Blondetourage Read Free

at the front of the small desk-filled room, who's obviously our tutor. She's busy
talking on her cell phone and gives me a 'sorry
about this – bad timing' smile and motions to the
class to keep going on with their work and that
she'll be back in a minute. Then she squeezes past
me and ducks out the same door I've just come in.
    I look back at the girl. 'Um ...' I start, before
my brain freezes again. Oh, great. 'Guh', 'um'. I'm
really on a roll this morning, aren't I?
    The girl clicks her fingers, remembering something.
'Oh, you must be Elli, right? Melinda told
us you were coming some time today. You know,
you look a bit shell-shocked. Almost like you've
recently had an Anouschka run-in,' she gives me a
slow once-over.
    'Oh, you're just hilarious, George,' the only
other girl in the classroom chimes in in a very
studied, very Anouschka-like tone of voice. For
added emphasis, she shakes her blonde hair in a
very dramatic, also very studied, Anouschka-like
fashion.
    'Yeah, I'm laughing myself sick here. So, are
you? And did you?' girl number one asks me
again.
    I nod twice, answering both questions, all the
time wondering what her real name is. It can't
really be George. Can it? Then again, who knows
around here? This place is starting to seem like
planet Freak in the Weird system. Okay. Time
to form a complete sentence. 'I'm Elli. I met
Anouschka and Romy. And ...' I start, but then
stop again, realising I don't know the cat's name.
    'Fluffy?' George says.
    Okay, if the hairless cat's called Fluffy, maybe
her name really is George. I stand by my planet
Freak comment.
    'George, you're so dumb,' the mini-Anouschka
says, just like I'd heard Anouschka herself say to
Romy minutes before.
    'Oh, please. Write your own lines,' George
says in a bored tone, as if she's heard this a million
times before (I'm guessing she has) and then turns
back to me. 'Fluffy didn't have a name, or maybe
Anouschka gave him one and couldn't remember
both his name and her own at the same time, so I
gave him one – Fluffy.' George's eyes challenge me
to tell her she shouldn't be saying things like this
about Anouschka, or that she shouldn't have named
the cat, or that she should have picked a different
name entirely. Something less ... bouffant,
perhaps?
    It takes my brain a few moments to process all
of what George has just said. But when I do, my
heart stops, then starts up again to give a hopeful
little beat. Hang on. Am I hearing this right?
Did she just completely, utterly and totally bag
Anouschka? Could it be that there's someone else
in the world who isn't completely into the whole Rich Girls thing? Who thinks the girls are too
stupid to live? (I'm waiting for the day they have
to cross a busy road without the help of a camera
crew.) Who can't wait for its ratings to wither and
die and for the show to end mid-season? Who
wishes their parental figure wasn't on the pay roll
and that they could go to a proper school like a
normal person rather than follow a ridiculous pair
of nitwit girls around the world on their endless
search for the latest handbag and thigh slimming
treatments? In case you haven't guessed yet, this
would be me.
    I nod dumbly back at George, praying that
what I've just heard is for real. 'Good choice,' I say,
nodding again. 'With the name, I mean. Fluffy. It's
a cat classic. It'll never date.'
    And then, with that one comment, our eyes
meet and there's an understanding – a pause in
which I swear I hear George's heart beat a similar,
hopeful beat (friends at first sight, I think you'd
call it). And then, after that, I get a reaction from
the entire class. George laughs, mini-Anouschka
rolls her eyes and, of the two guys sitting at the
table in front, one guffaws while the other one just
sort of smiles at me.
    'Nice to know there's going to be someone else
around here with their head screwed on,' George
says, jumping up from her seat. 'I'm George. Short
for Georgiana, but don't ever call me that unless
you want to die a long and