Read Online I Lost My Mobile At the Mall by Wendy Harmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendy Harmer
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Tzu's got the whole thing wrong and . . . Well, surely the ultimate 'Art of War' is to avoid war?
' What are you talking about?' demands Tilly.
I realise I sound like a nutter, but I tell her that maybe Jai and Bianca didn't mean it and that –
'Don't be a total doormat,' snaps Tilly. 'You have to show Jai you can't be stomped on. You have to stand up to bullies. And the idea that a Year Nine boy can think he's got a chance with a Year Twelve girl? Forget about it! On that score alone, he has to be crushed like an ant.'
Crushed like an ant? Hmmm, that sounds pretty good.
'As for Bianca? Maybe if she gets rid of Jai, she can get a nicer boy. We'll be doing her a favour.' And then, with a swish of chiffon and a stolen waft of Mum's Coco perfume, Tilly's off out the door.
Half an hour later, I am too. And it's only when the bus stops outside the Majestic Movieplex that I remember the lasagne in the oven.
Friday night.
Six days PM.
Bianca makes the weird choice to see He's Just Not That Into You , starring Jennifer Aniston (Best Hair Ever Award for years running), Scarlett Johansson, Drew Barrymore and Jennifer Connelly. In fact, in the hair department it's a total five-star fest.
The thing that's depressing, though, is that in every relationship in the movie, one person is into it more than the other one. Could that be me and Will? I shake off this idea. Will and I have been going out together for ten months and I know by now that there's only one thing he is into more than me – a six-foot offshore cyclone swell. No girlfriend of a surfer could ever compete with that. It's hard to take, but it's a fact.
Bianca's bawling into her second purse-pack of tissues and honking like a llama when the lights come up. I steer her towards Cromwell Café. The walk might give her a chance to pull herself together.
I'm surprised that it actually feels good to be out walking in the main street of Oldcastle with Bianca tonight. It's cold and we pull our hoodies over our heads (even though it crushes our hair) and mash our hands into our pockets.
We both look fab – me in a grey woollen minidress cinched with a red leather belt, thick black tights and black suede ankle boots. Bianca's wearing kitten heels, jeans, a gorgeous glittery black long-sleeved top and this totally great blue fake-fur shrug tied with a satin ribbon. Pity we have to wear our hoodies over the top. But it's not like anyone's going to care much in the streets of Oldcastle on a freezing Friday night.
We stop and look in the window of Princess Slippers and I spot a divine pair of purple wedge shoes that look like they're made out of some sort of sleek plastic. Bianca gives them the nod. She's texting like crazy, as per usual, but in those rare intervals when she gives me her full attention, we are totally connecting.
There are a few people out and about – the usual crowd hanging in front of the London Tavern, puffing on cigarettes and shivering in the night air. Then, even with her hoodie pulled almost over her eyes, Bianca spots a full-on fashion disaster.
'Don't look, Elly,' she gasps. 'White stretch denim jeans, silver sequin singlet and pink thongs getting out of a taxi. I said, DON'T LOOK!'
I manage not to swivel my head the whole way and I'm proud of myself. Months of training from Bianca have finally paid off. When we walk past and I see the actual crime, I high-five Bianca – it's definitely an eleven on the drack-o-meter and well spotted.
Soon we are sitting in Cromwell's, sipping on hot chocolate and hogging a basket of fried chips smothered in salt and tomato sauce and, really, despite everything that's happened, it's just like old times.
'I want to tell you something, El,' says Bianca, looking up at me with her wide blue eyes as she tries to prod her squashed do into place. Her hair looks like a punched-in profiterole. 'I am soooo sorry for what Jai did with the photos.'
It looks like she's going to cry again.
'You were right. Jai found them
' What are you talking about?' demands Tilly.
I realise I sound like a nutter, but I tell her that maybe Jai and Bianca didn't mean it and that –
'Don't be a total doormat,' snaps Tilly. 'You have to show Jai you can't be stomped on. You have to stand up to bullies. And the idea that a Year Nine boy can think he's got a chance with a Year Twelve girl? Forget about it! On that score alone, he has to be crushed like an ant.'
Crushed like an ant? Hmmm, that sounds pretty good.
'As for Bianca? Maybe if she gets rid of Jai, she can get a nicer boy. We'll be doing her a favour.' And then, with a swish of chiffon and a stolen waft of Mum's Coco perfume, Tilly's off out the door.
Half an hour later, I am too. And it's only when the bus stops outside the Majestic Movieplex that I remember the lasagne in the oven.
Friday night.
Six days PM.
Bianca makes the weird choice to see He's Just Not That Into You , starring Jennifer Aniston (Best Hair Ever Award for years running), Scarlett Johansson, Drew Barrymore and Jennifer Connelly. In fact, in the hair department it's a total five-star fest.
The thing that's depressing, though, is that in every relationship in the movie, one person is into it more than the other one. Could that be me and Will? I shake off this idea. Will and I have been going out together for ten months and I know by now that there's only one thing he is into more than me – a six-foot offshore cyclone swell. No girlfriend of a surfer could ever compete with that. It's hard to take, but it's a fact.
Bianca's bawling into her second purse-pack of tissues and honking like a llama when the lights come up. I steer her towards Cromwell Café. The walk might give her a chance to pull herself together.
I'm surprised that it actually feels good to be out walking in the main street of Oldcastle with Bianca tonight. It's cold and we pull our hoodies over our heads (even though it crushes our hair) and mash our hands into our pockets.
We both look fab – me in a grey woollen minidress cinched with a red leather belt, thick black tights and black suede ankle boots. Bianca's wearing kitten heels, jeans, a gorgeous glittery black long-sleeved top and this totally great blue fake-fur shrug tied with a satin ribbon. Pity we have to wear our hoodies over the top. But it's not like anyone's going to care much in the streets of Oldcastle on a freezing Friday night.
We stop and look in the window of Princess Slippers and I spot a divine pair of purple wedge shoes that look like they're made out of some sort of sleek plastic. Bianca gives them the nod. She's texting like crazy, as per usual, but in those rare intervals when she gives me her full attention, we are totally connecting.
There are a few people out and about – the usual crowd hanging in front of the London Tavern, puffing on cigarettes and shivering in the night air. Then, even with her hoodie pulled almost over her eyes, Bianca spots a full-on fashion disaster.
'Don't look, Elly,' she gasps. 'White stretch denim jeans, silver sequin singlet and pink thongs getting out of a taxi. I said, DON'T LOOK!'
I manage not to swivel my head the whole way and I'm proud of myself. Months of training from Bianca have finally paid off. When we walk past and I see the actual crime, I high-five Bianca – it's definitely an eleven on the drack-o-meter and well spotted.
Soon we are sitting in Cromwell's, sipping on hot chocolate and hogging a basket of fried chips smothered in salt and tomato sauce and, really, despite everything that's happened, it's just like old times.
'I want to tell you something, El,' says Bianca, looking up at me with her wide blue eyes as she tries to prod her squashed do into place. Her hair looks like a punched-in profiterole. 'I am soooo sorry for what Jai did with the photos.'
It looks like she's going to cry again.
'You were right. Jai found them
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