by Lucy Cuthew
into trouble.
I’m hurting
where I fell
when she
pushed me.
I’m worried
she might
get into trouble
with the police
or Mr B might
lose his job.
I’m frustrated
with her
for not taking
anything seriously.
And I’m aching
inside more
than I could
ever have imagined
at hearing her say,
“You’re nothing to me.”
Those words
echo inside me
making me feel empty.
Nothing to me.
Nothing to me.
Nothing to me.
No. I’m not happy.
LATER
Harriet isn’t
at the gate
after school.
I walk home
alone,
seething,
and even though
she shouted at me
that I’m nothing to her
I’m still not quite
angry enough
not to miss her,
just slightly.
TALKING
That evening,
I try not to look at my phone.
Harriet can deal with
this on her own.
She doesn’t want me.
She said I’m nothing
to her.
I go to the living room
with a heavy feeling
and a tummy ache
to half watch Bake Off
with Mum and Dad,
a physics textbook
open on my lap.
“Are you OK?” asks Mum,
looking up from
a pile of marking.
“No,” I say.
“I hate everyone
and everything.”
“PMT?” says Mum.
“Maybe,” I reply
gloomily.
“Cuddle?” offers Dad.
“You’re not doing homework.
You haven’t turned the page
for about three cakes.”
“No, thanks,” I say,
ignoring Dad’s hurt face.
“Me and Harriet had a fight.”
“Have you tried talking about it?”
Mum asks, taking off her glasses.
“Ugh,” I say.
“We’re way
past talking.”
“You said that last time.”
Dad mutes the telly, and crosses
his legs to face me.
“Come on, talk to us.”
“No,” I say.
“I don’t want you
to be all reasonable
and understanding.
She’s a bitch.”
“Language,” tuts Mum,
putting her marking aside.
But Dad pouts sassily,
then flicks his non-existent
hair over his shoulder
and squeals,
“Tell me she did not snog
that boy I fancy?
I’ll kill her if she even
looks at him
one
more
time!”
“Ergh, Dad! Stop it.
And I told you,
no one says
snog any more.”
“Pash?” he tries.
“Smooch?
French ki—”
“Dad!”
“Come on, Frankie,”
says Mum, tucking her
hair behind her ears.
“What did Harry do?”
I shake my head.
I can’t tell them.
It’s too embarrassing.
What if they think
that’s the kind of thing
we’re all doing?
“Well, we’re always here
if you want to talk,” says Mum,
putting her glasses back on.
“You just call
out my name…”
Dad starts to sing.
“DAD!” I start,
but Mum gives him a
serious look over the top
of her glasses and he stops,
acting out zipping his lips.
“Thank you,” I say to her.
“At your service,” replies Mum,
going back to her marking.
“But you should talk about it,”
she adds, without looking up.
“Talking always makes it better.
Sometimes worse first.
But always better in the end.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
I’ve heard it before.
“Listen to your mother,”
Dad mumbles
out of the side
of his mouth.
“She is very wise.”
Then he unmutes the telly.
EXPLOSION
When I go up to bed
and I’m finally alone
I can’t help check my phone.
BEANS ON TOAST
has exploded:
a hundred and
fifty-eight messages.
Harriet’s flapping
because the whole
school knows she
basically sexted Mr B.
I only skim read.
The girls all share screenshots
of what everyone’s saying
in other groups
so that Harriet can see
and they can help
her be outraged
about Mr B telling on her.
(Instead of addressing
the real problem,
which is Harriet
not taking responsibility
for her own stupidity.)
And then I see
they’re all saying
they’ve seen the picture
and they don’t think
she’s a slut.
My stomach sinks.
My insides shrink.
She’s turned
them against me.
She’s told them
about our fight
and what I said
and they’ve decided
Harriet’s right.
#TakingSides
I go to the bathroom
to brush my teeth
and through a crack
in the open sash window
I can hear Harriet crying.
When we were little
we used to do bird calls
through these exact windows
late at night
if we wanted to speak.
We’d sit on the sills
and chat until
one of our parents
caught us and told us
it was time to go to sleep.
I listen to Harriet weep.
I’m so
angry with her
for shouting at me
pushing me
for trying to get me
into trouble today
for saying
“You’re nothing to me”
that
I cannot say
that I care about her
that I don’t want her to be hurt
that she’s everything to me
how she’s my best friend
and I love her
anything.
I close the bathroom
door behind me
and get into bed,
pulling the covers
up around me,
salty anger spilling
onto my sheets.
It takes me
ages
to fall asleep.
WEDNESDAY
THIGHS
I can’t remember when
I last walked to school
without Harriet.
We’ve walked together
since we were ten
and before that
literally every day
with my dad on his way
to work at the bike shop.
Sometimes he used to
let us take it in turns to
sit on his saddle and
he’d wheel us along,
deliberately wobbling
with us giggling.
I slip out quickly,
avoiding Mum, and I
go the long way so I don’t
have to pass Harriet’s house.
There’s no way
we’re walking together today.
I don’t even want to see her.
The streets are slow
without any gossip.
I’ve only walked down
three and already it feels
like it’s taking an eternity.
But as I turn down
the next street,
I see Benjamin
closing his front gate.
Perhaps he’s been
walking this way
since we were in
primary school,
and I never knew.
He’s so hot.
(And so cool.)
I push thoughts of
Harriet aside, and
pull myself up tall,
set my eyes
to the parting clouds
like I’m deep in thought,
perhaps about the way
the morning sun creates
crepuscular rays.
“Frankie!” he says,
with a nod of his head.
“Hey, Benjamin!” I say.
“I didn’t know you lived here.”
(Which is perfectly true,
except now I do,
I’m always coming this way.)
Benjamin has a sports bag
slung over his shoulder
and I don’t know
what else to say,
so I ask,
“Have you got PE today?”
“Rugby trials,” he says.
“Lunchtime.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Aren’t you already
on the team?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But
these are try-outs for the
first fifteen.”
“What position
do you play?”
“Second row.
You’re meant to be tall,
and strong as well.
I’ve got the height
but I need to work
on my upper back.
My lats, you know.”
“No,” I say.
“Which bit is that?”
“Here.” He pats the muscles
beneath his armpits.
“I’m meant to be training.
Doing weights, you know?
Or, like, giving piggybacks.
If you need a ride…?”
He offers me his back,
but
I cannot reply.
My tongue is suddenly
too big for my mouth.
We walk a few steps
in silence,
and I wonder if he’s
imagining the same
thing as me.
Me jumping on him,
our bodies touching
and me riding him.
I glance at him and
Benjamin
is
blushing.
My cheeks go red
and I feel myself getting
hot
hot
hot.
I look down,
searching for
something to say,
but Benjamin’s legs
are in my eyes’ way.
His school trousers cling
to his rugby-tight thighs,
and all at once I realize
the power
of a meaty pair of thighs.
I wonder what it
would be like
to bite them
and at the same time
I wonder what it
would be like
to tell Benjamin
this is what I’m thinking.
It’s hard to imagine
doing something
so outrageous.
“I had so much fun
on Saturday,”
he says. “I was hoping to
talk to you Monday,
or yesterday.”
“Me too,” I say.
“I really liked
hanging out with you.”
I giggle, though
I don’t mean to.
“Hey,” he says, stopping
next to the park railings.
“Don’t laugh at me.
I’m trying to say
I’m into you.”
I stop too, though
it’s hard not to move,
because suddenly
I’m full of rocket fuel.
“I like you too,” I say
easily,
feeling my volatile insides ignite.
“It was a shame
that night ended
when it did.”
I take a step closer.
And Benjamin draws
a little nearer to me
and whispers, “Do you think
it’s too early?”
“For what?” I ask,
so close I can feel
the biscuity-warmth
of his breath on my face
and realize that he’s
talking
about
kissing.
“For this,” he says,
then leans in,
and brings his lips
close to mine
and I move my lips
closer to his
and just like that
we’re
kissing
by the railings
in the golden
bright
morning
sunshine.
#Amazing
COLD SHOULDERS AND PIGGYBACKS
In The Walking Dead
the zombies are always
biting people’s necks.
But as I leave Benjamin
at the school gate,
I glance again
at his rugby thighs
and realize if there is
an instinctive part
of the human brain
dedicated to eating
human flesh
it would definitely make
zombies bite the thighs.
They are,
undeniably,
the meatiest part
of the human body.
I stifle a snort
as I catch up with Marie,
and we walk into
physics class.
I wish Harriet were here.
Marie wouldn’t get
why that’s funny.
But then I realize
that Marie
hasn’t actually said
a word to me.
I guess Harriet did
a thorough job
of turning her
against me.
I look around to catch
one more glimpse of
Benjamin, and instead
see Harriet get out of
her mum’s bright yellow car
and walk through the gate,
head held high.
We file inside the physics lab
and Marie very deliberately
doesn’t sit next to me.
She takes the last seat
on the row behind
where we usually sit
with Harriet.
Then the room comes alive
with whispers and murmurs
and a classroom of heads follows
as Harriet approaches.
She flicks her hair
theatrically for the benefit
of everyone watching.
I can’t believe she’s
enjoying this moment.
She looks totally fine.
Happy even.
I guess Mr Adamson
didn’t call the police.
I wish he would.
She deserves it.
Harriet is heading towards
our classroom door but then
she struts right past,
and I watch through the window
as she goes into
the other class.
I guess Harriet got moved
so Mr B isn’t teaching her.
I sit on my own.
I take out my phone
under the desk
just to check.
We’re not allowed
phones in class,
we’re meant to
leave them in our lockers.
Not that anyone bothers.
But Mr B won’t be
expecting me
to break the rules.
I have a message from
Benjamin.
I open it,
smile at it.
Benjamin’s message says:
Piggyback home?
I want to say yes because
all I can think of are
rugby-tight thighs.
Rugby-tight
thighs.
My finger hovers on reply.
God, I want to …
bite his thighs.
How shall I reply?
But while I’m thinking
I’m not listening
to anything happening
in the room because
my mind is off with Benjamin.
Then Marie kicks
the back of my chair
and I look up to hear
Mr B say, “Ahem!”
in his particular way.
He scowls at me and taps the
box for confiscated phones.
I get up
and drop mine in,
blushing because I
usually wouldn’t dare to
be
actually
messaging.
On my way back to my seat
I smile at Marie,
but she won’t look at me.
MOMENTUM
“Open your books to page
one hundred and twelve,”
says Mr B. “Momentum.”
I copy the equation
he’s written on the board:
momentum = mass x velocity.
But then I start thinking,
if Benjamin gave me
