Monday 10th December

Fate has cruelly brought us together and I must surrender my frustrations, accepting that it is intent on torturing me.

Miss Lee has had the preposterous idea of changing the seating arrangements to alternating boys and girls in hope that this will help bring more neutrality to the Chemistry classroom, thus calming the gregariousness of those rowdy boys. This might work a treat for her nerves but what about mine?

I waited, my face recoiling in to the depths of my neck, like a cat ready to puke up the grass it had just eaten, as I anticipated which mucky number was about to plonk themselves next to me. Well this was typical, of all the cruel things, of course it was Liam bloody Payne, and he looked so smug about it, as if seating him next to me was the best decision Miss Lee has ever made. Of all the boys in the entire class, in the entire world, why does Liam Payne have to be the one to sit next to me? Even the incessant noise of Harry buzzing in my ear would be better than this. And if he thinks that I've forgiven him for the atrocious lies he fabricated following our return from France, then he's not nearly as clever as he professes to be.

Perplexingly, after being so bothered to weave such a fantasy he now doesn't seems the slightest bit interested in joining the masses, never once associating himself with their recent attention gushing exercises. Maybe he's actually learnt his lesson? Or maybe he's just found someone else to annoy, as word is that he's bamboozled his way in to finding himself an (older) girlfriend. Well whoever said lady might be, thank goodness to her for taking him off my weary hands and restoring him to the picture of restrained maturity.

'Hello Simone,' he took his seat quietly. What was I supposed to do except tilt my head and glare?

'Please stop with this noise!' Miss Lee begged, struggling to be heard as she explained the order of events.

As a reward for our good behaviour we were to be treated to the delights of a quiz. These teachers really need to make more of an effort to engage us with a more dynamic study plan, otherwise how do they ever expect anyone to enjoy school?

Oh how I hate Chemistry, it's so bewildering and with no obvious purpose that I wonder why we must study it at all? It's perhaps even more useless than Maths, since even I know that I need to be able to count my money, but when am I ever going to meet a proton or neutron? At the bank perhaps, whilst I'm cashing in all the coins I've just counted?

"Why hello Mr Proton, it's so very nice to see you today. How are the electrons getting on? Still being a nuisance are they? What pests they are always zooming about like they do."

'Which is positive, an anode or cathode?' I stared at the paper, choking. Well if I had a clue what these alien creatures were then that would be a good starting point. Is one an ode to Anna and the other to Cathy, because that would at least make some sense, albeit not any bearing any relation to Chemistry? But even if I did, somehow, miraculously know the answer, how would my life ever benefit from such futile knowledge?

Too easily I became distracted by the noise of a fly buzzing about my head. Well what did I expect; of course it was Liam, who having already completed the entire task was now amusing himself by flicking his pen back and forth between his fingers. If only I could swat him dead as easily as I could a fly.

How is it possible that he can just do everything that is asked of him and with absolute ease? How has his mind acquired such a library of information so early in life? Maybe this is why he looks so old already, because all those facts have withered his youth?

Detecting that I was floundering, of course Mr Perceptive couldn't get there quick enough, salivating at the opportunity to save me from the shame of GCSE Electrolysis failure. But why is he so concerned about my academic achievements? Is his intuition so refined that he simply "feels" my inherent dread of igniting the disgraced wrath of Mother, should I obtain anything less than a B? And if this is the case, then maybe he's not being so altruistic in his motives after all, since he's likely taking advantage of my vulnerability, knowing that by flaunting his wisdom I'll have no choice but to accept his offer of help?

Alas, now was not the time for conspiracy theories. Desperation prevailed and with time running out I really needed to get at least some of the answers right.

'Okay, so do you know what the answer is to question one?'

'Of course! Let me talk you through it.'

With way too much vigour he proceeded to divulge the answer not only to question one, but also the rest of the quiz. Not content with just giving me the answers, he was intent on making sure that I thoroughly understood just how he had reached each of his conclusions, insisting on explaining the logic behind the science, so should I ever find myself faced with such a problem in future, I'll be able to figure out the solution independently. Doesn't he realise that I don't care about his explanations, I just want to get the answers right? But despite my limited appreciation of both chemistry and etiquette, even I must concede that it would be wrong to reject such graciousness, especially since we've got a physics test next week too.

'Wow that's fascinating,' I oozed, 'but are you deliberately being nice to me, to make up for what you said?' The temptation was too great, I couldn't help but return to the one topic we had in common; our one piece of shared history.

'What do you mean? What did I say?'

'You told everyone that I asked you to go out with me when we were in France, and when you said no I hit you'.

'But why would I say that when I was the one that asked you out?' He really is the most tedious character.

Monday 17th December

I'm too terrible, a complete femme fatale. Not sure what has come about me, why this past weekend, well I found myself compelled to purchase a lacy push-up bra, and in black of all colours. You know the sort, like the ones that are always hanging out of Mother's bedside table, that used to fascinate me so much when I was younger, but are now just kind of gross when you think of her wearing one, but the idea of me in it, well that's different. For so long I've fantasised of what it must be like to pull up the straps of such an ornate contraption, and here I am, at last wearing one for real.

For all the imagination it has inspired, all the enchantment of its incandescent jewels and delicate spider web lace, never once did I consider the power that would generate when I slipped on this gifted instrument.

From the moment I buttoned up my shirt I knew that it was wicked, being only too aware that my nymph like breasts glimmered like orbs through my white shirt, especially when I removed my blazer and paraded coyly about the classroom. Maybe Flora wasn't being fortuitous when she had called me a slag, but still compared with the debauched acts that she partakes in I shan't worry about being the biggest sinner at school just yet.

Oh but the game was too easy, and like a cat toying with a mouse in the garden, flicking it between its tongue and teeth, never quite granting it escape, but likewise never allowing it the peace of death, I replied to each and every note sent back and forth, refusing each of the boys requests to see my garment in private, but always hinting, never allowing them to abandon their hope that one day it might actually be possible.

'Nice colour,' Harry passed me the note via Liam, in Chemistry.

'Are you wearing a black bra?' Niall Horan grinned.

'I'm sorry you have to put up with that,' Liam whispered, 'they're very immature.'

'Very,' I agreed, 'when will they develop some maturity?' What would he think of my own maturity if he knew that Harry and Niall were simply innocents reacting to bait laid out for them?

Tuesday 18th December

What an ignoramus I am, a total fool. Never once have I processed that all this excited curiosity might be the consequence of the boys advancing hormones, swelling like the incoming tide in to their welcoming loins, willing them forwards in a singular pursuit; to have sex. And it certainly never entered my head that they have been hatching a plan to do it with me, likely because I never thought to engage in anything so preposterous with any of them. I'd have to be demented to even contemplate such a grotesque act. But it's true; this is, and likely always has been, their primary intention.

What innocence on my part, to have thought that they were simply interested in enjoying my sophisticated humour. Never once did I dream that they might actually be serious, but their requests keep coming, and now more depraved vulgarities than sweet compliments.

'Nice tits,' one note said.

'Are you a lesbian?' Read another.

'If you fancy a shag meet me round the back of the bike sheds.'

Well that's it, I'm mortified, and I'm certain that the Police would be most interested to hear of the vile words which are propagating amongst the mouths of the male youth, should I ever have the inclination to report to them my harassment.