No Big Deal

by Bethany Rutter

  ‘That makes sense,’ I say, nodding fervently. It does make sense. I mean, I’m not expecting candlelight and rose petals with Joe, but I’ve never second-guessed whether I want to sleep with him. And that feels special enough. ‘But you . . . always let me assume you had. Even if you didn’t explicitly say, “I have had sex.” It was just a thing that seemed to go without saying, you know?’ I shift in my seat.

  She stirs her milkshake. ‘Yeah . . . I know,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry I lied.’

  ‘No, mate! You didn’t lie . . .’ I reach across the table and stroke her hand. I don’t want her to feel guilty about this of all things. I was just hoping she’d be able to give me some solid advice on the art of seduction. ‘I guess I got it into my head that everyone was having sex all the time except me.’

  ‘Yes! That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the whole problem . . .’ Abi says. ‘I think Oliver thinks we should have done it by now, even though we’re not, like, official. But I just don’t want to. I don’t feel right about it.’ Her voice is shaking now.

  God – poor Abi. I feel so bad for her.

  ‘Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. Jesus. You’ve held out this long, a little longer won’t hurt anyone,’ I say, as if I’m an expert on the matter. ‘Your happiness and your comfort are the most important things here. If Oliver can’t deal with that, then he isn’t worthy of you. You’re a princess. You’re a queen.’

  Abi sighs. ‘I just don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to lose him. I like him . . . but I’m nervous.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be letting anyone down. This is too important for you to rush into when you’re saying that you’re nervous, not ready, scared. Comfort should be the bare minimum, you know? At least feel comfortable . . .’ I trail off.

  ‘God, what a disappointment I must be,’ she says, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper and smiling. ‘You came to me asking for advice about sex, and instead you’ve ended up having to give me advice.’

  I don’t feel disappointed at all. It’s a relief to know that I’m not the last person in the world to have sex. But I must admit, this did not go the way I thought it would. And I’m still none the wiser. Instead of returning to the afternoon’s lessons victorious in my wisdom, I feel kind of unnerved as we collect up our stuff and begin our walk back round the corner to school.

  ‘Do we have to go back?’ I moan. ‘I don’t want to have to tell Mrs Mackinnon that I haven’t sent off my UCAS form yet.’

  ‘Oh, is it university chat again this afternoon? At least that means I can sneak off.’

  ‘Ugh! I should have applied to Oxford or Cambridge purely because it would have forced me to get my butt in gear months ago.’

  ‘Yes, except you would literally hate being anywhere other than London, so that’s a good reason to not jump through all those hoops.’

  ‘You know me too well. Do you think I’m being stupid, though?’ I nibble the skin on my lip. ‘Not wanting some big adventure in, like, Edinburgh or Belfast or whatever?’

  ‘What’s fun about an adventure you don’t want to go on?’ Abi says, shrugging.

  We’re approaching the gates to the sixth-form block when we see someone sitting hunched up on the wall outside. A sound of sniffling becomes more audible the closer we get. Simultaneously Abi and I realize it’s Holly, and we both groan quietly. This had better not be about her mock English essay.

  ‘Should we stop? Do we have to be nice to her?’ I whisper to Abi as we slow our pace to buy time.

  ‘I really, really don’t want to, but I also want to get into heaven,’ she whispers back.

  ‘Fine, fine.’ We can’t delay it any longer. We have to bite the bullet.

  We stop in front of Holly and try not to loom too ominously over her.

  ‘Hi, Holly,’ Abi says softly.

  ‘H-h-hi,’ she chokes between sniffles. ‘Not going to beat me up again, are you, Emily?’ she says with a smile, clearly still incapable of hiding her true self even while openly weeping.

  ‘Um, no, I wasn’t planning to,’ I say, glancing shiftily at Abi, the only witness to my bathroom run-in with Holly. ‘You want to talk about it?’

  ‘Not to you two,’ she says bitterly.

  All right then. Abi will still get into heaven, and we don’t have to hear about Horrible Holly’s problems: a win-win.

  ‘We’re not as bad as we seem, I promise,’ says Abi.

  We’re not bad at all! Why is she feeding Holly’s fiction?

  ‘Ugh, fine,’ Holly says, rolling her eyes and throwing her snotty tissue on the ground next to her. ‘It sounds so stupid, but I got rejected from the uni I wanted to go to today. Already. They must have had my application for a week, max.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m sorry,’ I say. God. I thought her mum must have been murdered or, at the very least, someone had stolen her cat. This is containable misery. She’ll get over it. I don’t have to spend too much time feeling sorry for her.

  ‘I just don’t know what more I have to do,’ she says, shaking her head, running her fingers through her sleek, glossy light brown hair. ‘I so wanted to go to uni in London, and now it’s just off the table.’

  Right, that’s decided: I’ll only apply to London universities so that I can at least be safe in the knowledge I won’t have to be anywhere near Holly ever again.

  ‘It’s a gamble, man,’ says Abi, taking a seat on the wall next to her, leaving me loitering awkwardly.

  I’m hoping we won’t be here long enough to warrant my having to sit down too.

  ‘Anyway, even if you have the grades, it doesn’t guarantee anything. Who knows what they’re looking for any more.’

  Holly sighs. ‘You’re right. I think I’d just got my hopes up because . . . well, I am one of the cleverest in the year. But that doesn’t guarantee anything, I suppose,’ she says.

  Holly stands up, and together we begin the long stomp up the stairs to the sixth-form block. When we get to the top of the stairs, she heads off towards the bathroom, stopping abruptly just outside its door. She turns around, fixing us with a serious stare.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone I was crying,’ she says, her eyes flashing.

  She really seems to mean it. So many tears today, there must be something in the water.

  ‘Your secret’s safe with us, Holly,’ I say, as kindly as I can. It might be a nice little break for me if she could turn her attentions to someone else for a while. Fingers crossed this has earned me at least a couple of weeks without one of her little jibes.

  ‘Thanks . . .’ she says, barging the bathroom door open.

  ‘God, I really hope I never care that much about uni,’ I say as we head to the common room.

  That afternoon, for the crime of not having sent off my UCAS form yet, I’m treated to university chat and more university chat. Abi gets to slink off to our form room and time-waste her way through the afternoon, but Ella, Sophia, Camila and I have to confront our futures.

  The longer I sit there listening to all the personal-statement advice, all the convoluted point conversions, all the tactical guidance, the more I’m sure that finally I know what I’m doing. English it is. UCL it is.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Because the Night’ – Patti Smith

  Abi’s lack of practical advice the other day was something of a setback, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. The day is here: I am going to Joe’s house. Possibly to have sex with him – that’s still an unknown. I’m beyond grateful that my parents are out when I leave, so I don’t have to answer any awkward questions about where I’m going. I’m such a bad liar, and as much as I like my mum and dad, I really don’t fancy talking about it with them.

  Just before I leave the house, I check my phone for a last-minute cancellation from Joe (I just can’t shake that fear) and instead find a text from my aunt.

  Huh. This puts a spring in my step as I stomp to the bus stop. Once I’m on the right bus (don’t want to get distracted and end up
in Crawley), I disappear into my thoughts – Am I too fat to have sex? Has he ever seen a fat body before? What if I crush him? – and before I know it, I have to get off.

  Oh God. I’m already at Joe’s. I look at my watch: bang on time. There’s nowhere to go from here but onwards. It’s time. Yes, my time has come. There’s a good chance I am going to have sex with a human male today. And a human male I really fancy, no less. Am I nervous? Yes. So nervous I could throw up. But I’m absolutely not going to back out now . . .

  I slowly climb the little set of stone steps to his front door. I press the doorbell and almost jerk back in fright when my mechanical, robot-like motion triggers an insistent high-pitched buzz on the other side of the door. My nerves are jangling, I’m so unbelievably on edge.

  And suddenly there he is. Right in front of me, in a white T-shirt and black jeans and odd socks. A halo of dirty blond hair around his head, his ugly-sexy glasses on. Too much for me to take. I am absolutely going to have sex with this boy today. Even though he invited me over, he seems genuinely surprised to see me standing there on his doorstep, like I’m a special present that’s turned up without warning. Before we can even greet each other, he’s got his arms around me and is kissing me like our days on earth are numbered. I don’t want to take my hands off him – I just want to stay like this forever and ever. Because if we just stay like this, just keep kissing and don’t break apart, then maybe I won’t have to take my clothes off in front of him.

  I’m torn. I want to have done it, but I don’t want to actually do it. I want it to be a thing I’ve done but . . . Do I want to live through the actual experience of doing it? As I stand there kissing him on the welcome mat, I’m still not sure.

  ‘No one’s home,’ he says, grinning at me as he leads me into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, that’s cool,’ I say. I feel a lump in my throat. A kind of rising panic. All alone. Definitely on purpose. This is definitely a sex visit.

  As I watch Joe pour me a drink, scenes flash across my mind like soft porn being beamed on to a huge cinema screen. Girls girls girls: slim, tall, sexy, cool girls, writhing seductively, giggling coquettishly, stripping off, climbing on top of him. I feel faint and overwhelmed. I am not one of them. I do not deserve to be here. But I’m not going to tell him that. What’s important is that I just get through it. I gulp my drink down too fast. I should have sipped it, prolonged the preamble. But now it’s gone, and now we’re going upstairs, and now I’m going to have to take my clothes off, and now he’s going to find out I have no idea what I’m doing. No idea at all.

  I’m surprised by how tidy his bedroom is. Clearly that is not something we have in common. But the walls are covered with the same range of sun-faded posters as Beats Per Minute: peeling old artwork advertising albums from years ago. Am I going to lose my virginity under the gaze of David Byrne from decades-old Talking Heads promotional material? Possibly. The silence is kind of painful. Why hasn’t he put some music on? He, of all people. Now, of all the moments. Just something to fill the void where our nervousness has created a yawning chasm of awkwardness.

  But no. The silence stretches between us.

  I had sort of assumed we would sit and chat awkwardly for a bit before getting down to it, but no. There’s no time for awkward chat. Joe wants to get on with it. So, I wasn’t imagining it before, right? He is into me. He literally wants to have sex with me. He’s interested in me. He wants me! I feel giddy with disbelief, totally overcome with the knowledge that I am right here right now with Joe. In his bedroom. Making out with him.

  He pulls his shirt off over his head, locking eyes with me and smiling. I take in the slim softness of his body, my pleasure tinged with the fear of knowing it’ll be my turn in no time at all. We kiss, his hand cupped around the back of my head, drawing me towards him. I feel like we could fuse together.

  It’s time. It’s my turn. We have been moving towards this point since I walked through the door, and now we are finally here, and I can’t escape. Joe is fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, running his hands over my body. I wonder if he can feel my heart beating through my chest. Let’s be real, though: that’s probably not what he’s really interested in right now. My shirt is off, fluttering to the floor, and we’re still kissing, his hands still on me, wrapped around my waist. This is not Ryan, part two. Joe is really touching me; he’s really here.

  He takes me by the hand and guides me to his bed. It’s only a single bed, and we giggle awkwardly as we try to lie down on it. I’m blushing furiously, even more acutely aware that I take up a lot of room. I try to put the thought out of my mind. I want to be present, to feel everything about this moment. But the focus of my mind keeps flicking around, the good, the bad, the scary, the exciting. I can’t stay present. I want to be here, but I can’t keep myself here – there’s just too much of everything in my mind.

  Here we are on this tiny mattress: me in my bra and jeans; him in his jeans and socks . . . on top of me, kissing me. I wish I could be on top of him, but I can’t get over the fear that I would crush him. Of course you wouldn’t crush him, you idiot. But then again, you might. What do you know about this, Emily?

  He pulls at the waistband of my jeans, so I take the hint and wriggle out of them. More awkward laughter to cover the real awkwardness. But it doesn’t kill the mood for too long, and I feel him brush over the outside of my black Marks and Spencer granny pants, and a tingle of pleasure washes over me. I want this. I want more of this. But – oh my God – why didn’t I wear something sexier? No time to think about that now. Just switch off and feel everything with him. But like a bad dream that floats back to you the next day, there on the projector screen in my brain is him and ‘the girls’. The girls. The girls. Slim and sexy and sleek-haired with noses pierced, carelessly dressed and so cool. Nothing like me. How can he not be judging me right now?

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks, drawing back.

  ‘Um . . . yeah. I’m fine.’ I don’t want to kill the moment. Shut up, stupid insecurities. Don’t ruin this. You want this. ‘Why? Aren’t you?’

  ‘You don’t seem fine right now,’ he says, his voice tinged with frustration, urgency.

  I sigh. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘You seem like you’re not really here.’

  ‘I’m just thinking about . . .’ I pause. I can’t say it out loud. It’s just too pathetic. Too desperately sad. I draw myself up into a sitting position. I am officially causing this to grind to a halt.

  ‘What?’ Joe asks me, his eyes big and imploring.

  ‘The girls, I guess.’ I stare down at my bare feet dangling over the carpet. The chipped red nail varnish. The chubby ankles. The bits that I missed shaving. ‘I’m just scared I can’t live up to the girls you’ve been with.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?’ he asks impatiently.

  I move to the edge of the bed, shivering in my underwear, acutely aware of the doughy excess of my skin, all covered in goosebumps.

  ‘You know, the girls. All the girls . . . before,’ I say. I don’t want to look him in the eye. I’m so embarrassed of my body – my big, lumpy, pale body. I feel ashamed as I imagine it in comparison to what he must be used to. In comparison to what he expects a girl’s body to look like.

  But Joe is still looking at me with a confused expression. And then a change comes over his face as though the cogs in his mind have suddenly clicked into place.

  ‘Oh my God . . . has Oliver said something to you? Is that what this is about? That was . . . never true,’ he says, shaking his head and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes out of apparent frustration.

  ‘What do you mean?’ My heart is pounding a thousand beats a minute.

  ‘Argh, Emily . . . that was just a dumb deliberate rumour – a stupid lie Oliver came up with because he thought it would make it easier for me to get with girls. He said it didn’t matter if I actually hadn’t as long as people thought I had. And then I guess people believed
it, and I just never bothered to correct them . . .’ He looks up at me with his stupid, horrible blue eyes.

  ‘But . . . I believed it . . .’ I kind of feel sick. And I feel like an idiot. But why should I? It’s him that should be embarrassed about spreading such a stupid lie.

  He pushes his hair back from his face. ‘I thought it would make girls want to sleep with me more, but now it’s making you want to sleep with me less,’ he says, articulating exactly what I’m thinking.

  I hadn’t wanted to sleep with him because I thought he was too experienced. And now I know that’s not true, where does that leave me?

  ‘I . . . I do. I do want to sleep with you. I’m glad we’re here,’ I say. ‘I like you so much.’

  First Abi – now him. Has anyone in the world actually had sex? Or is it all a huge lie that was invented to make me feel like the odd one out? I thought this was meant to be a cool, easy exchange of bodily fluids. Why does it have to be so complicated?

  ‘I like you too,’ he says, sitting up and tentatively putting an arm around me.

  In that moment, I feel safe and important. He’s stupid, and he made a bad decision. That’s not so bad, is it?

  I smile at him. ‘Good. So, we can keep . . . hanging out?’

  ‘Totally. I think you’re amazing,’ he says.

  I can’t stop myself from smiling, even if nothing about this evening went the way I thought it would.

  He pulls me towards him and kisses me with an intensity I haven’t felt before, stopping briefly to look me in the eyes. ‘Shall we chill today and come back to this another time?’

  ‘Yes. There will be other times,’ I say assertively, as much to reassure myself as to reassure him.

  Even though I had wanted to sleep with him tonight, I can’t pretend that I don’t feel a weird sense of relief as I put my clothes back on. Maybe he was expecting me to just hang out in my underwear, but it would feel too weird. I would be too self-conscious. We sit on the bed and watch a DVD of Brass Eye. I’ve seen it before, and I’m not really concentrating. Now that we are clearly not going to have sex today, I feel like I’ve cheated myself out of a Major Life Experience. This was my chance to enter the world of the sex-havers! Actual sex with actual Joe! But it’s been a bumpy road to get here. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to wait.