Boys for Beginners

by Lil Chase

  I decide to fight fire with fire, laughter with laughter, fart with fart. ‘If you don’t believe me then . . .’ I shuffle my body on the sofa again, but this time for longer and more slowly.

  Fffbrrrrrrrrrrrp.

  ‘Good one!’ he says. I’ve impressed him. ‘Let me try.’

  Fbrp.

  ‘Pathetic,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to really push down and then slide along.’

  Ffbrrrp. ‘How was that?’

  ‘Better,’ I say. ‘Like six out of ten on the Richter scale. A slight rumble, but you’re not going to bring any buildings down.’

  He leans over and drags his arms across the leather sofa. Fffbrrrrrp. ‘What do you think? Might take down a garden shed, I reckon.’

  I laugh. ‘It needs work.’ With all our movement we’re sitting even closer than we were before. I give him a Ffffffffbrrrrrrrrrrp, just to show off.

  He’s nodding his head in approval. ‘OK, I bow to your leather blow-off prowess, but I bet you can’t beat my armpit farting extraordinaire!’ He puts his hand under one arm and brings the other arm down fast.

  Bppprrrrfllllp. Comes from his armpit.

  Is there anything this boy can’t do? ‘Wow!’

  I try the same and put my hand under my arm. Bprflp.

  ‘Not bad, not bad,’ he says. ‘Try cupping your hand a bit more.’ Bppprrrrfllllp. He shows me.

  ‘Oh cool!’ I try again, using his brilliant cupping technique. Bpprrflp.

  ‘Good!’ Bppprrrrfllllp. Bppprrrrfllllp. Bppprrrrfllllp. He’s flapping his arm like a demented, one-winged chicken.

  I join in. Bppprrrrfllllp. Bppprrrrfllllp. Bppprrrrfllllp.

  We’re flapping and farting in unison. I bring in the leather farts to the mix. Bppprrrrfllllp. Fffbrrrrrrrrrrrp. Bppprrrrfllllp. Fffbrrrrrrrrrrrp. Bppprrrrfllllp.

  He flops over towards me because he’s laughing so hard. ‘Gwynnie, you’re so—’ Our heads are about a millimetre away from each other.

  I interrupt him with a Fffbrrrrrrrrrrrp.

  He laughs again.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jenny and Paul have just walked back in from the other room and they look completely perplexed. Which only makes me and Charlie laugh harder.

  ‘We could hear you from next door.’

  ‘Hahahahahaha!’

  Jenny looks disgusted. ‘What the heck are you two doing?’ she asks.

  ‘We’re starting a band,’ I say, through the tears. ‘The Loud and Prouds,’ and Charlie looks like he’s in pain.

  ‘I didn’t know you could play an instrument, Gwynnie,’ says Paul.

  ‘Stop!’ cries Charlie. ‘Please stop!’ He grabs my arm as if he might fall off the sofa. Then he does fall off the sofa and he pulls me with him.

  Jenny scowls as she looks down at us. ‘You two are weird.’

  I don’t care if I’m weird. Charlie’s weird too and we’re rolling round on the floor together. We’re just two weirdos that fancy each other like crazy.

  Two hours after Charlie Notts and me were rolling around the floor together I realize that there is no way he will ever fancy me the way I am. This happens when me, Charlie and Jenny are all standing outside Paul’s house about to go home. Charlie says, ‘Hey, Gwynnie, I don’t have your number.’

  OK, it’s not the completely romantic way that I’d hoped he’d ask for my number, but he’s still asked for my number.

  He gets out his phone. ‘Call me and I’ll save it.’

  ‘Er, I don’t have a mobile yet.’ This is why I need a mobile phone. Mobile phones were invented exactly for moments like these.

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie, like everyone, is shocked by this fact.

  Jenny cuts in as if she’s trying to be helpful. ‘It’s OK, Charlie, Gwynnie can always get you on my phone.’

  ‘Nah, that’s cool,’ says Charlie. ‘I’ll take your home phone.’ He starts tapping at his keypad. ‘Hang on a sec, I’ll add you to my “Mates” group.’

  Charlie Notts has just said that I’m his mate! This is fantastic. I wonder if he means mates like friends, or mates like mates on nature shows.

  He gives me his phone to type in my number. There don’t seem to be any girls’ names in his phone. This is great! I am the only girl who Charlie wants in his phone.

  Hang on a minute. Doesn’t he have Jenny’s number?

  ‘Do you want to enter Jenny’s number after I put in mine?’ I ask.

  ‘I already have it,’ he says.

  ‘But it’s not here,’ I say.

  Something about the way Charlie sort of blushes and looks at the floor tells me that I’m not going to like what I am about to hear. ‘No, er . . . this is my “Mates” group. I put Jenny into my “Girls” group.’ Jenny beams, but when Charlie turns to look at her she drops the smile. ‘Sorry, Jenny, I hope you don’t mind.’

  Jenny nods in a kind of forgiving that’s OK kind of way.

  I am destroyed. Charlie doesn’t think of me as a girl. He thinks of me as a mate! And obviously not a nature-show-type mate.

  ‘I can put you in under “Girls” instead, Gwynnie. If you like.’ He grabs the phone off me and gets to the Girls group, then hands the phone back to me.

  I am astonished at how many girls he has in his phone. It just makes it all the worse that he doesn’t think of me as one of them.

  ‘Whatever,’ I say, and type in my number. ‘Anyway, see you at school tomorrow.’ I give him back his phone and run away from them, not able to even say goodbye.

  Maybe if I was more ladylike then he wouldn’t just think of me as a mate. Maybe Kevin’s right: I have to act more like a girl if I want guys to notice me.

  Will it work? Maybe it won’t. I’ll have to give up football and Xbox and start hanging around with all those stupid BB girls. But then again, it would be so amazing to be Charlie’s girlfriend, to kiss him, to go out on dates and stuff.

  OK . . . That’s it . . . I am going to do it.

  Gwynnie Lewis is going girlie!

  Chapter 11

  ‘Honey, you look gor-geous!’

  We’re at the bus stop and everyone hears Jenny’s screech. First they look at her. Then they look at me. Then they all start looking at each other and whispering.

  Rewind three hours:

  I get up stupidly early, have a shower and wash my hair. My hair takes ages to dry but luckily I’ve got Mum’s old hairdryer so I set it to high, aim it at my head, and sort of shake it around like I’ve seen women do on adverts.

  But when I look in the mirror it’s not like the adverts at all! My hair’s gone frizzy and mad. I need straighteners to fix it. Trouble is, I don’t have straighteners. Then I realize, I do have an iron.

  As I run the iron over my hair I hear this sizzling noise. And what’s that burning smell?

  ‘Ow ow ow ow ow ow!’ I’ve singed the top of my ear!

  When I look in the mirror I see that the straightening hasn’t gone well. Half my hair is like Neanderthal woman, and the other half is straight, but emitting smoke. Not a good look.

  To try and hide the frizz I put it in one of those high ponytails the BB girls sometimes wear. But unfortunately the ponytail reveals my left ear, which was burnt by the iron, and the tip is blistering like a heel after playing football in new boots.

  Oh well. Next: back upstairs for make-up.

  I’d better start with my eyes as, although they were closed when Jenny did them, I think I know what to do. I find the black pencil and try to draw a straight line around my eyes. A four-year-old could have done a neater job, but it certainly brings out the definition and gives them the wow factor.

  I get out the mascara and try to swipe it along my eyelashes. But I seem to miss my lashes and get it all over my eyelids. I have to spit on my finger and rub it off – which just smudges the eyeliner. Still, it looks okay from a distance.

  Now for the terrifying bit: the eyelash curler. I bring the big scary object to my eye, clamp it around my lashes and squeeze. Just as I have the contraption holding firm
, my dad shouts up, ‘Gwynnie! It’s nearly time for school!’ and the shock of his voice makes me jump and I pull out nearly half my eyelashes!

  ‘Ohgodohgodohgod!’ It really hurts and I automatically rub my eyes as they start to water. I now have make-up all over my cheeks as well as my eyelids, and half an eye that’s completely bald. But there’s no time to do anything about it so I just plaster on more make-up.

  I don’t know what colour lipstick to choose so I go for the brightest red that I have.

  It’s really, really red.

  Lastly I get the skin-coloured powder and use this fluffy brush to put it all over my face. The brush feels really nice and I get a little carried away.

  But I’ve messed up again! The skin-coloured stuff has gone all over the stuff I’ve already done. This gives me two options: take it all off and start at the beginning, or put more make-up over the top.

  I go for option B.

  Next problem: clothes.

  Like I said, I don’t have any skirts. I do have one dress, but it’s the one that I don’t want to talk about. And even if I did have a skirt, I wouldn’t wear it. My legs are so skinny they could be blown away by a slight draught. So instead I find a pair of Levi’s and a shirt to wear on top.

  One last look in the mirror and I take a deep breath. With the corners of the shirt I make a knot so that I’m showing my belly.

  More importantly, my belly-button.

  And now I’m here at the bus stop, three hours later, and everyone is looking at me wondering who I am and what the flan has happened to the real Gwynnie Lewis.

  ‘You look so good.’ I can’t tell if Jenny’s being honest, or being nice. Or maybe neither.

  ‘Hi, Jenny.’ I just about get the words out.

  ‘Is this because of the lesson I gave you yesterday?’ She’s still speaking really loudly. ‘If you want, I’ll give you some more coaching after school, to teach you properly.’ She can see my worried look so she quickly adds, ‘Don’t get me wrong – you look fabulous! I’m just saying that it’s not easy when it’s your first try.’

  I hope no one can see how red I’m going under all this make-up.

  ‘And why have you been hiding your divine little stomach under all those gross T-shirts and sports clothes?’

  ‘Erm.’

  ‘From what you’re wearing, I’m guessing you want me to get you into the BB Club,’ she stage-whispers. I nod. ‘I can get you in, no sweat. It is basically my club after all!’

  I don’t know if I feel like a supermodel or a five-year-old, but I let Jenny lead me over to the BB Club because I am totally out of my depth here and she is slap bang in the middle of her depth. The BB girls are standing in their usual space: leaning against the railings of Becket’s Park.

  I can see Charlie Notts up ahead and we have to pass him to get to the girls. I’m praying that we won’t have to talk to him, but Jenny makes sure that we do. ‘Heya, Charlie, look at Gwynnie. Don’t you think she just looks awesome?’

  I’ve got shooting pains all up and down my left arm: the first sign of a heart attack.

  Charlie says, ‘You look really nice, Gwynnie.’

  Charlie Notts thinks I look really nice. I act completely gracefully by replying, ‘Hwah, phnma, sllmp.’

  Jenny starts laughing at me, but not in a mean way, just in a kind of isn’t my friend Gwynnie so silly sometimes? way. ‘Oh, Gwynnie, you’re an absolute riot when you’re shy around boys!’

  Charlie says, ‘Gwynnie’s not shy around me, are you, Gwynnie?’

  ‘Hsma, waa, ngag,’ I say, coherently.

  ‘Besides,’ he says, ‘she has nothing to be shy about. She looks good.’

  Charlie Notts said that I look good! I don’t give a damn if this heart attack kills me, my life is complete. It couldn’t get better unless I was signed for Tottenham.

  ‘She does look good, Charlie, you are right,’ says Jenny. ‘And I don’t care what anyone says, but over-applying the make-up is brave, and some people can even pull it off.’

  I was worried about the make-up, but Jenny is making this out to be a good thing.

  ‘The critics might disagree, but size zero is still so in right now,’ she continues as if evaluating some piece of modern art. Wasn’t there an artist who tried to pass off elephant dung as a masterpiece? That’s what I feel like right now.

  ‘Well,’ she says, ‘Gwynnie is more like a double zero, which is even better. Most guys say they want girls with a bit more meat on them. What do you think, Charlie?’

  Whatever Charlie says now is going to be the most important thing he ever says ever. He will either finish me off, or make me float.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment on what most guys want, but I think Gwynnie looks very nice today.’ He looks at me and says, ‘Not that you don’t look nice every day, Gwynnie. I’m just saying, make-up suits you.’

  That’s it, I’m airborne.

  ‘Are you going to talk to Paul?’ he asks. ‘I want to see if I can borrow one of his games.’

  I didn’t see Paul arriving at the bus stop. I am worried what he’ll say about how I look, but I also want to spend every second with Charlie, so if Charlie is going to talk to Paul then I am too. ‘Yeah, of course—’

  ‘Er, no!’ Jenny cuts in. ‘Gwynnie is coming to talk to my friends over here. Gwynnie and Paul are not joined at the hip, you know!’

  ‘Yeah, Charlie,’ I say. ‘Me and Paul are not joined at the hip, you know!’

  Jenny drags me away and we leave Charlie stranded.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ says Jenny, and I don’t know what I’m welcome to. ‘I purposefully steered you towards Charlie so that he could see how nice you look. But top tip, sweetie: always leave them wanting more. If they want to spend time with you, that’s when you leave.’

  Jenny is going to teach me so much about being a girl.

  We get to where the BB Club are standing and I feel almost as nervous as I did when I was approaching Charlie Notts. Jenny takes the lead. ‘Heya, ladies, how’s it going?’

  They are dumbstruck.

  ‘Don’t stand with your mouths open, you might catch flies,’ she says. ‘Gwynnie wants to be in the BB Club and I think we should let her.’

  Kimba pulls her bitchy face, which she does so often it’s become her normal face. She looks me up and down and says, ‘She doesn’t have her belly-button pierced, so she can’t. Sorry, Gwynnie.’ She doesn’t look sorry at all.

  ‘But,’ Elizabeth Phillip says really quietly, ‘Tanya doesn’t have hers done and neither do I.’

  ‘Yes, thanks for that, Elizabeth,’ says Jenny, frowning at her as if she’s interrupted an adult conversation. ‘Kimba, the BB Club has always been about a shared ideal.’

  ‘But,’ says Melissa, ‘as Gwynnie herself once said, we don’t want to include even more members that haven’t got their belly-buttons pierced. People might start thinking we’re idiots.’

  I have to fight back the urge to say what needs to be said. Yesterday’s Gwynnie wants to kick Today’s Gwynnie’s in the bum. But Yesterday’s Gwynnie wasn’t called really nice-looking by Charlie Notts, so who gives a flan about Yesterday’s Gwynnie?

  ‘Actually, Gwynnie was quite rude about the whole thing,’ says Melissa.

  ‘What’s with the long memories, girls?’ asks Jenny. ‘How about this? How about we give her, like, a bronze membership, like not a full membership, until she’s proved herself?’

  ‘Gwynnie?’

  It’s Paul. If anyone is going to full-on laugh at me without even trying to hide it, it’s him. When he sees my face he literally does a double take. ‘What the . . . ? What’s going on, Gwynnie? Are you in a play or something?’

  He’s with Ranjit and Charlie, and Ranj is equally shocked. ‘Is this for a joke or a bet?’ asks Ranj.

  No one’s speaking and I realize that it’s up to me to save my own neck. ‘Oh, Ranjit, you’re too immature to understand the mind of a woman, and I haven’t got time to explain it to y
ou.’

  Everyone laughs and Ranjit looks a bit sheepish. I feel bad for making him look stupid, but it seems to have done the trick and the BB girls are smiling at me. I am going to have to be careful that I don’t turn out like Kimba. I will never be mean again.

  ‘Paul, dollface,’ says Jenny (dollface?), ‘can us girls just have a teensy minute to ourselves?’

  ‘No probs. Come on, Gwynnie.’

  So Paul doesn’t think I’m a girl either.

  ‘I’m going to stay and chat with them.’

  ‘Er, OK. See you in a bit.’ He looks confused.

  As soon as the boys are out of earshot Jenny starts whispering to the BB Club. ‘See, Gwynnie is what this club needs. She knows all the guys and they just come up and talk to her. They never just come up and talk to us.’

  ‘But she’s so sad-looking. She’s missing half her eyelashes!’

  It appears they might have noticed the eyelashes. This is getting really embarrassing, but I want to be Charlie’s girlfriend so much that I would take a thousand insults and pull out all my eyelashes to have him.

  ‘Look at that shirt,’ says Melissa.

  ‘And no one wears Levi’s any more,’ Kimba helpfully points out.

  ‘And there is something weird going on with her ponytail,’ says Tanya, perhaps noticing the crazy frizzy burnt section of hair that’s only half hidden by the straight section.

  ‘Face it, she’s not cool enough.’ Kimba’s made up her mind.

  Jenny steps in. ‘I’m going to help her work on that,’ she says. ‘And she’s already come so far.’

  If only they would be nice enough to talk about me behind my back. I pretend I’m not there and run through my make-up routine as if it was a football set piece. Powder to cover face. Eyeshadow marks eyelids. Eyeshadow to eyeliner. Eyeliner to mascara—

  ‘OK then,’ says Melissa.

  ‘OK then, what?’ Pretending I’m not here means that I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about.

  ‘OK then, we’ll allow you into the club.’

  ‘Only on a bronze membership though,’ Kimba says, clearly not convinced.