by Karen Osman
‘Oh yes, we have a whole list and then they get put into a bowl and the newest member picks out the challenge,’ replied Charlotte.
‘Wow! Where do you get all your ideas from?’
‘My brother – he’s at Newcastle Uni – they make them do absolutely horrendous things though like drink each other’s piss – it’s disgusting.’
‘Gross,’ agreed Claire, wishing that she had an older brother.
‘There is the goldfish challenge in our bowl though so it’s lucky you didn’t get that one!’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Basically, there’s a goldfish in a pint glass and you have to drink it!’
Claire thanked her lucky stars she didn’t get that challenge because if she did she was pretty certain she would have failed.
‘You did well on both the challenges,’ said Charlotte. ‘To be honest, I thought you would fail at the first hurdle with Paul.’
‘It was okay, but I’m glad it’s over. What a bore he was!’ lied Claire.
‘Isn’t he, just? He’d be all right if he just made an effort but he mopes around all day long with his head in a book!’ complained Charlotte. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you Friday night? Don’t forget your bottle. See ya!’
And before Claire could even ask what bottle Charlotte had hung up. She stared at the phone and then quickly replaced the receiver before picking it up again to dial Anne.
Anne picked up on the first ring because she had a phone in her room, but for once Claire wasn’t envious, she was just grateful Anne had picked up so quickly.
‘Charlotte told me to bring a bottle on Friday – does she mean like a bottle of cider or something?’
‘Claire?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s me,’ replied Claire trying not to sound impatient. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’ asked Anne.
‘Does she mean a bottle of booze? And if yes, where on earth am I going to get that?’ repeated Claire.
‘Yes, she means a bottle of booze,’ sighed Anne. ‘Everyone has to bring a bottle to Charlotte’s parties.’
Was it her imagination or did Anne sound a bit fed up?
‘You okay?’ Claire asked her friend now.
‘Yes, I’m fine – just trying to work out the French homework. Have you done it yet?’
‘What? Oh no, not yet,’ admitted Claire.
‘Wow, that’s not like you,’ said Anne. ‘Look don’t worry about the bottle. Just steal it from your dad’s drinks cabinet – that’s what I do.’
‘My dad doesn’t have a drinks cabinet,’ complained Claire. ‘He only drinks wine.’
‘Well, a bottle of wine will do,’ concluded Anne. ‘Just take one – he won’t notice.’
Claire wasn’t so sure. And besides, she didn’t like the idea of stealing from her parents. Perhaps she could just ask them for one? But then they’d tell her she was too young to be taking bottles of wine to parties.
‘Look don’t worry about it. Try and sneak one from your dad but if you don’t manage it, I’ll bring an extra one just in case, okay?’
‘Thanks, Anne,’ said Claire, relieved. She knew her friend would help her somehow.
‘But,’ continued Anne, ‘after that you’ll have to work out a way to get booze yourself. Charlotte wouldn’t like it otherwise.’
Claire wondered silently how Charlotte would even know.
‘Perhaps you can get a fake ID?’ suggested Anne. But even she sounded doubtful. Claire was one of the youngest-looking girls in their year.
‘Hmmm, you think?’
‘No, you’re right. Maybe not,’ agreed Anne. ‘Hey, what about Paul? He could easily get some ID.’
Claire’s stomach contracted at the thought of him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll work something out.’
‘Okay, see you tomorrow in form room?’
‘Yep, see you tomorrow.’
Claire replaced the receiver and was about to go back to her bedroom when she decided to have a look in the dining room. There was a side cabinet that held plates and cutlery and other tableware. It also had a cupboard where all the wine was kept. Opening the door, she counted six bottles of wine. Her parents didn’t drink that often – would they notice if one went missing? Probably not. She closed the cupboard and went back upstairs to her room. She would take one on Friday – show Anne and the girls she could get her hands on booze just like the rest of them. Besides, she didn’t want Anne running to Charlotte. And as Claire lay back down on her bed, she realised what she’d just thought about her own best friend. Anne wouldn’t do that to her.
*
The next day Claire waved Anne off and then walked in the direction of the school library. She and Anne had lunch together most days but today Anne had a dentist appointment and her mother had come to pick her up to take her. Claire was planning to do the homework they’d been set that morning, so she wouldn’t need to do it at home.
Well, that’s what she told herself. It was Thursday. Five days since her date with Paul and two days since she’d got into the Queen Bees. Unexpectedly, Paul had played on her mind and she was hoping to see him. As she entered the library, she appreciated the sense of quiet, the bedlam of the corridors a whole world away. She walked into the room and saw him. And then he looked up. And Claire knew then that she liked him.
Crap.
21
Paul was feeling very pleased with himself. Not only had he managed to convince his mum to take him into town for a new wheel for his bike, but Claire had also come to the library a grand total of four times.
‘She must really like you,’ said Brian when they’d met up one Saturday to ride their bikes through the woods. Brian, his bike abandoned at his feet after several rounds of the assault course, was throwing a small ball in the air and catching it over and over again while he was talking. But Paul could see the envy in his friend’s eyes. It was nice to be envied. Usually, it was the other way around with Paul envying Brian’s life. Brian wasn’t the best-looking or the most intelligent – he was in the middle set for every subject – but he was easy-going and funny and everyone just liked him: boys, girls, teachers. He had a quick wit and a quick smile and Paul was beginning to learn it was a powerful combination to help you sail through life.
Paul had once tried it for a day and had failed miserably. He wasn’t quick enough with the funny remarks. Besides, Paul thought he looked like a baboon when he smiled and when one teacher asked him if he was okay after he’d grinned like a fool for most of the lesson, he realised he was wasting his time. But Brian also had another weapon to navigate through school – sport. He was on the rugby and football teams and most afternoons were spent practising. Brian was tall for his age anyway, but he was also strong, and his physique had prevented many a beating.
But what was really unusual about Brian was that he didn’t belong to any group at school. He could hang around with his sporty friends as easily as he could hang with the nerds and he flitted around at break times, bouncing around with his ever-present ball, to whoever took his fancy at the time. Somehow it made Brian even more of an enigma and even more popular. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a target – he’d also been called a sport-nut, Dumbo (on account of his rather large ears), a numpty and all the rest, but Brian always assumed it was in jest and played up to it, usually making everyone laugh in the process. Paul wondered if Brian had met Mohican yet and asked him as much.
‘Danny Lewis?’ asked Brian, as they sat on a log, their bikes beside them. ‘Yeah, he’s on the rugby team. Ferocious guy,’ he added, almost in awe. ‘Glad he’s on our team and we don’t have to play against him!’ Brian laughed, and Paul wondered how he and his friend could have such different experiences of the same boy.
‘So,’ started Brian, slipping the ball into his pocket, and Paul knew he was going to come back to Claire. ‘Have you asked her out yet?’
‘No,’ replied Paul, despondently. It had been on his mind as well. He’d had several opportunities in the library but every time he’d bottled it.
�
�Why not? She’s come to the library – what – twice now to sit with you?’
‘Four times,’ corrected Paul immediately.
‘Whoa! And you haven’t asked her?’
‘I know, I know. I just didn’t know how to… where to…’
‘Listen,’ said Brian. ‘It doesn’t have to be anything fancy – just take her to the cinema again. That’s what my brother always does. He says it’s the best place if you want to, you know…’ Brian had trailed off and looked embarrassed his fingers automatically reaching for his ball as he started throwing it between his two palms.
‘What?’ asked Paul.
‘Well, you know, cop a feel,’ mumbled Brian.
Paul imagined his hand sliding up Claire’s top, the darkness of the cinema shrouding them as his fingers gradually felt the curve of her breast. He couldn’t breathe just thinking about it, so what would the real thing be like?
Paul stood up resolutely and looked at Brian. ‘I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask her the next time she comes into the library.’
His friend looked up with his trademark grin and optimism. ‘Go for it. She’ll say yes, for sure.’
*
It was Wednesday the following week and Paul was sat in the school library unable to concentrate. Now that he’d made the decision to ask her, Claire seemed to have disappeared. She hadn’t been in the library all week. He’d spent Monday doing his own homework and then Tuesday doing Mohican and his gang’s homework. It had kept him distracted enough and luckily Mohican, Gavin and their mates were all in the same class, so it was a case of repeating the work but just changing a few of the answers so they weren’t all the same. As Paul was going through the questions, he thought how easy the work was. How were they going to pass their exams if they were still only doing stuff from the fourth year?
Idiots. Well, when he was a doctor, he would show them.
He imagined himself in his white coat striding down the halls of Manchester Royal Infirmary issuing directives, the nurses scurrying to do his bidding, the patients and their families looking at him as if he was God. He had it all planned out. After medical training, he would move through the ranks to be a consultant. A Mr.
He wasn’t a hundred per cent sure which area he wanted to specialise in but he knew it had to be surgical. He was fascinated and regularly imagined his first slice into a human body. His hand, encased in a surgical glove, would be completely still, poised to cut. The whole theatre would be silently on standby for anything he might need for the anesthetised patient in front of him. He imagined the tapered blade slitting into velvety flesh and tissue, followed by cutting and probing, removing and stitching.
When Gavin and his mates were really giving him a hard time, this was the little corner of his brain he escaped to. But now the daydream was even better, because he knew Claire would be by his side. Just then the library door opened, and Paul looked up expectantly, but it was only one of the first-year students dropping a book into the returned items box before slipping back out of the door. Paul returned to his work convinced Claire wasn’t going to appear today so when he felt someone’s presence in the room, he was surprised to see Claire standing in front of his table.
‘Can I join you?’ She smiled.
Oh God, that smile.
He moved his things aside to let her sit down next to him. Glancing quickly at the librarian’s desk, he realised she had gone out for lunch. They were alone and now would be the chance to ask her.
Why couldn’t he speak for God’s sake? Say something, anything!
‘It’s nice to see you,’ he muttered.
Is that the best you can do?
‘It’s nice to see you too,’ said Claire, opening her books. ‘What are you working on?’
Immediately, Paul started explaining in great detail a project he was working on for chemistry. He was so caught up in what he was saying, he didn’t realise she was trying not to laugh.
‘What?’ he asked now, his face colouring.
‘Nothing, nothing. It’s just you’re so brainy!’ she said, and Paul swelled with pride. Many people had told him the same thing over the years, but it was different coming from her – special.
‘Why are you laughing then?’ he asked, suspicious.
‘Stop scowling.’ Claire laughed and she leaned over, placing her finger on the centre of his forehead as if to wipe away the frown lines.
Was she flirting with him?
He thought she might be. Her touch had been electric, and he couldn’t help himself. As her hand came down from his face, he caught her by the wrist. For a few moments, they sat there, looking at each other, her wrist in his hand. And slowly, as the magnetic force grew between them, they leaned in to each other, their lips meeting.
*
Paul shut his bedroom door behind him, finally alone. The events of the afternoon raced through his brain, flooding his body with adrenalin. Claire. The kiss. Asking her out. Her agreeing. Their whispered conversations and secret glances after the librarian had come back from her lunch break. They’d spent an hour together in the school library and it was the best hour of Paul’s life. They’d agreed to meet in the same place after school the next day and she’d agreed to go to the cinema with him on Saturday night.
Apart from that, they’d sat, secretly holding hands under the table, Paul reading his textbook, and Claire writing up her notes. She was left-handed Paul noticed, her writing a beautiful cursive script that he’d never managed to master. He could feel their hands grow clammy under the table but still, she didn’t move her hand away and Paul hardly dared to breathe as he concentrated very hard on the book in front of him. It was only when another student came into the library that Claire pulled away and let her long blonde hair fall like a curtain between them.
But to Paul, the secrecy only added to the excitement and soon he promised himself, he would pluck up the courage to ask her to be his girlfriend. Should he run it by Brian first though? Was he moving too quickly? Wouldn’t Brian advise him to be a little more elusive? But he knew Claire liked him and he knew how much he liked her. He wanted to be with her every minute and those long hours at home were torture. But less than twenty-four hours to go until he was back in the school library with her and then just two days until their night in the cinema. It seemed like a lifetime away and as Paul flopped on his bed, his schoolwork forgotten, he closed his eyes and imagined being close to her in the darkness of the theatre.
22
The water swirled around Claire, the chlorine-laced ripples shrouding her senses. She swam two or three times a week at the local pool and had been on the school swim team for the last few years. She’d always enjoyed swimming, but it was only in the last year or so that she’d begun to appreciate its numbing effects. In the pool, Claire wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of her parents and their constant bickering, or the stress of her upcoming GCSE exams. When she was swimming, she didn’t think about Charlotte and the Queen Bees and why it was so important for Claire to be a part of it. Nor did she think about Paul, her guilt and desire wrestling for prominence. For a few hours each week, as her limbs propelled her forward, her mind was like a beautiful desolate countryside – alive but blissfully uninhabited.
She pushed herself out of the pool, droplets streaming off her body, relishing the exhilaration from the fifty lengths.
‘Thirty-nine minutes, twenty,’ shouted her coach, throwing her a towel.
Claire dried her face, smiling into the towel.
‘Well done. Get dressed. See you outside,’ ordered Coach Timmons, already focused on the remaining swimmers.
Coach Timmons, or Timmy as he was known behind his back, always talked in staccato. She knew some of her team members didn’t always appreciate his approach, but Claire found it as refreshing as the water itself. If you were good, he told you, if you were bad, he told you. There was no ambiguity, no hidden meanings – everything was clear.
She hurried through to the changing rooms, happy that she�
��d beaten her personal best. She was even happier when, twenty minutes later in the pool foyer, Timmy read out the names of those participating in the next swimming competition and included hers. Swinging her bag on her shoulder she went outside to see if her mother had arrived to pick her up. Seeing the blue car, her mother at the wheel, she climbed gratefully inside, the heater on full blast.
‘Hello, love,’ said her mother, as she put the car in gear and took off. ‘How was it?’
‘It was good – thirty-nine minutes, twenty seconds and I’m competing in the next round.’
‘Well done, love, that’s amazing news. Your dad will be pleased.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Claire sank back into the seat and watched the descending darkness of twilight. It was late October and barely five o’clock in the afternoon.
‘I wanted to ask you what you wanted to do for your sixteenth birthday,’ said her mum, her eyes focused on the road. ‘I can’t believe it’s only a couple of weeks away – sixteen! It feels like only yesterday when I brought you home from the hospital. Do you want to have a party at home?’
‘No thanks, Mum, I’ll have a night out with Anne and everyone.’
‘Really? Are you sure? In my day, we always had a party at—’
‘Honestly, Mum, it’s fine.’ Claire shuddered at the thought of the Queen Bees all coming to her house and her parents chaperoning them as if she was eight years old.
‘Well, if you’re sure. Shall I book a meal out then, just the three of us? Or do you want to ask Anne to come as well?’
‘Sounds good, Mum,’ replied Claire, relieved to have it sorted. ‘Don’t forget I’m going out tonight to Charlotte’s sleepover party.’ This would be the third time Claire had gone to Charlotte’s house since she she’d joined the Queen Bees and once she’d solved the problem of getting her hands on alcohol, she’d started to look forward to the many different get-togethers that Charlotte liked to organise. She’d never had such a busy social life before and she wondered when the other girls managed to get their homework done.
