My brain froze as he kissed me in little waves. Some of them very soft and some a bit harder. He pressed his hands all up my spine as he kissed me. And I just completely lost myself in it. Every bit of me felt connected to the kiss. He put the tip of his tongue between my lips and softly stroked it across the inside of my upper lip and then my lower lip. I could have stayed there kissing him forever.
Charlie smiled down at me and ran his hands through my hair, then said, “Well, that was good for a start, wasn’t it, miss?”
I couldn’t speak I was so happy. He put his arms round me.
He said, “So is it me or the shrew murderer?”
I said, “It’s you.”
He nodded. “Very wise.”
And he bent down and kissed me again on the mouth. Then he said to me, “Wow, this is going to be good.”
And kissed me again.
So all’s well that ends well. And I do mean that.
When we got back to the bonfire everyone was still dancing and laughing.
Seth put Flossie over his shoulder and danced about with her and then Flossie put Seth over her shoulder.
Vaisey and Jack did a drum duet.
Jo and Phil were taking turns to hit each other with the rubber dumbbells.
And whilst The Biancas (Lav, Dav, and Noos) were singing “Isn’t She Lovely,” Dil Bottomly had Ben pinned against a tree.
And Hoppy?
Hoppy was showing Blaise his hopping.
But, best of all, a flaming sausage had ignited Dr. Lightowler’s cloak and Bob had to wrestle her to the ground and beat it out with his special fire blanket.
After we said good-bye to our boyfriends, the Tree Sisters and I walked back to Dother Hall, arm in arm. Flossie said, “Girls, I am so goddammed pooped. I got up to Number Six on the Lululuuuve List with an animal in trousers.”
Vaisey said, “Ooooh, well, Jack had to play the drums all night, so mostly we, well, mostly we did Number Two.”
We all hugged her and said, “Aw, that’s a shame.” But Vaisey hadn’t finished.
She said, “But when everyone was eating their sausages we got to Number Six.”
Jo punched Vaisey on the arm and said, “Rock on, sister! Phil and I never stopped doing Number Six all night!”
There was a little silence, then Vaisey squeezed my arm and said, “Did you . . . ? Did Charlie . . . ? Erm . . . did you get on the Lululuuuve List?”
I took a deep breath, then said, “What comes after five?”
And me and my Tree Sisters danced all the way back to our theater of dreams.
Later, in my squirrel bed, I heard a scrabbling at the window. When I looked out, the owlets were there. Looking at me.
I can’t help loving them. And I know they love me in their own wild way.
But they need to be wild and free.
Just like Cain.
They flew off into the darkness. And I snuggled down again and feel asleep, thinking about my lovely Charlie.
My first proper boyfriend.
The Corker-Holding with Winter Socks scene
WHERE’S THE JAMES BOND book that Dad gave me? Here it is.
Now where did I get to?
Oh yes. In Jamaica, it’s the bit where Honeychile is so hot and the fans are going round and round in the hotel room. And the waves are crashing against the shore. And so Honeychile took off all her clothes and stood by the window. Yes, this is the good bit.
Bond went across to her and took a breast in each hand. But still she looked away from him out the window.
“Not now,” she said in a low voice.
How does that work? Is that what you’re supposed to do? Should I have said “not now” to Ben?
If I act it out, I might get an idea of what it feels like.
Although it’s hard to imagine someone putting their hands over my corkers as I haven’t really got any.
Maybe if I put socks down the front of my jimjams that would be more like corkers. Yes, but then I wouldn’t know what it felt like to have a hand over each one.
Maybe, if I put the socks on my hands, that would give me more of an idea.
I’ll use my big thick hiking ones.
OK.
Right, I am walking in a sexy way to the window. Phew, I am hot. I am imagining the Caribbean Sea crashing against the shed at the bottom of the garden. James Bond coming over to me. He is putting a hand over each breast. Oooh, the hiking socks are a bit prickly. I am looking away from him out of the window. I am saying, “Not now . . .”
Oh, dear Virgin Mary and all her cohort, there is someone down there looking up at me!!! I bobbed down beneath the windowsill.
The light was on in my room.
Had they seen me fondling myself with hiking socks??
I stayed absolutely still.
Perhaps they hadn’t seen anything and were just looking at owls or . . .
A voice shouted up. “Have you gone all shy now? Why don’t tha come out and play with me?”
And a girl’s voice farther away said, “You think you’re something.”
And the boy said, “Correction, love, I KNOW I’m something. I’m Cain Hinchcliff.”
Georgia’s Ace Gang Snogging Scale
¼. kissing hands
½. sticky eyes (Be careful using this. I’ve still got some complete twit following me around like a Seeing Eye dog.)
1. holding hands
2. arm around
3. good-night kiss
4. kiss lasting over three minutes without a break (What you need for this is a sad mate who’s got a watch but no boyfriend.)
4 ½. hand snogging (I really don’t want to go into this. Ask Jas.)
5. open mouth kissing
6. tongues
6 ½. ear snogging
6 ¾. neck nuzzling
7. upper-body fondling—outdoors
8. upper-body fondling—indoors
Virtual number 8. (When your upper body is not actually being fondled in reality, but you know that it is in your snoggee’s head.)
9. below waist activity (or bwa)
10. the full monty (Jas and I were in the room when Dad was watching the news and the newscaster said, “Tonight the Prime Minister has reached Number 10.” And Jas and I had a laughing spaz to end all laughing spazzes.)
Tallulah’s glossary
bagsie
If you say this it means, “Oy, that is mine,” meaning “Oy, I have bagged that.” It’s probably an old poacher’s term. And believe me, there are a lot of old poachers in the North.
barm pot
A fruitcake. If you say, “You barm pot” it’s not like saying, “You loonie”; it’s more sort of affectionate.
Like saying: “Oooh, you slight idiot.”
bejesus
This is from Hiddly Diddly land (Oireland). It’s a not-too-naughty swear. Like “Oh my word, you caught me on the knee with that hockey ball.”
Or, gadzooks.
Is that any help?
No, I thought not.
Borstal
Is a place for very bad yoof. Like a young person’s prison. Woolfe Academy is sort of like Borstal, only the yoof (mostly Charlie, Jack, and Phil) are allowed out now and again to go on cross-country hops.
The hope is that this will make them stop being naughty and get a job in a bank.
This is the hope.
The Brontë sisters
Em, Chazza, and Anne. They lived in Haworth in Yorkshire in . . . er . . . well, a while ago. And they wrote Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and loads of other stuff about terrible weather conditions and moaning. But in a good way.
corkers
Another word for girls’ jiggly bits.
Also known as norkers.
Honkers, etc.
Cousin Georgia calls them “nunga-nungas.”
She says because when you pull them out like an elastic band, they go nunga-nunga-nunga.
I will be the last to know whether this is true or not.
corker holders
Something to hold the corkers pert and not too jiggly.
A bra.
The Dane
Hamlet.
All actors do this. Refuse to tell you what’s going on.
It’s like never saying “Macbeth,” and always calling it “the Scottish play.”
If we all did this, where would we be?
I don’t know.
No one would know.
Mr. Darcy (and Mrs. Rochester)
Two characters well known for their sense of fun. Not.
Mr. Darcy was in Pride and Prejudice and at first he was all snooty and huffy; then he fell in a lake and came out with his shirt all wet. And then we all loved him. In a swoony way.
Mrs. Rochester was Mr. Rochester’s secret wife in Jane Eyre that he kept in a cupboard upstairs. She was mad as a snake and would only wear her nightie.
In the end it all finished happily because she set fire to the house, went up on the roof for a bit of a dance about, and tripped over her nightie and fell to her death.
Leaving Mr. Rochester blind.
This is one of Em, Chazza, and Anne’s more comic novels.
dunderwhelp
A polite Yorkshire way of saying: “You are an absolute disgrace of a person. Look at your knees.”
egg cozies
Little knitted hats for keeping boiled eggs warm.
garyboy
Anyone called Gary is a gay person. By that I mean Cain, Seth, and Ruben Hinchcliff say this. And even if someone called Gary wasn’t gay at first, he would be by the time he had been told he was for fourteen years.
get a cob on
To have the monk on.
You don’t know what that means either, do you?
Erm . . .
To have a face like a smacked arse.
Does that help?
Well, I’m trying to help, don’t get a cob on.
gogglers
Eyes.
To goggle is to look at stuff.
If you couldn’t see anything then you would need gogs.
golden slippers of applause
Sidone, the revered and possibly mentally unstable principal of Dother Hall, has her own unique view of the world.
Especially the showbiz world.
In this world she is obsessed by feet.
So her opposite of the “golden slippers of applause” is “the bleeding feet of rejection.”
Heathcliff
The “hero” of Wuthering Heights. Although no one knows why.
He’s mean, moody, and possibly a bit on the pongy side.
Cathy loves him, though. She shows this by viciously rejecting him and marrying someone else for a laugh. Still, that is true love on the moors for you.
heavens to Betsy
An expression of astonishment like . . .
“Gosh!”
Or, “Crikey!”
Or, as they say in Yorkshire:
“Well, I’ll go to the top of our stairs!”
I know it makes little sense but believe me it’s best not to argue about these things with Yorkshire folk. Or they will very likely get a cob on.
(see previous)
hiddly diddly diddly
The sound of all Irish songs (and dances). It fits them all.
Try it.
human glue
Aaaaah, this is the mysterious thing that happens when two people kiss and there is a sort of “uuuummphhh” moment because they both like it so much. And after that, it’s like they have magnetic lips that glue themselves to each other.
I thought that Cousin Georgia had told me about it but actually I think I made it up.
Which probably makes me a genius.
Or an idiot.
Iron Man group
An all-men’s group that hangs around with other men so that they can find their inner man-iness.
Usually they knit a lot.
In caves.
jazz hands
Sidone loves jazz hands.
Essentially it’s sticking your hands out a lot while lurching around to jazz.
laiking around
This means larking about. Or playing.
It sounds quite fun, doesn’t it?
But it isn’t.
Especially not if it is Cain, the Dark Rusty Crow of Heckmondwhite, who is laiking around.
You don’t want Cain to “laik around” with you.
Unless you like ending up sitting in the village stream in your best dress and then having to go to bed crying for two weeks.
lawks-a-mercy
“Crikey” but longer.
loosey-goosey
You know. All floppy. Like a floppy—er—goose.
manky pillock
“Manky” means “smelly,” and “pillock” . . . well, “pillock” is a combination of “dunderwhelp” and “barm pot” with just a hint of the “garyboy.”
mardy bum
Someone who is so bad-tempered and “mardy” that even their bottom is annoyed.
Like Beverley when she found out that although she was engaged to Cain (she bought her own ring), he had two other girlfriends.
Which is why she flung herself in the river.
And ruined her dress because the river was only two inches deep.
Mummers play
Not a mummy’s play, which is what I thought at first. Because a mummy’s play would be quite dull. People all wrapped up in bandages and dead.
No, a Mummers play was in medieval times, when actors would dress up in rags with their faces painted blue and go into pubs to entertain people.
They would do this by pretending to fight and hit the audience over the head with sheep’s bladders.
Much like The Blind Pig at the weekend.
nobbliness
I’m on firmer ground here.
Nobbly bits are usually bony bits that look, well, nobbly.
I have loads of it.
In the knee area.
northern grit
Umph and determination. If you say to a northern person:
“Don’t go out in that storm, you barm pot. The rain is coming down so hard you will be reduced to half your height.”
The Northerner would say:
“What rain?”
And go out in his underpants.
plectrum
Surely you know what a plectrum is? How do you pluck your guitars in America? And I know you do pluck a lot of guitars because I’ve seen old repeats of Bonanza and Dallas.
But I will explain . . . it’s that bit of plastic stuff that you hold in your fingers to stroke the strings so that you don’t chip your nail polish.
quakebottom
Someone who is so nervous and frightened that even their bottom is shaking.
rufty tufty
tough (tuf)
and
rough (ruf)
and ty (ty)
sjuuuge
When toddlers don’t have many teeth (or brains) they can’t say words properly. So this means “huge.”
Either that or they do know how to say “huge” and are just being annoying.
Maybe toddlers can really secretly talk from birth.
I bet they can read as well.
They are just having a laugh.
And being lazy.
snogging scale
Cousin Georgia has a snogging scale from one-quarter to ten.
She told me about it when I visited her last holidays.
She finally wrote it down for me and I have included it for you here.
splice the mainbrace
A bit like “Swab the poop deck!”
A nautical term of astonishment.
Like “Shiver my timbers” and “Left hand down a bit.”
yarooo!
“Hurrah” only spelled wrong.
Yeppity doo dah
I think this can be laid firmly at the feet of the American nation.
It was the Americans who invented a song called “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,?
?? and because that made little sense we now say “Yeppity doo dah.”
To mean “yes.”
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About the Author
Louise Rennison is the internationally bestselling and award-winning author of Withering Tights, A Midsummer Tights Dream, and the angst-filled Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series. She lives in Brighton, the San Francisco of England (apart from the sun, Americans, the Golden Gate Bridge, and earthquakes). You can visit Louise online at www.georgianicolson.com.
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Books by Louise Rennison
The (Mis)Adventures of Tallulah Casey books:
WITHERING TIGHTS
A MIDSUMMER TIGHTS DREAM
The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson books:
ANGUS, THONGS AND FULL-FRONTAL SNOGGING
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I’M NOW THE GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD
KNOCKED OUT BY MY NUNGA-NUNGAS
DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS
AWAY LAUGHING ON A FAST CAMEL
THEN HE ATE MY BOY ENTRANCERS
STARTLED BY HIS FURRY SHORTS
LOVE IS A MANY TROUSERED THING
STOP IN THE NAME OF PANTS!
ARE THESE MY BASOOMAS I SEE BEFORE ME?
Credits
COVER ART (OWL AND TIGHTS) © 2013 BY ISTOCKPHOTO.COM
COVER DESIGN BY MICHELLE TAORMINA
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE TAMING OF THE TIGHTS
Copyright © 2013 by Louise Rennison Ltd
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