Pride and Premiership Read Online Free

I wear that?” I growled. “I phoned you in the morning and asked you which dress to wear. You said you couldn’t tell without seeing them.”
    “Sorry,” she said. “But I had a little thing like AS LEVELS on my mind.”
    I’d totally forgotten that this was Kellie’s exam week. Doh! I apologized and admitted, “I’ve been selfish, haven’t I?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Can I go now?”
3.30 a.m.
    I put the LBD back on to check how I looked last night and tried to think positive.
There’s nothing to stop you from being the new Colleen Rooney
, I told myself. But when I swung round to see how I looked from behind, I thought,
Colleen’s bum can’t be this big. It just CAN’T be
! It looked like Dumbo’s bum cheeks had been squashed into a piece of black cling film. No wonder Robbie couldn’t wait to see the back of me. (No pun intended.)
3.35 a.m.
    Can’t sleep. It’s weird but now Robbie’s dissed me, everything about him seems perfect. Even his highlights and his big nose.
3.40 a.m.
    Threw the LBD in the bin (what’s the point in highlighting my worst bits?) then grabbed some Doritos from the kitchen cupboard (thought I might as well console myself). Was going to pig out in front of the TV, but when I opened the living-room door Dad was sleeping on the sofa. Mum always makes him sleep downstairs when she has the hump with him.
    Poor Dad. We’re not just joined by blood any more but by major unwantedness!
3.55 a.m.
    Dear God, please let me get to sleep. I’m being assessed at the college beauty salon today and I don’t want to see Robbie every time I close my eyes. Ple–eeeeease.
    I’ll even tidy my room.
8.15 a.m.
    Typical. I finally nod off at five, then Malibu bursts into my room three hours later to ask how it went.
    “It was perfect!” I pretended. “We had dinner in a posh hotel in Hertfordshire.”
    “A hotel? Hmm…” she said. “I hope you stuck to the WAG Charter.”
    “Of course I did!” She asked me to swear on Leo DiCaprio’s life. And when I did, she believed me.
    “I bet he was gagging for you, though,” she said.
    “Yeah – had to practically beat him down with a stick.”
8.58 a.m.
    Right, better get ready for college. Hopefully for the last time. Can’t take being a trainee for much longer. OK, so it means I get an extra hour in bed on Thursdays, but it also means that I have to do a six-day week – major suckation. Plus the clients that come to the college salon think they can criticize my work just because I haven’t qualified yet. Sometimes I feel like shouting, “Shut up! You’re bloody getting this for free!”
    Maybe I should have put up with Tara (spit, spit) Reid’s bullying and stayed on for sixth form, because work isn’t a bowl of cherries either. We all have to arrive looking glam and fully made-up, which takes me about an hour so I set the alarm for 7.28 a.m. (need a two-minute snooze). That’s earlier than I had to wake up for school! And on top of that, I’m mainly on reception duty because a trainee is only supposed to do treatments on workmates – and the Feminazi sticks to the rules. That means I have to answer the phone, write appointments in the diary and plaster my face with a smile like an American checkout girl – “Have a Nice Day” – the moment a client walks through the door. The Feminazi demands it. She says I’m the first point of contact and I’m representing her. But if I REALLY represented her, I’d stand on the reception desk and look down on everyone.
    Anyway, after this session, and a good report from Kara, I should have enough accreditations for my NVQ and will officially become a beauty therapist. Ye–sss!
9.05 a.m.
    Got distracted by
Big Brother
. Everyone’s in bed. How can those lazy gits win 100k for this? OMG, that Bryan bloke snores like a pig!
9.10 a.m.
    Strange. Lance Wilson just phoned the house looking for Malibu. Haven’t heard from him in ages. I told him Malibu was at work.
    “Of course,” he said.