Kissing Vanessa

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THE INSTANT KEVIN Watts sees the new girl he falls head over heels in love. Not only is Vanessa is gorgeous, sophisticated, and intelligent, but she's also into photography just like Kevin. He's sure they'd be perfect for each other . . . if it weren't for one, major glitch. Kevin is "Mr. Background," upstaged by nearly every one else in school. How can an average guy like Kevin ever hope to win over a girl like Vanessa?

Enter Kevin's friend ...
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Overview

THE INSTANT KEVIN Watts sees the new girl he falls head over heels in love. Not only is Vanessa is gorgeous, sophisticated, and intelligent, but she's also into photography just like Kevin. He's sure they'd be perfect for each other . . . if it weren't for one, major glitch. Kevin is "Mr. Background," upstaged by nearly every one else in school. How can an average guy like Kevin ever hope to win over a girl like Vanessa?

Enter Kevin's friend Jack, self-professed babe magnet and relationship guru. All Kevin needs to do is follow Jack's easy tips and Vanessa will be his. But "looking cool to be cool" and "playing hard to get" are harder than they seem. And when every other plan seems to backfire, Kevin has no choice but to take the biggest risk of all. . . .
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Editorial Reviews

School Library Journal
Gr 6-10-Told from a 15-year-old boy's point of view, this humorous novel is set in Great Britain. When a beautiful new girl comes to town, it's love at first sight for Kevin. The trouble is, he's not a "babe magnet" like his friend Jack. In fact when it comes to girls, Kev is clueless. Luckily, Jack, who is writing a book on how to attract the opposite sex, is willing to reveal his secrets. While Kev is doubtful at first about following his friend's advice, desperation finally propels him into doing so. Unfortunately, Jack's Girlfriend Management the Easy Way lands Kev in a series of comic situations that make him appear to be dorkier than he really is. Of course, true love wins out in the end. Several qualities set this book apart from the typical teen romance. It glitters with a sarcastic wit that is similar to that found in Louise Rennison's novels. Kev's thoughts and feelings about his situation are so exaggerated that readers will laugh out loud, and they'll find his slightly eccentric sidekick equally funny. This is a fast and fun read.-Catherine Ensley, Latah County Free Library District, Moscow, ID Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Fifteen-year-old Kevin falls in love at first sight and does everything wrong in this sidesplitting romp through adolescent love. Kevin deliberately fades into the background until a rich, talented, drop-dead gorgeous girl moves to his school. At first Vanessa seems to like Kevin, but his efforts to win her love always backfire hilariously. In desperation he turns to his friend Jack, who is such a babe magnet that he's writing a book on how to get girls. Kevin puts himself under Jack's tutelage with Monty Python-like disastrous results. He alienates Vanessa's famous parents first, and finally Vanessa. Can Kevin overcome his obsession, or will he finally achieve his seemingly impossible goal? The expertly written British humor here can easily appeal to American readers. Most YA comedies make you smile. This one makes you laugh out loud. It's flat-out uproarious. (Fiction. YA)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385902427
  • Publisher: Random House Children's Books
  • Publication date: 10/12/2004
  • Format: Library Binding
  • Pages: 144
  • Age range: 12 years
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.30 (h) x 0.60 (d)

Meet the Author

Simon Cheshire is the author of several popular books for young readers in the UK, where he also writes and presents “Fast Foreword,” a bluffer’s guide to literature, on Oneword Radio. This is his first novel for Delacorte. He lives in Warwick, England.
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Read an Excerpt

Kissing Vanessa


By Simon Cheshire

Random House

Copyright (C) 2004 by Simon Cheshire
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0385902425


Chapter One

Chapter two

on second thoughts: not same old, same old, in fact, turning
point of my entire life

Half past nine, French. Naturally, by this time I’m staring out of the window. Despite the wad of loo paper stuffed into my pants, the damp patch on my trousers has spread up my zip and is still uncomfortable.
Jack is feeling dejected and upset. Miss Monique DuBois has turned out to have the thickest Glaswegian accent I’ve ever heard. When she speaks French it sounds like an explosion in a razor-blade factory. Haven’t caught a single word of anything she’s said yet. Jack is choking back the emotion of the moment.
So I’m sitting by the window, and I’m staring out of it, and I’m wishing I had my camera with me. Outside, across the sports field, there’s a shifting circle of light, bright shafts piercing the low clouds. They’re moving over the trees next to the main road, and rippling across the field. The effect is weird-looking, sort of unreal. Beautiful. It’s exactly the sort of thing you only see once in a blue month of Sundays.
I curse myself that I’ve left my camera at home. As digital cameras go, it’s one of the smaller, slimmer models, but the lens is a pretty good spec. Not top-of-the-range, optics-wise, but I wanted something compact enough to keep in my pocket. So I guess you have to make compromises. Only . . . of course . . . today . . . it’s on my desk at home.
I let out a sigh. The shafts of light have gone, fading out of existence as the clouds shift and let the sun get a look-in. That would have made a fabulous shot. I can already think of a place for it, once I’d got it printed out: framed next to my shot of the frosted tree I caught in January, that I insisted went in the living room at home.
Everyone’s got a kind of half-frown. If you were being generous you’d say it was the deep concentration of eager, dedicated students. If you weren’t being generous you’d say we were all just trying to make out what the hell Miss Monique DuBois is talking about. Still, credit where credit’s due: it’s got us very quiet and attentive. Well, attentive except for me, really.
No! Wrong attitude! There’s a new me this term, right? No daydreaming, no drifting off the point, no framing terrifically atmospheric photos in the middle of French. It’s a GOOD thing I’ve forgotten my camera.
I sigh again. Quietly. I don’t want to distract the rest of the class from their frowning.
I notice that Kate Stumpage has had a stylishly radical haircut during the holidays. Unfortunately, it doesn’t suit her pointy-chipmunk face. I saw her parents once at a school fête. They’re both pointy-chipmunk too. Poor girl never stood a chance. I mean, she’s a nice person. A bit out of focus from the rest of the world, but a nice person. She has a genuinely impressive memory for interesting trivia, and she IS attractive, at least in a way that makes Jack go all smiles and eyebrows . . . I’m not trying to be nasty, or anything. She just looks pointy-chipmunk, that’s all.
James is frowning hardest of all of us. It’s not that he’s hard of hearing, he’s just a bit dim. I’m not trying to be nasty again, he IS dim. If someone calls out “Oi, James!”, he’s right there, but call out “Jimmy!” or “Jimbo!” and he’s blank as a new jotter pad. He just isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, that’s all. Jack likes to sit well away from him, because James is officially The Boy All Girls Want to Get Stuck in a Lift With. He looks like a male model. I don’t really see it myself — to me, his features look too small to fit properly on to his face. They’re too spaced out. But he’s captain of the school rugby team, too, so that’s an added bonus with the girls. Apparently.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. Oh Gawd, Gregory Timms.
“Kevin, mate,” he whispers. I don’t know why, but it really annoys me when people call me that. “Kev . . . Kev, mate . . .”
I lean back slightly. Turning round would attract too much attention. “What?”
“Do you want to come round to my house and zap things on my Gamecube? After school?”
Oh, blimey. “Sorry, Gregory. Busy. Thanks, though.”
“I’ve got a new train set,” he hisses. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s grinning like a psychopath.
“Oooh, really tempting,” I say. “But I’m busy. Thanks, honestly, thanks, but I can’t.”
“My mum says she’s going to make a cake for tea,” he whispers.
“I’m on a strict diet. For health reasons. Sorry.”
“I didn’t know that,” says Gregory, sounding slightly alarmed. “Are you OK?”
Oh hell’s teeth, shut up. People are looking.
“I’m fine,” I hiss. “Just mustn’t eat icing.”
I lean forward and pretend to be listening intently to a sentence “à la pâtisserie” which sounds like “Ger vinga plaocen le zornki”. Gregory Timms retreats and I catch a glimpse of him biting his lip and wiping his nose on his fingers.
I liked him a lot when we were in the Reception year at PRIMARY school together. But now . . . Do you ever get the feeling that there are some things you just can’t escape? I have enough trouble being labeled: Mr. Background, Mr. Daydream and other assorted children’s characters, without having anoraks like Gregory Timms in tow. Holy cow, the new me is never going to blossom at this rate!
10.33 a.m.
My eyes casually graze the clock on the wall. But it’s like fate. As if time itself is telling me to take note of the exact moment.
10.33 a.m. Now.
Why? Because then it happens.
Then my life changes.
The door creaks open and in shuffles Mr. Pewsey. He’s chewing on one of his nerve pills and washing it down with quick sips from a tiny carton of blackcurrant squash. Miss Monique DuBois halts (whether in mid-sentence or not, nobody can say) and smiles at him.
“My abject apologies for the disturbance, Miss DuBois,” he says flatly, dabbing a hand to his forehead. He casts a watery eye over us all for a moment and puts out a hand. “Oh, please don’t get up, 10L.”
We just sit there waiting.
“Miss DuBois, I have your new pupil. 10L, this is Vanessa Wishart, who will be joining your class. I’m sure I can count on you all to greet her with your unique blend of enthusiasm. Vanessa, there’s a desk free over there next to Kevin Watts . . . er, the fair-haired boy with the glasses. Kevin, you’re a moderately sensible young man. Take Vanessa under your wing for today, will you? Show her the ropes, the toilets, that sort of thing.”
He shuffles to one side. I finally get a clear look at Vanessa.
She steps forward, obviously conscious of the sudden silence, her shoes clumping on the floorboards, walking towards the empty desk next to me. She seems nervous, but doesn’t look down. She seems to feel us watching her, but doesn’t falter, striding along the gap beside the radiator.
She is tall. Her legs are long, her arms slender. Smooth, tapering fingers grip the handle of her bag. She is slim, almost delicate-looking. Straight hair brushes around her neck, the blackest black that hair can be. Her face is pale, sculptured. Elegant, curving lips; a perfect, triangular nose.
And her eyes. Sharp, bright, feline. Spectacular eyes, a vivid, marbled green. Wonderful eyes. She looks at me, into me, through me. Getting closer to me. Her every motion is poise and contour and smoothness.
The bell goes. Kids start moving all around me.
Vanessa is next to me. She flashes me a smile. “Hi. Kevin, is it?”
I appear to stand without using any of the muscles in my legs. I try to speak, I try to tell her that she is the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen, that I will ever see, that has ever existed in all the world.
“Ye . . . Y . . . I . . . Ye-um . . .” I think I may be dribbling.
“Are you OK?” she says.
“He’s on a special diet,” says Gregory Timms, marching past.
“I’m . . . H’lo, I’m Kevin,” I stammer. “So . . . I . . . I’m to show you the ropes and the toilets, that sort of thing.”
Something has caught her attention. She’s looking at my trousers. The wet patch is drier, but still visible. The wad of loo paper is forming a lump between my legs.
“Should we start with the toilets, then?” she says, deadpan.
“Oh! No . . . er, this is . . . no, this was . . . umm, done in Assembly.”
“This school must have some really exciting Assemblies,” she says, even more deadpan.
Suddenly, I see Jack over her shoulder. He gives me a thumbs-up and indicates his reaction to Vanessa in a way which is both clear and graphic. Then he hops over and shoves me aside.
“Hi, babe,” he says. “My name’s Jack. Yours must be Gorgeous.”
Several other boys are hanging around us too. My mind goes sort of blank and mushy, and before I know what’s going on she’s been whirled away amid offers to carry her bag and do her homework. I wish I’d said something more intelligent.
But it changes nothing.
Because I know that I love her.
Completely and totally.
For ever and ever.
Amen


From the Hardcover edition.



Excerpted from Kissing Vanessa by Simon Cheshire Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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