The Secret Life of Sally Tomato
One of the brilliant titles in Jean Ure’s acclaimed series of humorous, delightful and poignant stories written in the form of diaries and letters which make them immediately accessible to children.Jean Ure perfectly captures the lives of ordinary children – but no child is ever ordinary, and certainly not Salvatore d’Amato – or Sally Tomato, as he’s sometimes called. He’s out to get a girl and he has a plan: he’s going to write some Disgusting Ditties – one for each letter of the alphabet, and start some secret body-building, too. That way he’s bound to attract someone. (But he doesn’t want his sister to know his plans…)Whether it’s Sal Tomato here, Mandy Small in FRUIT AND NUTCASE, Cherry in SKINNY MELON AND ME, or Becky in BECKY BANANAS, their lives, with all their ups and downs, is presented with courage, humour and tenacity. These are special children who any child can relate to and will draw inspiration and hope from their stories of their lives.
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HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2000
Text copyright © Jean Ure 2000
Illustrations copyright © Karen Donnelly 2000
The author and illustrators assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrators of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780006751502
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780007439690 Version: 2016-12-02
For Henrietta (We made each other laugh) and for my friend Mark Alexander (also known as Ranny Arbuckle …)
Contents
B stands for boob and also for breast
K is for knockers and Knickers
P is for pimples, in other words, spots
Q is a letter that’s followed by U
About the Publisher
Some people keep diaries: I am going to keep an alphabet! I am going to do two letters a week, starting from Monday. (The beginning of the spring term.) For every letter, I am going to write a poem. Some of them may be quite rude; it depends how I’m feeling. In between the poems I shall write down chunks of everyday life. My life! All the things that are happening to me, and especially with girls. If by the time I reach Z I still have not done it, I shall most probably go out and shoot myself.
Or drown myself, as I don’t have a gun.
Or swallow fifty-eight bottles of aspirin, or hurl myself madly in front of a train, or tell Kelvin Clegg he’s a dork and get myself totalled.
I have got to have done it before then!
When I say done it, I mean kissed someone.
When I say someone, I mean – a girl!
When I say kiss, I mean – KISS! Not just a peck on the cheek. Though as a matter of fact, I haven’t even done that. I am twelve years old and I haven’t even pecked a girl on the cheek!
I am seriously worried that there may be something wrong with me. It surely can’t be normal to have reached the age of twelve and never kissed a girl? Even Bones has done it! He’s done it twice. The first time was with his cousin Jemma, who is rather forward and actually kissed him, so he couldn’t make the most of it.
The second was with Nasreen Flynn, at Juniors. They were alone in the classroom, being Tidiness Monitors, and he made a grab at her and she didn’t resist.
I asked him what it was like and he said it was like pressing your lips against a ripe peach. I could try asking Mum if she’ll buy some peaches so that I can practise, but it’s not the same as the real thing. How come Bones gets to do it and not me?
Answer: because he is normal. That’s why. My sister calls him Bullet Head, and I don’t think he’s what most girls would consider hunky as he is quite short and squat and has a face like a beaming garden gnome but he obviously exudes manliness in great quantity. His hormones rage and froth. When he sees a girl he’s like a wild beast, with this uncontrollable urge to kiss and grapple.
I don’t seem to have any hormones. Or if I do, they don’t seem to be working properly.
I hope I’m not gay! Except I don’t see how I can be because if I was gay I would fancy Bones, which I most definitely do not.
Unless I fancy him without knowing it???
This is frightening! Why can’t I be the same as other people?
Yesterday I bumped into Kelvin Clegg and his mates as I was on my way to Bonesy’s. Kelvin called out, “Whey-hey, it’s Sally Tomato!” and they all sniggered. I know they only do it because of my name being what it is, and because of Kelvin Clegg having the mental age of a retarded flea and thinking he is being amusing. I know this. All the same, I sometimes can’t help wondering if they sense something? These Neanderthal types often do. They’re like dogs, they can sniff things out.
This is a list of the things I feel are abnormal about me:
1. My name. Salvatore d’Amato. Salvatore! I ask you! It’s ridiculous. I don’t even speak Italian! Nobody in the family speaks Italian. It’s like some kind of sick joke. OK if you’re living in Rome or somewhere, but I’m not! I’m living in London, five minutes away from Kelvin Clegg, who calls me Sally Tomato.
