40 Things I Want to Tell You

by Alice Kuipers

  I squirmed on the sofa. I was supposed to be getting good grades, getting on with my future, getting into Oxford.

  Griffin pulled my head onto his shoulder. He said, “I don’t like that guy.”

  “Hmm,” I said, noncommittally.

  I tried not to watch Pete and Kitty, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes were drawn to his hands, which were now on her waist. I recognized the look on his face.

  Then Pete turned and fixed his gaze on me as if he’d known the whole time exactly where I was. My heart practically stopped beating. I swallowed hard. It was a coincidence he was looking in my direction. He couldn’t see us nestled away in the summer house.

  But it seemed he could see us, because he kept staring. He seemed to be challenging me, saying, Walk away from Griffin and I’ll make up for how I treated you last week. Perhaps I was reading too much into it. Perhaps he felt nothing like I felt. Perhaps he was checking out his own reflection in the kitchen windows. I stared right back at him, just in case. I wasn’t going to play his games.

  He clenched his jaw and bent to kiss Kitty. I wanted to throw up. He lifted her onto the kitchen counter and she wrapped her legs round him, laughing in his ear. Gross. Anger uncoiled inside me. I’d been a total idiot to go anywhere near Pete Loewen. Everyone said he was bad news, and here was the proof.

  Thank God I hadn’t told anyone about what I’d done. It would make him easier to forget. It was time to get back to the plan. I turned to Griffin and pulled him to me, kissing him fiercely on the mouth.

  He broke the kiss and smiled down at me. “Hey, Bird, where did that come from?”

  I mustered up a huge smile. “It’s been fun tonight, hanging out. And milkshakes will be good when we get round to it. You know, I’ve missed you.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Pete had stopped kissing Kitty and was glaring at me. So he could see me after all.

  I squeezed Griffin’s hand. It was time to get on with my life.

  CHAPTER 9

  A COUPLE WEEKS AFTER THE PARTY, I CLEARED OUT MY MISS TAKE-CONTROL inbox and got to answering a question.

  Thurs 9 Dec

  Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,

  Christmas is coming and i don’t know what to do. whenever im in the same room as any of my family i feel like screaming. my mum yells at me when i haven’t even done anything. my dad doesn’t know anything about my life. they dont understand me. they tell me what to do. they make decisions for me like telling me we have to go to Grandma’s this year. Grandma is so strict, i cant do anything i want. No one ever asks me what i want plus i dont have enough money to buy everyone presents because my mum cut my allowance because we fight all the time. i hate them all.

  i need help to make it thru Christmas.

  Dreading Turkey, 12

  Dear Dreading Turkey,

  Tips to Take Back Control

  Get out the house as often as you can.

  Bite your tongue when your mum starts yelling (I know, not easy).

  Call your friends when things get terrible.

  What if you offered to help with the cooking? Show them how grown-up you are so they treat you like an adult.

  Stay cool and calm.

  As for presents, could you make something? Parents always like that sort of thing.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  Outside my bedroom window, I could see multicoloured lights hanging from the tree Griffin had put up for his mum in their downstairs front room. It was sweet of him to try to make Christmas special for her. Farther down the street, one set of neighbours had gone completely Christmas-mad with lights everywhere and a giant plastic Santa Ho-ho-ho-ing so loudly I could hear it through the glass. Above that, I could hear Mum and Dad arguing about something. To block out them and the Santa, I put on loud music and sat in my bedroom wrapping everyone’s Christmas presents. I had out my list, nice paper, tape and fancy tags.

  • Bath stuff: Dear Mum, To give you some time to relax. Love Bird

  • Fancy cheese: Dearest Daddy, It’s meant to be good with red wine! Love you xxx

  I’d been meaning to clean out the spare room as a Christmas gift for them both, but I had way too much homework to undertake such a huge task. I hated that I hadn’t got round to doing it.

  • Mascara, red lipstick, matching nail varnish: Cleo—Like always! Loads of love xxx

  We’d been buying each other makeup for Christmas since we first became friends.

  • Computer game: Dear G, Happy Christmas, Love from Bird

  I knew he’d want something more personal, like a photo of us, but I just couldn’t. Couldn’t.

  As I was wrapping Griffin’s present, I saw my phone flashing. Pete was texting me for the first time in weeks.

  Want 2 meet

  I didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. I lay back on the bed. Suddenly the night in the park felt like minutes ago. I could still taste him kissing me, hear his voice urgently whispering Amy. I groaned. I could feel his mouth hard against mine, feel his hands as they owned my body. I could feel my skin burning where he touched me, and me responding to him, unable to stop myself.

  I told myself two words: Kitty Moss.

  Griffin’s half-wrapped computer game lay next to me on the pillow. I pushed it to one side and it fell to the floor. I held my phone and reread Pete’s message. I imagined what Miss Take-Control would tell me to do.

  I deleted his text.

  I lay there studying the ceiling. About a minute went by and then my phone rang. I answered, not recognizing the number.

  It was Pete. He said, “What are you thinking about?”

  I didn’t speak.

  “Come on, Amy. This is stupid.”

  My mouth was dry. I stammered, “W-what are you doing? Where are you calling from? This isn’t your number.”

  “I’m at my dad’s girlfriend’s house.”

  “Your dad’s in prison. You’re in foster care.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Everyone says so.”

  He laughed. “Everyone says a lot of things.” He went quiet. “Amy, I’ve got a Christmas present for you.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “What about Kitty Moss?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I didn’t know you could be serious.”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  I said, “What do you want?”

  He exhaled loudly. “You know what I want.”

  I wasn’t going to listen. “You said that before, and then you kissed Kitty right in front of me.”

  “It was stupid with Kitty, okay, but it was nothing. Amy, just give me another chance. Do you know how hard it is to watch you kissing Griffin every day?”

  His sentences were like long snakes uncurling. Part of me wanted to hear them, for him to keep talking. The more sensible part of me looked at my corkboard—Griffin, Oxford University, my quotations. I reminded myself that Pete couldn’t make any promises.

  I said, “Please stop. And promise you won’t tell anyone what happened. It was a mistake.”

  “You wanted it as much as I did. I don’t see why you’re even with Griffin.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Amy, wait.”

  “No, Pete. Really. Griffin and I have a future together.” I was more sure of myself now. I was doing the right thing. “I’ve got to go.”

  I THREW MYSELF INTO SCHOOLWORK FOR THE FINAL COUPLE OF WEEKS of term. I asked all the teachers if there was extra reading I could do to prepare myself for my Oxford application next October. I told them I wanted a long head-start and so, after a few puzzled looks, they gathered me some reading lists and suggestions. Mr. Bennetts said, “I’m impressed you’re planning so far ahead. Even the keenest students normally wait until the summer break.” Then he smiled—the first time I’d seen him smile, like, ever. “But I’m not surprised, young lady.” I still wasn’t sure exactly what course I wanted to take—
maybe History and English, or History of Art. Both choices worried me because I wasn’t sure what sort of job I could get afterward.

  One evening, I was sitting at my desk, reading through some of their other courses online, when Griffin came into my room.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, kissing me on the top of my head. “What you doing?”

  “You know. Trying to figure this stuff out.”

  He sprawled on my bed, lying back, his legs dangling to the floor. “Your dad let me in. He seemed upset about something.”

  I turned from the computer. “Really? What?”

  “Not sure. He’s gone out now. Told me to behave myself up here.”

  I came to sit on the bed beside him and put a hand on his knee.

  “How’s your mum?”

  He shrugged and briefly closed his eyes. “Same old. I just wish sometimes— Well, doesn’t matter.”

  “What?”

  “Just that my dad was around. Christmas, you know, sucks.”

  “You guys could come over to us for the day.” I lay back next to him. He turned to me.

  “No. She’ll be better off having a quiet day with me at home.” He ran a finger along my jawline. “I’m so glad I’ve got you, Bird.”

  “Me too.” When Griffin was being so sweet and reliable, I knew I’d made the right decision.

  “You know,” he said, his bright eyes fixed on mine, “I want us to keep the whole sex thing out the picture. You’re clearly not ready.”

  “It’s not fair on you,” I said quietly, guilt probing my ribs like an accusatory finger.

  “Bird, we’re going to be together forever. There’s no rush. Right?” He climbed on top of me, his body pressing me against the bed. He whispered above my lips, “See, now you don’t have to get all tense when I’m doing stuff like this.”

  He bent to kiss me. I kissed him back, trying to enjoy the feel of his mouth.

  Griffin’s phone rang in his pocket. He checked. “It’s Mom,” he said. He looked down at me and asked, “So we’re agreed? No rush. We’ll just wait until it happens naturally?”

  I nodded mutely, biting on my lower lip.

  He turned to head out my room, answering his phone on the way. “I’ll be there in two minutes. Promise. Yes, I promise.”

  TERM WRAPPED UP AND I HARDLY SAW PETE LOEWEN. IT WAS LIKE he’d disappeared from my life, and from the school. The Christmas holidays began, and I started on my homework and studies. I browsed through the questions posed to me by readers of my website, but they were all questions I’d answered before, so I worked instead on the HTML coding and did some upgrading to make the site run more smoothly.

  I met up with Cleo a couple days before Christmas to help her shop for all the presents she had yet to buy.

  She gave me a huge hug as she came into Coffee Grounds. “You look good,” she said. “I like your hair curly, you know.”

  I put a hand up to touch my curls. “Yeah,” I said. “I just wanted to see what it was like. Anyway, do you have your Christmas list?”

  “Course not. Oh, thanks.” She took a hold of the coffee I’d bought her and we headed out together.

  We caught the train to London Bridge and dived into the market below the station. It was packed with holiday shoppers and cheerful carol singers, and the thick smell of mulled wine and apple cider permeated the air. On the train we’d worked out what she was going to get everyone and we started with the stall where the guy made his own pasta.

  Cleo picked up the first packet she saw. “This’ll do for Mum.”

  “Come on, that’s not how to shop. You need to consider everything. Would she like sage-and-pumpkin ravioli or the fettuccini that comes with organic tomato sauce? They’re the same price.”

  “Okay, Bird, you choose. And Dad’ll have that herb selection. He’s pretty into cooking, when he’s not at work or away on work trips.”

  “I got my dad cheese.”

  “That would work too.” Her phone rang and she went to answer it, stepping away from the stall, but not before handing me her wallet. “You select stuff. It’s Xavier.”

  I picked out the sage-pumpkin pasta coupled with the herb selection for her mum—Cleo had plenty of money—then stepped over to choose a cheeseboard with four cheeses for her dad. Cleo’s face twisted up with frustration as she raised her voice into the phone. I tried to listen to what she was saying, but a group of carollers appeared at the corner of the cheese stall and sang “Silent Night” to an appreciative crowd.

  I put the things into my bag and went over to wait against an old stone warehouse. I watched Cleo yelling and then her face crumpled. Hordes of busy shoppers passed her by.

  Eventually, she shoved her phone in her bag. She wiped her face and hurried over. I gave her a hug, then murmured, “You okay?”

  “He’s just such— He says we’re getting too serious.”

  I waited.

  “You don’t have to tell me you told me so.”

  “I’d never say that.”

  “I know. It’s just, I wish … I don’t know.”

  I was so glad of Griffin, of how kind he was, of how I never spent time yelling and crying on the phone to him in public markets. Poor Cleo. I said, “Forget Xavier for the rest of the day. Look.” I pointed at a steaming vat perched on the refreshment stall. “That Hot Apple Whatever sounds good right about now.”

  She smiled at me. “Sounds perfect.”

  ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, DAD HUFFED INTO MY ROOM LIKE A WALRUS. “Come on, Bird. Time to get the quiz ready.”

  “Go away,” I groaned.

  He shook my leg. “Get up, get up, sleepyhead.”

  I buried my head under my pillow. “Go away.”

  “I’ve got a great idea for this year. Round one: you’ll cut and paste some photos of celebrities and then everyone has to guess who they are. Round two: I’ve already sorted out fifty general knowledge questions—it’ll be so fun. Round three: you and I have to put together the treasure hunt for your mother.” I felt his weight as he sat at my feet. He sang, “On Christmas Day in the morning …” When I didn’t answer, he yelled, “Get up, get up, sleepy Bird.”

  I pulled the pillow away and opened my eyes. I was so tired.

  He was beaming at me with a hyper-happy smile. “Good morning, darling. Happy Christmas.”

  I stuffed the pillow back over my head. “Dad, go away,” I mumbled, but I was smiling. He was like a big kid.

  “Ding dong! merrily on—”

  I threw the pillow at him, laughing. “All right, you win. Give me five minutes to have a shower.”

  He jumped up. “This year, the games are going to be better than ever.”

  I had a sudden worry that his jollity was forced. “Everything okay, Dad?”

  “Of course, little Bird,” he said, but he didn’t catch my eye as he left the room.

  I HAD A SHOWER AND SQUEEZED INTO JEANS AND A VINTAGE MARC Jacobs top that Cleo had passed on to me. I rubbed my temples to ease a headache. Huh. I never got headaches. My phone beeped. A text:

  Happy Xmas Amy

  Pete. I hadn’t heard from him for ages. The familiar twisting of my tummy started as soon as I thought about him. My phone beeped again immediately, and with relief, I saw it was Cleo.

  Hey u, hpy Christmas.

  I texted back:

  Quiz time. Dad v overexcited.

  She replied:

  Ah, lucky u. ;-) Did u get anything gd? Shud I txt Xavier????

  I called her. “Happy Christmas to you,” I sang.

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Am I? Guess so. My dad got me out of bed to make games. He’s making me be all Christmasy.”

  “If you say so. It’s a bit early in the morning for that sort of thing.”

  “It’s kind of sweet how he wants to still do it every year. Mum’s probably cooking already. I have a weird feeling, though. Something’s wrong with her.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you know. She’s probably fin
e, stressed with work, whatever. But how are you?”

  “We-e-e-llll,” she said slowly. “Soooo I got a car.”

  “Shut up! Oh my God. You have to pass your test now. Have to.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Should I text Xavier?”

  “You. Got. A. Car!”

  “I know. Superb. It’s black. Gorgeous. I love it. So should I text him?”

  “Who?”

  “Xavier,” I heard her sigh. “I wish I had someone. You know, for Christmas.”

  I giggled. “A man is for life, not just for Christmas.”

  “I mean it. I wish I had someone adorable to drive around in my new car.”

  “You are so lucky. A car. You can drive me around if you like.”

  She said, “True. A boyfriend would be better, though.”

  “Where’s all this wanting a boyfriend coming from?” I asked. “Xavier isn’t really, you know, boyfriend material—especially after your fight at the market. Wait for him to text you.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. Don’t even mention his name. I’m just a romantic under this sexy exterior, that’s all. Are you seeing Griffin later?”

  “Tonight, probably.”

  “What did you get him?”

  I glanced at myself in my mirror. I sucked in my belly; I was looking bloated. “A computer game. I definitely need to go on a diet after today.” My camera rested on my desk. I scooped it up with one hand, resting the phone between my ear and my cheek, and took a couple of shots of my body in the mirror, cutting off my head. I tended to avoid looking at myself too much in the mirror, finding that if I did I noticed all the things I’d like to work on—like tightening my abs, or doing more squats to tone up.

  “Uh, hello, Bird, you still there?”

  “Sorry, yes. I was just figuring out a photo I might want to take.” I put the camera down.

  “So I met this guy yesterday—Ben.”

  “Ben? Okay.”

  “He’s a friend of Becca’s. He seemed interested.”

  “Is he cute? How’s Becca?”

  “He is cute, and don’t pretend you care about her.” She continued, “Yeah, he’s cute. Maybe I should text him instead.”