Read Online It's a Girl Thing by Grace Dent - Free Book Online Page A

smirks. He’s found, so he reckons, the chink in Claude Cassiera’s armor.
    â€œWell, I thought we’d sell tickets,” answers Claude. “The concert will take place over the weekend, after all, so people would probably expect to pay a little entrance fee just to cover costs, wouldn’t they?”
    Claude does seem to have a good answer for everything so far. I’m so glad nobody’s asked me anything yet, or Fleur, who looks about ready to tell McGraw to stick his school fields up his bum. Or worse.
    â€œOh, deary me,” mocks McGraw. “You’re going to invite pupils to show up at Blackwell over the weekend? . . . And you’re going to make them pay for the pleasure?! Come now, Miss Cassiera. If I thought that was feasible, I’d be holding this conversation with you via conference call from the Happy Coconut Beach Bar in Honolulu! I’d be a millionaire by now.”
    Okay, McGraw’s joke is slightly amusing, but no girl gives the big spoilsport the pleasure of a chuckle, especially not Mrs. Guinevere, who is possibly even angrier than Fleur at this point.
    Claude is rustling about in her folder. She produces a single sheet of paper covered in what looks like percentages and equations.
    â€œOkay, I understand your concerns, Mr. McGraw, but if I can refer you back to the results of the Blackwell questionnaire that we filled out last year.” Claude waves her piece of paper. “It seems that pupils probably would pay to see music, if we put on a good enough show for them, that is.”
    â€œQuestionnaire? What questionnaire? We’ve never done a . . . ,” argues McGraw, looking confused.
    Mrs. Guinevere catches Claude’s drift.
    â€œAh, Claudette’s talking about the physical and social education department’s life science questionnaire. You know? The one we gave out to all one thousand Blackwell pupils to fill in last June?”
    â€œThat’s the one!” Claude smiles. “Do you not remember it, Mr. McGraw?” she says.
    â€œ Pgh, splagh . . . Of course I remember it . . . ,” mutters McGraw. “We wanted to . . . er . . .” McGraw admits defeat. “Oh, remind me again what we wanted, Mrs. Guinevere?”
    â€œTo find out Blackwell pupils’ likes, dislikes and attitudes toward school and home lives,” prompts Mrs. Guinevere.
    â€œAh, yes, I remember it now. I was just a little, er, confused for a second,” snaps McGraw, dredging the darkest corners of his memory for any info whatsoever about that PSE project. Eventually tiny bits start seeping back.
    â€œWhat’s this got to do with anything?” he says. “All I can recall is several pupils filling in a lot of insolent remarks about my tie collection and some bright spark suggesting we build a Blackwell Tarzan Swing. Pah! It simply underlined to me the percentage of utter buffoons I’m employed to baby-sit between eight A.M. and four P.M.”
    â€œActually, we did gain a lot of useful info from that questionnaire,” says Mrs. Guinevere patiently, turning back to Claude, who’s waiting to read from her sheet. “What did you find out, Claudette?”
    â€œWell, according to official Blackwell statistics, it seems that ninety-five percent of our pupils said that one of their main pocket money and Saturday job wage expenditures was . . .” Claude pauses for effect. “Music.”
    Mr. McGraw’s face is an absolute picture. He looks a bit like a lottery winner who’s just discovered he’s boil-washed and tumble-dried his winning ticket.
    â€œOh,” he grunts.
    Claude continues, “They buy CDs, concert tickets, dancing and singing lessons, guitar strings, ballet shoes . . . they download MP3s off the Net, rip CDs . . . that sort of thing . . . it seems that Blackwell is sort of united by a common love of music.”
    Claude places the piece of paper back into a folder she has rather