Holly Smale - Far From Perfect

Contents

VALENTIME FOR A CHANGE?

Leggy beauty Faith Valentine sported a brand-new hairstyle last night. Seen leaving The Ivy alone (left), her curly locks were worn straight, prompting immediate questions about her relationship status with pop star Noah Anthony.

Blasting straight into the FITTY FIFTY at number eleven is brand-new entry, FAITH VALENTINE (16). Tall, slim, with caramel skin and angel eyes, shes 100 per cent modern bombshell. Online influencer, up-and-coming movie star and YES, part of THAT family, we want her as OUR Valentine come February!

Im an early riser, Faith admits during our interview in the sun-dappled sitting room of their impressive family mansion. I wake to the sound of dawn birds singing. The first thing I do is drink water it perks up the digestive system and practise ballet. Her exquisite face dimples. Ive been dancing since I was little. It really keeps me grounded.

WELCOME TO THE T-ZONE! YOUR ONE-STOP SHOP FOR EXCLUSIVE SLEB ACCESS!

The Valentines have fame, hotness, soooo much money (like lend me a fiver already LOL!) and THIS award-winning blogger (links below, no I didnt make them up, theyre totally real, KEVIN) has a PRIVATE INTERVIEW with FAITH VALENTINE, the best one. The T is about to be served!

Take a closer look at this years hottest couple all is not well in paradise. Sources claim they are struggling to find time for each other. With Noahs touring and Faiths film career, theres no opportunity to connect. Shes definitely feeling it more than he is, though. Experts agree: Their body language shows that shes holding on to this relationship with both hands. Will it be enough?

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Childrens Books in 2020

Published in this ebook edition in 2020

HarperCollins Childrens Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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The HarperCollins Childrens Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text copyright Holly Smale 2020

Cover illustration by Jessie Ford

Cover design copyright HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Holly Smale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008254179

Ebook Edition May 2020 ISBN: 9780008254186

Version: 2020-03-19

For Judith,
who will always be with me

S noring.

Thats the first thing I hear. Loud snoring, followed by the realisation that Im the only person in the room so it has to be me. Outside, wood pigeons coo and sparrows chirp, but Ive just managed to wake myself up with the machine-gun rattling of my floppy air cavities.

Hot stuff, Faith Valentine.

Eyes shut, I unstick my furry tongue with a clack. Then I sit up, yawn with breath like forgotten laundry, swig from a glass on my bedside table and promptly spit melted toothpaste and paprika all over my duvet.

Stuck to the bottom of the glass:

Bet your intestines are super PERKY now
LOL. Max xxx

With a small grimace my brother needs a hobby I open my curtains. Sunlight streams in; I sleepily swing my legs to the floor, scratch my knee and turn the radio on. Then I head straight to my mat.

Theres an entire six-metre wall of glass covering one side of my bedroom in this light, my pores look like potholes: you could get a rope and a tiny hard hat and climb down into one of them so I quickly unfocus my eyes and grab hold of the wooden barre. Then I bend my knees deeply.

Lifting my heels off the floor, I yawn through my nostrils and gesture to the side with my left hand: grand pli. Flatten my foot and hold my leg up and back: arabesque. A single-leg relev to stretch my foot. A la sec

Im going to have to step up my exfoliation routine or Grandmas going to kill me.

Battement fondu, battement frapp; quatrime devant.

Perhaps we could just use Polyfilla?

Gliss

Coming up, an overexcited woman on the radio trills, the latest hit by Noah Anthony! This ones got all the romantic feels, hitting me right in the chest cav.

Yeah, a guy deadpans. Im, like, a mess.

My hearts all over the floor! she agrees, neatly ignoring his sarcasm. And here it is! The UKs newest Number One, pouring straight from our ears into yours!

I stop mid-spin. What does that even mean?

With a quick leap, I make it to the radio just in time to catch the opening guitar chords. Guilt tugging at me, I turn the volume down before my boyfriend starts mmmmming and do-do-doing.

Sorry, baby. Love you.

Then hamstrings still tight from yesterday I head back to my mat, breathe deeply, close my eyes, stretch upwards, touch my toes and then plank peacefully for a few minutes. Pushing further up, I arrange myself into a deep V shape: feet and arms on the floor, head hanging down, knees flexing and

Youre a total freak, Effie. You know that, right?

I open my eyes. My big sisters face is thirty centimetres from mine, lying on the floor, directly below me. She must have silently slipped in and squiggled under my downward dog.

Somethings definitely wrong with you, Mercy continues, dead-pan. Do you think its, like, medical, or psychological, or genetic, or just the latent impact of a general cultural inequality? Im legit curious.

Mers so close I can see the fibres of her mascara.

Theres melted black eyeliner streaking from each corner of her eyes towards her hairline as if shes wearing a mask, her foundation is separating around her nose and her lips are patchy with what was burgundy lipstick. The short pink wig shes wearing is slightly knotted and wonky, the fringe lopsided.

My sister looks defiant and exhausted. My heart twangs.

Good morning, I say, leaning down and kissing her slightly greasy forehead. How was the party? What poor yet totally suspecting soul did you make cry this time?

Then I stand up, take a long step forward and perform a wide lunge over my sisters reclining black-Lycrad body.

Oh my God, Mercy snaps crossly. Stop exercising on me.

She shuffles across the wooden floor, sliming up and on to my bed one muscle at a time like a disgruntled deep-sea creature.

Hell, no, she adds, punching the OFF button on my radio. Im not listening to your basic boyfriends lame warbling, either. Nuh-uh.

I frown at her. Mercy.

What? Oh, please. He sucks at writing music and you know it. She scowls at the light. And you can turn that off too.

The sun? I pirouette carefully