I Lost My Mobile At the Mall by Wendy Harmer Read Free Book Online

prove that the pics will damage my business reputation – a reputation which I, of course, do not have. I note that it says this law is 'of limited use' to the 'average person in the street'. That, sadly, is me. Again, no use. (Also, see above re: $$$.)
    4. Check out 'invasion of privacy'.
    'There is no general right of privacy in Australia.' Whaaa . . .? I'll have to wait until I'm eighteen and run for Parliament and get the laws changed. In the meantime it looks like, legally, I just have to suck it up.
    So, all this leaves me with no option but to insist that Bianca tell Jai to take the pics down, or else!
    Or else . . .?
    And, thinking about what this 'or else' could be, I go to bed and try to get some sleep.

Monday. 2 am. PM.
    I wake up with a list of 'or elses', including: Jai's murder, Bianca's assassination, or sweet, sweet revenge. I still have my camera, after all, and getting totally embarrassing photos of Jai shouldn't be that hard. (Given that if he's awake and breathing, he's embarrassing.) Then I can put them up on my FacePlace mirror and invite the world to have a look! I stash my camera in my schoolbag and go back to bed, kiss my stuffed pink pig and dream of Will.

Monday morning.
Two days PM.
    I got to school late because I usually set the alarm on my phone. I forgot I didn't have it, totally slept in and missed the bus.
    I look across the maths classroom now and one of Jai's stupid mates sticks his tongue out at me and goes, 'Ow ow ow, hot, hot', impersonating me with a chilli prawn on my tongue. Right! That does it! If one more person mimes me singing into a hairbrush or with my hair over my face and growling like a Yeti or 'smoking' a pen, I am going to lose it! It seems like the whole of Year Nine has checked out Jai's FacePlace.
    This sucks, big-time!
    I'm staring across at Bianca and trying to give her the evil eye. But this is impossible because today her hair is sort of weirdly teased up at the back like a pot scourer, and the front is hanging down, parted in the middle like a yellow shower curtain and I can't see her eyes. She must know that I am still furious with her. The last time we spoke I slammed Nan's phone down in her ear. She turns, parts her hair a bit and smiles at me. I glare back. By rights, I should never speak to her again.
    Except I am reminded of a saying my dad always quotes: 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.' Some old Chinese warrior said it, apparently. (Although what use this is in Dad's work at Ascot Couriers is a mystery. Shouldn't he be quoting Winston Churchill: 'We shall fight on the beaches'? Dad's always coming home with his trousers torn by this huge cross-breed dog in a house at Gummy Beach.)
    So the line from the old Chinese guy means that I should pretend nothing's happened and be really friendly with Bianca. This will put me in a better position to get some truly hideous pics of Jai. I reach down and pat my school bag. The camera's still there, charged and ready to go.
    As I'm thinking about all this, I see a pile of golden curls bob past the window on its way to the sports ground. It's Will, heading for the oval with his mob from Year Ten.
    I'll catch him under the jacaranda tree near the back fence at lunch. That's where he goes to chill. Maybe he'll have some ideas for incriminating photographs. If I could possibly get a shot of Jai renting the Mamma Mia! DVD his reputation would be toast.
    The bell rings and I head for the door. Bianca's peering at me through her hair curtain and shuffling closer. She's looking a bit guilty, which is a start, I suppose. If she was a BF worthy of the title, she would have demanded Jai take down the photos straight away. I am just about to tell her this when I remember the line about keeping your enemies closer.
    I give her a kiss and compliment her on her hair. (Liar!)
    'Hey, Jell . . . er . . . I mean, Elly. Love your plaits,' Bianca beams.
    I've worn plaits today because I have decided to mount a one-woman