The Weird Friends Fan Club Read online

  “Second place is first loser,” I recited dutifully.

  “That’s right.” Daddy leaned back as the waiter brought over our entrées.

  “Cheers, darling!” We clinked glasses and tucked in.

  “This is delicious!” I declared.

  “Mmm!” Daddy agreed with his mouth full and then swallowed. “I tell you what, Grace, if you ever learn to cook like this…” He paused.

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “I’ll be very disappointed.” He grinned. “Because it will mean you’re not spending enough time studying or bettering yourself. You don’t need to learn to cook. Get rich like me and then pay people to do it for you.”

  And then Daddy told me all about his week. Daddy specialises in corporate and real estate law, so he spends most of his time finding loopholes to re-zone conservation sites for development. He is very good at it and loves his job.

  ERIN

  EMAIL

  19.41

  FROM: ERIN BROWN

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: YAY NEW SUPER WRITERS’ GROUP AND FIRST ASSIGNMENT

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Grace,

  I did a little bit of research over the weekend and think I might have found a short story competition that we could both enter as writing practice. It has to be 500 words and about ghosts (link below). I thought it looked OK. YMMV.

  Best,

  Erin

  EMAIL

  21.13

  FROM: MRS WILSON

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: RE: YAY NEW SUPER WRITERS’ GROUP AND FIRST ASSIGNMENT

  Dear Erin,

  What does YMMV mean? Not Roman Numerals?!

  Please talk to me in English. I am an English teacher. And I also don’t have time to Google slang. Thank you.

  But well done, the competition looks good!

  Let’s meet at start of lunch on Monday (tomorrow) and have a quick discussion.

  Best,

  Mrs Wilson

  Second in Department for English

  EMAIL

  21.34

  FROM: ERIN BROWN

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: RE: YAY NEW SUPER WRITERS’ GROUP AND FIRST ASSIGNMENT

  Dear Mrs Wilson,

  Sorry. YMMV means “your mileage may vary”.

  Best,

  Erin

  Monday 25th February

  GRACE

  Hahaha, Erin got told off. This is already a great start to the week for me. I mean #lovetomyenemies sure. But also, hahaha.

  Though I have to say, I was tickled picturing Mrs Wilson puzzling over YMMV. I guess it’s understandable that Erin thought Mrs Wilson was cool enough to have known that. Though maybe she did, and she had to just be a teacher and tell us to write properly?

  I am going to write a brilliant ghost story.

  I love Mondays. I love catching up with all my friends and hearing what the people I didn’t see at the weekend got up to.

  Chloe got a new hamster because her mum wanted to cheer her up after she’d been moved down in English. (Just between you and me, diary, I think that’s sort of the problem, right there. You’d never catch Daddy rewarding failure like that. Oh well. To each their own.)

  #liveandletlivebabes

  ERIN

  “What do you mean no way?” I was utterly baffled by Nic’s response to my brilliant suggestion.

  “I mean no way, obviously,” said Nic. “I’m not a swot like you, I wouldn’t enjoy a Jane Austen play at all.”

  “Charlotte Brontë,” I corrected.

  “Whatever. Boring.”

  “But … but … how do you know you wouldn’t enjoy it? Unless you try it?” I attempted.

  “Why would I want to go on what sounds like a school trip in my spare time?” asked Nic.

  “Because it would be fun! And interesting. And I do loads of stuff you like, like music and stuff, why don’t you try one thing I like?”

  “But you like music too, don’t you?” Nic was unmoved.

  “Well, kind of, yeah,” I lied. “But not as much as you.”

  “Oh sorreee.” Nic was sarcastic. “Sorry my parents paid for you to come to a music gig you only quite liked. Tell you what, how about you pay for me to come to this stupid play, and maybe I will.”

  Ouch.

  I couldn’t believe Nic had said that. And, also, I could never afford to pay for both of us.

  GRACE

  I was pleased to note I arrived before Erin for this lunchtime meeting. Only by thirty seconds or so, but start as you mean to go on. I think she was having an argument with her emo friend Nicole, but they were slightly out of earshot so I couldn’t be sure. Ha. Trouble in paradise. Or at least trouble in the Little Shop of Horrors.

  Haha, I’m so funny, must use that in English when we’re next tormenting Erin. I’m in a great mood today.

  Mrs Wilson is very happy with the ghost story comp. But the deadline is ages away, so in the meantime she wants us to write a letter of complaint about a disgusting hotel room. In the style of Jane Austen.

  “And this time,” Mrs Wilson revealed, “I want you to take on board each other’s feedback and work it into a re-write.”

  I did not like the sound of that one bit. Pretending to take on board Erin’s terrible advice is one thing. But actually being forced to act on it? No, thank you.

  “So, like, do a second draft?” asked Erin.

  “Precisely,” continued Mrs Wilson. “Write your letter, email it in. Make notes for each other, then meet up and share them constructively. I don’t think you need me for that bit, now you’ve got the hang of it. Then both do a re-draft and email it in again.”

  “What if we don’t agree with each other’s criticism?” I asked.

  “That’s a good question,” said Mrs Wilson. (I mean, obviously it was – I asked it.)

  “Thank you,” I couldn’t help but reply. (Erin better not have rolled her eyes.)

  “This exercise is about seeing if the changes make the overall work better or worse,” explained Mrs Wilson. “And good practice should you ever get into journalism, or any other kind of writing career where an editor gives you feedback.”

  “Journalism?” asked Erin then.

  “Yes,” said Mrs Wilson. “Right, I must dash.” And she bustled off again.

  ERIN

  I really don’t get what Nic’s problem is. First she won’t do anything I like; then she’s annoyed I have to do something I like.

  So what if I have to miss the first part of lunch – for like five minutes. It’s nothing! I still see her all the time – apart from English – and I only forgot to ring her sooner at the weekend because I was at Dad’s.

  And then Nic was like, “Fine, instead of your stupid play, I’ll just join your stupid book club.”

  And I was like, “You can’t just join, there’s a process.” But I promised I’d ask Mrs Wilson, even though I had no intention of asking because I knew full well that Nic only wanted to join so she could mess about. And then she would spoil everything.

  Does that make me a terrible friend? It’s not even like it’s super fun. But it is super interesting. And like nothing else I’ve ever really been involved with. And the thought that I could be a journalist is AMAZING. Me!

  I was so shocked by what Mrs Wilson had said that I forgot to dash off and find Nicole, and instead said out loud to Grace, “I wouldn’t have thought I could be a journalist.”

  “Well, not with that attitude,” Grace admonished me. She might have been joking; I couldn’t tell.

  “No, I mean, journalism’s a blood bath,” I explained. “There’s no money in it any more. Print is dead, there’s fewer and fewer jobs…” I trailed off.

  “Erin, you’re very defeatist.” Grace seemed to be enjoying scolding me. “We can be anything we want to be, if we work hard enough.”

  Hmm. Maybe she can. With all her family connections.

  “No, we can�
��t,” I said. “It’s like that Chris Rock stand-up bit.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoa! Do you not know who Chris Rock is?” I couldn’t hide my astonishment.

  “No, I’m kidding, of course I know who Chris Rock is,” replied Grace.

  I didn’t push it, but she kind of looked like she didn’t.

  “Just remind me of the bit…?”

  “You know? That bit where he says stop telling kids they can be anything they want to be? He goes, ‘You can be anything you’re good at, as long as they’re hiring.’”

  “Ha,” Grace chuckled. “That’s funny. And sad. Kind of sounds like our careers advisor actually.”

  I laughed. “Yeah! Oh man. Did you take that computer quiz of hers? Mine told me I should be a dog-walker. Which I would actually enjoy. But my mum would kill me.”

  “Oh god yeah. Daddy would go ballistic if I—Isn’t that your friend?”

  I looked up and Nicole was lurking by the door. When I looked up she tapped her watch theatrically.

  “I’d better go.” I started grabbing my bag. “I don’t mind when we do this. And I’m happy to meet up anywhere, I don’t mind.” I waved over my shoulder as I dashed out.

  GRACE

  OK. I’ve Googled Chris Rock now. I really should have heard of him. And I have seen him in films.

  I started today on top of the world. One encounter with Erin and I feel like an uncool teacher who has to Google slang.

  And every time I start to think she might be funny or nice, she does something horrible.

  As I walked past her and Nicole on my way out of the common room, I heard her say, “But I don’t even like Grace.”

  So fine. The feeling is mutual. Just you wait till English, Emo. In fact, why wait till English? Let’s up this. You don’t mind where we do the work? Then I’ll pick somewhere. Somewhere an under-confident, insecure nobody like you will feel very uncomfortable…

  That will teach you to lord it over me in English, while my good friend Chloe is reduced to surrounding herself with Cricetinae rodents for comfort.

  Tuesday 26th February

  ERIN

  EMAIL

  20.52

  FROM: ERIN BROWN

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: JANE AUSTEN LETTER

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Grace,

  My letter is attached.

  Best,

  Erin

  JANE AUSTEN LETTER OF COMPLAINT — ERIN

  Jane’s House

  Winchester

  Hampshire

  England

  Twenty-seventh of January 1815

  The Terrible Inn

  Terrible Street

  Really Bad Town

  England

  Dear Sir or Madam,

  I had cause to stay at your establishment on my way to M—shire last week. It was a most grievous experience, and I am most vexed with you.

  Our party arrived at the allotted hour, our horses taken care of and our luggage also. (This much I am obligated to credit you with. But this much alone!)

  Your host then showed me to my quarters. Forsooth! A most terrible smell did fill my nostrils.

  I intimated my displeasure at the stench and was greeted with a most supercilious retort of the sorts I shall not repeat here; rest assured the language was not at all acceptable to polite company.

  When I intimated further that I absolutely could not stay in such a noxious room, I was informed that the previous occupant had been unwell. I daresay they had expired there, the stench was so potent!

  I was then led to a much smaller room with barely space for a single bed, clearly a part of the servants’ habitations. (At least the bouquet was no longer the pungent miasma of death.)

  I did not want to stay in this room, but neither did I the other. I was in a bind, and one your establishment very much took advantage of. Where else would I have gone to at such a late hour? Forthwith, I write to inform you that I should like to be compensated for the full fee of such a stay, or I shall feel compelled to ruin you all over town.

  I await with interest your response.

  Yours faithfully,

  Jane Austen

  GRACE

  EMAIL

  20.59

  FROM: GRACE ABELLA

  TO: CHARLOTTE BRONTË FAN CLUB

  SUBJECT: RE: JANE AUSTEN LETTER

  Dear Mrs Wilson and Erin,

  Jinx. Here’s mine. I can meet you after school tomorrow at a little café near me called La Saison Sol to discuss if you like?

  Kind regards,

  Grace

  JANE AUSTEN COMPLAINT LETTER — GRACE

  House Museum

  Winchester Rd

  Chawton

  Alton, GU34 1SD

  Eighteenth of May 1816

  Ye Premier Inn

  Ring Fort Rd

  Cambridge, CB4 2GW

  To Whom It May Concern,

  I write as a precursor to beginning legal proceedings, should you not respond in a manner I deem acceptable forthwith.

  I had the great misfortune to stay at your ill-conceived excuse for an Inn, on the seventh of this month, Year of our Lord 1816.

  I cannot be the first person to tell you it is illegal to let rooms that have a huge hole in the floor due to fire damage that has not been adequately repaired.

  Had this night not been such a busy one, I would have gladly gone elsewhere, and did desperately try in vain to do so.

  Happenstance led me back to your odious abode, and by sheer luck I was still alive in the morning, having not fallen through the gaping chasm.

  Upon my word, this is unacceptable!

  I enclose in this letter a bill to you, firstly to reimburse, and additionally to compensate me for the terror and danger I faced from my night in your calamity coven.

  If I do not hear from you within 28 days, I shall begin legal proceedings. And I shall send around an inspector to check the hole has been adequately fixed.

  Also, I am a famous author and I am not above reporting your hovel to the British press, should you attempt to countersue. If you vex me further, I will destroy you.

  Yours faithfully,

  Jane Austen

  ERIN

  OK, I reluctantly agree she is good at stuff like this.

  But I think I also might hate Grace. Actually hate her. I’m so angry, I don’t think I even find her intimidating any more. It’s just so unfair.

  Grace is so two-faced. Not that this is in any way a surprise but OMG she was so horrible in English!!!!

  And then she’s all, “Oh here’s my letter, let’s meet up at my local café.” Like WHAT. Just pick a behaviour, you absolute horror.

  (Actually, slightly worried that Grace had overheard me say I didn’t like her when I was fighting with Nicole, which might explain everything…)

  Thank goodness Nicole and I are back to normal, though. And Theo and all my bullies are back to normal too. Ha. Aaaaarrggghhh.

  Actually, Theo is calling me “Monster Mash” now, instead of “monobrow”, which I think is actually in part because Grace started saying that Nic and I live in Little Shop of Horrors.

  Or it could be because I finally did a slightly better job of my eyebrows? Who knows? Who cares? What’s a worse insult anyway?

  One day I will leave this school and … be a dog walker. Or a journalist. Who knows? Who cares?

  Maybe I will write scripts and move to L.A.?

  Maybe I will die of wearing underpants that are too tight? I read somewhere that more people die of wearing underpants that are too tight than win the lottery. Actually, that doesn’t sound right…

  Oh, who knows! Who cares!

  My point is – nothing matters.

  Happy thoughts – woo – dinner = whole load of left-over mini-quiches, crisps, some slightly dried out carrot sticks, some mini vegetable samosas and mini onion bhajis, some grapes and some Twiglets.

  I don’t know who was in the meeting Mum stole all that from
, but hats off to them for liking Twiglets but not enough to finish them. Please continue to make good life choices like that, because Mum won’t buy Twiglets; she thinks they are overpriced for the nutritional value that they contain.

  Wednesday 27th February

  GRACE

  Hahaha. I was delighted to see Erin skulking around outside La Saison Sol looking awkward and out of place.

  “Oh, I thought I’d got the wrong place,” she said (instead of “hello”) as I marched up to her. “It looks a bit… I mean… Are we even allowed in? Don’t we need to wear suits or something?”

  “Oh Erin!” I shook my head patronisingly and chuckled. “There is a dress code, but it’s just no jeans or trainers. We’re fine in our school uniforms.” I moved towards the door.

  “But still, shouldn’t we go somewhere more…? You said it was a café.”

  I rolled my eyes at her and entered the restaurant, so she had to follow me or look super chicken.

  “Ah, Miss Abella,” said the maître d’, recognising me. “Welcome back. May I take your coats?”

  “What is your life?” whispered Erin, as we were seated at a nice booth.

  I ordered some sparkling water for the table and our waiter promised to return momentarily to take our order.

  “They’ve started doing a lovely afternoon tea here,” I advised Erin, pretending to peruse the menu which she looked afraid to touch. “A selection of little sandwiches and tiny cakes, with a pot of tea,” I explained. “Of course, the pastries here are to die for, because it’s French. The coffee is marvellous too – goes without saying, really.”

  “I can’t afford any of that stuff,” said Erin.