Love Is for Losers Wibke Brueggemann (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

Today in religious studies, Mrs. Turner went through the GCSE marking hoo-ha with us “just to reiterate.”

You get zero points if there’s “nothing worthy of credit” in your answers/if there are no answers.

Polly looked at me, pointed at herself, and mouthed: “Math!”

I just rolled my eyes at her, because I find it hard to believe you’d know nothing, but at the same time, I can imagine Polly just looking at the paper and her brain being like: Tristan. Tristan. Tristan.

In order to get seven to nine points, you have to “show reasoned consideration of different points of view with clear reference to religion”—i.e., Blahblahblahblah, but with Jesus/Allah/Buddha.

I think the teachers are more stressed about all this than we are. They’re getting proper aggressive when they catch you not listening.

PS: The designer kitten that Emma brought back to life is definitely the runt of the litter.

It’s really small compared to its two brothers/sisters, and I swear it looks like it doesn’t quite get life. It’s full-on ginger, except for its feet, which are white, so it looks like it’s got fluffy socks on. The other two are white with beigey ginger all over.

I took a picture of it and sent it to Emma.

She replied straightaway and suggested we call it either Elizabeth or Richard, because giving animals people names is cool.

Thursday, April 19 #Result

The buy-one-get-one-half-price promotion has finally finished. Thank God.

I was literally starting to lose my mind over stupid people.

Alex brought in a whole coconut cake he baked, and I ate at least four slices because it was delicious. And apparently you have to use coconut milk instead of actual milk like it says in the recipe, because that makes the cake

a)  super sweet,

b)  super fresh, and

c)  super moist (which is 100 percent the most awful word ever, especially when uttered by everyone, but especially Pat).

Alex is honestly such a nice person, and he makes me want to be a nice person, too, but then someone’ll walk in like: “What does ‘Buy One Get One Half Price’ mean?” And I’m just like: I hate you.

So today, spurred on by the unprecedented success of the Star Wars poster, Emma and I were on a mission to find the next big moneymaker. We thought we found a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag for a minute, but it was only a cheap replica, probably from Tooting Market. We still made it the donation of the week and put a sign on it saying ORIGINAL FAKE.

I know it’s a horrible thing to say, but we need more sci-fi fans to kick the bucket, because all that vintage Star Wars shit and Doctor Who and even Battlestar Galactica is making proper money on eBay.

Kate said since I’m not really a people person, I can be in charge of the shop’s eBay account.

PS: I’m not not a people person.

People just don’t like to hear that they’re idiots.

Friday, April 20 #Catstagram

Emma came over tonight, and we finally had a photo session with the nondesigner kittens.

You know that saying about herding cats? You don’t fully understand its meaning until you’ve actually had to do it.

When we’d arranged one, another one had escaped, and when they were finally all sitting together and kind of looking into the camera, one fell asleep.

It took an hour to get a decent picture.

Because they are half-designer cats, Kate reckons we may still get half the pure-breed designer cat money for them.

Emma and I made an Instagram account for Kate and posted the pictures. The text is:

Four kittens, half Persian. £250 each, all shots included. #catsofinstagram #persian #halfpersian #kittens #cats #Wimbledon #allshotsincluded #cutekittens

It’s quite stressful, all this cat-selling business.

Also, two of the kittens look identical, so we’re going to have to put tiny little different-colored collars on them to tell them apart.

Emma and I put it on our accounts, too, so maybe we’ll get results from that.

I haven’t posted anything in months, and Polly liked it straightaway. She was all like: “Aw. They’re so cute.”

I hope she noticed that Emma was tagged in the picture.

PS: Why do I even care about what Polly thinks when I know she doesn’t care about me?

PPS: Mum just liked my Instagram post. Is she checking up on me from within a war zone? Why did I think it was a good idea to allow my mother to follow me?

PPPS: I wonder if Emma will still want to come over once the kittens have moved out. I wonder if she likes spending time with me when I’m definitely not as fun as badminton-playing, topless James.

Saturday, April 21 #SalsaForSeniors

Bill and Melanie signed up for Salsa for Seniors a few weeks ago, and are proper into it.

We were given a little taster of what that looks like in the stockroom, and it wasn’t funny because they’re old but because Bill was so serious. He did the face and everything while gyrating his pelvis. I was crying. And then he was like: “Come on, Patricia, my darling, dance with me,” but Pat was all like: “Oh, Bill, you know I’ve got two left feet.” But he pulled her off her chair, and senior salsa-ed her up and down the stockroom, dodging books and bags and bins.

We all laughed and clapped, and for the first time since I’ve known her, Pat actually cracked a smile.

Emma was like: “We should all go,” and then she winked at me, and I think I was pulling a really stupid face at the time.

Why am I like this? Every time I feel like I’m getting more natural when I’m talking to Emma, something like that happens. I’m literally a car crash.

9:03 P.M.

Maybe Emma only winked at me because James wasn’t in today, so she couldn’t wink at him.

Maybe it’s a nervous tic.

Maybe I’m overthinking it.

Sunday, April 22 #HeatWaveTakeTwo

The heat wave is real, and I stayed indoors all day.

Loads of comments on Instagram on the half-designer kittens, but no one has asked to visit, and no one has made an offer.

I just looked at