Dress to Impress. Coleen McLoughlin

worry about it, Coleen,” said Lucy, unlocking her front door as I stood and fretted with Mel out on the pavement. “Ben won’t notice you anyway. He’s bringing Jasmine back later on.”

      Like that was going to make me feel any better.

      “No way!” I wailed.

      “It must be really funny seeing Ben all loved up,” Mel giggled.

      Lucy made a face. “Gross, more like. His mates are really mad at him because he’s not seen them all half-term. He’s gone all Jasmine this, Jasmine that. I can’t get a word of sense out of him.”

      “Can we change the subject?” I asked.

      We went upstairs to Lucy’s room, and Lu put on some really soulful music. It made me feel even worse. I was as jumpy as a kangaroo on a trampoline. My ears were on elastic for the front door. When we heard Ben’s voice, I couldn’t resist creeping out and peeping over the banister down into the hall. I so wish I hadn’t. Ben and Jasmine were giggling about something, their heads all close together.

      “Stop torturing yourself, Col,” said Mel over my shoulder. “Come back in with us. Lu wants some advice on what she should do about Frankie Wilson.”

      “I thought she didn’t like Frankie any more,” I said in surprise.

      Mel rolled her eyes. “Who ever said lurve was logical?”

      When you’re suffering from a broken heart, talking about someone else’s broken heart always helps. I followed Mel back into Lucy’s room, where Lu was sitting on the edge of the bed looking all miserable.

      “Weren’t you going to forget about Frankie Wilson?” I said, plopping down beside her.

      “I know,” Lucy sighed. “But I can’t. He was great at the footie, into the same music as me and everything. I’ve never met a boy I get on with so well. It felt like we had a real connection. I think maybe he’s just showing off in class so no one picks on him. Don’t you think?”

      She looked at me hopefully. I had a sudden memory of how Frankie had brought Lucy out of her shell at the footie. That was the real Frankie, I felt sure of it.

      “We’ll give him another chance tomorrow,” I said at last. “Mention the football and see what he says.”

      “Tea’s on the table!” Mrs Hanratty shouted from down in the kitchen.

      I hunted around Lucy’s dressing table until I found what I needed.

      “Sunglasses?” Mel said in surprise as I slipped the sunnies on my nose.

      “I just want something over my eyes so I don’t have to look at Ben and Jasmine,” I explained.

      Mel and Lucy both burst out laughing.

      “What are you like, Coleen?” Lucy said.

      “Right now,” I said, peering carefully around, “practically blind. These are the darkest sunnies in the world, Lu. Give us a hand down the stairs, will you?”

      I’m pleased to say that the sunglasses worked – kind of. Squirting maple syrup on my chips instead of ketchup was a bit of a disaster, but it was a small price to pay.

      “My brother thinks you are really weird, Coleen,” Lucy informed me on the bus the next day.

      I wasn’t sure how I felt about this: pleased that Ben had noticed me, or worried that I’d looked downright daft? Glancing down the bus, I saw Ben and Jasmine sitting with their arms draped around each other in the usual Year Ten seats. Sitting opposite them, Ali Grover and Dave Sheekey, Ben’s two mates, were looking well cheesed off. Ali was staring at the roof and Dave had his eyes firmly shut. It looked like I wasn’t the only one who didn’t approve of Ben’s new girlfriend.

      Lucy was all jittery as we walked down the school corridor to our form room. There was no sign of Frankie Wilson just yet. We settled down at our desks and waited.

      “Have you noticed something?” Mel asked me. She nodded her chin in the direction of Summer Collins’ table.

      Summer had done her normally straight blond hair all in ringlets. They were pushed back off her face with a sparkly black hairband, and were falling down her back like a curly waterfall.

      “She must’ve got up at six this morning to do that,” I said. Even though I couldn’t stand Summer, you had to admire her dedication.

      “Ten out of ten for effort,” Mel agreed.

      I glanced at Lucy, who was staring at her desk. Did she realise that Summer was totally after Frankie?

      Mr Andrews came in with the register in his arms, balanced on top of a load of papers. He was about to set the teetering pile down on his desk when Frankie Wilson skidded into the classroom. His hair was gelled up more fiercely than ever. I watched Frankie stop, grin at Lucy – and then deliberately shove into Mr Andrews’ back.

      “Sorry sir,” Frankie said cheerily as Mr Andrews’ papers flew up into the air like enormous bits of confetti. “Didn’t spot you there.”

      “Did you see that?” Mel gasped, starting to her feet.

      I gawped down the classroom at Frankie. I couldn’t believe what he’d just done. It seemed totally out of character. Plus now, the cheeky devil wasn’t making any effort to help Mr Andrews pick everything up. Instead, he’d perched himself on the edge of Summer’s desk and was whispering something in her ear, making Summer and her mates all giggle. All my faith in ‘the real’ Frankie Wilson went pop. Mr Andrews was pretty boring, but what Frankie had done to him was plain nasty.

      “There is no way we give him a second chance after that,” I announced when the bell went.

      “He smiled at me,” Lucy said, looking confused. “Then he went and talked to Summer. What was that all about?”

      “Boys,” Mel said. “More trouble than they’re worth.”

      Frankie suddenly loomed up in our path like some kind of monster from Scooby-Doo. “Whoo!” he shouted. “Cheer up, girls. It might never happen!”

      “It just did,” I said through gritted teeth as he zoomed off down the corridor. Summer, Hannah and Shona all followed, like hungry seagulls following a fishing boat. Pathetic!

      We managed to avoid Frankie for the rest of the week. But avoiding his voice was a totally different matter. Everywhere we went, we could hear him gabbing on. He was full of his little brother Billy’s footballing talents, what a big house they had, how his dad had just bought a new car…blah, blah, blah – he just went on and on. It was amazing how much he had to say, and how loudly he said it. By the end of the week, the whole of Year Eight was in love with Frankie Wilson, it seemed – apart from us. As far as we were concerned, it was a relief to reach the weekend and escape.