What's a Girl Gotta Do?

by Holly Bourne

  I’d sketched approximately half an orange.

  With a heart so heavy I was surprised it wasn’t pushing down on my bladder and making me wee, I picked up the little flip-cam Will had lent me, turned the lens on myself, and started to talk…

  twenty

  It was shopping day.

  I’d made it through five whole days at college. I’d been evicted from one philosophy lesson, verbally assaulted twice, had three more meetings with Mr Packson (“Lottie, I thought you wouldn’t cause trouble in lessons any more? It’s not your philosophy teacher’s fault that the textbook refers to God as a ‘He’”), and probably had about four thousand insults hurled behind my back. I got stares wherever I went – when I bought chips, when I went from lesson to lesson, as I walked into my art class with Amber and everyone went quiet, like they’d just been talking about me…

  And I’d got a B in my still-life painting. Never, ever, in the history of ever had I ever got a B. I’d almost had heart palpitations. You can’t get Bs and get into Cambridge. You may as well get Us.

  Not your best work, my teacher had scribbled at the bottom in red pen. Followed by three giant question marks. I snapped my sketchpad shut the moment I saw it, like that could contain the B and make it not spread elsewhere.

  If it wasn’t for Amber, Evie, Megan and the rest of FemSoc – flanking me, cheering me on, putting up posters whenever they got ripped down – I don’t know what I would’ve done.

  And now it was Saturday – precious restful Saturday – and I had to go shopping. But not until Will and I had sorted the edits of the first week’s videos.

  He looked quite scared when he arrived, like they all do. Mum’s habit of “cleansing auras” tends to wig people out.

  “Lottie,” she called. “Your friend is here.”

  I pushed past the curtain and waved him up – not talking to Mum. We’d had another argument the previous night. About the B, because I’d stupidly told them… Dad had proper shouted at me.

  It was very strange – seeing Will in my home. He juxtaposed perfectly with the surroundings – his hipster cool clashing with the wind chimes and the crystals decorating every flat surface. Amber and Evie had got used to mine by now, so it was almost new, watching someone see the sheer weirdness of my house for the first time.

  Indeed, Will’s eyebrows were raised mighty high, his smug smile pulling upwards.

  I didn’t say hello or offer him a drink – I just turned back up the stairs, knowing he had no choice but to follow me.

  Will did a proper inspection of my room before he sat down. He stood still, taking it all in, then walked over to my chest of drawers, examining all my framed photos. My favourite was one taken at the beginning of last year, at this awful gig me and the girls went to at a church hall. We were all wearing black and holding ourselves up through laughter – none of us quite looking into the camera. Will picked that one up, his eyes examining it under the thick frame of his glasses.

  I flopped onto my bed, waiting for him to stop nosing. Eventually he perched next to me – no nerves about it, like some boys have when you’re both sitting on a bed.

  “Your mum’s interesting,” he said, still scanning the room.

  “Did she cleanse your aura?”

  “Is that what that was? Yeah, I guess she did.”

  “I’m not sure what good it will do you,” I said. “Some auras just can’t get clean…”

  He laughed at that – a short burst of it, like he hadn’t meant it. “I have an incurable aura?”

  I giggled too. “A herpes aura.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  The laughter defused the tension in the room. The tension I couldn’t explain. Well, I could… It was sexual tension. I’d experienced it enough with other people to know that’s what it was. But it was the worst kind – the repressed kind. Because Will was an argumentative arse-end.

  “So, I’ve got a first cut. You want to see?”

  I bounced on the bed. “Yes!”

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a proper posh laptop – the new iWhatever by the looks of it. I wondered how he could’ve afforded it. He flipped open the screen and pulled up a page. I rolled onto my stomach to see better, my feet sticking up in the air.

  “Wow, you’ve branded the whole channel.” I pulled the laptop closer clumsily, making him sort of jump at me to stop me being too rough. All Megan’s graphics littered the screen – it really, really looked wow.

  “So this is the rough cut.” He yanked the computer back, all protective. I smiled to myself. “I’ve made it private. I wanted to get your approval before making it live.”

  Will hit play, and I rested my hands under my chin to watch. He’d started it with a mini-cut of my first interview – explaining why I was doing it and what I hoped to achieve. I winced. My hair! Did it really look like that from that angle? I swear my nose wasn’t so pointy usually. And my voice! Yikes! It was so deep! And I’d need proper enunciation lessons before I became an MP. But, as the interview faded into Will’s montage of my first week of the project, my self-consciousness melted away. Wow. I saw his shots of me chucking the pie at the bus stop, grabbing members of FemSoc and laughing as I applied lipstick to their faces. He’d done a huge close-up on my face the moment Teddy and his ladz walked by and called us “sluts”. He’d slowed it down – and my face, the way it reacted, was so much more poignant than any thoughts I’d actually had in the moment. The next shot was a long shot, of me running after him with a pie. It’d gone from totally cinematically dramatic to totally stupid within an instant and I howled out with laughter. A pie. I’d literally actually thrown a cream pie! The rest of the week flowed into a perfectly-edited montage and I found I couldn’t not smile. Without being in my own brain, experiencing the embarrassment and dread, and having all the whispers behind my back edited out, this project looked totally ace. I came across totally ace! And, most importantly, so did my message. Most of it was me and the girls laughing. I wasn’t coming across bitter or twisted or unreasonable. How it looked through Will’s posh lens and triumphant soundtrack was so different to the shitty week I’d had.

  When it went black, I turned to him. “You are annoyingly talented.”

  He did his wolf grin. “I’ll take out the word ‘annoyingly’ and accept that compliment.”

  I rolled over so I was facing him, my face just…glowing with excitement.

  “I mean, just…how?! How did you make it look that exciting? How did you make me come across so utterly kick-ass?”

  “Well, that was the hardest bit.”

  I thumped him.

  I reached forward and hit play again, re-watching it. Loving it more the second time around. After losing all my confidence this week, this video had returned it in spades. I felt strong again, like I was onto something…something that could really make people take notice and realize…

  After the third watch, I rolled towards him again. We were both on our stomachs now, the tips of our toes just touching. It made my feet itch in this really brilliant way, so much that I couldn’t bear to move.

  “You do know what you’ve done though?” I said. “You’ve made a brilliant piece of feminist propaganda here. Be careful, or people might think I’m winning you over.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and made a noise of exasperation. “I made a good film, that’s all. I’ve tried to make it as objective as possible.”

  “You love feminism.” I found myself poking him. Which wasn’t wise. Especially as it made the tip of my finger fizzle in a gut-wrenching way.

  “I don’t. I told you, I’m a—”

  “Yeah yeah yeah, yadda yadda yadda, Mr I Have To See Every Incidence Of Sexism Scientifically Proven Before I Deign To Care.” I made my hand do the chit-chat thing. “God forbid you admit this project might actually be getting to you. Helping you change your mind.”

  He looked right at me. “People don’t like feeling like
you’re trying to change their minds, you know that, right?” The way he stared made me feel all red, but I rolled my eyes in reply.

  “Yep. I do know that. But what am I supposed to do? Just go, ‘Oh well, people don’t like having their beliefs challenged, I guess I’ll just wait over there in the corner in case, by some miracle, they change their minds by themselves’? I’ve got to try.”

  Will’s expression deepened for a moment, his eyebrows arching up into…something…then the moment was lost and he smirked at me again. “You’re certainly trying.”

  “What I’m hoping to do is catch the floaters,” I said. “There’s no point wasting my energy on people like you who just want to have an argument…”

  Will opened his mouth to no doubt object and I batted him away.

  “I know there’s lots of people out there who just get this prickling feeling that something isn’t right. They feel confused and…wrong…and confused about the wrong…and BAM, they see my kick-ass video and go ‘FEMINISM – THAT’S WHAT I NEED. I NEED FEMINISM.’”

  “You do know you sound like a terrorist recruiter?”

  I did poke him then. And not because I fancied him but because he legitimately deserved the pokiest of pokes.

  “You know what I think?” I said. “I think you only play devil’s advocate all the time because it makes you infallible.” Another poke – he tried to catch my wrist, that smile still on his face, but I pulled my hand back just in time. “But there’s not much depth, Mr Deep Film-maker, to having nothing to believe in. And it’s much easier to pick holes in other people’s beliefs than identifying and fighting for your own.”

  His reply was dry, to make it clear nothing I’d said had gone in. “Are you finished?”

  “I’m never finished.”

  “I’m starting to learn that. When are the others arriving anyway? Are you ready?”

  I sighed and rolled off the bed onto my feet to get my bag sorted. “Yes, I’m ready…ish. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll just put this live then. You all right with that?”

  I shot him a smile as I checked my massive Operation Vagilante rucksack. “I am very all right with that.”

  There was five minutes of semi-contented silence – me pottering, him clicking away on his posh laptop. The doorbell still hadn’t rung. I was a bit nervous. I was essentially going to almost-break the law a LOT in the next two hours. Technically, I’d only be breaking societal norms…but I was still terrified I’d get caught by a store detective or something. Plus I’d invited Megan, and I was worried about inviting her into the inner-sanctum of Spinster Clubness. Would it work? Would we gel?

  “Right, it’s all up.” Will shut his laptop with a flourish and flopped back on the bed. Seeing him on my bed, my bed where lying-down things happen, made me feel all peculiar – so I sat all upright on my desk chair.

  He stared up at the ceiling, then gave my room another once-over and said, “So, this is Lottie Thomas’s bedroom?”

  I felt all my prickles go up instantly. I reached into my bag, commandeered the largest horn, then pulled it out super quick and gave a long loud honk right in his ear.

  “JESUS, LOTTIE, OWW, WHATDAFUCKAREYOUDOING?”

  Satisfied, I calmly returned the horn to the depths of my bag of mischief. Will was clutching half his head.

  “I’ve told you before. Just because you’re my cameraman,” I said, “doesn’t mean you’re immune from me.”

  “That really f-ing hurt, you…”

  I whipped out the horn again. “Be careful, Will.”

  “You psycho…” he muttered, then ducked and missed my second blast.

  “You are such a cock.” I stood up, anger pulsing through my veins. “You know that, right? You know that everything about your personal brand is total and utter cock?”

  “Jeez, I didn’t even say anything!”

  I levelled him with my eyes. “You said enough.”

  He’d implied it. That my bedroom was known about…that people had been here before… And I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed or any of the things girls are supposed to feel if boys get all judgy about the fact you may have – SHOCK HORROR – had and enjoyed sex with other people. But I was angry he’d brought it up. Because it was totally unremarkable and none of his business.

  He held his hands up, like he was trying to make peace. “Look, sorry. I didn’t mean it how you think I meant it.” He seemed genuine, even quite mad at himself…

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Well…I…” He trailed off, and did actually look very ashamed of himself. “It was just a joke.”

  “A sex-shaming joke.”

  “No! Lottie, I don’t care what you do, who you sleep with. Honestly, it’s your life. I totally mean that.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then why say anything…?” I added YOU COCK in my head.

  “I actually don’t know. To fill a silence, I guess.”

  “It’s because you’re a cock.”

  This time he smiled, and removed his hand from his damaged ear.

  “You know what. Maybe I am. When I said that, I was being one. Sorry. Truly, I’m sorry.”

  I smiled too. “Repeat the following after me, and I’ll let you come on the feminism shopping trip.”

  “You need to work more on your bribes.”

  “Repeat after me!”

  “Okay okay.” He held his hands up again.

  “I, William,” I prompted.

  He bit his lip but relented. “I, William.”

  “Hereby declare.”

  “Hereby declare.”

  “That I am a massive cock.”

  A pause. A grin. Then… “That I am a massive cock.”

  “Which is very different from HAVING a massive cock.”

  A longer pause. “Which is very different from having a massive cock.”

  “And, in fact, me bringing up Lottie’s sexual history is probably due to my insecurity that I don’t have a massive cock.”

  “In fact, me…hang on! And, hey, isn’t making a joke about the size of a boy’s manhood slightly…dare I say it… sexist?”

  We were both laughing now. I raised the horn over my head and honked it multiple times. He looked at me, and I looked at him. And this was usually the point where I’d kiss someone who looked at me like that, because I’m quite good at just kissing people when I feel like it. But I’d be a hypocrite to end all hypocrites if I let anyone as smug as Will be allowed the pleasure of kissing me during my feminist crusade.

  The doorbell rang anyway, and we both looked up.

  “That’ll be the girls.”

  I raced downstairs to beat Mum to the door, and opened it to find Evie and Amber on my doorstep. Evie looked vaguely normal – though she was dressed entirely in grey. Amber, however, wore a giant fake nose with attached handlebar moustache, a mac, and when I greeted them, she opened up a big broadsheet newspaper to reveal she’d cut two eyeholes in it.

  “I said inconspicuous,” I said, rather than hello.

  “I am!” Amber peered at me through her eyeholes. “I mean, look! I’m just reading the newspaper – nothing to see here!”

  A thumping on the stairs behind me and Will had joined us.

  “What the heck are you wearing?” He raised a camera to Amber’s outfit.

  Amber folded the newspaper and grinned from under her moustache. “Lottie said be inconspicuous.”

  Evie and I smiled at each other. “I think you’ve made yourself so inconspicuous that you’re actually very conspicuous,” I said.

  Amber nodded furiously. “Exactly. The perfect double bluff!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You will take it off, won’t you?”

  She crossed her arms and the newspaper scrunched up. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “We do honestly need to look under-the-radar today,” I explained. “This is some hardcore civil disobedience. What if police speak to witnesses and they’re able to say, ‘She was five foot e
leven, ginger, with a giant nose and moustache’?”

  Amber grinned wider. “That’s my point! I’ll just whip off the nose and moustache and be safe from the law FOR EVER!”

  “You’re taking it off, right?”

  She pouted. “Oh, all right!” She yanked off her facial appendages and opened up her mac…to reveal a neon T-shirt with GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN…DAMENTAL HUMAN RIGHTS emblazoned across it. She took in our gasps of astonishment. “I’ve been waiting to do this all morning. I was so excited I forgot to eat breakfast.”

  I took in her T-shirt with stunned awe. “I am taking in your T-shirt with stunned awe.”

  “Isn’t it amazing? Kyle sent it to me from America.”

  Evie stroked Amber’s belly. “Seriously? Can we time-share your boyfriend, please? This is the best thing anyone has ever done, you know that, right?”

  Will darted across me to film her, but said, “You can’t wear that though, right? It will draw attention.”

  “Let me have my moment, Will,” Amber barked. “I’m going to cover it with a jumper.”

  Will backed down, which shows the full force of Amber when she gets pissed off.

  I was so busy asking Amber where Kyle got it from that I didn’t hear Megan arrive. Not until she rang the doorbell. Even though the door was wide open and we were all standing right on the threshold.

  “Umm, guys? I’m here?”

  “Megan!” I turned and gave her a welcome hug. “Sorry, we were distracted by Amber’s amazing T-shirt.”

  Amber pulled open her mac again to show it off.

  “Oh, wow. Yeah, it’s great.” Megan kept pushing her hair back behind her ears. “I’ve brought that stuff you wanted, Lottie.” She held out a plastic bag.

  “You have? Oh my God, you’re a legend.” I looked inside, and my whole heart just filled up. “Megan, these are INCREDIBLE, thank you!” I pulled out all her paraphernalia and showed the others.

  “Megan,” Amber said. “I think I’m in love with you.” And we all laughed. Megan’s eyes were all shiny with light and fire. She went bright red.