One More Little Problem by Vanessa Curtis Read Free Book Online Page B

designer case and pulls on her smart Gap denim jacket.
    I pass her the blue sparkly earrings in total silence and she tucks them into her beaded purse.
    Outside Mrs Benson is making a great play of revving her monstrous engine and ruining the environment while looking at her wrist-watch, tapping her fingernails on the side of the car and mouthing the word ‘pony’.
    ‘OK then,’ says Fran. ‘Let me know if he writes back or if he wants to meet you ’cos you like
so
need serious wardrobe advice.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I say, in the same formal voice she’s just used.
    We shuffle down the dark poky hallway trying not to touch one another and I accompany her down the front path.
    Of course I can’t touch anybody anyway, because of my problem. But Fran doesn’t have that problem.
    She must hate me.
    ‘OK then, bye,’ she says, running towards her mother’s car with ill-disguised relief. Running away from the crazy household where the depressed father, the devil-worshipper and the axe-murdering psycho with the rituals live in disharmony.
    ‘Bye,’ I say in a small, sad voice.
    Then I walk back towards home. Ha. That’s a joke.
    My home is full of stress.
    I’ve forgotten how to do fun teenaged things.
    This is one of the worst summers. Ever.

Chapter Ten
    T hree days later and no reply from Alessandro.
    I’m sure I’ve put him off with my stupid email and the weird thing is that even though I didn’t really want to write to him I’m kind of annoyed that he hasn’t written back.
    But there’s a new email waiting for me on Heather’s laptop this morning.
    It’s from somebody called ‘Marky’ and just his name is enough to make me feel really edgy and unsettled.
    I don’t like names with extra letters on the end. They’re not neat and as you might haveguessed by now, I like things to be neat and tidy.
    The email says that he’s sixteen, tall, fair-haired, loves sailing and playing tennis and in his spare time he invents computer games.
    I want to be a millionaire by the time I’m twenty
, he puts at the very end of the message.
And I’m the youngest ever contestant to go on
Dragon’s Den.
    ‘Huh,’ I snort as I read this bit. I’m not impressed by money. Good job really as Dad never has any and I have to buy most of my clothes off eBay.
    Then I notice that Marky has added a photograph to his profile so I click on it in a not-really-bothered kind of way and this really handsome guy pops up grinning at me from a tanned face and with kind blue eyes and I think:
Oh well, what the heck. Might as well reply
, and before I know it I’ve written him a three-page epic all about my life andpressed the ‘send’ button before becoming a shaking wreck.
    I’ve scrubbed my face about fifty times this morning, which is twenty times more than usual.
    My skin is stinging and smarting so much that I take one of Dad’s painkillers to try and calm it down.
    I’m back in my bedroom reading a website called ‘Addicted to Disastrous Dating and how to get over it’ when Dad comes bounding upstairs and bursts in.
    ‘Zelah, emergency!’ he pants before running straight out again.
    I slam the lid of the laptop shut and leap up, alarmed.
    What now? Has Caro set fire to the house or invited Marilyn Manson around for a spot of group devil-worship?
    I rush downstairs into the kitchen where Dad is pacing back and forth with a piece of paper in his hand.
    There’s no sign of Caro.
    ‘What’s happened? Where’s Caro?’ I say.
    Dad gives me a puzzled look.
    ‘In bed. Where else?’ he says. ‘It’s only eleven o’clock.’
    ‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Just tell me what this emergency is.’
    Dad passes me the letter with a shaking hand.
    I take it by the tips of my fingernails and place it on the table.
    ‘Dear Mr Green,’ it says. ‘We are delighted to offer you the position of English Teacher at Smithfield High School, Acton W3. Please report to the School Secretary’s office on Monday 12 August when you will be