A Dork's Diary: Memoirs of Keira Matthews

Saturday 12^th May
9:35
Great Hall
Day of the Ravenclaw/Slytherin Quidditch Game

Louise and Yasmin were too hyped up about the match to bug me, which was good while it lasted. However, once we got onto the toast and marmalade, the happiness was ruined.

"So tell me, why, exactly, did Terry Boot snog you if he doesn't like you?" asked Yasmin.

"Because," I said tiredly, "he said I owed him. And it wasn't a snog, it was a kiss. He said that I owed him two kisses. Now I only owe him one."

"But isn't that weird? And why did you let him just snog you?"

"I don't know, this is Terry Boot we're talking about," I snapped. "He does stuff like demand kisses. You know what he's like."

"I think you're a bit sweet on Terry, Kee," said Louise thoughtfully, chewing on a bagel.

I spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice.

"What?"

"I mean, come on. You're always hanging around together, you work really well in projects, you've snogged..."

"He snogged me!" I said indignantly. I'm fed up of explaining this by now. "And it wasn't a snog, anyway, it was just a kiss."

"Whatever. The point still stands."

"Which point would that be?"

"The point that you..."

"Heeeee-eeeeey!"

I have never been glad to see the irritatingly pretty face of Elodie Rivers before, but, hey, there's a first time for everything. She did her usual trick of sliding in and changing the whole topic of conversation. I usually hate this, but then I was thankful. Besides, the blue and bronze hair decorations were just impossible to ignore.

"Umm...nice bow, Elodie," said Yasmin. Louise appeared to have gone into shock.

"Thanks, Yaz!" said Elodie, treating us to her most dazzlingly white smile. She was in a particularly perky mood today. In this kind of mood, Elodie really is the sort of person that you just want to kill. You know, really kill. Like jump up and down and kill. And then chop up their body into 15 different parts and flush various parts down the toilet and throw the others into the local tip. But I'm getting off the topic. Stupid brain.

She glanced at me and said, "I'm thinking of wearing a blue dress with this, to show our house colours. I think it's important to show support for our team, especially with one of our best friends out there and all!" (Presumably she means Mandy, although Mandy is, by no means, a friend of Smellodie's.) "What are you going to wear, Keira?"

I looked down at my T-shirt and skirt, and then back up at Elodie with a due sense of dread.

"This," I replied. "Why? Is it important what I wear?"

"Of course it is!" said Smellodie, shocked. "And...uh...it's nice and all that, but why have you got a load of weird blokes with bad hair on your shirt? And what does Deran Deran mean?"

"It says Duran Duran," I said, bowing to the inevitable. "It's a very successful Muggle band that I happen to like. The 'weird blokes with bad hair' are the band members."

"Oh. But why have you slashed up the bottom?" demanded Elodie.

I went red. No one's asked why I've done that before.

"I...Madonna does that," I mumbled. This is embarrassing! I know that I have no chance of looking anything like Madonna, despite the slashed up shirt. I DO NOT NEED THIS BITCHY PRETTY-GIRL POINTING THIS OUT TO ME IN HER OWN INNOCENTLY-DELIVERED WAY.

"Who?"

"Madonna...she's like a style-icon...singer person," I muttered.

"Oh. Well I can't say I think much of her dress sense!" said Elodie, with a tinkling laugh that just drilled itself right into my brain. "And what about the skirt?"

What the Hell is wrong with a denim skirt? I thought she'd be able to leave that alone, but nooooooooo.

"What's wrong with my skirt?" I asked indignantly. "It's just a normal skirt!"

"Well no," said Elodie. "but it goes awfully with those boot things."

"They're not boots, they're Doc Martens," I said hotly. "They're very fashionable, actually. And it doesn't even matter what I'm wearing! Nobody's going to care! I'm just another spectator! I'm not going to be sashaying onto the pitch like a stupid model!"

"Easy, Kee!" said Elodie, looking hurt. Yes, she looked hurt. She actually had the gall to look hurt after hacking away at my ego with an ice-pick for ten minutes. "Don't go all huffy on me; I'm only saying that you could make more of yourself."

Yeah, right.

Either way, she buggered off after a while, saying. "I'm going to go and put on my blue dress. See you at the match, girlies!"

And she minced off.

Like the opinionated, self-obsessed, conceited prat that she is.

I hope the ceiling caves in on her.

9:55
In the Stands

Stupid old Yasmin forced Louise and me to buy little Ravenclaw flags that her conman boyfriend had made, and was selling for the outrageous amount of three Galleons each.

"Three Galleons is a small price to pay to show loyalty," said Carmichael. Smarmy bugger.

"I can be loyal for no money," I grumbled. "Shouting at the top of my voice is free and far better than waving this stupid thing around. Nobody will be able to see it; it's about three square inches."

He just sneered at me, and put his arm around Yasmin, who went all girly.

Yes, Yasmin Moon went all girly.

What is the world coming to?

We fought our way to our seats, when I suddenly noticed Terry and Michael slipping into the seats behind.

"No," I said immediately. "We can't sit here."

"Why not?" demanded Lou. "We've got a good view!"

"The...sun is in my eyes," I lied.

Louise rolled her eyes and turned to go, but spotted Terry and Michael, now squabbling over what looked like a huge bag of crisps. When she turned back to me, she had such a knowing grin on her face that I wanted to kill her. (N.B.: That makes two people I have wanted to kill in less than an hour. Not good. Must control these aggressive feelings.)

"Awww!" she said. "Are you nervous about sitting with your boyfriend?"

I hit her.

"Shut up," I snapped. "Just come on."

We elbowed our way to a pair of seats and sat down.

"I'm a bit worried about how Grant Page is going to perform, you know," said Louise, thoughtfully.

"Oo-er."

"Shut up, you know I don't mean it that way. I meant performing at Quidditch. He's not been playing as good as he used to, and Slytherin's Chasers are by no means bad."

"Hmmm," I said, glancing around to make sure Elodie and/or Terry were nowhere near.

"He's gotten really good-looking lately, though," Lou went on. "He's the perfect Keeper build. I always thought he was the best looking Keeper, although Ron Weasley isn't shaping up too badly."

"Nah. He's quite sexy in his way, but he's no Oliver Wood," I said, without thinking. It was only when I saw Louise staring at me that I realised exactly what I had said. I went the now customary shade of bright red.

"Oliver Wood?" she said. "He's a bit old for you, isn't he?"

"Not really," I said.

"Four years," pointed out Lou. "Quite a bit. Anyway, he never knew who you were. You four years below him and in Ravenclaw. You weren't even on the Quidditch team. So, basically, you liking him was really pointless."

"Thanks, Lou."

"Was it just a little crush, like you get on a celebrity, or was it like Mandy's thing with Harry Potter?"

"What?"

"Were you obsessed with him despite the fact that it was never, ever going to happen?"

"No! Why does it even matter that I used to have a thing about Oliver Wood?"

"You like dark hair, don't you Kee? Oliver Wood, Terry Boot..."

"Louise, I do not fancy Terry Boot!"

"And you went to the Yule Ball with Dean. Even though he's all mine miney now. And he's got dark hair."

"Louise, I'm warning you..."

"Does Terry know you like Oliver Wood? Because I think you should tell him now. If he finds out somewhere else, he'll be rather upset."

"Louise, shut up..."

"I think...ouch! Keira, you psycho, that hurt!"

"You deserved it."

"Tch."

17:00
Common room

Victory! Victory! We won three hundred and twenty to sixty.

The party's been going on for ages. We don't know where Carmichael got all that food from, but it's bloody good. It's funny how it becomes so much more pleasant to be around him when he's got food.

Anyway, I'm trying to be as sultry and attractive as possible. Because I still haven't got myself a boyfriend. And I need something to make Justin jealous.

Oh hell, Terry's looking at me. And it looks like he's about to come over and talk to me. And I never want to talk to him again. Oh nooooooooooooooooooooooo.

17:02
Hiding from Terry under a table

He can't see me here. He must not see me.

"Keira?"

"ARGH!"

I jumped about a foot and spilt my drink all over the floor. I looked up sheepishly to find the jaw-droppingly, eye-gogglingly, brain-meltingly good-looking face of Adam Chambers, one of our Chasers, looking down at me with an amused expression.

It is hard to describe just how hot Adam is, but I will try. Take Hugh Grant, Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt. Take out all the best parts and mix them all together. The word you are looking for is, "Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum."

Not that that means anything to anyone without Muggle parents here, as I doubt wizards watch Muggle films. But anyway...

"Oh...uh...hi, Adam, I...you might...umm...be...uh...wondering why I'm...I'm..."

By this point my brain had evacuated my head, and jumped out of my left ear using a parachute, and I was left gabbling complete nonsense to one of the most gorgeous guys in Ravenclaw. Possibly the most gorgeous guy, now Roger Davies has left.

"Might be wondering why you're hiding underneath a table?" he asked, smiling at me. "I was kind of."

Wow, he had a nice smile. It was different than Justin's, I have to admit, but equally nice. My God, if I could get Adam Chambers to go out with me, I'd be the envy of everyone. And it would be nice, too. I've always quite liked him, but it's just a little crush, like Oliver Wood. I never actually thought anything would happen. But he's actually acknowledged my existence. Which is a plus. Shut up, brain, no one asked you.

"Oh, I'm...uh...hiding from Terry Boot," I said. Dammit, I meant to lie.

"Have you two split up?" said Adam, looking interested.

"We were never together," I said, hotly. "Everyone thinks we're going out, but we aren't. We never did."

"Oh. Well, if you haven't got a boyfriend at the moment...?"

Oh my God, oh my God. He is about to ask me out. I think I'm going to pass out.

"I haven't!" I said, quickly. Too quickly. He thinks I'm eager now. Oh God.

"...do you fancy a drink?" he asked.

Dammit all.

17:13

I thought Louise's eyes were going to fall out of her head when she saw me having a drink with Adam Chambers. She mouthed, "As soon as you're finished, GET OVER HERE!" at me. I just gave her what I hoped was a smile worthy of Terry Boot, i.e. bloody annoying.

"So, what NEWTs are you doing?" asked Adam, casually.

"Oh, I...uh...Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures," I managed to say.

"Care of Magical Creatures? Is Professor Hagrid still teaching then?" asked Adam, looking slightly sceptical.

"Well, yes," I admitted.

"He isn't a very good teacher, is he?" said Adam, matter-of-factly. "I heard a hippogriff slashed a Slytherin a few years ago."

"Oh yeah," I said. I remember hearing that rumour. According to Daphne Greengrass, the hippogriff went out of control, and clawed Draco Malfoy's arm. Although, I couldn't really muster the strength to care. Malfoy is not my favourite person.

"D'you want to sit down?" asked Adam, gesturing towards a chair that a pair of fifth years had just vacated.

"Uh...ok," I said. When in doubt, agree blindly. It generally works.

I followed him over to the chair, and squeezed in next to him. I was actually really uncomfortable (he's not exactly small). My arms were kind of pressed together in my lap, but I put up with it. After all, if he was going to be my boyfriend, I needed to make him like me first, and no one likes a girl that's greedy with the armchair.

"So..." he said, turning to face me. I felt his arm on my shoulders, and I suddenly had a mad urge to slap it off. "You watched the match?"

"Of course," I said, and then added, "I thought you played well."

"Thanks," said Adam, smiling. His smile reminds me of someone else's, but I can't for the life of me remember whose. "Brocklehurst was good. She's one of your friends, isn't she?"

"Mandy? Oh yeah," I said.

There was a kind of awkward silence, and for some incredibly strange reason, I had to really fight to stop myself doing Cossack dancing for a hilarious joke. But, somehow, I don't think that would've gone down too well. These Quidditch types are obviously not big talkers (apart from Mandy, who once fell victim to three lip-locking spells at once because she wouldn't shut up). Then I got a bit of a shock. I was casually trying to pull my hair out from where he was leaning on it, when he moved his head forward and put his mouth on mine.

You know the whole kiss thing you read about? Where there are fireworks in the girl's head, and magical music, and it's all hunky dory? Yeah, this wasn't like that. No music. No fireworks. No rush of blood to the head. No speeding heartbeat. It took about twenty seconds for it to register in my brain that I was being kissed. Also, I was sitting on one of my hands, and it was really uncomfortable. I just sat there, being kissed, and trying to free my various, jammed-in body parts.

Eventually he pulled his head upwards and said, "Wow."

I just hung there with my mouth slightly open. Bet that looked attractive. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Louise had pulled Yasmin away from Carmichael, and was whispering and giggling frantically, with the odd gesture towards Adam and I. Good.

I think this may possibly be a breakthrough.

19:34
Dormitory

It is official.

I am no longer Keira J. Matthews. I am now Keira J. Matthews, girlfriend of Adam D. Chambers. And those are completely different things, as anyone with a brain should know.

I think Louise is actually more interested than I am, to be honest. Jabbering away like a parrot on some kind of drug. What colour eyes does he have? Is he a good kisser? What did he say? Are you going out on the next Hogsmeade weekend? Yasmin abandoned trying to get a word in edgeways, and went back to her reading in the end. As for Mandy, when Lou ran up to her and screeched, "Oh my God, guess what! Keira was just asked out by Adam Chambers!" she turned to me and just gaped.

And then said, "How on Earth did you manage that?"

Humph.

Either way, we eventually managed to escape from that chair (I was praising the heavens inwardly; my hand was about to fall off from lack of blood), and went for a walk around the lake. I actually didn't like the idea, but, since he suggested it, I had to agree.

We walked along, and he talked and I nodded, smiled and occasionally said, "Yeah," or, "Wow," or, "Cool." I babbled a small amount of rubbish when he asked me about my friends, and then he kissed me again. Three times, actually. I haven't got a lot to go on, but he's a nice kisser. And he's got a really dreamy smile. Thing is, it still reminds me of someone else, but I can't for the life of me figure out who. It's not Justin. Justin has a different smile; more sweet. Kind of angelic. Adam's is kind of crooked, and more sexy than cute.

Phwoar. The Sex God has landed.

Well, I can't say it's an ideal relationship. I mean, he's nice, yes. And he's bloody good-looking. And I guess I do kind of have a thing for him, but...well...he's not Justin. And then there's the whole thing with the talking. I can't talk to him. He does all the communication. And he's the one that kisses me. He wears the metaphorical trousers in this relationship.

Ah well. He's still gorgeous.

20:45

And he kisses well.

Sunday 13^th May
10:00
By the lake

I was happily reading Three Men in a Boat when the boy I never want to speak to again (Terry bloody Boot) showed up out of nowhere. Again.

Bugger everything.

"Hey," he said. I made sure not to look at him, stuffed my book into my bag, and muttered something about meeting Mandy. I stood up, ready to leg it, when he grabbed my sleeve and said, "No. You're not escaping that easily."

I shook him off, but he stood up and fell into step next to me.

"Come on, Keira," he said, linking his arm through mine so I couldn't shake him off. "Why are you ignoring me?"

"You know," I muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Look, if it's about what happened on Friday night, don't take it personally," he said. "I thought you knew me too well to take it that way. After all, it's not entirely my fault."

"Isn't it?" I asked him, finally looking at him. I say looking. Glaring is nearer the mark.

"Well, it is mostly, yes," he agreed. That annoying smile was back. "But not lock, stock, and barrel. Think about it. It's partly Nott's fault for blowing the plant up, it's partly Sprout's fault for wandering off during our detention, and it's partly your fault, too."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. You didn't have to kiss me, you know."

"You kissed me!"

I was absolutely livid. How dare he accuse me of kissing him?

"You kissed me back," he said, raising his hands. "You could've done what you did the first time."

"The first...?"

"In the common room, that time when you turned your eye green. You beat me off, remember?" he said. "Of course, I preferred it when you didn't do that. I'd strained my shoulder that day, and you punched it really quite hard."

"Oh diddums."

"That's not very caring."

"I'm not very caring."

"You seemed pretty uncaring yesterday, I can tell you."

I turned to look him in the face.

"What in the name of Satan's G-string are you talking about?" I asked him, trying to keep my composure as much as you can when you're talking about the Devil's underwear.

He stared at me for a full thirty seconds before spluttering, "Satan's G-string? What are you on?"

"It's an expression," I muttered, turning red. "Anyway, whaddya mean I was uncaring last night?"

"I mean getting off with poor old Adam Chambers in the middle of the common room after the game," said Terry, matter-of-factly. "He's really into you, you know, and you're callously using him to get Finch-Fletchley jealous, and to get some status with your friends."

"I am not using Adam!" I said, hotly. "I like him, and he likes me. And anyway, I think I deserve this. I've been single for the past sixteen years. If my life was fair, Adam would've asked me out way before now. Actually, scrap that. If my life was fair, Justin would've ditched stupid old Smellodie, and asked me out way before now!"

"But life isn't fair," said Terry, shrugging. "We don't live in romance novels. Good doesn't always triumph over evil. Heroes fade into obscurity, like the rest of us. People don't get the breaks they deserve. And love is not the utterly requited thing that people portray it as. You love people, and they don't love you back. That's life. Not everyone finds their 'soul mate', you know. Some people end up lonely, or with the wrong person. Or some people lose the right person. Yes, you may think you deserve Justin Finch-Fletchley, but you might not get him."

I just looked at him.

"Seriously," he said. "Trust me on this. If you want someone, you have to take action on it properly. There's no point in snogging the face off another guy to get Justin jealous if you're just going to do it in our common room. You have to make sure Justin knows - or at least thinks - that you're madly in love with Adam. And then you have to get to know him properly. You can't rely on him being jealous of a girl he hardly ever speaks to. Talk to him. Make friends with him. And remember, he has a girlfriend already."

"Yeah, but she's a total bitch!" I found myself saying. Damn, now I sound all mean and jealous.

I am mean and jealous.

"He doesn't know that, though," replied Terry. "Elodie may be a bitch, but she's a very attractive bitch. And you know how good she is at acting. She can fool most people into liking her, if she wants them to."

I scowled. The tragedy is that it's true. Elodie is really pretty. She's definitely vying with Padma, Cho Chang and Sara Fawcett for the "best looking girl in Ravenclaw" award.

Not that there is an award like that. That would be stupid. But if there was, she'd be up for it.

"Well," I said. "I guess you're right. Although, that sucks."

He laughed.

"Guess so!" he grinned. "So, you're speaking to me again?"

"Yeah," I said, begrudgingly.

"And you'll talk about things other than the underwear preferences of the Anti-Christ?"

"It's just an expression," I said, sheepishly. "All of us use it."

"Hmmm. So, even Yasmin Moon talks about Satan wearing a thong, does she?"

"Well, no, but...shut up!"

Terry smiled at me.

"You know what, Matthews? For once I'm going to let you off."

And he just wandered off.

I just stood there, though.

I'd finally realised which person Adam's smile reminded me of.