Not Pretty Enough Read Free

and always gets maths stuff. I
risk a glance towards him, and sure enough, he has his hand in the air and is
beckoning for Mr Griffiths to come over. Wow, I think. Lloyd doesn’t get this,
and I look like I do. He must be so impressed.
    But Mr Griffiths is a bit busy.
He is bending over Cole’s work, shaking his head and muttering. He looks at
Lloyd distractedly. Then he looks at me. Then he says a terrible, terrible
thing.
    “Ask Francesca to explain it to
you, she knows what she’s doing.”
    Oh, crap. Why can’t we be doing
something easy?
    I immediately go to put my hand
up to object, but Mr Griffiths has gone back to Cole’s work, and Lloyd is
looking at me expectantly.
    Okay, deep breath. All I have to
say is one simple sentence. All I have to say is, ‘actually, I don’t really understand
it myself,’ and all will be well. The teacher will come over and explain it to
both of us, and Lloyd will ask me what I’ve been writing in my book for the
past twenty minutes, and I might have to admit that it mainly involves CC loves LL doodled in various fancy handwriting with
my new pen. So instead I say, “Sure, I’ll explain it to you.”
    He nods and smiles at me, and I
wonder how the hell I’m going to get out of this one.
    I close my own book and glance
nervously around the class. Everybody has their heads down, concentrating on
their work, except for Leigh. She is resting her head in her hand and staring
longingly at Ewan, who is working obliviously. It’s pathetic. It’s obvious to
the whole class that she’s yearning for him. God, I hope it’s not that obvious
that I like Lloyd. I mean, Leigh is practically drooling on the desk over Ewan.
At least I don’t drool on the desk. Not very often, anyway.
    “Well,” I say, leaning over to
look at Lloyd’s book and turning a page, just as he goes to move the book
closer to me. Our hands brush together and I pull back startled by the
intensity. Our hands brushed! And there was electricity! This is meant to be!
    “So,” I say, wondering what to
do next. “This is algebra…” This is ridiculous. He knows what bloody algebra
is. I rest my pen against my top lip and try to look intelligent and seductive
at the same time. Lloyd still has an expectant look on his face. Except, I’ve
obviously rested the pen too high up my lip, and it’s tickling my nose. Really
tickling now, and…
    “Atchooooo!” I yell, a sneeze
catching me by surprise. Oh my god. I’m aware that every person in the
classroom is staring at me.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, holding up
my hand. “I just…” Oh no . “Atchooooo!” I sneeze
again. “Atchoooooo!” I grip my nose firmly between my thumb and my finger. I
vaguely remember reading somewhere that is the best way to stop sneezing. Or is
that hiccups? Either way, it doesn’t work. It just makes me want to sneeze
more. “Atchooooo!” I yell again. Oh God, this is so embarrassing. Why do I have
to have a sneezing fit on the one day I am sitting by Lloyd Layton? It’s highly
unlikely that I will ever be lucky enough to sit by Lloyd Layton again; I get
my one big chance to impress him, and what do I do? I sneeze.
    “Atchooo!”
    Oh God. Now my nose is running.
I’m still gripping it with one hand, and frantically feeling around in my bag
for a tissue with the other.
    “Atchooooooooooooooo!” It comes
again, and this time something so horrible happens that it’s like being in slow
motion. A huge lump of snot, my snot, straight out of my nose, flies out of my
nostrils, and goes zooming up into the air, turns around, and like a giant
pancake, starts plummeting back down to earth, to land smack bang in the middle
of Lloyd’s textbook.
    Oh. My. God.
    “Ugh!” Lloyd yells and pushes
his chair back so fast that he nearly falls off it.
    Oh my god. What do I do? What do
I do? My face has gone so red I must resemble a lobster, and when my hand
finally closes around a tissue in my bag, I have no idea what to do but lean
over and