by Anne Thomas
"Nerys, are you okay?" Sharon asked sympathetically, touching me lightly on the shoulder. "You look a little red in the face."
"I'm fine," I assured her, even though I wasn't. I just felt a little self-conscious now after Ed and Gordon's examination of my legs.
"Now, everyone, BE QUIET!" boomed Mr Shayne. He's a full-time Maths teacher and a part-time rugby fanatic, with the physique to boot; he's English, not Welsh, with a very thick Bolton accent. He's always reminded me of a teddy bear, so that's probably why no one took any notice of his request to be silent. Everyone just kept on chattering away until Mr Hathaway, the Deputy Head stepped in.
"EVERYONE BE SILENT RIGHT NOW!" he hollered at the top of his voice, his face slowly turning bright red. "SILENT! OR I'LL GO OUTSIDE AND TELL THE COACHES TO GO BACK TO THE DEPOT AND I'LL CANCEL THE WHOLE TRIP AND NONE OF YOU WILL GET A REFUND!"
The hall fell swiftly silent, although the chances of him cancelling the trip at such short notice were slim to none.
"Now that everyone is quiet," Mr Hathaway continued, lowering the volume of his voice a notch, "You will all leave the hall through the fire exit at the back when your year group is called. You then make your way quickly and quietly to the right coach. Your form tutor should have told you this morning which coach you're on, so don't fuss around asking us teachers where you're supposed to be because you should already know. So, Year 7, you're going first."
The Year 7s – all clad in a variety of tracksuits and fluorescent tutus – trooped out of the hall, chattering noisily.
"I said quietly!" Mr Hathaway snapped loudly as he raced after them. I had no idea why he was causing such a fuss about their noise levels; the rest of the school was more or less empty, so it wasn't as if lessons were being disturbed or anything.
Mr Shayne had just sent the Year 8s on their way when Billie and his friends finally decided to make an appearance in the hall.
They swaggered into the hall, talking loudly and laughing, not caring that they were late. They were all wearing bright blue shirts, black waistcoats and bright pink ties. One or two of them sported black trilbies. Very coordinated, but not much of a surprise.
"Mr William, Mr Wace and the rest of your friends, do hurry up and get into line," Mr Trow commanded, folding his arms and glaring at them.
"Yeah, sorry we're late, sir, Liam managed to get stuck in one of the toilet cubicles," Billie sniggered in response. They all took their time in walking across the hall.
"I do not care, Mr William," Mr Trow sighed. "Just hurry up."
"Nice legs, Siân," Liam winked at Siân as he passed her on his way past us. "That dress really...suits you."
Ann snorted. "It's hardly a dress," she muttered to me. "It's more like a...I don't even know, but it's not really a dress, is it? It barely covers her arse."
"Don't you be so concerned with my arse, Ann darling," Siân giggled at her. Ann poked her in the side in retaliation, and Mr Trow sent the Year 9 lot on their way.
"If Year 10 would like to settle down..." Mr Trow looked towards us pointedly. We all straightened up slightly and shut our mouths, and he waved us out of the hall. I carefully balanced myself upon my death traps and grabbed hold of John's arm so he could help me walk.
By the time I got on the double-decker coach, I felt just about able to walk on the shoes, although I was still wobbling. Actually being on the coach was an entirely different matter; I had to climb up the stairs and I swear I nearly fell off those bloody stairs twice in the matter of thirty seconds.
"Well, you might not be able to walk, but you still look lovely," John told me as I plodded precariously towards one of the seats.
"Shut up," I growled at him, "I know you're laughing at me inside –"
"I'm not doing anything of the sort," John sniggered, giving me a gentle shove, "so shut up and sit down, wench." I fell down into one of the chairs, all arms and legs and tangled skirts, and John didn't help matters by plonking himself down directly on top of my legs. "I meant it though," he said randomly a few moments later, as the coach began to drive away from school, "You do look lovely, stupid walk ignored."
"Cheers, John," I mumbled, adjusting my skirt around my legs. I'd managed to push him off me and right myself before the coach had driven off.
A few moments of silence passed, and then I decided to start a new conversation. "So, everyone else looks lovely too, yeah?"
"Yeah," John agreed, giving me a weird look. "Why?"
"Like who?" I pressed. "Who looks the loveliest? And don't say Suzanne, or I'll impale my shoe in your head."
He glared at me, and then rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "Um, I dunno, I mean, Ann looks pretty good, I guess."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, yes, we all know that Ann's pretty fit when she bothers trying –"
"Why are you talking about me?" Ann demanded, her head appearing over the top of the seat in front of us. There was some scuffling about and a second later Siân's head popped up as well.
"It was nothing bad," I assured her. "John was just telling me how nice you look today." He nodded in agreement, and Ann's eyes narrowed.
"Right," she said, sliding back down into her seat. Siân didn't move.
"Do I look nice?" she asked, batting her eyelids at John. He sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Of course, Siân," he told her. "You look gorgeous, as usual, and all the boys are probably having a delightful look at your knickers right now." She winked at him – cue more eye rolling from him and me.
"Miss Siân, sit down!" Mr Trow ordered from his seat on the front. "Your seatbelt should stay on at all times!"
Siân reluctantly vanished from view, and I turned back to John.
"So, yes, Siân and Ann look good today," I continued as if we'd never been interrupted, my voice now a low whisper in case anyone else overheard us.
"Ann does. I mean, Siân does, but I think the skirt's too short. Personally," John interrupted.
"Bloody hell, I thought guys would be going nuts over that dress," I shook my head. "She's got a nice set of legs on her, after all."
"She has," he agreed, "But I'm not really a legs kind of person. I like my boobies."
"Boobies," I giggled. "I love that word. But, hey, that makes no sense, Suzanne's nearly as flat as Elisha. Nearly."
He sighed. "I see past the downsides of Suzanne's physical appearance –" he began, but I held up my hand for silence.
"Bullshit," I said flatly. "Suzanne's a pretty face and she's a nice girl and all, but like hell do you see more than the physical side when it comes to Suzanne."
John glared at me. "Shut up," he growled. I was right, though; while he used to get on with her quite well and they were friends, I wasn't sure how much of that friendliness had seeped into his crush on her.
"How do you think Elisha looks, by the way?" I spoke up randomly, and he raised an eyebrow at me.
"Crazy but cute, as usual," he responded, "Why?"
"No reason," I said, shrugging. "What about..." I paused, as if I was thinking about it. "What about Sharon?"
"Sharon?" John said incredulously, his brow furrowing. He rubbed the back of his neck and wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Uh, I don't know. I didn't really look at her, to be honest."
I gaped at him. "John," I scolded, "You helped her buy her dress, didn't you?"
"No, Siân did. I was just there. I mean, come on, Nerys." John lowered his voice even further, if that were possible. "Why would I look at Sharon?"
"Because she's really pretty and cool and amazing and if you haven't noticed she looks lovely today," I snapped at him. "God, John, you're so...ugh, sometimes. Haven't you ever thought of Sharon like that?"
He looked confused. "No. Should I have?"
I covered my face with my hands. "I don't mean like that," I said, a few moments later, looking up at him. "I just mean, you look at all of us and tell us we look nice, but you overlook Sharon. Why?"
"Because she's Sharon."
"Yes,
and that doesn't really make a difference." I shook my head. "John, she looks really pretty today, and you get on with her..."
"Wait a second." He held up both his hands, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Are you trying to, like, tell me to get over Suzanne with Sharon here?"
"What? No!" Even though I was, but you know – he didn't need to know that.
"I really like Suzanne, Nerys. Sharon's a great girl and I'm sure she does look really nice today, but..."
"And I get that, John, I'm just pointing out to you that – oh, you know...Suzanne's not the end, you know? There are loads of other girls out there. Maybe not Sharon, I get that, but I just think you're..."
"You think I'm wasting my time, and I get that, Nerys, but it's not so easy to just stop liking someone. It wouldn't be fair on Sharon if I still liked Suzanne, would it? I mean, I could try...try and distract myself by telling myself I like someone else, like youdo with Antal –"
"Excuse me," I spluttered. "I do like Antal!"
John looked at me. "Sure you do," he replied, in a voice as flat as mine had been earlier. "I really believe that."
"I do," I muttered like a petulant child, crossing my arms over my chest and turning my head towards the window.
"I know," John said lightly, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Look, maybe this isn't the best time to be talking about this, huh? It's the Christmas disco! Let's lighten up, get ready for a rave!" He grabbed my hand and waved it in the air.
"Oh yeah," I snorted, "a proper rave..."
"You'd better believe it, Nerys," John told me in a mock-serious voice. "This part is, like, the shit. Forget Ibiza and all that jazz, you know that Llynmawr has the best nightclub scene in the whole world..."
About fifteen minutes later, our conversation had been forgotten as our coach drew up outside The Play, the club where the disco was held. The streets were slick with rain as we toddled off the bus and began to walk towards the entrance of the club. Again, I had a death grip on someone so I didn't fall flat on my face, but this time I used Louis as my victim.
Inside, the club was very dark with bright flashing lights in all sorts of different colours; there was the huge booth for the DJ and then the dance floor, which was surrounded by large leather sofas and, to one side, a row of tall tables with equally tall stools around them. There were two large screens on the walls playing the latest music videos.
The Year 8s and 9s were already on the dance floor, while the Year 7s seemed to be playing tag around the club, especially up the stairs where the larger of the two bars was located.
Our first job was to find a table on which to dump all of our handbags, and the second was to make a quick dash to the toilets to make sure we looked okay before we started dancing.
The DJ was fairly decent, too – rather than just playing dance songs he played a random selection of pop and indie from the last few months, with the odd dance song thrown in.
I wasn't sure how long had passed before I left the dance floor, tottering on my heels towards the bar with my handbag in hand, fishing out a few quid to pay for a bottle of Pepsi. As I began to drink, I headed over to our table. Louis was sat on one of the tall stools that surrounded it, looking completely and utterly bored. He had a silver mobile phone in his hand.
"Hey, Nerys," he called over the music as I dumped my handbag on the table and took another swig of my Pepsi.
"Louis," I replied.
He held out the phone. "I think this is yours," he said. "It was on the table when I came over and it was ringing, it must have fallen out of your bag I guess. It said 'Pascal' on the screen."
"Oh. Right. Cheers." I took it from him, and turned the phone over in my hands. Placing it on the tabletop I then screwed the lid onto my Pepsi bottle and put it down. "Why aren't you dancing?" I asked, picking up the phone again.
He shrugged. "Got bored, I guess. I'm just taking a break."
I looked over to the dance floor, where Elisha, Adam, John and Siân were attempting to start a conga line, and I smiled.
"I'd best go and phone Pascal," I said, waving the phone in the air. "She probably wants to tell me something. She'll stress out if I don't."
"Sure, sure." He nodded at me and I began to pick my way over to the club's lobby, where it'd be quieter.
In the lobby stood two burly security men and a gaggle of Year 10 boys, Gordon and Ed amongst them. As I walked into the lobby, they all looked at each other and began to whisper. I ignored them; jabbing Pascal's number into my phone and held it to my ear.
A few minutes later, I'd ended the call. All Pascal wanted to tell me was that she was picking me and Gareth up when we got back to school, not my dad, because my dad's car was acting up again. I agreed to pass this information on to Gareth and then hung up.
I turned to go back into the party and found Gordon and Ed blocking my way. I looked up at them and took a wary step backwards, glancing over my shoulder. The security guards looked at us disinterestedly before continuing their conversation.
"Hello, Nerys," Gordon greeted me with that all-too-familiar smirk. I sighed.
"What do you want, Gordon?" I asked.
"Just to say what I wanted to say earlier." He shrugged. "I would have said it too but you know, Lougher was there."
"How brave of you," I snapped. "Waiting till he's gone."
His grin stretched wider. "Of course, you like having your little bodyguards around, don't you?" he said. "I find it so funny how, only a few months ago, none of them gave a shit about you, and suddenly, they're all going crazy over you. Adam, Louis, Billie..."
"And that Kiss guy," Ed chipped in. "Out of all the girls in our year, and he goes for you. He clearly has no taste."
"Obviously," Gordon agreed. "I mean, guys like them...You'd think they'd be going for girls like Kerry Mully, but they're not...They're going for girls like you."
"Girls like me," I repeated, looking at a spot above his head. I swallowed.
"Yeah. It's embarrassing really. Not them, you. You dress...dress like this." He waved a hand at me. "I'll be blunt, here, Nerys. You're fat."
"Fantastic," I muttered, feeling something inside of me deflate. Even though, at the end of the day, I didn't really give a shit what Gordon or his mates thought, no girl really wants to be called fat by a guy.
"Evelyn and all them were talking about it earlier, and we agree with everything they say. You look like a pig in a dress. It's kind of fucking disgusting," Gordon said, eyes narrowed to the point where they were slits. "What the hell were you thinking?"
I swallowed again. Shit, shit, shit, don't cry, it's just Gordon. He's a tit, I told myself, and I closed my eyes, moving forwards to shove past them. Unfortunately, my body decided that it was the opportune moment to wobble and shake so I went toppling over in my heels. Fortunately, Louis was there to catch me.
"You all right, Nerys?" he asked, eyes sliding over Gordon and his friends. "You didn't come back, so I thought I'd come and see where you were."
"I'm fine," I lied. "I'm just...you know. Um, I need the toilet." Kicking off my shoes, I fled as fast as my feet could take me. I just about heard, over the din of the music, Louis snarl something at Gordon before the music became too loud for me to hear anything anymore.
Sham Rock's version of "I'll Tell Me Ma" was booming out as I passed our table. Elisha was there, drinking my Pepsi. She looked at me, worried, as I dropped my phone into my bag, put my shoes on the tabletop and moved away. "Nerys, are you –?" she said loudly, but I ignored her, going as fast as I could towards the toilets.
I locked myself into a cubicle and put the lid down, sitting there until my throat stopped aching and I didn't feel so bad. The bottoms of my feet felt all sticky now because I was barefoot, but my feet were glad for the relief of not having to wear five-inch heels anymore.
I finally exited the cubicle, and I looked at myself in the mirror. Twisting this way and that – and ignoring the Year 7 girls who were watching me – I examined my outfit and my physique. Sure,
I was a bit on the big side – I did have rather chunky legs and an awkward bit of fat around my belly, but I'd never really thought of myself as fat...I wasn't like one of those girls you saw on the telly, those teen girls undergoing gastric band fittings...At least, I didn't think so. I sighed, rising onto my tiptoes in an attempt to see my legs. I wasn't tall enough, so I just had to peer down at them instead. They didn't look too big.
After a few minutes of this examination, I was starting to feel a little better about myself. Pig in a dress... Not quite, I thought triumphantly, and at least I had boobs, I added, thinking of Suzanne. And that Ed! He couldn't say anything; his girlfriend was hardly the smallest girl in the world!
"Would you say I'm fat?" I demanded of some poor Year 7 girl as she walked past me to use the toilet.
"Um, no, yes, um, are you going to beat me up if I say yes?" she squeaked. I rolled my eyes.
"No," I told her.
"Then, um, no, you're not." I stared at her, raising one eyebrow. What was the point in being worried, then, if she didn't think I was fat?
"Really?" I asked her, squinting. She nodded wordlessly. "Seriously?" Another nod. I smiled.
"Cheers, kid. Find me later and I'll buy you a Pepsi or some crisps."
She fled into the toilet cubicle and I nearly skipped out of the toilets.
I found Billie and Adam waiting for me outside the toilet. Curiously enough, Gordon accompanied them. To be fair to Gordon, I don't think he was there willingly; Adam had a fairly tight grip on his arm.
"Say sorry to her," Adam ordered in a tight voice. Gordon glared at me and looked away.
"Gordon, say sorry you stupid dick –" Billie said in a furious sounding voice, and Gordon sighed heavily, as if he'd just been asked to do something life threatening and dangerous.
"Sorry," he spat at me. "Sorry for what I said. Jesus Christ, I shoulda known you'd go blabbing straight away –" He wrenched his arm away from Adam and turned to leave.
"It's your own fault for saying all that shit when Louis was in earshot, dickface," Adam snapped, beginning to walk after him.
