The Worry Website Read online

  I don’t like my girl cousins much either, Yvonne and Julia and Katrina. They come round our house on a Sunday and they all squeeze into Sarah-Jane’s bedroom and try on each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair. They do this for hours. Then I have to sit with them for Sunday lunch and they go whisper, whisper, whisper, giggle, giggle, giggle. It is torture. I feel so tense about it that I can’t eat comfortably and that makes me do certain rude windy things and then they all squeal and Mum goes, ‘Gregory!’ as if I’m doing it on purpose. Which just occasionally I am.

  I didn’t reckon any of the girls in my class at school either. Well, Claire’s OK because she’s good at football and I suppose I’ve always thought Samantha’s ever so pretty – but she reminds me too much of Sarah-Jane. I never really noticed any of the other girls.

  But then I got to sit behind Holly when we all went into Mr Speed’s class. I stuck my feet on the back of her chair and kicked a bit, because that’s what you do when a girl sits in front of you. Most of them whine and fidget and moan that you’re getting mud on their skirt. But Holly whipped round quick as a wink, her fingers went fiddly-flick – and there were my shoelaces tied together! Then she gave me this great grin. I couldn’t help grinning back even though she’d tied such a tight knot I couldn’t pick it open and had to saw through my shoelaces with my penknife. I don’t know how to put it into words. It was just her big grin. It really got to me.

  So I tried to figure out ways of making her grin again. The next day I came to school wearing my muddy walks-in-the-country welly boots. We don’t often go for muddy walks in the country so they’d got a bit small without my realizing. I had to scrunch up my toes, which was dead uncomfortable. I also had to put up with everyone asking me why I was wearing my wellies when it wasn’t raining. Not so much as a cloud in the sky.

  Mr Speed did this whole pantomime thing of putting up an imaginary umbrella. Everyone laughed. Holly laughed too. I waited until everyone stopped sniggering at my boring foot-blistering boots. Mr Speed started telling some soppy fairy story in the Literacy Hour and Holly was listening hard, her hair tucked behind her neat little ears. Then I put my boots on the back of her chair.

  She turned round.

  I waited. I thought she’d see she couldn’t tie any laces this time and give that glorious grin again. But she sighed, stiffened her hand, and gave the tip of each boot a swift karate chop.

  It was such AGONY on my poor rubbed tootsies that I screamed. ‘Oh my goodness, Greg!’ Mr Speed exploded, clutching his chest. ‘You’ll give me a heart attack. I hope you have a totally convincing excuse for that banshee wail. Are you being fiendishly attacked by invisible aliens?’

  ‘No, Mr Speed,’ I mumbled, trying to ease my throbbing feet.

  ‘Then why the scream? Is it National Torment Mr Speed Day today? No, that’s every day as far as you lot are concerned. I warn you, children, I am in a very savage mood today. I am becoming more savage every second, moodier every minute. Well, Greg, I’m waiting for your explanation. I’ve given you long enough to concoct one. Were you perhaps provoked in some way?’

  ‘No, Mr Speed,’ I said firmly. ‘I was just messing about.’

  Holly turned round and gave me a quick smile, an abbreviated text-message version of her gorgeous grin.

  I’d have listened to Mr Speed lecturing me all day long just for that one weeny glance.

  But it didn’t get me anywhere.

  I tried coming to school in my bedroom slippers the next day. My poor sore feet needed a little bit of cosseting. Unfortunately this time it decided to rain. In fact it positively poured buckets and my slippers got sodden.

  I had to lie down on my back at the side of the classroom and rest both soaking slippers on the radiators until they steamed. Mr Speed came in late and pretended to trip right over me.

  ‘I’ve always assumed that standard classroom posture is bottom on chair. Is there any reason why you prefer this lying-on-back, legs-in-air position, Greg?’ Mr Speed said wearily.

  I told him I was simply trying to dry out my slippers.

  ‘Ah, I wondered what that extraordinary smell was,’ said Mr Speed. ‘Feet off the radiator, please! You’ll give yourself chilblains as well as stinking the place out. I’m beginning to find your inappropriate footwear fetish rather irritating, lad. I suggest you turn up in standard sensible shoes tomorrow or you might just find yourself left behind in the classroom when we go off on the school trip.’

  The school trip! It wasn’t anything to get excited about in itself. We were just going to a musty old museum. But we travelled there by coach! I had to find some way of sitting next to Holly on the journey.

  She’s got lots and lots and lots of friends in our class, but she hasn’t got one particular friend. I was in with a chance. But she could pick anyone. There are thirty children in our class so she could have her choice of twenty-nine of us.

  I wondered how I could get her to pick me.

  I sauntered past the computer dead casually and then looked at my worry on the website to see if anyone had given me any good tips about getting a girlfriend.

  Ha ha ha. I am not laughing. I am being extremely sarcastic. There weren’t any tips at all, just a whole load of rubbish.

  Comments:

  I hate girls too.

  So do I. They’ve got such silly squeaky voices that they make your head ache when they go on at you. And they don’t understand important stuff like football.

  Oh yes they do! I bet I know who you are and you’re lousy at football. I don’t want to boast but I’m in the football team even though I’m a girl and I scored three goals last match so you shut up.

  See! They go on at you! You’ve proved my point.

  I bet none of the girls in our class would go out with any of the boys because the boys are all so childish and stupid. I hate BOYS.

  Some of the boys are OK. I would like one boy in particular to be my boyfriend. Guess who I am!

  My heart leapt when I read that one, but this person had added her name at the end. Not her full name because we’re not allowed to. So she put S––––––a.

  Well, even weird William would have no trouble at all working that one out.

  ‘Aha!’ said Mr Speed, peering over my shoulder.

  I felt my cheeks burning, as if someone had switched on an electric fire in my face. My glasses steamed up so I could hardly see.

  ‘This is a daft worry,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t know what sort of idiot would write that.’

  ‘My sort of idiot,’ said Mr Speed. He scrolled through the answers. ‘Oh dear! They’re not very sympathetic, are they? I’d hoped they might have some kind of constructive advice for this poor lovelorn chap. I need advice.’

  ‘Are you in love, Mr Speed?’ I asked, astonished. I mean, Mr Speed is a teacher. And he’s old too. Well, I think he is. It’s difficult to tell with grown-ups. It’s easy enough to tell whether a kid is five or ten or fifteen – but how do I know whether Mr Speed is twenty-five or thirty or thirty-five or even older.

  ‘Don’t stare at me like that, lad. I’m not ready for my pension yet,’ said Mr Speed sharply.

  ‘How do you read people’s minds, Mr Speed?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it’s my laser-light bionic glasses,’ said Mr Speed, wrinkling his nose so that his glasses wiggled about.

  I laughed and wiggled my own glasses back.

  ‘Mr Speed, do you think girls mind if boys wear glasses?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t think they mind a bit,’ said Mr Speed. He struck a silly pose. ‘I’ve never found it a deterrent.’

  ‘But you’re having problems now, Mr Speed?

  ‘Indeed I am, Greg. In the presence of a certain lady I go all red and shuddery and yucky, to quote these expressive words on the website.’

  ‘And do you think this lady will be your girlfriend, Mr Speed?’

  ‘Alas and alack, her heart belongs to another,’ said Mr Speed. ‘So my heart is broken!’ He thumped himself on th