by Pat Flynn
‘I still don’t get it.’
He points the hose at me for emphasis. ‘Let’s say you tell her, “Those jeans are nice.” Well, she’ll end up thinking what you really mean is that you hate all her skirts, because they make her legs look fat.’
‘But Ashleigh’s legs are hot,’ I say.
‘It doesn’t matter what you mean. It’s what you say.’
‘So what are you supposed to do, then?’
‘You say nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nuthin. Let her do the talking. Or else one day you’ll say something wrong, without even knowing it, and the pressure will build up inside her until …’
Suddenly, water bursts out of the hose, soaking my best T-shirt.
‘Kane!’
He laughs.
*
After fifteen minutes of SOSE I start hassling Miss Mason.
‘Can I go to the toilet, Miss?’
‘No.’
‘But Miss, I’m busting!’
‘You should’ve gone before school.’
‘I was in a hurry to get to class. SOSE is my favourite subject.’
I show her a page full of notes. Actually, they’re not mine. I borrowed Kevin ‘Brains’ McMahon’s notes when he wasn’t looking.
‘All right, Tony. But hurry.’
‘Thanks, Miss.’
Finding Ashleigh’s bag isn’t easy. The port racks are right outside the windows and I have to stay low so Miss Mason won’t see me. Finally I spot her name on a pink heart-shaped name tag. I open the zipper and drop the letter in.
As I walk back inside, my heart starts beating like a drummer in a hardcore band. What if the letter isn’t as good as I think it is? What if she shows it to her friends and they all laugh at me? And if Ashleigh and I do happen to go out, how long will I be able to say nothing?
It’s a long wait until lunch and I have second, third and fourth thoughts. The bell goes and I think about bailing, about going to play handball, but I can’t. This is my date with destiny. Except her name isn’t Destiny, it’s Ashleigh.
I line up at the tuckshop, buy a chocolate milk, and wait. And wait. Just when I think she’s not going to show, I see her. She’s walking across the covered area towards me. On her own.
She stops right beside me, standing so close I can smell her. It’s better than pizza. One part of me is excited, the other is scared. I might be about to get kissed. Or I might get slapped.
‘In a million years, I never would have thought you could write something like this,’ she says, holding up a piece of paper.
I quickly check over my shoulder to make sure she’s talking to me. There’s no one there so she must be.
‘I showed it to my friends,’ she continues, ‘and they said they’ve never got a letter like it.’
Hopefully, that’s a good thing.
‘And the fact that you said those things about me, I feel honoured.’
Wow, I must have done good!
I reach out, hoping that she’ll give me a look at the letter. I didn’t even keep a copy and can hardly remember what I wrote. If it’s as good as she says it is, I might be able to use it again.
But instead of giving me the letter, she gives me her hand. It feels warm, like hot Milo. She says, ‘You mightn’t be the best-looking guy, and sometimes you say dumb things in class. But anyone who can write like this …’
And then she puts her arms around me. Yeah, that’s right. Ashleigh Simpkin hugs me ! If I could die right now, I’d be a happy corpse.
She pulls back and looks me in the eye. ‘Would you be able to do me a favour?’
‘Yeah. Anything.’ I’m pretty sure she’s gonna ask me to kiss her. I start puckering up.
‘Would you be able to read the letter to me out loud? I want to hear the words come from your mouth.’
‘Oh.’
She hands me the piece of paper and I give her the empty chocolate-milk carton. I accidentally forgot to save her some. I clear my throat. But as I’m reading, things start getting Weird with a capital W. The writing’s real neat, not at all like mine. The words aren’t like mine either.
Dear Ashleigh
You don’t know me very well and I don’t blame you. I’m shy, especially when it comes to girls. But there’s one girl I think is really special, and I can’t help but write down how I feel about her. Even if she thinks I’m a fool for writing this letter, I don’t care. She’s worth it.
You see, when I look at her, I don’t just see a beautiful face or a gorgeous body. I see something more, something deep inside. Something that makes me think that this is no ordinary girl.
Oh and by the way, that girl is you.
There’s more but I don’t get to read it. Ashleigh’s started hugging me again, and it’s impossible to hug and read at the same time.
I’m about as confused as a hippie in a war. Where did this letter come from? Who wrote it? How could Ashleigh actually like a wussy letter like this, anyway?
And then I see Belinda. She’s standing with her friends at the edge of the covered area. They’re all looking at me in Ashleigh’s arms. Most of them are giggling.
Not Belinda, though. I can see by the look in her eye that she’s written the love letter she’s always wanted to get. She takes a hand off her heart and gives me the thumbs up.
I smile, realising if it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened.
I also smile because I know what I’m going to do to get her back – hide all her bras.
If she thinks she can get away with stealing my personal property, she’s sadly mistaken.
The Old Yawn Trick and Other Essential First-Date Information
My first date is less than 24 hours away, and I’m as nervous as a kitten walking past a dog kennel. The thing is, I was completely fine until Belinda began butting her big head into my business.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asked.
When I showed her my coolest baggy jeans and tight black T-shirt, she made a ‘humph’ sound and said, ‘They are so last season.’
‘They’re clothes,’ I replied, ‘not a team.’
She stood on her tippy-toes so she could look down on me. ‘Remember, Tony, a pretty girl like Ashleigh can change her mind just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘And a guy like you can ruin things in a thousand different ways. You want some advice?’
‘No,’ I said, walking off.
I’ve decided that a father–son talk is what I need. I must be desperate.
‘Go, mate, go!’ My old man’s yelling at the TV.
‘Dad, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, son. THIS REF’S BLIND!’
Dad takes his football seriously.
‘Do you remember your first date with Mum?’
He looks away from the TV for a millisecond. ‘Sure do, son. Took her to the pictures.’
‘The movies?’
‘Yeah. I looked pretty smooth back then, let me tell you.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, thanks a lot. I know I’ve put on a few kilos and lost some hair but—’
‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘I mean, what happened at the movies?’
‘Oh, right. Well, I did the old yawn trick on her. It worked a treat.’
‘The yawn trick? What’s that?’
‘Well … KICK THE BALL, YOU MUG! … it’s quite simple, really. I’ll show you.’
Dad motions for me to sit beside him on the couch. ‘You gotta wait till at least halfway through the show before you make your move, or else she might think you’re coming on too strong.’
Glad he told me that. I was going to make a move while we lined up to buy tickets.
‘Then,’ he continues, ‘you let out a big yawn, like this.’ Dad does what he says, leaning
back and stretching out his arms. ‘Your left hand, it comes back to your side, okay? But your right one, it slowly slides across the sheila’s seat. And then …’ Dad taps my right shoulder. ‘… you’ve got your arm around the girl, and all is right with the world. TACKLE HIM, YOU OVERPAID BUNCH OF PANSIES!’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say, and I mean it. It’s the first time in ages he has taught me something really useful.
I leave him to the footy and go practise my yawning.
*
Mum drives me to the movies. To make conversation, I remind her of her first date with Dad.
When I finish, she raises her eyebrows. ‘The pictures, he said?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘And I can’t believe he did the old yawn trick on you, and it worked!’
I poke Mum in the ribs to share the joke. But for some reason she’s not laughing. In fact, she doesn’t look at all happy.
‘What’s wrong, Mum?’
‘Your father never took me to the pictures. We were supposed to go on a picnic for our first date but he showed up an hour late so we went for a walk instead. Then it started raining.’
‘He was probably talking about your second date then,’ I suggest.
‘No. We didn’t go to the movies until after we were engaged. Your dad never had enough money to take me.’
‘Oh …’
Mum grips the steering wheel like it’s someone’s neck and she’s trying to break it. ‘If he ever took that floozy Fiona to the pictures and did the yawn trick on her, then so help me God …’
I wouldn’t like to be Dad when Mum gets home. It’s kind of a shame I won’t be there to see the fireworks.
We arrive at the plaza, but instead of dropping me off, Mum parks the car.
‘What are you doing?’ There’s a hint of panic in my voice.
‘You don’t think I’d let you go on a date with a girl I’ve never met, do you?’
‘Mum, no!’
‘Sorry, Tony. I either meet her or we’ll turn around and drive home. It’s that simple.’
‘Mum!’
She starts up the car.
‘All right, all right. But just don’t say anything embarrassing.’
‘What do you mean?’ she says. ‘Like tell her about the time you wet your pants in primary school.’
‘Yes!’
‘You want me to tell her that?’
‘No!’
She gives me a little smile. ‘I’m just joking, love. Trust me.’
I wish she hadn’t said that.
Mum and I wait in the foyer. A couple of kids from school are close by, watching movie trailers. I try to hide behind my hand by slowly rubbing my forehead.
‘Blinking hell,’ I hear one boy say. ‘Rossy’s date looks a bit old, don’t ya reckon?’
The others laugh and I start rubbing my forehead with two hands.
There’s no sign of Ashleigh, so we wait. Just me and Mum. Talk about a foolproof way to catch loser’s disease.
Then a girl walks up to us. She’s wearing a mini-skirt and make-up.
Geez, I think, if my mum wasn’t next to me I’d make a move faster than a breakdancer. She’s hot.
‘Hi, Tone,’ she says.
I do a double-take. Holy guacamole! It’s Ashleigh. She looks a lot different when she’s not wearing a school uniform.
Mum clears her throat.
‘Umm, this is Mum. Mum, this is Ashleigh.’
Ashleigh puts out her hand. ‘Hello, Mrs Ross. Lovely to meet you.’
Mum shakes her hand and says, ‘Wow, cute and polite. Tell me, Ashleigh, what are you doing with my son?’
Mum! I yell inside my head.
Ashleigh laughs and says to me, ‘Your mum’s funny, like you.’
‘Yep. Hilarious,’ I say.
Mum stands there with a big grin on her face.
‘You might want to hit the road soon,’ I say to her. ‘There’s really bad traffic around this time.’
She looks at her two-dollar watch. ‘But it’s seven o’clock on a Friday night.’
‘Yep. Lots of movie traffic. It starts around 7.01.’
‘All right, then,’ she says. ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.’
I cringe. Being called ‘lovebirds’ is so embarrassing. I’d prefer ‘honey bunnies’.
‘Goodbye, Ashleigh.’
‘Bye, Mrs Ross.’
They shake hands again.
‘Bye, Tony.’ Mum leans in like she’s expecting something. Surely she’s not going to …
Smack!
Oh my God! She just kissed me on the cheek!
I feel like digging a giant hole and jumping in.
As she walks away I turn to see if anyone besides Ashleigh saw my mum smooch me on my big date. Across the room a boy puckers up and kisses the air, before laughing at me.
It’s Kane.
Ashleigh goes to the toilet and I go to the candy bar. Kane’s in the line beside me.
‘Good to see you’ve scored a kiss already, Rossy. From your mum.’
‘Shut up, Kane.’
‘This is your first date, isn’t it? Nervous?’
‘Nah.’
‘You look it.’
I feel it, too. I try to change the subject. ‘Who are you here with?’
‘Uhh … just hanging out with Lacey, you know? Doing a good deed for the family.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Although Lacey is only a year younger than us, she’s still Kane’s little sister. The thought of him sitting through a movie with her while I’m on a hot date makes me feel better.
I order an extra-large popcorn and a frozen Coke for Ashleigh and me to share, but I’m shocked when a pimply teenage boy in a stripy outfit tells me how much it’s going to cost.
‘Is movie food made in a gold factory or something?’ I ask him, emptying out my wallet.
He doesn’t answer, just counts the cash. ‘Sorry, kid. You’re short.’
Darn!
‘Hey, Kane,’ I mumble. ‘Lend us some money? I’ll pay you tomorrow.’
He looks across at me. ‘That’s what you said in Year Six when you scabbed off me for tuckshop. I’m still waiting.’
‘I mean it, buddy. Just a couple of bucks. Please?’
He turns his nose up, crumples a fiver and chucks it at me. ‘Don’t say I never do nothing for ya.’
‘Thanks. You’re a legend.’
‘I know.’
I grab the goods, walk two steps from the counter, and then a little kid runs into me like a leprechaun playing rugby. I manage to keep the Coke upright but the popcorn spills all over the floor.
The kids stops for an instant, checks out the damage, and sprints off.
‘Hey!’ I yell after him. But he’s already gone.
I turn and catch the eye of the candy man.
He shrugs. ‘Sorry, kid, not my problem.’
I feel like wiping that pimply smile off his face with a well-aimed frozen Coke, but then I wouldn’t have anything to give Ashleigh.
‘Rossy, Rossy, Rossy,’ Kane says. ‘Bad luck’s your middle name.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I say. ‘It’s Alexander.’
Kane pulls out his wallet.
Yes! I think. It looks like my old mate’s gonna buy me some more popcorn. He’s not such a bad bloke after all.
He opens the wallet, points down at it and says, ‘I want that five dollars to be in here first thing tomorrow.’
He chuckles and walks off with a box of Maltesers the size of a plasma TV.
Far out!
Ashleigh’s still in the toilet and the popcorn’s still on the carpet. What the heck, I think. I make sure no one I know is watching and quickly scoop it up into the carton. It’ll be dark in the movie,
so hopefully Ash won’t be any the wiser.
We walk in and the place is packed. My hopes of sitting in the back seat are dashed; the only seats left are right at the front.
We don’t talk much until the opening credits roll, when Ashleigh whispers, ‘Does this popcorn taste funny to you?’
‘Umm. Funny, ha, ha, or funny, funny?’ I say.
‘Funny, funny. It’s like there’s extra crunchy bits in it.’
‘Really? I ordered extra, extra crunchy.’
She giggles and I think I’ve gotten away with it. For now.
I slide down the chair and get comfortable, wishing I’d brought a stopwatch so I’d know when halfway through the movie is. But now that I’m here, the thought of making a move on Ashleigh makes me feel like spitting out my popcorn. Or that might be because of the hair wrapped around it.
You see, even though we’re right beside each other, it seems like there’s a 100-mile gap between us. Her arms and legs are crossed, and reaching over and touching her seems about as impossible as crossing a croc-infested river.
About a quarter of the way into the movie she leans towards me, and I can smell her breath. It’s a combination of popcorn and carpet.
She whispers in my ear, ‘Notice how all of the characters are wearing a different shade of blue. What do you think the director is trying to say?’
Geez, I think. The most analysis I’ve done on a film is counting the number of dead bodies in Die Hard 5.
‘Umm,’ I say. ‘He was probably trying to say that … blue is his favourite colour.’
She puts her hand on my arm and giggles.
‘Why aren’t you ever serious, Tony?’
I don’t answer. I’m too caught up in feeling her skin on mine, until she takes her hand away and crosses her arms and legs again.
I take a deep breath. It looks like it’s up to me to make the next move.
After counting to ten, I yawn and stretch. Then a Malteser whacks me on the back of the head. Aborting my mission, I turn around and see Kane and his sister directly behind us, a few rows back.
Block it out, I tell myself.
Thwack! I’m hit again.
You’re dead, Kane, I think.
Time ticks by and I know it’s now or never. The movie’s going to end pretty soon and I’m starting to get a headache from flying Maltesers. I count to three and go, ‘Yawwwwwnnnnn.’ My arms stretch out and, just like Dad taught me, my right one ends up around Ashleigh’s seat.
