Bhangra Babes Read Online Free

you wish you'd been nicer to him.”
    “Do you really think I'm that shallow?” I replied, trying to gather together the pieces of my shattered dignity.
    “Why, yes,” said Geena. “You missed out there, Amber.”
    “I think he still likes you,” Kim said loyally.
    “Oh, really.” I yawned. I wasn't pretending. I honestly didn't care about George Botley one way or the other. No,
honestly.
“Like it matters.”
    “If he asked you out, would you go?” Kim persisted.
    “Kim, boys are a waste of time for us,” I replied. “Dad would never agree. His policy is to arrange the wedding first, then think about letting us date.”
    “Not that we've actually
tested
that policy,” Geena remarked thoughtfully. “It might be worth a go.”
    “No chance.” I scowled. “Boys mean trouble. Can
    you imagine Auntie asking them if their intentions are honorable?”
    At that moment I happened to glance across the playground. Someone else was coming through the gates.
    Wow.
    My knees wobbled, then sagged. My heart began to flutter. I actually felt myself salivating, as if I'd just laid eyes on a delicious dessert.
    And in a way, I had. Now this was a
boy.
If George was acceptable, this boy was unforgettable. Oh, he was lovely. Black hair artfully spiked around his beautiful face, deep brown, almost black, eyes. He wore his uniform like casual clothes, seeming utterly at home in it. And he was walking into our playground. It was as if Brad Pitt had just appeared, wearing a Coppergate uniform.
    A ripple of female interest surged round the playground like a wave. The metamorphosis of George Botley from squat little caterpillar to reasonably attractive butterfly was completely forgotten.
    “Oh!” said Kim faintly. “He must be a new boy. He's very good-looking, isn't he?”
    “Good-looking?” Geena repeated, her eyes out on stalks. “Yes, you could say that.”
    “I'm in love,” Jazz wailed. “Who is he?”
    “Hands off,” I instructed, my eyes glued to this vision on long legs. “I saw him first.”
    The bell rang as we watched the boy's every movement across the playground. Snake hips swaying, he disappeared through the upper-school entrance.
    “Aha!” Geena said with delight. “He's in the upper school. He might even be in my class! Bye-bye, losers.” And she took off at speed.
    “How sickening,” I grumbled as we shuffled our way over to the lower-school doors. “Trust Geena to get in there first.”
    “Watch out, Amber.” Jazz linked arms with her friend Shweta King. “George'll be getting jealous.”
    “Oh, like he cares.”
    Nevertheless, I sneaked a glance at George. He was strolling into school, chatting happily with Chelsea and Sharelle. He did not look back.
    “It's OK,” Kim said. “I don't think he noticed.”
    I glared at her.
    “Are you wearing a padded bra, Jazz?” Shweta inquired.
    “No,” Jazz snapped, stalking off down the Year 8 corridor.
    Kim and I made our way to our new classroom. It was a revelation to see clean paintwork and lights that worked and coat hooks that weren't falling off the walls. George Botley was standing outside, now talking to Rebecca Hayward and Jasmine Cooper, but I wasn't one bit bothered. I'd just seen a vision of beauty that made George Botley pale in comparison.
    “Where do you want us to sit, Mr. Hernandez?” Kim asked our new homeroom teacher. With his wiry black Medusa-like curls and retro dress sense, Mr. Hernandez was a legend throughout the school.
    “On a chair,” Mr. Hernandez replied absently. His
    desk was already covered in books and folders, and he was searching through them rather halfheartedly. “Amber, have you stolen my register?”
    “I believe you're sitting on it, sir,” I replied.
    “So I am.” Mr. Hernandez stood up and whipped the register out from underneath him. “Have a gold star.”
    “You're too kind, sir.”
    I followed Kim across the room to sit with Chelsea and Sharelle. I have to say, they didn't look particularly