Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

going well so far. But to be fair, I haven’t seen Emma.

Friday, June 1 #LifeOnMars

Today I came to the conclusion that the only feasible solution to my problem is entering NASA’s space program.

I can’t live my life trying to ignore that I fancy Emma, because that would make me as crazy as everyone else, only in a different way.

So I’ve been looking into possibly studying astrophysics at university.

At King’s you can study physics with astrophysics and cosmology, which sounds exactly right.

But, if you want to work for NASA and go on a manned interstellar mission, you have to be fluent in both Russian and English.

I wish they’d tell you these things when you’re choosing a language for GCSEs. Why did I want to learn French? Who’s ever needed French to do anything? I don’t even think you need French when you want to work for the European Space Agency.

They should offer Russian for all those people who are considering a career at NASA, because I’m going to have to learn Russian in my own time now, and I’m already five years behind anyone who went to a school with forward vision, and obviously Russian people who already speak Russian as well as English, because everyone speaks English.

I spoke to James about it who, FYI, seems to have moved in, even though he’s in the final stages of his dissertation and should be writing or painting or doing whatever nonsense fine art students do. But anyway, he reckons if I get into a decent uni and if I’m serious about it all, I can probably take a foundation course in Russian then.

But it’s going to take that much longer because of their bizarre alphabet.

Like bloody Hebrew.

But who knows, maybe I’ve inherited weird-alphabet genes from my dad, and it’s actually going to be a piece of cake.

Maybe instead of driving lessons like everyone else, I’ll ask for Russian lessons for my birthday. After all, who needs a car in London, or in deep space for that matter?

Saturday, June 2 #DontLook

Emma was back today, and she looked like she hadn’t even been ill.

I didn’t know what to say to her, mainly because most conversations I’ve been having with her took place in my head this past week, and so I pretended to be busy and was just like: “Hi,” from across the stockroom.

She walked straight over, and for a second, it looked like she was going to hug me, and I swear my whole body went rigid.

In the end we just stood there, and she was like: “How’s the bruise?”

Me (clearing my throat, because apparently I do that now): Fine, yes, great, okay, much better. How are you?

Emma: Finally out of prison.

Me: Oh.

Emma: Sorry again about my mum.

Me (shrugging):…

Emma:…

Me: I saved your Lucozade.

I got it from the fridge and gave it to Emma, and then I was like: “And I got you Minstrels,” and Emma was like: “Oh my God, I love you.” And then she did hug me.

You know when you’re at the dentist, and they tell you that you need a filling, and they’re going to do it straightaway, and you’re unprepared, and helpless, and reclined, and your stomach is fluttering like it’s actually trying to break out of your body?

That.

She smiled at me, and her eyes were pale blue, which basically means that she was focusing on something and her pupils had contracted, which had made the retinal tissue expand and therefore appear lighter. Like when you stretch a balloon.

Then she opened her Lucozade and was like: “How have you been, Pat?” and Pat was like: “Oh, you know me. Same old. Flat’s still looking nice, mind. And it’s nice to have you back, too. I had no one to talk to all week.”

I HATE that woman. Because I was there. Every day.

PS: I don’t understand how I feel about Emma. One moment I want to message her, the next moment I want to never see her again.

PPS: I wish I could talk to Polly.

PPPS: But Polly would be all romantic about it, and no help at all with me trying to not feel anything.

Sunday, June 3 #Busted

Mum wanted to know everything about upcoming GCSEs and my career in NASA tonight, and I was so not in the mood to talk about it, and so I was like: “Have you met Kate’s boyfriend yet?” And Mum was just like: “Kate has a boyfriend?”

I took the laptop downstairs and totally busted Kate and James on the sofa.

I mean, they weren’t having sex or anything, but it was so awkward that it was great.

I was like: “Mum, this is James, James, this is Mum.” And James was like: “Hi, Mum.” I could tell that Kate was dying on the inside, and she was like: “Amelia, I’ll email you. Go away, Phoebe!”

Mum then became proper LOL, because she was like: “No, no, no, wait a minute, Phoebe. If you take me away now, I’ll disown you.”

And so I just left the camera on Kate and James.

Mum: Hi, James.

James: Hi again.

Mum: Are you and Kate an item, then?

Kate: Ameeeeeeliaaaaa!

James (smiling, dimple-alert): Yes, we’re seeing each other.

Kate: We are?

James: Of course we are.

Mum (smiling): Congratulations. I’m happy for you both. Well, I’m happy for you, James, because my friend’s pretty epic. What is it you do, then, James?

Me (silently LOLing):…

Kate: Amelia, go away, I’ll email you.

Mum: But we’re having such a nice time.

Kate: Amelia!

Mum: Fine. But email me tonight.

Kate: I will.

Mum: And I want details.

Kate: Go away!

Afterwards Mum started going on about the astronaut thing again, and how King’s is a very good school, and that I should definitely look at their entry criteria right away.

Thing with Mum is, I never know if she says these things because she actually engages with me or because she wants me to like her.

PS: I got sidetracked during studying and discovered that all that standing-on-my-head business was the worst thing I could’ve done to get rid of my infatuation with Emma.

Apparently when