Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up

by Sarra Manning

  ‘God, don’t be so cheesy,’ I muttered. ‘It just feels odd, that’s all.’

  By the time Dylan’d finished his tea it was past midnight. I could tell that something was bothering him ’cause he hadn’t tried to kiss me once. But as I walked past him to put his cup in the dishwasher, he pulled me onto his lap and buried his face in my neck.

  I put my arms around him. ‘I know there’s something wrong, Dylan,’ I said cajolingly. ‘C’mon, tell me what’s up.’

  Dylan hugged me tighter. ‘Oh, well… no, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Dylan!’

  ‘My mum’s chucked me out,’ he finally said after I’d watched the second hand on the clock do a full 360 degrees. ‘It’s not serious, she does it a couple of times a month.’

  ‘But why?’ I gasped.

  Dylan’s lips twisted wryly. ‘Nothing earth-shattering. I forgot to put the milk back in the fridge, and the time before that I came home a bit late. She’s a bit irrational sometimes.’

  I was completely out of my depth. When my mum’s being irrational, it’s usually because I’ve pinched her favourite earrings or changed all her email settings on the computer. And she would never, ever throw me out of the house. Ever.

  ‘Maybe she’s going through the menopause,’ I suggested feebly and Dylan snorted. ‘I’m sorry, D. I don’t know what to say, just y’know, I’m sorry.’

  I gently disentangled myself from his arms, so I could be the one that did the hugging. ‘It will work itself out,’ I told him because it seemed like the right thing to say.

  Despite it being in actual fact a lame thing to say, Dylan seemed ridiculously pleased to be the huggee, rather than the hugger. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he mumbled into my hair.

  And he totally slept in the spare room last night. Cross my heart and hope to die.

  12th April

  So the next day, Dylan got up and I gave him a clean towel so he could have a shower, then I made him breakfast before he went off to his Saturday job.

  It was like we were living together or something.

  We hadn’t talked about whether he was going to come over later, or, like, stay the night again and I tried to spend the day working on a History essay that was due, but I mostly debated whether I should ring him and let him know that it was OK if he wanted to.

  We usually hung out on a Saturday night anyway but I didn’t want to seem like the pushy girlfriend. All the angsting had been for nothing though ’cause he rang and wanted to know if I fancied a bottle of wine with our dinner. So then I spent the rest of the afternoon fantasising that we were living together. But it was in a cool Sex-and-the-City-style New York apartment and not a semi-detached house in Didsbury.

  God, we had such a nice evening. I’d removed all traces of potentially humiliating family artefacts from the living room and we curled up on the sofa, sipping wine and talking nonsense.

  We’d just had a lazy debate about whether Simon Cowell was the Antichrist when Dylan said out of the blue, ‘You’re lucky, you know. You have a nice house and you have two parents who take an active interest in your life…'

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I spluttered before I’d had a chance to remove my foot from my mouth. ‘My parents drive me absolutely crazy.’

  ‘At least they’re not, like, actually crazy,’ Dylan said bitterly and the atmosphere in the room suddenly dropped to well below zero.

  ‘I’m sorry. There’s this whole thinking-before-I-say-stuff thing I’m trying out,’ I groaned. ‘It’s not going very well.’

  I hoisted myself to an upright position and placed my wine glass on the floor so I could swivel round and grab Dylan’s hands. God, he looked so utterly miserable.

  ‘You are lucky,’ he said again. ‘Your mum and dad… like, you’re the most important person in their world. And even when you argue with them, it’s about stuff that doesn’t matter and they still love you. They’ll never stop loving you.’

  So then I felt really stupid and immature ’cause I’m always bitching about my parents and how they treat me like a little kid. And really, compared to Dylan who’s currently homeless, I was just a spoilt little princess.

  ‘I’m meant to argue with my parents,’ I said in a small, lame voice. ‘I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, it’s my job.’

  He smiled faintly at that and I leaned back on the cushions. We didn’t say anything for a while and then Dylan stretched out across the sofa and put his head in my lap so I could wind my fingers through his hair. I swear to God, he almost purred. And when I rubbed his neck, which Pudding loves and which makes her legs do a good impersonation of spaghetti, he made happy, snuffly noises.

  What with him being all boneless and relaxed, it seemed like as good a time as any. ‘Dylan, I don’t know much about you…’

  Shit! Dylan tensed up immediately. For a moment I didn’t think he was going to speak and then he was pouring out all this stuff about how his dad had walked out ten years ago and how he wanted to leave home but his mum was really unstable. How she’d pick fights with Dylan and say terrible things to him but then she’d have these hysterical tantrums every time he packed his bags. It was obvious he was really cut up about it ’cause once he’d started talking he couldn’t stop. He kept wiping the back of his hand across his face, like he was trying not to cry and all I could do was carry on stroking his hair.

  ‘Y’know, I guess I love her ’cause she’s my mother,’ Dylan said finally. ‘But a large part of me sort of hates her.’

  He hauled himself off the couch and stood up. ‘I need some water, OK?’

  When Dylan came back, he seemed much calmer but do you know what really pissed me off? He started making all these noises about how he should go and he didn’t want to impose on me, but it was really because he’d opened up and he was totally embarrassed. I know him now. I don’t automatically think he’s, like, the coolest person in the world. Sometimes he’s just an ordinary boy with severe emotional problems.

  ‘Look, you can stay here tonight,’ I protested. ‘It’s no big deal. Besides, you’re already here and it’s wicked late.’

  Dylan stuck his hands into his back pockets and actually pouted! ‘I usually go and camp at Simon’s or Paul’s or Shona’s.’

  That annoyed me. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never told me this,’ I said sulkily.

  OK, it wasn’t what Dylan needed to hear but he’d confided in everyone except me.

  Dylan flung himself back down on the sofa next to me and gave me a none-too-gentle poke in the ribs. ‘Oh, don’t start, Edie. I don’t need you bitching at me too.’

  I so wasn’t going to stay in cuddling distance of him if he was going to be like that. But when I tried to get up, Dylan pulled me closer to him.

  ‘Come here, you,’ he drawled before kissing me hard. I pulled away.

  ‘That’s no way to end an argument,’ I snapped.

  ‘I thought we were just having a slight misunderstanding,’ Dylan smirked. ‘Anyway it’s a nice way to end an argument.’

  I pulled a face. Dylan was right. I hate it when that happens. (Not that it happens very often.)

  We went up to my room to listen to the new Kate Nash album and it was just like Paris all over again. Dylan was going to sleep in the spare room but we began kissing and, well, I couldn’t have moved even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t.

  13th April

  Dylan woke up before me and tickled me until I started screaming.

  ‘Do you have to be so damn perky?’ I hissed, trying to untangle myself from my duvet. When you end up sleeping in your clothes, it always feels like you haven’t really slept properly.

  ‘Do you have to be so grumpy?’ said Dylan teasingly. ‘Your ’rents aren’t coming back today, are they?’

  ‘Not till Monday,’ I grunted. ‘Go ’way. I need more sleep.’

  But I didn’t get any more sleep ’cause Dylan got out of bed and put the telly on. And then provided me with a running commentary on
how sucky all the bands were on MTV Hits until I finally gave up all pretence at having a lie-in and whined at him until he went to make some coffee.

  It was very unsettling watching TV with Dylan. He watched me really intently every time someone naff was on screen and if I dared to blink, he’d snigger. ‘You so fancy Jedward, don’t you? Which one do you fancy more? Jed or Ward?’

  It was a relief when both our phones rang at the exact same time. It was Shona on line one for me and Paul on line two for Dylan.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she cried. ‘I’m coming round, OK?’

  ‘But I’m still in bed…’

  There was a ring on the doorbell. ‘Too late Edie, I’m already here,’ she announced before hanging up and banging on the door. She has no manners.

  Dylan had finished speaking to Paul and he went to let her in. I thought they’d come up to my room but I could hear them talking in the hall while I got dressed.

  Eventually I peered over the banister.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked Shona, who was sitting on the stairs.

  ‘It’s Mia!’ she spat out. ‘She must have phoned fifty times last night. And I’m getting these pathetic letters. Look.’

  She handed me a bunch of papers that said standard slasher-flick stuff like, ‘I’m watching you,’ ‘Have you checked the locks?’ and ‘I’ll see you if you ever get there.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Mia’s really sad.’

  ‘And not very imaginative,’ said Dylan. ‘D’you want me to have a word with her?’

  ‘Cheers, hon,’ beamed Shona, but there is no way I want Dylan to confront Mia. Not when they have a whole history that involves kissing and stuff.

  NO WAY!

  14th April

  I begged Dylan not to get involved and to let Paul and Shona sort it out for themselves but he wasn’t having it for a second.

  ‘Shona doesn’t want Paul anywhere near Mia, you know that,’ he said in this long-suffering voice, like I’d been nagging. Which I so hadn’t.

  ‘Well, why can’t she go and yell at Mia herself?’ I wanted to know as we waited for the bus into town. ‘She doesn’t normally have a problem with that.’

  Dylan sighed hard enough to blow the leaves off the trees. ‘She doesn’t want Mia to know that she’s getting to her and she’s worried that she’ll end up losing it and pushing her into the path of a tram or something.’ His voice was all ‘don’t go there’, but I still went there.

  ‘But I don’t see why you have to be the one who deals with it. You’re not exactly a disinterested third party, are you?’ My voice was rapidly reaching the shrill setting. ‘Do you still fancy her?’

  ‘No. Though when you start shouting like that, I’m not convinced that I still fancy you,’ Dylan snapped.

  And then I was so mad at him, I refused to get on the bus when it came. I just sat at the stop and in the end, Dylan crouched down in front of me and apologised profusely and said that he was sorry.

  But, it was too late, he’d said it, and apologising didn’t automatically wipe it out.

  27th April

  It’s been, like, nearly two weeks and Dylan still hasn’t sorted out the Mia business. The longer he leaves it, the more freaked out I get. And every time I mention it, Dylan gets really narked. Probably because I mention it a lot. Really a lot.

  Like, yesterday, we were in the newsy’s and I saw a coverline on a magazine that said something about exes and I couldn’t stop myself. ‘This Mia thing is a really bad idea, Dylan,’ just kinda popped out of my mouth. ‘I think you should leave it.’

  Dylan looked to the heavens. ‘Oh God, here we go again,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Why don’t you leave it instead?’

  He was really snappy too.

  2nd May

  I feel so helpless, like Dylan’s slipping through my fingers. This Mia thing is driving a wedge between us. Maybe I am being paranoid (Dylan told me I was last night) but I’ve always thought that there was unfinished business between Mia and Dylan.

  The worst thing is that I can’t even talk to Shona about it because she just doesn’t get it.

  ‘But why can’t you and Paul sort it out yourselves?’ I asked her as we walked around Vintage Dresses ‘R’ Us.

  Shona shot me a withering look. ‘Because I don’t want her and him anywhere near each other. And if I went anywhere near her I’d end up thumping her,’ she hissed at me. ‘That girl’s evil.’

  ‘But it’s all right for Dylan to be with her,’ I mumbled. ‘Even though they have a history.’

  ‘You just have to trust him,’ insisted Shona, conveniently forgetting that it was because she didn’t trust Paul that Dylan got involved. ‘He’s meeting her tomorrow and then it will all be sorted. That reminds me! I had to get my mobile number changed so she’d stop sending me satanic text messages.’

  And I was like, tomorrow! I started stressing about why Dylan hadn’t told me. When I met him on his lunch-break, the atmosphere between us was icky with added bits of ickiness.

  I couldn’t help sulking while Dylan sat opposite me in Costa Coffee and stared resentfully at me from under his lashes.

  We sat like that for another five minutes until Dylan suddenly stood up and snarled, ‘And you wonder why I didn’t tell you!’ and stormed out.

  3rd May

  Today has been the worst day of my life, ever.

  I’d gone out to lunch with the parents, even though it’s about the most embarrassing thing in the world, and afterwards they’d decided to wander round furniture shops. Like, how boring. We were just synchronising watches so I could mooch elsewhere when out of the corner of my eye I saw Dylan striding purposefully towards St Anne’s Square. I know I shouldn’t have but I watched Dylan as he sat on a bench. And I watched as Mia walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. And I watched as they walked off together and he put a hand under her elbow as they crossed the road and walked towards a café. I was just debating what to do next (reach into my ribcage and pull out my heart or spy on them some more) when I bumped into Nat and Trent – literally.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Nat asked.

  ‘I’m not up to anything!’ I said too quickly.

  ‘Why don’t I believe you?’ laughed Trent but something in my face must have given the game away because they stopped teasing me and asked, in a dead concerned way, if I wanted to hang with them.

  ‘I’ve got something I need to do,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  I could tell that Nat in particular was desperate to know why I was acting like I had two weeks to live but he contented himself with sighing theatrically before he and Trent sauntered off.

  I continued towards the café as if I had an invisible thread attached to me. As I got closer, I could see Mia and Dylan sitting next to each other at a window table. They were deep in conversation; he had his hand on her arm and she was ripping a tissue into tiny little pieces. She looked all kinds of deranged, in fact. Especially when she started to cry. I knew that Dylan wouldn’t fall for it – whenever I threaten to turn on the waterworks, he just laughs and tells me not to be so predictable.

  But when she began to sob, I reckoned that she was down to her last life and she hoped the tears would soften Dylan. I really did. In fact, I was just about to force myself to walk away when I saw Dylan pull Mia into his arms and then she was reaching up to kiss him.

  Everything went black for a second and I thought I was going to pass out. I could barely breathe. I shut my eyes and opened them again and hoped it was just a mirage but they were still kissing, his hands cupping her face. I know exactly how it feels to have his fingers resting against your cheek. It can really make a girl come undone. I dropped my bag because my fingers had suddenly lost their ability to grip and everything spilled out of it. As I stared at the make-up and the pens and the coins scattered on the ground, I couldn’t summon the energy to bend down and pick them up. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. As I staggered away, Dylan
looked up and saw me.

  Too late. Too late. It was all too late.

  3rd May (but later)

  Oh God, how could I have been so stupid? I’m like, Queen of the Losers. We were doomed from the start. Like, I was always more into Dylan than he was into me. And I’d practically forced him into being my boyfriend. It wasn’t like he ever wanted to go out with me. And I knew I should be angry at them, at Dylan and Mia, but I should have known I wouldn’t be able to keep him.

  And when I got in after just walking and walking, Mum was yelling because I hadn’t been at the allotted meeting place and they couldn’t ring me because I’d left my mobile on the freakin’ pavement. I walked up the stairs and then she was yelling at me again because Dylan was on the phone and even though I didn’t want to speak to him I picked up the receiver to hear Dylan say in that throaty way of his, ‘We need to talk,’ and all the stuff inside of me collapsed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow on the bridge,’ he added, while the tears spilled down my face.