sophisticate
Must Not Snog the BoysChapter 2: The Testosterone Invasion
"Code blue! Code blue!" Tara and Tania run through the halls, shouting the alert at the top of their tiny lungs.
The day has finally arrived: Havisham School for Boys is coming to St. Trinian's. Estimated time of arrival: T-minus negative 1 minute.
In other words, the boys have arrived.
"Yo, Bev!" hollers Tania, leaping up onto the receptionist's desk and throwing a stapler at the gossip mag-fixated woman. "A little attention here?"
Beverly jolts into action. "Hey, T, other T, sorry 'bout that." She pops her gum loudly. "Did I hear something about a Code Blue?"
Tara and Tania roll their eyes at each other, exasperated. Sometimes it seems as though they, the two youngest pupils, are the only intelligent ones in the entire school.
"Uh, yeah," Tara replies sarcastically. "And that means –"
" – that everyone had better –" Tania continued.
" – get to their stations!" finished Tara
Beverly was nodding dumbly, a frantic look coming into her eyes. It was finally happening – the day that all of St. Trinian's had been training for during the past month was here. There was so much to do…fingers crossed, all would go according to plan – but with a complicated plan like this, their fingers had to be crossed extremely tightly.
Tara glares at Beverly. "Like, now!" she bellows.
"Oh, right, right," Beverly responds. Picking up the rarely-used telly, Beverly punches in some numbers. "Hey, Polly?" Pause. "The twins have just notified me." Pause. "Yep, it's a Code Blue. Everyone to their stations." Pause. "Yep, got it." Hang up. Beverly looks over at the blonde demons, grinning. "Operation Overlady is a go, girls," she gushes.
Tania and Tara nod in a businesslike manner. "Excellent," they reply in sync. Then they dash off to wreak havoc elsewhere. Only this time, all of the girls are banded together – havoc will be wrought, and boys will be taught…not to mess with the girls of St. Trinian's.
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The weather-beaten, mint-green bus clatters down the St. Trinian's drive. In a disconcerting departure from past traditions, no paintballs are splattered on the windows. No shrunken heads sway tauntingly from the trees. No Amazonian schoolgirls burst forth shrieking from the woods. The Havisham bus' arrival at the usually-hectic School for Girls is eerily quiet. Almost…normal.
The bus pulls to a stop in front of the school. As if they were posing for a postcard, the entire faculty and student body of St. Trinian's is assembled out front of the school, picture-perfect in their re-sewn and ironed uniforms. For once, no one is injuring anyone else, and the typically bloodthirsty girls are acting like perfect little angels.
From her spot in the very centre of the charade, Kelly Jones is biting back a smirk. As usual, her plan has unfolded flawlessly.
As the bus' doors creak open, their illustrious Headmistress, the venerable Miss Camilla Fritton gracefully glides forward. The first male figure to step off the bus is none other than her suitor from years past, Leopold Havisham.
"Milly!" shouts the ruddy-cheeked Leopold jovially. He may have gotten a bit rounder around the middle than he had been since Camilla last saw him, but he still had that same devilish spark in his eyes.
"Leo!" sing-songs Camilla, and the two run forward and embrace each other like the old friends they are.
"So good of you to let my boys and I stay at yours, Milly dear. I really don't know how to thank you," Leopold fusses, gesturing dramatically.
Camilla shakes her head, waving off his preposterous notion easily. "Oh, hush, Leo! Not a word of it! We couldn't be more happy to have you." She turns to the gaggle of fresh-faced (well, sort of) schoolgirls behind her. "Right, girls?"
"Yes, Miss Fritton," they chorus back dutifully, under Kelly's watchful eyes. They have been carefully instructed to act absolutely angelically, and thus far, all of St. Trinian's finest have been performing quite nicely.
"Wonderful!" booms Leopold. "Well, the boys have all been so anxious to meet all of you. I guess we'd better not keep them waiting any longer, eh?"
The girls all giggle modestly, the picture of purity and naivete. Oh, if he only knew . . .
He moves away from the doorway of the green bus and calls up, "All right, then, boys! You can come out now! Behave yourselves!"
Almost immediately, the girls of St. Trinian's jump collectively as an uproar like none they have ever heard shakes the very ground upon which they stand. The old green bus looks as though it's about to explode, as a raucous flock of very tall, very muscular, very boyish boys comes pouring out, yelling and shouting in a flurry of noise and motion.
The girls' eyes grow wide, for multiple reasons: A) They're the epitome of misbehaviour, but even so, they've never seen anything so wild as the Havisham crew before; and B) These obnoxious ruffians, their sworn rivals have actually turned out to be…dare they think it…incredibly and shockingly FIT.
"Cor," breathes Taylor under her breath, her face breaking out into a light sweat as she takes in the gorgeous specimens of malehood assembled riotously in front of her.
Even the Posh Totties, in their spot hidden behind their schoolmates in the back, are a little shaken, and they, at least, have certainly had quite a number of experiences with the opposite sex. In fact, Chelsea can't be quite tear her eyes away from the good-looking newcomers long enough to be sure, but she thinks that Chloe has just fainted beside her.
Peaches dives to the ground to attempt to make her platinum-blonde friend's fall. "Chlo!" shrieks Peaches. "Are you all right?!"
Well, Chelsea thinks, that's that, then. She absent-mindedly reaches out to help Peaches support Chloe, but her hazel eyes are locked with a particularly fit boy's steely blue gaze.
"Boys!" shouts Leopold, clearly repressing a grin at his pupils' antics. "All right, then, that's enough! Boys! Boys!" Finally, the rowdy Havisham boys quiet down.
With a nod from Miss Fritton, Kelly steps forward, obviously mesmerizing the energetic adolescent boys before her with her dark red lips and rhythmically-swaying hips.
"Hello boys," Kelly says, in her patented cool-as-a-cucumber way, and instantly, scores of boys have fallen in love with the unflappable Kelly Jones.
"Welcome to St. Trinian's," Kelly continues. "I'm Kelly Jones, Head Girl." She always loves saying this and watching people's reactions – no one expects a girl who looks like this to be Head Girl. These boys, though, don't react quite as expected – they all look delighted at the prospect of such a fit Head Girl, sure, but they're not exactly shocked. Kelly, for a moment, worries that this crowd of blokes may not be quite what she had bargained for, but she quickly pushes that thought out of her head.
"We St. Trinian's girls are proud to welcome Havisham to our school," Kelly says, forging ahead with her little welcoming speech. "And we will be more than happy to assist you – in any way you wish." Kelly licks her lips suggestively at this carefully contrived moment, and gleefully observes as fifty boys go weak at the knees.
With a quiet, "Ahem," from Kelly, the crowd of "angelic" St. Trinian's girls parts down the middle, revealing, in all their glory, the Posh Totties, who had been hidden behind the rest of the girls in the back. Unlike the rest of the girls, who are all, for the first time in probably forever, wearing their uniforms neatly-pressed and appropriately, the Posh Totties look as they usually do. In fact, the glamorous clique looks even more slaggish than is the norm for the professional "call" girls.
Chloe is clad in what is ostensibly the proper school uniform – if it were shrunken three times in the dryer. (The tiny vest and skirt she is wearing actually belong to Tara.) Peaches is wearing a pleated micro-mini and a pair of suspenders – she has conveniently "forgotten" to put on a blouse. And in between them, in all of her wild-blonde-curls glory, Chelsea struts forward in a silk teddy, dyed in the St. Trinian's school colours, and a pair of fishnets. The gorgeous trio walks in perfect sync, swinging their hips and shaking their hair.
The Havisham boys' mouths drop open, sending the other St. Trinian's girls into raucous laughter. What fun – acting like innocent little schoolgirls so that the boys could act all manly and macho, only to turn the tables on them by making all of their wildest adolescent fantasies come true.
The Posh Totties continue sauntering forward, basking in the male attention they had so craved in the past. The boys remain shell-shocked, their adorable faces looking hilariously baffled. Leopold is chuckling, not at all offended by the girls' little trick. After all, Leopold Havisham has always enjoyed a good time.
"Bloody hell!" shouts one of the boys, the first to recover from his trance. "We'd well do these slags!" His outburst is met with a roar of approval from his schoolmates, many of the boys reaching out to pat the brash newcomer on the back.
Kelly grinds her teeth together in irritation. She'd known, of course, that these boys would be like all others: utter male chauvinist pigs. Of course, their typical antifeminist behaviour hadn't offended the Posh Totties in the least, but some of the other girls, like Polly and Annabelle, are visibly bristling. With a warning glare from Kelly, though, the feminists of St. Trinian's paste a flirtatious smirk onto their faces. As much as the sexist, cocky boys may annoy the girls, they have stick to the plan.
Chelsea sends one last wink toward the blue-eyed boy she had been eyeing earlier, then the Posh Totties turn on their heels and flounce away toward the school.
"All right, boys, the first-years will show you to your dormitory," Camilla calls excitedly. How she loves new blood!
Tara and Tania whistle with two fingers, and bellow, "Follow us! This way, blokes!" The preppy boys retrieve their luggage from underneath the bus and begin to trail after the rambunctious first-years and their leaders, the twins.
Camilla takes Leopold's arm and leads him into her office, so that they can catch up. Neither can believe how many years it's been since they've last seen each other!
At last, once most of the now co-ed students have entered the building, there are only a few stragglers left behind outside. Kelly has to physically pull a flirtatious Taylor and Bianca away from a group of boys.
"Like my hair extensions, sexy?" Taylor calls, and Kelly wallops her over the head. "Ow!"
"It's for your own good," Kelly hisses.
Taylor pouts. "But I thought you told us to flirt with them."
Exasperated, Kelly replies, "Yes, but there's such a thing as over-the-top. Besides, I think you're having a little too much fun with the plan."
Taylor shifts guiltily.
"All right, get inside," Kelly says, and Taylor and Bianca dash inside the building.
All of a sudden, Kelly's attention is caught by a commotion to her left. She can't be seeing this right…Celia, of all people, is surrounded by a group of boys!
"Cee?" Kelly asks confusedly.
Celia looks at her saviour, a plea for help in her wide grey eyes. "Kelly!" She reaches out and unceremoniously tugs the confused Head Girl over to her side. The crowd of uber-preppy-looking boys grins appreciatively. Resigned, Celia gestures to a smirking boy with wild blond curls in front of her. "This is my brother, Ricky. Ricky, this is Kelly. I've known her since Year 7."
Kelly appraises Ricky coolly. It's certainly evident that he and Celia are siblings – both have the same grey eyes, wild blond locks, and round face. But Ricky, unlike Celia, seems to have embraced his wealthy heritage. His uniform is neatly-pressed and his luggage is of the finest leather.
Ricky holds his hand out for Kelly to shake. "Richard Castleby-Locke III," he enunciates smoothly, smirking patronisingly. "What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Pleasure," Kelly responds sarcastically, but the cocky rich boy is too caught up in himself to catch the sarcasm. Ricky ruffles his hair self-importantly.
A brown-haired boy standing next to Ricky reaches out and ruffles Celia's hair. "Aw, isn't the little sis glad to see big bro's best friend?"
Disgusted, Celia wriggles her way out of the boy's grasp. Her brother and his friends are typical rich brats, and Celia has always clashed with them. "Ew, get away from me, Miles," she yells.
Miles Eccleston-Rowe laughs delightedly. He has always loved riling his best friend Ricky's rebellious little sister up. "I see you've actually combed your hair, Celia Wanna Feel-ya Up. That's certainly a change."
"Ugh," Celia grumbles. "Come, Kelly, let's go. These idiots have probably got to go plan their Parliament campaign."
Kelly and Celia head back into the school. Or, rather, Celia pulls Kelly along at a breakneck speed.
"Whoa, Cee, slow it down," Kelly laughs. "Where's the fire?"
Celia shakes her head. "I just can't stand Ricky, or his stupid friends like Miles. Ugh, they're so patriarchal and conservative, it makes me want to throw up."
"Well," Kelly grins, "then it's a good thing the plan is working, right?"
At this, Celia relaxes happily. "Too true."
As the two budding feminists stroll into the school building, Annabelle is left alone outside, making sure that the last of the boys gets inside. Suddenly, a devastatingly attractive boy ambles up to Annabelle; he is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and Annabelle forgets to breathe for a second.
"Hello there," the gorgeous boy drawls in his low voice, and Annabelle shivers. She can't remember how long it's been since she's actually spoken to a boy her own age, let alone a handsome one like this.
Annabelle has never felt more out of her element, but she desperately wants to please Kelly and keep with the Plan. So she steels herself and puts on her best flirtatious pout, attempting what she thinks might be something akin to a come-hither look toward the stranger. "Er, hello?" Annabelle replies, and immediately hates herself for sounding like a ten-year-old. "I mean, hello to you, too," she tries again, deliberately lowering her voice an octave. Oh, wonderful, now I sound like a middle-aged chain smoker, she thinks to herself.
The good-looking boy chuckles, running his hand easily through his dark, wavy hair. "What's your name, princess?"
Annabelle flushes scarlet. Is this incredibly fit boy flirting with her? She desperately wishes that Kelly were here to tell her what to do. "An – Annabelle," she stutters.
"Good to meet you, Annabelle," he says smoothly. "I'm Mac."
Annabelle nods, momentarily speechless. She forces herself to reply. "Mac…like a Big Mac?" What? Oh god, why am I such a ninny? She giggles pathetically at her own stupidity.
Mac raises his eyebrows coolly. "Sure. Anyway, Annie – can I call you Annie?" Annabelle is so flustered that she can only nod dumbly. "So, Annie, what's the St. Trinian's policy on student relationships?"
Annabelle's eyes practically bug out of her head. "Um…er…pardon?"
"You know, students dating? I guess it'll have to be a new policy, since you probably didn't have this issue before, being all-girls." Mac pauses for a moment. "Or, well, maybe you did, who knows? But now that we're co-ed, student relationships are all good, right?"
"Uh…" Annabelle replies, gaping. Is this really happening? Is Mac, this gorgeous specimen of malehood, asking her out?
Sensing her discomfort, Mac laughs. "Hey, Annie, don't sweat it. Did you think I was talking about you?" He shakes his head, chuckling.
Annabelle blushes furiously.
"No, no, chill, I just wanna know the name of that sexy blonde bird from before. You know, the tall one with the long hair? In that little silk number?"
Before he has even finished speaking, Annabelle knows he's talking about Chelsea. She isn't surprised, really – what boy wouldn't like Chelsea Parker?
"Oh, um, yeah," Annabelle responds, ducking her head so he won't see her mortification. "That's Chelsea. Chelsea Parker, she's in the Lower Sixth."
Mac grins salaciously. "Excellent," he breathes. "Well, it was a pleasure, Annie," he remarks, and charismatically tilts her chin upward with his hand.
Annabelle is scorching from the contact, but Mac waltzes away like he unwittingly seduces young, innocent girls and then deserts them as a daily event. Which, Annabelle thinks, he probably does.
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A/N: Thank you for your patience! Love to all of my reviewers and please continue to leave reviews – feedback always encourages me. So, how do you like St. T's new testosterone-y inhabitants?