Free Pride and Premiership by Michelle Gayle Page B

wrong with me? I’m a disaster if I don’t eat and a disaster if I do.
9.00 a.m.
    I was going to take Kevin’s advice and stay at home to recuperate, but then I realized that he thinks I threw up because I’d overdone it, rather than because I’d stuffed my face with Chinese food last night. So I’ve rushed to get ready for work. Just about to phone the Feminazi to let her know I’ll be half an hour late. I’ll say it’s because of women’s problems. Need to play my cards right to make sure she gives good marks for my NVQ.
9.10 a.m.
    Well … I’m still home. There’s been a change of plan and it’s Kellie’s fault. When she called to check how I was doing, I was about to phone work.
    “I’m OK,” I told her. “Just proper embarrassed.”
    “I would’ve come home with you,” she said, “but I thought it would be bad if both of us dropped out.”
    “Yeah, right. I know exactly why you didn’t drop out … KEVIN.”
    She started to giggle. “Busted. He’s fit, though, isn’t he?”
    “Yep,” I admitted.
    “He’ll show you around again when you’re up to it,” she told me. “And you never know, he might be mine by then.”
    “I bet he will.” I laughed.
    Kellie’s amazing. She never misses an opportunity. While I stand there, willing a fit boy to come over and talk to me, Kellie’s like an Exocet missile – she seeks and destroys. And it’s not like she needs to do the chasing, either. To go with her perfect brown skin, Kellie has hair that drops down to her shoulders in big black spirals and the cutest little freckles running across her nose. She’s so–oo pretty.
    “Anyway, I’m going shopping. Coming?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.
    “I can’t piss Kara off. I’m still waiting for my NVQ.”
    “Come on, you’ve got the perfect excuse.”
    “I feel better now, though.”
    Then I looked out of the window. Yep, still sunny. The kind of day that rips out your heart when you’re stuck at a boring reception desk.
    “Well… I suppose I DID throw up,” I added.
    “Uh-huh. Which means technically you ARE ill.”
    “And it was at the gym, so there’ll be witnesses, won’t there?”
    “Exactly. Shall we say eleven o’clock?”
    All I have to do now is phone the Feminazi and pull an Oscar-winning sickie.
9.20 a.m.
    Aa–aaaarghhhh! Will somebody please put Kara Feminazi Cooper out of her misery? There’s something seriously wrong with that woman. Why does she have to be so sarky? Suppose I really did have the first signs of swine flu?
    OK, I exaggerated an ickle bit – but only because I knew that if I’d told the truth, she’d come up with a story like: “My grandmother, the late, great Kara Cooper the Second, broke two legs and an arm, and still carried on working through the Blitz.”
    Whatever. Please just give me my NVQ and go away.
    Actually, she’s done me a favour. She’s highlighted the fact that I don’t want to work for her for the rest of my life. I want to be my own boss, in my OWN beauty salon. And even though it’s probably ages away, I’m going to start a business plan right now. I can look at it whenever she does my head in and think,
It’s only a matter of time
.
9.35 a.m.
    Er … what does a business plan actually look like?
    Google to the rescue.
10.00 a.m.
    Grr. This is driving me mad! Hundreds of sites came up saying I could download a business plan sample.
Perfect
, I thought. But I don’t understand a bloody word of any them. They’re full of terms like “gross margin” and “quantify your market”. WTF?!?!
    I’m going to take a break and update my Facebook photos instead.
10.30 a.m.
    Aha! Godfather Alan has finally emailed back.
    Hey Remy,
    How are you? Glad you liked the card. Are things any better there now?
    Alan x
    Wow. He’s later than late.
10.33 a.m.
    I replied straight away:
    Hi Alan,
    I’m fine. You’ll be glad to know that Mum and Dad are no longer at war. Early days, though. You know what they’re like.
    You’re