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Stop in the Name of Pants!
Chapter One
Deep in the forest of red bottomosity
Saturday July 30th
Camping fiasco
11:30 p.m.
In my tent of shame.
Again.
The rest of my so-called pals are still out in the woods with the "lads" and I have crept back to the campsite aloney. I can hear snoring from Miss Wilson's tent and also Herr Kamyer's. I bet there will be a deputation of voles coming along shortly to complain that they can't get any sleep because of the racket.
11:32 p.m.
I'm going to forget about everything and just go to sleep in my lovely sleeping bag. On the lovely soft ground. Not. It's like sleeping on an ironing board. And I do know what that is like, actually.
11:33 p.m.
I said coming on this school camping trip would be a fiasco of a sham and I was not wrong.
11:34 p.m.
I was right.
11:35 p.m.
I wonder what the others are doing?
11:36 p.m.
Anyway, the main thing is that I am now, officially, the girlfriend of a Luuurve God. And therefore I have put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand. I will never again be found wandering lonely as a clud into the cakeshop of luuurve. Or picking up some other éclair or tart or fondant fancy. Ditto Eccles cakes and Spotty Dick or . . . shut up, brain.
11:37 p.m.
So speaking as the official girlfriend of a Luuurve God who has put my red bottom behind me with a firm hand and who will never be wandering around looking for extra cakes, can someone tell me this. . . .
How in the name of God's panty hose have I ended up snogging Dave the Laugh?Also known as Dave the tart.
two minutes later
Oh goddy god god. And let us face facts. It wasn't just a matey type snog. You know, not a—"It's alright mate, I'm just a mate accidentally snogging another mate,"—sort of snog.
It was, frankly and to get to the point and not beat around the whatsit, a "phwoar" snogging situation.
thirty seconds later
In fact it was deffo No. 4 and about to be No 5.
four seconds later
Anyway, shut up, brain, I must think. Now is not the time for a rambling trip to Ramble land. Now is the time to put my foot down with a firm hand and stop snogging my not boyfriend Dave the Laugh.
one minute later
I mean, I am practically married to Masimo the Luuurve God.
ten seconds later
Well, give or take him actually asking me to marry him.
five seconds later
And the fact that he has gone off to Pizza-a-gogo land on holiday and left me here in Merrie but dangerous England to fend for myself. Being made to go on stupid school camping trips with madmen (Miss Wilson and Herr Kamyer).
He has left me here, wandering around defenseless in the wilderness near Ramsgate, miles away from the nearest Topshop.
three seconds later
And how can I help it if Dave the Laugh burrows into my tent? Because that is more or less what happened.
That is le fact.
I was snuggling down under some bit of old raincoat (or sleeping bag, as Jas would say in her annoying oooh isn't it fun outdoors sort of way) . . . anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was snuggling down earlier tonight after an action-packed day of newt drawing when there was tap tap tapping on the side of the tent. I thought it might have been an owl attack but it was Dave the Laugh and his Barmy Army (Tom, Declan, Sven and Edward) enticing us out into the forest with their promise of snacks and light entertainment.
four seconds later
I blame Dave entirely for this. He and I are just mates and I have a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend and that is that, end of story. Not, because then he comes to the countryside looking for me and waving his horn about.
We were frolicking about in the lads' tent, and Dave and me went off for an innocent walk in the woods. You know, like old matey type mates do. But then I put my foot down a bloody badger hole or something and fell backward into the river. Anyway, Dave was laughing like a loon for a bit but then he reached down and put his arms around me to lift me up the riverbank and I said, "I think I may have broken my bottom."
And he was really smiling and then he said, "Oh bugger, it has to be done."
And he snogged me.
When he stopped I pushed him backward and looked at him. I was giving him my worst look.
He said, "What?"
I said, "You know what. Don't just say 'what' like that."
"Like what?"
I said with enormous dignitosity, "Look, you enticed me with your shenanigans and, erm, puckering stuff."
He said, "Erm, I think you will find that you agreed to come to my tent in the middle of the night to steal me from my girlfriend."
I said, "It was you that snogged me."
He looked at me and then he sighed. "Yeah, I know. I don't feel very good about this. I'm not so . . . well, you're used to it."
My head nearly exploded. "I'm used to what??"
He looked quite angry, which felt horrible. I'd seen him angry with me before and I didn't usually like what he had to say. He went on: "You started all this sounding the horn business ages ago, using me like a decoy duck and then going out with Robbie, then messing about with me and then going out with Masimo. And then telling me that you felt mixed up."
I just looked at him.
I felt a bit weepy, actually. I might as well be wet at both ends.
Stop in the Name of Pants!. Copyright © by Louise Rennison. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
