“He’s probably remembered the party on Saturday,” I snorted.
“Probably remembered there’ll be girls there,” Jendo agreed.
“No. I was just thinking–”
“All right. What was it?” I asked, dropping the teasing.
“Does it count as you popping your own cherry?”
Jendo pulled his roll-up out of his mouth and replied, “If it did, means Bash hasn’t popped any more than anyone else.”
“One more than Princess Paige, though,” Rufio snorted.
I nodded at him with a wry grin. “Touché.”
“But we can’t count it then?”
“If we count it, do we have to discount every other one?” Jendo asked.
“It seems only fair,” I said.
Jendo grinned around his roll-up. “So, Casanova over here is always going to be miles ahead of everyone else’s score.”
“I didn’t realise Rufio’d made it onto the scoreboard,” I teased.
“You shut up,” Rufio laughed. “You know I’m all bark and no bite.” He winked at us, totally and completely comfortable in being the only virgin out of us. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right girl.”
“Maybe the right girl’s just waiting for you?” I suggested cavalierly.
“Oh, mate. That’s kinda sweet,” Jendo snorted sarcastically.
“Oh, mate. I know,” I replied in the same tone. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of sincerity and affection.”
They both snorted and said, “Are you, though?” at the same time.
“I think that reaction probably answers your own question,” I told them as I went back to my sketching.
Jendo sighed wistfully. “I wish I was all emotionally defective like Bash.”
“What?” Rufio huffed a laugh. “Why?”
“Because then I might have a chance of at least equalling his score one day.”
Rufio made a noise of disagreement. “Nah. He’ll lose his stride one day.”
“You watch yourself,” I warned him as Jendo cried, “Bash?”
“Yeah, him with his head in the pages,” Rufio said.
“Bash can have any girl he wants,” Jendo argued vehemently.
“Since when?”
“Since his balls dropped. People didn’t start calling him Casanova for no reason.”
“Since his balls dropped?” Rufio hooted hysterically.
“My balls are usually pretty comfortable, lads. But let’s not shout it across the room, aye?” I asked with a wry grin.
“Yes. God forbid girls know about what powers your infinite libido,” Jendo mocked.
I snorted. “I doubt God cares what I get up to, but Mrs Hogan on the other hand?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point.”
“Can we just come back to your bold claim over here, Jean?” Rufio asked pointedly.
“You try that out one more time…” Jendo muttered in annoyance.
“You seriously think he can have any girl he wants?”
“The man is a cherry magnet. Girls are practically lining up for him to do the honours.”
“And where is this line? Or are they imaginary like your girlfriend?”
“Oh, mate. You’ve met your mum loads of times.”
“What did we say about people’s mum?” Rufio grumbled. “Some things have got to be sacred, man. Those are the rules.”
“All right. All right,” Jendo laughed. “I’m done. No more.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good. You’re still wrong.”
“Oh my God!” Jendo scoffed. “Since when does Bash not get the girl?”
“I don’t even remember the last time he even went after a girl.”
“Because Casanova doesn’t have to. The legend speaks for itself.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. What is your point?”
“That Bash could pop any cherry he wanted.”
“He cannot.”
“He’s totally on track to get everyone before graduation.”
Rufio made a spluttery, “Pfft. Can you tell him please?”
I looked up. “Tell him what?”
“That you can’t get every cherry at this school.”
“Why do we think I couldn’t?” I asked ruefully.
“So, you think you could?” Rufio asked.
I shook my head, smiling. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Jendo agreed. “But I did.”
Rufio nodded over to Paige. “With girls like her ruling the school, there is no chance he’ll get every cherry. Ninety-nine percent maybe, but not all of ‘em.”
We were of course ignoring those cherries who’d been popped by someone other than me for the purposes of this conversation. I presumed we were only discussing those current cherries remaining in our year level.
“Okay,” Jendo said slowly and I knew he had an idea. “Take out the Queen Bee then. After that, all the little followers will…follow.” He shrugged and looked up with a wide grin, obviously quite pleased with himself.
“I bet you he can’t,” Rufio said.
“I bet you he can,” Jendo said.
They were both looking at me and I smirked. “Whatever you say, boys.”
“Nah. I’m proper serious,” Jendo insisted. “You knock her off her pedestal and the whole institution comes crumbling down.”
I rubbed my chin. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead on the doomsday-esque metaphors, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Rufio agreed. “Bash knows when he’s beat with Princess Paige. He doesn’t need you making it more dramatic.”
“He is the writer,” I pointed out as Jendo said, “What do you mean, beat?” then nodded in agreement to me.
Rufio shrugged. “I mean the dude knows I’m right. There is no way he could pop the princess.”
“No one said that,” Jendo said.
“I did,” Rufio replied.
“Can you please put him right?” Jendo begged. “You could totally pop her, aye?”
I relaxed my hand down on my book and sighed. “I’m not intervening in this one. You boys have to work it out for yourselves.”
“What? You won’t bet you can pop her?”
“I’m not betting anything.”
“It’s because you’re chicken shit,” Rufio said with a shit-eating grin.
“You what now?” I asked him incredulously.
“You’re chicken shit. You know I’m right, but you don’t want to admit it.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“I dunno…” Jendo said slowly. “I’m starting to wonder if Roof’s right…”
I scoffed. “What?”
“Are you chicken? You think you couldn’t pop Paige? Is that it?” Jendo asked as Rufio started making clucking noises.
I laughed. “Chicken? No. I’m not chicken. If I had any interest in uptight, popular Barbie clones then popping Paige Nicholl’s cherry would be a piece of cake.”
“Take the wager then,” Jendo said. “Show him you can.”
“Or prove me right. Either way.” Rufio shrugged.
I looked down and started fiddling with my drawing again as I thought about it.
“See? He knows he can’t,” Rufio said.
“Give the man a second to think about.”
“Just… Let me get it straight,” I said slowly. “You want to bet on whether or not I can pop Paige Nicholls’ cherry?”
“Yes,” came the very definitive response from both of them.
“What’s the wager?”
“Either you pop her or…” Jendo trailed off, clearly unable to think of anything.
“You hand over your title,” Rufio said quickly.
“To who?” Jendo laughed. “To you?”
“To that nerdy band geek in the year below,” Rufio answered.
“Mr Trombone?” I asked, frowning down at my pi
cture.
“Yeah. Him,” Rufio said.
“How exactly would I just hand my title over? This isn’t eighteenth century Venice, I can’t just point him out and say ‘yeah, he’s the dude’.”
“You focus on the popping. We’ll focus on the finer details.”
“I haven’t agreed yet,” I reminded him. “I presume there’s a time frame for this? There’s usually a time frame for these sorts of things. What have I got? Six weeks? Rest of term? Until the formal–”
“Formal,” they both said and I nodded exasperatedly.
“Okay. So, I pop Paige’s cherry by the formal or I – as yet to be determined – hand over my title to Mr Trombone in the year below?” I clarified.
“Yep. Will you accept our little wager?” Jendo asked.
As I lifted my head to look at them, I caught Paige looking at me from the other side of the room. I gave her a wink and she looked away hurriedly, but I saw the way her cheeks dusted with a hint of pink. When I looked at the boys, I was smiling.
“I accept.”
Rufio grinned as he lifted his coke and we did likewise with our drinks. “May the princess’ cherry be more elusive than breaking through the school’s firewall to watch porn in the loos,” he said solemnly.
Jendo choked on his Fanta. “Didn’t you tell him?” he asked me.
“Tell me what?” Rufio asked, looking between us.
“I broke through that last year.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought Bash was going to.”
“Well he quite clearly didn’t.”
“Obviously.”
“So, you’ve been getting through all this time…?”
I tuned them out with a grin as I started formulating my plan.
Getting between Paige Nicholls thighs was going to be a challenge, but I had no doubts I was going to…rise to the occasion. It was only a matter of getting the right kind of attention from her.
Chapter 4: Paige
I usually went to the library or the study room during my free period, but I’d been freezing so decided a hot chocolate was necessary. True, it was one of those packet and boiled water types, but it was better than nothing.
I dropped my Maths things off at my locker – conveniently located at one end of the Common Room – picked up my English Lit stuff, and went to the kitchen. I flicked on the kettle and made a mental note to get some milk from the Tuck shop later in the day.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, Eliza joined me. She put a container in the microwave and leant against the counter much like I was as she waited. Eliza and I had been close enough in Junior School. But as was the way, we’d found ourselves in different groups as we got older. Now that we were in Year 12, though, we’d all somewhat come back together again. After all, there was solidarity in everyone being at similar levels of stress, and the Common Room meant we all spent more time in proximity than we had in previous years.
“Hey, Paige.”
I smiled. “Hey. How’s things?”
Eliza shrugged. “Same old, I guess. Nice and stressful,” she laughed.
I nodded. “I know what you mean. I am envying every single person who decided not to do English Lit this year.”
“God, I know! The comparative?”
“Kicking your arse, too?”
She nodded. “So badly. I’ve read Cloud Atlas so many times, I just want to bash my brains out with it.”
“I feel you. I stupidly chose the almighty Bronte sisters’ showdown – Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. I’m getting to the point I half-forget what passages go in what book.”
“Have you stopped reading and started watching the movies yet?” she asked with a grin.
I nodded. “Honestly, yes. Some of them aren’t too bad. Plus, Tom Hardy and Michael Fassbender? Yes, please. What about you?”
Eliza giggled. “Um…not nearly as lucky. The movie wasn’t bad–”
“That doesn’t make it sound like it was good…” I said, picking up the boiled kettle.
“Well, it’s debateable. The main problem is that it’s so different to the book, there is just no substituting it.”
“Damn.”
She nodded solemnly. “I know. If it wasn’t already middle of Term Three, I’d consider changing my books.”
I stirred my drink. “Yeah. If I could have a do-over, I think I’d try to convince Winchester to let me do a film study.”
“That would save time on the study.”
I nodded. “It would.”
The microwave beeped and Eliza nodded before moving to deal with it. “Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”
I sighed. “Alas, neither Bronte reads themselves.”
“Good luck with it.”
“You, too.”
Eliza went her own way and I went mine. There were a few Year 12’s scattered around the tables in the Common Room.
It was a large room; lockers and kitchen at one end with a door to one half of the school; at the other end were tables, couches, and another door to the other half of the school. Around the room were kid’s Year 12 jumpers – both the official woollen school jumper in white because Year 12’s could obviously be trusted, and our less official bomber jacket with our nicknames – and blazers – white for prefects and blue for the rest – on backs of chairs and thrown on couches. There were piles of books and pencil cases. There was even an abandoned poker game on a card table from the last lunchtime.
The walls were covered in posters, some of which we’d taped up but a lot from previous Year 12 classes. It was tradition to leave a bit of the old, to honour those who came before us and who’d sought sanctuary within these walls. As a teacher-free zone, it was our haven, a place where we could hold meetings and study and relax and commiserate. In the Common Room, it was like it was us against the world.
I smiled happily as I walked over to the couches my friends and I usually possessed and got on with my reading. My hot chocolate sat cold by my elbow as I noted and read and highlighted, but I either forgot how cold I was or the Common Room was warmer than our Maths classroom.
At one point, I heard someone yelling, “Chocolate. None of this sprinkle bullshit!” and looked up to see Bash at the door.
I was intrigued by what he was yelling about to some degree – Bash talking to anyone but Jendo and Rufio with anything but snarky disdain was a rarity. And I’d certainly never heard him talking about chocolate anythings.
But my interest in Bash was as short-lived as usual and I was back at work when Georgie and Mia dropped down around me. And soon, some of the others followed.
“How’d your test go?” I asked Georgie as Mia handed us some mini pizzas she’d made in class.
“Yeah. Good I think,” Georgie answered. “Could have been better, but–”
“Story of this whole year,” I said and we smiled.
We sat and chatted about school and our social calendar for the year for a while. I was scrolling through my phone when I heard Georgie muttering angrily a few minutes later.
“He is not.”
I looked up at her, then followed her narrowed gaze. She was glaring at Garritt and Phoebe. Garritt had that apologetic-but-not-really smile as he shrugged at Phoebe, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes were looking kind of glassy. And Phoebe wasn’t known for crying, so there was only one thing that could be happening.
“He’s not doing it here?” I asked, looking around at the other kids in the room.
At least one person in each of the groups spread around the room was watching them surreptitiously. Because even love-blind Bash would have noticed that Garritt was breaking up with Phoebe in the middle of the Common Room at Recess, pretty well guaranteeing our whole year level saw him do it.
“Does he think this scores him points with the bros or something?” Georgie asked.
“Like most of the males in here, Garritt has a tiny brain desper
ate for the approval of his mates,” I sighed.
“God, they’re all sheep.”
I nodded. “Not an original thought between them.”
“Why do guys think it’s okay to date you for a little while, make you fall for them, and then publicly humiliate you in front of the whole year level?” Georgie asked.
“Someone should really do something about it,” I said with a nod.
“Yes!” Mia cried. “Like date a guy just to make him fall in love with you so you can break his heart! See how secure they feel about their fragile masculine egos then.”
“The only one who could do that is Paige. And she’s just sworn off guys.”
I laughed. “I could make an exception to show a guy a thing or two.”
“It would have to be one of the most notorious heartbreakers in school, though,” Mia said uncertainly.
“You say that like Paige couldn’t get one of them,” Georgie huffed.
“Could she, though?”
Georgie scoffed. “Paige can get any guy she wants at this school.”
Mia scrunched her nose as she thought. “Yeah, but like the most notorious? That’d have to be one of the bad boys. Could she really get one of the bad boys?”
“Duh. Paige Nicholls can have any guy at this school she wants. At any school probably.”
“One of the Baker boys, though?”
We all looked over to them slouched around one of the tables on the other side of the room. Jendo was pulling apart a fruit rollup like he was still in junior primary, but was deep in conversation with Rufio who was leaning his arms on the table and shaking his head. Between them, Bash was barely paying attention as he scribbled in his always present book.
“What do you think he does in that book?” Mia asked.
“Tentacle porn,” I suggested and they both took their eyes off the very fine forms of Bash and his cronies and looked at me in horror.
“What?” Mia asked as Georgie wrinkled her nose with an, “Ew. Really?”
I shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Guys interested in tentacle porn are unlikely to be interested in Paige,” Mia said wisely, as though she had intimate knowledge of this.
“What?” Georgie laughed. “How is that related?”
“I’m just saying, of all the guys at this school, Paige could not get a Baker Boy to fall in love with her.”
Popped Page 3
