" and "Mature". What the hell did she know about boys? God, she had an annoying fringe. Shut up, fringey.

I said, "Oh Yeah, so that's what they want, is it? Boys? They want simpering girly-wirlys in catsuits?"

Through my bedroom window I could see next door poodle leaping up and down at our fence, yapping. It would be trying to scare off our cat Yangtze… fat chance.

Elena was going on and on wisely. "Yes they do, I think they do like girls who are a bit soft and not so, well… you know."

She was zipping up her brand new itty bitty designer Juicy Couture piece of tat bag. I looked at her. "Not so what?" I asked.

She said, "I have to go, we have an early supper on a Sunday."

As she left my room I knew I should shut up. But you know when you should just shut up because you really should just shut up… but you keep on and on anyway? Well, I had that.

"Go on… not so what?" I insisted.

She mumbled something as she went down the stairs.

I yelled at her as she went through the door, "Not so like me you mean, don't you?"

11:00pm

I can already feel myself getting fed up with boys and I haven't had anything to do with them yet.

Midnight.

Oh God, please, please don't make me have to be a lesbian like Hairy Helen or Miss Stamp.

12:10am.

What do lesbians do, anyway?

:)