Blondetourage Read online

  'What are you guys doing tonight?' I focus back in on Romy and Anouschka and everyone surrounding me with a grin. 'Because I think we should have a little fire pit celebration. A proper one this time. And I hate to sound like Ms Money Bags, but the marshmallows are on me.'

  Exclusive!

  Soon enough, my grades are getting steadily better, thanks to Melinda's guidance and George tutoring me mercilessly (she almost invests in a whip). Speaking of George, she's back to wearing her gorgeous (Georgeous?!) vintage clothes full time and is often begging to use any extra suitcase space I might have going because of her developing shopping fetish. She seems really different – it's like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She even confesses to me one day that she's had a bit of plastic surgery thanks to me – a little something she calls a 'scowlectomy'. She's also made friends with Anouschka, which is really weird. She came clean about the donkey sanctuary, which Anouschka (like me) thought was hilarious until George showed her the photos and now she's a donkey saving convert. They're even planning to visit there soon to shoot a country segment for Anouschka's show! I asked George if Anouschka was going to do a style makeover on Mr Peanuts, but George didn't think that was particularly funny.

  As for Romy, she's been in huge negotiations about not just one fragrance, but a whole line! The company she's been talking to is pushing to have her products on the shelves yesterday, but Romy is being great about standing her ground. She's determined to take things slowly – to complete her study and to make sure she's one hundred per cent happy with the products that are going to come out bearing her name. She has some amazing ideas already and I can't wait to see what she comes up with – it's sure to be the best celebrity product ever and is bound to sell millions, if not billions of units. I know I'll be lining up for one of the first bottles to hit the shelves. She's pledged ten per cent of the profits to a dyslexia research society, too. I'm really proud of how she's changed her life. She keeps saying it's all because of me, but I just have to keep reminding her it's not. All I did was give her a shove in the right direction.

  What else? Oh, yes. Fluffy. Well, over the months that have passed, Fluffy has sort of become all mine. He and Anouschka never really hit it off (she's more of a dog person) and just last week, Anouschka gave me all of Fluffy's papers and signed him over to me properly. I had to hide the papers away immediately unless he saw his real name. The one from his breeder, I mean. Ready for this? It's:

  Sweetmew Let Me Love You of Hey You Go Girl.

  How cruel is that? Even more cruel than Fluffy, which I didn't think was possible.

  Deep breath.

  Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I've saved the best till last. Blush.

  So, George has also realised something else apart from the clothes thing – that she and Toby were meant to be and (blush again) Rhys and I have even been out on a double date or two with them. Which (blushing for a third time), I have to admit has been kind of nice.

  And I guess you're wondering about Ashleigh? Well, as it turned out, her mother decided not to renew her contract with the show. She ended up signing a new contract to produce a reality show called Carbon Counters where families have to make their carbon footprint as small as possible. Ashleigh ended up going eco in the middle of nowhere and, the last we heard, she's learning all about how to compost and is having to pee into pits of worms. Such a worthwhile lifestyle couldn't happen to a nicer person. (Though I do feel kind of sorry for the poor worms!)

  Lastly, and bestly, now that everyone is a bit happier, both Romy and Anouschka have officially signed up for season five of Rich Girls. Which means that there will actually be a season five, which means that JJ and I will be hanging out with the gang for at least another eighteen months all up. Apparently at the start of season five, we'll be jetting off to the Bahamas. And as that will line up nicely with the school holidays in Australia, Steph will be coming along for the ride for a while, too.

  Keep your fingers crossed for me that season five is a tad quieter than season four.

  Or maybe not. After all, maybe all the fuss and the bother and the highs and the lows are simply part of the fun of being in the Blondetourage.

  About the author

  Having failed at becoming a ballerina with pierced ears (her childhood dream), Allison Rushby instead began a writing career as a journalism student at the University of Queensland. Within a few months she had slunk sideways into studying Russian. By the end of her degree she had learnt two very important things: that she wasn't going to be a journalist, and that there are not many jobs going in Brisbane where you need to speak Russian.

  After much whingeing about how hard it would be, she began her first novel. That is, her husband (then boyfriend) told her to stop whingeing, sit down and get writing. Since then, Allison has had nine novels published: five for adults and four for young adults. These include the popular young adult Living Blonde trilogy beginning with Diamonds are a Teen's Best Friend.

  These days Allison writes full-time, mostly with her cats, Vi and Flo, purring contentedly on her lap and her two children, Ivy and Teddy, playing quietly with educational toys on the floor (okay, watching episode after episode of In the Night Garden).

  You can read more about Allison (and view her sad proud- mummy photos) at http://www.allisonrushby.com.

  Excerpt from Diamonds are a Teen's Best Friend

  'Is this the boat to Europe, France?'

  Honestly, I tried to stop myself asking the question, I truly did. In front of me, the porter guy looks at me as if I'm a fourteen- (almost fifteen-!) year-old idiot. Beside me, dear old Dad looks at me as if I'm delusional (that's because a lot of the time he actually thinks I am – he's even had me tested to make sure I'm not). And he's about to open his mouth to start in on me (again ... sigh) when, behind me, I hear it – someone laughs. Right on cue.

  I swing around quickly, my head zipping from side to side, trying to see who it is, but it's practically impossible in this traffic jam of a crowd, especially when you're as short as I am and your dad won't let you wear a kitten heel, let alone rhinestones in the daytime. I bet Marilyn Monroe's mother never said a thing about Marilyn wearing rhinstones in the daytime. Then again, Marilyn Monroe's mother let her get married at sixteen and spent a great deal of time in a mental institution, so that's probably not saying very much. I'm just about to give up on the searching thing when the crowd parts and someone dressed entirely in red, going out/in/out (in all the right places) and hips swaying, passes me by with a wink and a lift of one perfectly arched eyebrow.

  'Honey,' she says, in the kind of voice that makes everyone turn and look at her. 'France is in Europe.'

  Oh. My. God.

  It's one of those moments when you just know you'll think up a zillion and two perfect things to say later, but instead you stand there looking like you've recently had a lobotomy. Especially when I realise that the someone is actually a Someone and that the woman now heading up the escalator to the biggest ship I've ever seen in my life is, in fact, Holly Isles.

  Yes, the Holly Isles.

  Actress, Goddess. Star of stage, screen and various tabloid magazines that you skim as fast as you can at the supermarket checkout because your dad will never let you buy them and everyone else is allowed to rot their brain so why can't I, Holly Isles.

  Someone whistles. And, this time, I don't need to look around. This time, I know for sure it's not for me. (Laughing, sure. Whistling? I am sincerely doubting it ...) And because I don't turn around, I don't move for the guy. The one who smacks into my shoulder (ow!) and says, 'Excuse me. I need to get to my aunt.'

  I follow his gaze directly up the escalator to Holly. His aunt? Holly is his aunt? Well, la de da. I go to give him my best 'Get your filthy mitts off me, don't mess with the outfit and don't go anywhere near the hair, buster' look when my mouth drops even further. Hello, sailor! Cute boy ahoy! He's not kidding around. This guy is definitely related to Holly in a big way.

  'Ah ...' my dad exhales,
the lecture he'd been working on giving me obviously forgotten. Funny, but he's got the same kind of lobotomy look as me. And he's staring straight at Holly.