‘So, you thought I was cute even then?’ I’m stunned.
‘Yeah . . . I guess so . . .’ Joe blushes and looks down at his shoes.
‘So . . .’ I venture, preparing to bring up a world that is outside this room. ‘What shall we do now? Are you busy tonight?’
‘Some mates are going for a drink. I said I’d meet them about now,’ he says with a grimace, looking down at his watch.
Shot down instantly. I hope my disappointment doesn’t show on my face.
‘They’re back from uni because it’s reading week. I shouldn’t really miss it.’
‘Oh, that’s OK.’ I wave it off. It’s not important.
‘I’m sorry . . . Obviously I would have loved to hang out with you,’ he says, swooping an arm around my waist and pressing his mouth on mine again.
I melt. Again.
‘So, when do you want to hang out?’ I say. I’m determined not to end today without knowing when I’ll see Joe again, especially now it’s going to be extra fun to be around him.
‘I can do Monday night, after work? If you want to come to mine?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
What does that mean? Does that mean, like . . . to his house? To his room? To his bed? So this is how he got so many girls into bed before. Just by asking them. But we only just kissed, so maybe he didn’t mean that at all.
‘Ummm, Monday’s fine, but . . . maybe we could just meet for a drink or dinner or something?’ I say, desperately hoping that saying no to one part doesn’t mean jeopardizing the whole thing.
Joe’s face falls for a second, but he recovers quickly.
‘Yeah, yeah, of course,’ he says. ‘We can meet wherever you want.’
‘OK, I’ll message you,’ I say. ‘I guess I should leave you to go and meet your mates now.’
He pulls me in again and kisses me and kisses me, and it feels just as amazing, even when it’s not a surprise.
‘I don’t want to have to leave you,’ he says. ‘This is just bad timing. I can’t wait to see you on Monday.’
‘It’s OK – I get it,’ I say. One more kiss. Now we’ve started, I just don’t ever want to stop. ‘Which pub are you meeting your friends at?’
‘The Fox,’ Joe says distractedly, fishing around in his backpack for the keys to lock up the shop. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, that’s opposite my bus stop. I’ll walk with you.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Joe says.
Beats Per Minute is all locked up, and we’re ready to hit the road.
‘It’s literally opposite, and I’m walking there anyway,’ I say.
And he knows this already; he left me there only last night after The Kiss.
‘Sure, of course.’ He sounds flustered, but nothing can dampen my mood now.
It’s only a couple of minutes’ walk away, but I feel like I’m fizzing with happiness to be walking the streets of beautiful Croydon with a cute guy I’m crazy about who, in his own words, has feelings for me. I look down at his hand dangling by his side as he walks next to me, but before I can reach out for it, he stuffs it into his jacket pocket. I guess it’s cold out.
We’re at our destination in no time: my bus stop on one side of the road; his pub on the other.
‘Well, bye then,’ I say, smiling coyly at him. Well, as coyly as I can manage.
‘I’ll see you Monday,’ he says firmly, looking me in the eye.
I reach up to kiss him, and he kisses me back, but I sense a resistance this time. It’s probably nothing. I refuse to worry about nothing. I turn to cross the road, and in the reflection of a passing bus, see Joe glancing over his shoulder before he walks up the stone steps to the pub.
Having spent most of Sunday in a daze, Monday comes around like a rude slap in the face. I’m spending most of the day in a state of heightened distraction, daydreaming my way through my classes. Even getting ninety-five per cent on a physics test doesn’t come close to how happy I feel every time I think of Joe. Not that I can forget Joe even for a second. The happy little buzz is always there in the back of my mind. I’m not even scared he’s going to cancel on me any more. I’m all optimism. Pure good vibes.
And he doesn’t cancel. He messages me at lunchtime telling me to meet him at the Fox for a drink, and when I arrive, he’s already sitting at one of the tables near the back, reading.
My first proper, actual, confirmed date with Joe.
My heart is thumping in my chest as I make my way across the pub. He looks up, and our eyes meet, and it’s just the most limitless kind of excitement. Chemical. He shoves his copy of A Clockwork Orange into his backpack and runs his hands through his messy blond hair as he gets up to greet me.
I want him to take me in his arms and kiss me on the mouth so I can melt into him again. But instead we hug awkwardly, and he brushes his lips against my cheek. Oh well, the night is young. We’ll warm up.
And we do warm up. Conversation flows easily between us: no awkward silences. Just an endless back and forth of effortless chat and swooning glances and electrical charge. I knew I wasn’t wrong about him. From the first moment I saw him at Ben’s party only a few months ago, I knew I had to find a way to get him in my life and keep him here.
All the talking has been keeping us occupied, and before we know it an hour flies by, and we suddenly realize we’ve finished our drinks. Joe’s about to head up to the bar to order another round when he leaps out of his seat. I look around for the cause of the excitement and see a tall black guy in a rugby shirt approaching our table with a smile on his face. Joe dashes forward and intercepts him with an enthusiastic greeting.
‘Matt!’
‘Come here often?’ Matt says, slapping Joe on the back and drawing him into a hug. ‘I only left you here, what, twenty hours ago?’
‘Can’t keep me away, buddy. What are you up to?’
It doesn’t take a sleuth to figure out this is one of the friends he met yesterday.
‘Just meeting Danny here for a drink, seeing as he couldn’t make it on Saturday night. Thought I’d catch him for a little one-on-one time tonight.’
‘Oh cool – you’ll have a good time. He seems really happy at the moment,’ Joe says.
I crane my neck, wondering when Joe’s going to introduce me.
‘Yeah, man! I’ve missed him,’ Matt says. ‘And I’ve even missed his non-stop table-top drumming.’ He breaks Joe’s gaze and flicks a warm glance in my direction, his eyebrows raised. ‘So, who’s—?’
‘We were just leaving, actually,’ Joe says, nearly tripping over his own feet in the hurry to grab his coat and backpack.
I lock eyes with Matt and shrug mutely as Joe grabs my arm, and I find myself being bundled towards the exit.
‘See you soon though?’ Joe calls over his shoulder.
Once outside, Joe turns to me. ‘I thought we could move somewhere else for another one,’ he says, as if nothing weird has just happened.
‘Um . . . sure . . .’ I can’t manage much better than that.
Joe leads me round the corner to the White Horse, where, mercifully, there is no bouncer checking IDs tonight.
‘Who was that guy?’ I ask.
‘Oh, just my friend Matt.’
That’s it. That’s all the explanation I’m going to get out of him – I can tell.
I swallow down any more questions, and we go inside the pub, sliding into the first empty booth. But the atmosphere has changed in an instant. The air is prickling between us, heavy with all my expectations, all my desires for him to love me, to touch me, to want me. I’m starting to question if that conversation on Saturday night even happened. But I know it did. Maybe I’m just being weird and prickly and difficult and demanding. What right do I have to be demanding anyway? I got what I wanted! Joe is ‘into me’. Joe even kisses me, which feels like the greatest prize of all.
I decide not to push him and make it even more awkward and instead head to the bar to get us some drinks.
‘So . .
. do you want to come to mine next weekend?’ Joe asks casually as we’re heading out of the pub after a slightly tense drink.
My heart leaps back into action, hammering against my ribcage. Does this mean I’ll have to wait nearly a whole week to see him? Or, wait . . . Does it mean . . . ? Oh man. It means he still wants to be alone with me, in his bedroom. And soon . . . I don’t hesitate too long in case he retracts the offer.
‘Yes. I do. Next weekend is fine,’ I say quickly as we cross over the road to my bus stop.
‘Great. I’ll message you my address. It’ll be fun,’ he says, grinning at me.
And with that, he gives me a quick hug, turns on his heel, and makes his way down the road. I watch him go, confused. After virtually nothing for months, I’m struggling to get my head around his newfound keenness.
As I wait for the bus, my phone screen illuminates in my hand. But it’s not Joe messaging me his address; it’s a call from Katie. I watch as it rings silently in front of me, but I don’t pick up, and I’m not sure why. I wait until I’m on the bus and then I fire off an email to her, apologizing for not picking up. But I can’t help myself: I add a few sentences about my current fears and anxieties, just enough to say how I’m feeling, maybe enough to provoke a little sisterly advice. Just a little word-vomit to get it all out of my system, and then I can go back to normal. I should try not to think about my weird worries. My fears.
He’s keen now. That’s all that matters.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Let’s Talk About Sex’ – Salt-N-Pepa
I’d always imagined that the day after being propositioned by a crush, I’d wake up feeling like I was floating on a fluffy cloud of happiness . . . But nope. Instead, I wake with a start, a tightness gripping at my chest. Sex. I need to get my life together. Because I might, maybe, have sex with Joe soon . . . right? Even though his behaviour last night seemed kind of weird, that’s where this is headed, I’m almost sure of it. I should be excited, shouldn’t I? But I guess it’s normal to feel nervous as well. Normal. That’s the aim of the game. I just want to feel normal. How do I figure all this out? I’m pretty sure that if I google ‘How do I have sex?’ it’s just going to turn up a load of porn. So that’s out. I need some actual human input, and I know just the person to ask: Abi.
A reply comes quickly.
We arrange a lunchtime trip to McDonald’s so I can grill her in private without my parents or hostile Holly-shaped ears listening in. I’m starting to feel better about everything already.
I’m sitting in our form room waiting for morning registration, when Abi slides into the seat next to me and whispers, ‘What’s up?’ in my ear. I tell her we can talk later. I don’t want to waste any of her golden thoughts when I’m not a hundred per cent focused. This is too important.
But first, English class. I’ve loitered too long in the form room and, by the time I arrive, the only seat left is next to Holly. Kill me. She completely unnecessarily moves her chair extra inches to the side, just in case there was any way I could forget that I’m a gross fat person who takes up extra space.
Low-key goth Mrs Mackinnon arrives clutching a stack of dog-eared printouts. Oh no, we’re getting our essays back today. My almost-forgotten essay. My night-before essay. Double kill me.
‘These very much varied in quality,’ she begins.
Uh oh.
‘But in general, they bode well for the essays you’ll write towards the end of term. I think it’ll do you good if we go over a few themes in particular, but we can cover those in more detail nearer the time that you have to write your coursework.’
All I’m hearing is that there’s time to salvage the outcome of my actual coursework. All is not lost. Mrs Mackinnon swishes around the room in her gauzy black skirt, distributing marked essays to their authors. She places mine face up on my desk, and I brace myself.
Her red writing leaps out at me: This was a joy to read. Spirited, original, fizzing with a real energy. A few typos – please be more careful and PROOFREAD next time!
. . . Wait. There’s an ‘A’ in a circle.
I check and double check that she hasn’t given me someone else’s essay. She hasn’t. I can feel the stress leaving my body: I got away with it. Even basking in the glory of my own surprise victory, I can’t help but steal a glance at Holly’s paper. I manage to catch it just before she turns it over with an audible huff: Needs MUCH closer reading of the texts, but a good attempt. Watch your sentence formation. Not such a good handle on Sassoon – C+.
I feel bad because I feel . . . good. I bashed this out in four hours in the middle of the night. If I can produce something that’s ‘a joy to read’ with minimal effort, then I can probably go one better if I put a bit of time and concentration in.
I quickly wipe the smile off my face when I catch Holly looking at me. I don’t want to rub it in, after all.
When the bell rings at the end of class, Mrs Mackinnon tells me to stay back. I brace myself for a lecture, although on what, I’m not sure yet. I wonder if the ‘I’m-in-trouble’ reflex is something you ever grow out of.
‘Emily, you did so well in your AS levels,’ she begins. ‘Across the board. We were all really impressed with you. Sometimes you give the impression you’re not really listening, but you can clearly make up for that in your own time.’
‘Oh. Thanks, Mrs Mackinnon,’ I reply, profoundly surprised. I mean, I know I did well in my AS levels, but I didn’t know they had been the topic of staffroom conversation.
‘I don’t know if this is something you’re thinking about, but I just wanted to make sure you’re not planning on selling yourself short next year.’ She gathers up her textbooks and clutches them close to her chest, her long dyed-black hair trailing in a ponytail over her shoulder.
‘What do you mean, selling myself short?’
‘I mean don’t be too influenced by what your friends are doing. Don’t settle. Make sure you’re following your own path, whatever that is. Your next step after school is a big decision, and you have every option open to you. I know Mrs Shah is as keen for you to pursue physics as I am for you to keep studying English. Your talents are wide-ranging and diverse.’
She looks so serious now that I almost want to laugh the nervous laugh of someone not used to taking things seriously. For all my blasé attitude, it’s weird to be in the direct beam of someone’s attention. But more than that, I feel warmed that she’s so serious in her belief in me.
‘Yes, I understand. I’m sure I’ll make the right choice,’ I say.
And I realize that I actually mean it. That over the past few days, everything has sort of settled, and I know who I am and what I want and, I hope, what my future looks like.
‘Your essay was great. I’ve been really taken with your work in the past,’ she says, ‘but this was so lively. I’d love to see more of that this year.’
‘I appreciate your support,’ I say stiffly, looking at my shoes.
I’m relieved to be feeling good about something that isn’t Joe. There is more to my life than him. But I can’t pretend he isn’t occupying a fair bit of brain space right now. With a grateful smile, I pick up my bag and my essay and head out of the classroom. Things are looking up already, and I don’t want to let a boy ruin things.
Before I know it, it’s lunchtime, and thoughts of Joe can legitimately invade my brain. It’s time for my McDonald’s conference with Abi.
‘Nuggs are on me, pal,’ I say, tapping my contactless card with a flourish.
The least I can do in exchange for asking Abi lots of extremely personal questions is cough up for her lunch. We settle at a table near the window as we both have a natural thirst to know what’s going on around us. Some could call it nosiness.
‘So. Here’s the deal,’ I begin, unwrapping my double cheeseburger. ‘Things are going well with Joe. Finally. He has confessed that he fancies me – tick,’ I say, tracing a tick in the air. ‘We have made out, on more than one occasion – tick. And now
I am . . . keen to . . . seal the deal, so to speak.’
I’m trying to stop thinking about what happened with Matt in the pub. I don’t want to muddy the water by bringing up my little nagging fear that Joe might be ashamed of me. I’m trying to be satisfied that I have him. Abi doesn’t need to know about my insecurities.
‘That’s so great,’ she says, seemingly overcome with happiness for her useless friend Emily. ‘I knew this wasn’t a lost cause! No matter how many times you said it was, I knew that he had to feel something for you. Anyway . . . how can I be of assistance?’
‘I guess I just want to find out . . . what to expect when we eventually . . . Like, sex-wise, you know? I . . . don’t know what’s expected of me,’ I say. ‘Sorry – I feel really stupid even asking, like I should know all this stuff already. But I don’t.’
As Abi listens to my words, her expression changes. She looks like a deer in headlights, which is not the gleefully salacious response I was expecting.
‘Well . . . Maybe I’m not the best person to ask . . .’ she says after a long pause.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? You are –’ I raise my eyebrows – ‘extremely qualified.’
Abi starts playing with her food, lining her chips up around the edge of the nugget box. ‘Actually, no. I’m not,’ she says. She looks up from her chicken nuggets and meets my eyes. ‘I haven’t . . . actually . . .’
Is she joking? What’s this about?
‘So, you’re saying you’ve never . . . Like, never . . .’ I trail off, suddenly self-conscious about probing her on this now that it seems like it’s something of a sore spot.
‘Don’t make me say it out loud.’ She drops her voice to a whisper, in case the patrons of Church Street McDonald’s have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on two girls eating lunch.
‘OK, OK – I won’t . . . But are you really saying you haven’t had sex with . . . anyone? Not Oliver? None of the guys before him?’
‘No, no – things never lasted long enough with anyone else,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I want it to be special, and it’s never felt special.’
No Big Deal Page 15
