Teenage Love Smells Like Crisps

It’s been a dark week. Not only have I got a huge spot on the end of my nose, but half my philosophy class vanished to Boom Bap festival, leaving me to fend for myself with Dan Smith. He has a trilby, a guitar, used to love Christ and is dreadful. Dan’s current atheism means he frequently bangs on about the evils of religion in a voice so soporific that I once fell asleep (and that's not hyperbole).

We spent half of the lesson looking up the definition of “replica” (seriously, only three people knew what it meant). It wasn't a total waste, though – Kieran told me about how much he loves anal sex and let me play with his his new silver-plated chain. But, in case you’re not already rummaging through my Facebook in search of Kieran’s digits, let me really sell him to you: mild acne, remarkably large arse, bouncing, tigger-like gait, honking laugh, scant respect for women. Ladies, please be dignified – this young Casanova is already taken.

At least it's got too cold to dress like a ho anymore. I'm not sure I could take any more of Mrs Bennet's lust for my side-boob. That said, she'll only have to divert her amorous attentions to the lower school, who are always pretty much nude, even when it snows. Well, nude underneath the thick layers of Maybelline Dream Matte Mouse they need to keep them warm.

Despite the lack of adolescent flesh on display in sixth form, the common room is still thick with a soup of hormones and Carly Rae Jepsen fragrance, and those sparkling, sugary top-notes are really working their magic, because you can’t move for all the chirpsing 16 year olds. But, in the midst of all this tactless groping and adolescent yearning, Brett has remained quiet.

Brett is my little bug-eyed, computer-literate, people-hating, slightly autistic angel. I like him because not many other people do and because, in secondary school, he pulled a large chunk of my nemesis Rebecca Knadwell’s hair out. He turns to me, eyes bulging, and guiltily mumbles that he “consumed 4,000 calories in chocolate” last Thursday. Is he manorexic as well as sociopathic? Poor Brett.

At least Brett really doesn't seem to need friends. Conversely, on the other side of the common room, Rebecca Knadwell is attempting to crawl up the school social ladder by dazzling people with her rhinestone belly bar and recounting as many drug and dick-related anecdotes as she can between PSE and biology class. Nobody believes her. How much gak and dick can one person take? If I have to hear one more of these lies, I'll have a proper Veruca Salt moment and scream this whole fucking place down.

Penelope huffs in, winds a year 12 with her Marc Jacobs laptop bag and declares that she's gonna "fucking kill" all of lower-sixth for "stinking the place out". She went to an all-girls school for five years; she's a bit nuts and I wouldn't be too surprised if some of lower-sixth really do end up face-down and bloated in the swimming pool. Like I care. They made this place stink of cheese and onion crisps. Anyway, I'm writing this in the library. Obviously, I'm the only one here.

Previously: First Day of Term

Forgotten what it's like to organise a fight by the bike sheds that no one turns up to? Better read this: The VICE Guide to School