Free Girls in Love by Jacqueline Wilson Page A

write about my mum because it might make me cry. ANYWAY, I’ve sort of got used to Anna now, it’s like we’re friends. Not GREAT friends, just OK, ordinary friends. She’s always been so calm and quiet and happy which is just as well because I can get ever so stroppy and moody sometimes and my little brother Eggs is a right pain most of the time as you know only too well and my dad is the worst of us all for going ballistic but Anna’s always known how to handle him, she’s always calmed him down. It’s always been like he’s this great growly dog and she knows just the way to give him a firm word and then a pat so he drools all over her like a puppy. But she’s lost the trick now. Or maybe she’s got fed up playing that game, I don’t know. She seems to want to be her own person more, especially now Eggs has started school. She’s tried to get back into doing design work, only there aren’t any jobs going at the moment, which is a bit depressing for her, and then she started this evening class and last Tuesday there was a great ding-dong because I was going round to Magda’s and Dad had promised to be home to look after Eggs so Anna could go to the class only something cropped up at my dad’s college and he didn’t get back in time and Anna couldn’t go to her class and when I got back I could see Anna had been crying. I can’t see why going to this evening class should matter so much to her. It’s Italian conversation and we’re never ever going to GO to Italy, just boring old wet Wales. (Do you REALLY like it???) Mind you, I’d give anything to go to Italy because I want to see all the Art, and Magda says the ice creams are megafantastic. And Italian guys are meant to be the sexiest guys in the world. I suppose Anna likes art because she did got to art school but she won’t touch ice creams, she’s far too fussed about keeping her figure. And Anna isn’t into sexy Italian guys because she’s got Dad. Unless . . .
    Oh, God, I’ve suddenly thought of something. Maybe Anna’s got another bloke. A sexy Italian. Or is she just using the evening class as an excuse, and she’s off meeting some mystery boyfriend somewhere? I’ve always wondered what on earth she sees in my dad as he’s so much older than her, and she’s pretty stunning to look at, and Dad’s got this potbelly though he sucks in his stomach whenever he looks in the mirror and insists all his flab is solid muscle, and he wears jeans and denim jackets like he’s young only he isn’t, and then there’s his awful beard and his long hair and those terrible sandals he wears in the summer. And it’s not as if he’s got the easiest personality—
    I’ll say! Dad just got up to go to the bathroom and he spotted my light on and he said, What on earth are you up to, Ellie? And he’s switched my light off so I expect my writing’s going up and down all over the place and you won’t be able to read a thing but anyway it doesn’t really matter because I don’t think I’ll be sending you this letter anyway as it’s just a load of rambling rubbish and you’ll think I’ve gone completely nuts.
    Love, Ellie
    Dear Ellie,
    You’re not nuts at all. I’m so glad you sent your letter. It was the best letter I’ve ever had. It was as if I’ve seen through a little window right into your head. I’ve read it over and over. I carry it about with me. Well hidden, naturally.
    I was just so amazed and bowled over to realize you can get so bothered and fed up and stuff. Me too, me too, me too! You are entirely WRONG about boys not knowing what it’s like, though. I don’t EVER feel like I belong anywhere. I feel as if I’ve been zapped here from my own special Planet Dan and now I’m plodding around totally alien territory and all the Earthlings are laughing at me. Absolutely wetting themselves. And even more now, because I’m reacting to alien air by erupting into loathsome pimples all over the place, yuck yuck yuck, and even though I