‘That would go down well on your college record.’
‘Be worth it, though,’ Gemma mumbled.
Finally able to get into my locker, I grabbed the textbooks I’d need for the morning classes as the girls swapped theories about what they would like to do to Malice. I tuned out, noticing only when they fell silent, the collective weight of their expectant stares boring into my back. I closed the steel door and slowly turned to face the people I considered my closest friends.
A ricochet of pointed glances darted around the group until Gemma stepped up as spokesperson, as usual. ‘So what did she want?’
Time to face the music, then …
‘It turns out Damian went straight off in search of her—’ I nodded towards the corridor Malice had stormed down ‘—straight after dumping me. She was just gloating, that’s all. Trying to wind me up.’
‘Well that sucks.’ Flick said.
The other girls murmured their agreement and all four of them placed their hands in a line on my uppermost arm—I didn’t even remember having crossed them in a show of solidarity and friendship.
‘Thanks. You guys are the best,’ I said, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘So Gemma—’
The bell went, cutting me off before I could resume my interrogation. Thanks to Malice, I’d run out of time and lunch break was hours away. I very nearly screamed. Aside from Flick, the others were in different classes from me, which meant more waiting. Just what I needed.
After a hasty goodbye, Gemma, Chloe and Piper set off in their variations directions, leaving Flick and me to wander off to our French class. Walking beside her, I could swear she’d grown even taller since Friday. I shot a glance down at her feet but she was in her usual flats, going for Mary Janes today rather than ballet pumps. Her long legs were encased in skinny jeans teamed with a floral floaty top, and her ebony hair was tied loosely in a bun to highlight her long neck.
Yep, Flick was the epitome of your typical ballet dancer. There had to be some Latino in her family somewhere: the girl had a permanent tan to make us all jealous. Her natural grace and elegance was misleading, though, and, if you went by appearances alone, you’d think of her as aloof and snooty, when in reality she was more like a tomboy trapped in a dancer’s body. Between her and Gemma, it’s a wonder I had any self-esteem at all, yet somehow it worked, and we all complemented each other.
Gemma was the cutesy bombshell with the wicked tongue and quick temper, most likely to marry rich and become famous some day; Flick was the elegant dancer with a mischievous streak and a steely ambition to get into the English National Ballet; Piper was the brainy academic, complete with designer glasses, and could easily become prime minister one day if she overcame her shyness; Chloe was the cuddlier maternal figure with a heart of gold, the one most likely to be married and surrounded by children before she was twenty-five; as for me, I had somehow fallen into the role of sporty, not that I was affiliated with a club any more, nor did I have a clue what I would end up doing when I was older.
The five of us could have been the newest girl band, a rival group to the Saturdays or Little Mix, apart from the fact half of us couldn’t sing. Or dance. And certainly not perform in public, since Piper would have a coronary. That thought alone was enough to put the grin back on my face as I took my usual seat and pulled out my books.
‘Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs,’ said Madame Clarke, the last to arrive as usual, calling the class to order. She wore a particularly flamboyant chiffon scarf around her neck today that didn’t go with the rest of her outfit at all. Yet more of her eccentric charm on display. I caught Flick’s eye and we shared a knowing smirk as Madame Clarke scurried between the rows of desks to take up her position at the front of the class. ‘Pouvez-vous tourner à la page deux-cent-soixante-dix-neuf, s’il vous plaît?’
French went well, even though I didn’t give two hoots about what Chantal and Jean-Pierre got up to in La Rochelle, and I scored the top mark of eighty-seven percent in my last essay. Result! English was next up, language rather than my preferred literature, but we were learning about the iambic pentameter, which meant dipping into Shakespeare, another of my favourites, finishing up with Romeo and Juliet.
By the time lunch came around, my good mood was back with a vengeance. Damian was history and Malice was welcome to the low-life. The Little Mix earworm I’d had in my head all morning had been replaced by the Montagues and Capulets theme, which of course made me think of StreetDance the movie, and brought with it images of the hunky actor-slash-dancer Richard Winsor who played lead, and gave me an idea.
I dashed to the canteen to find Flick—the only other person who actually knew who Richard Winsor was—to invite her back to my house straight after college. It must be months since we’d last seen the movie and a refresher was long overdue. I could ogle the men in their tights, and she could ogle the school building, just like old times. Win-win all around, if you asked me. Except I reached the canteen first, which struck me as a bit odd when my classroom was further away, and Flick was nowhere to be seen.
Thankfully, there was no sign of Malice, either. Hopefully too embarrassed to face everyone, unless she was just stuck in detention or sucking some schmuck’s face off somewhere. I wouldn’t put it past her to have blown college off after this morning’s botched showdown, either. Where she’d go was open to debate, and the rumours about her home life were rife, ranging from her living in a caravan in true ‘trailer trash’ style, to living with her mother and her mum’s sugar daddy in some fancy mansion. To be honest, I didn’t really care where Alice lived so long as she stayed out of my way and kept her nose out of my and my friends’ business.
At least our usual table was still free. I dumped my bag on a chair and joined the line of people queuing to get some food. The others still hadn’t shown up when I carried my tray back to the table. After another glance around the canteen, I was certain they weren’t just sitting somewhere else instead, and the first flutter of concern hit me, so I reached into my bag, grabbed my phone and checked for messages, but there was nothing. No new texts and no voicemail.
Where the hell were they?
For all four of them to be missing was just plain weird, ominous even, assuming they were all together somewhere. My stomach flipped, leaving me with a bad feeling and threatening to put me off my salad. The thought of their colluding without me was never a good thing. I dashed off a quick text to Gemma to check she was OK, my fingers flying across the touch-screen keypad, then propped my phone up against my bottle of water where I couldn’t miss it when—if—it went off.
Oh, well, there was nothing for it but to start without them. I snatched up my fork up and stabbed a piece of chicken with enough force to send the cherry tomatoes flying. Damn it! As I chewed, I popped them back onto my plate and stared at my phone, willing it to buzz. Ever hopeful—or delusional—I kept my eye on the main entrance but they still hadn’t turned up by the time I’d finished my salad.
Stuff them, then.
I had far better things to do than sit on my own getting pity looks, and I was done waiting. The sun was out for a start and I could be out in the fresh air rather than being stuck inside. As I pushed back, my chair made a dreadful scraping sound, like nails down a blackboard, attracting even more unwanted attention. The burning sensation in my face told me I’d gone as red as the tomatoes, so I bent my head and stowed my phone back into my bag to avoid making eye contact, then grabbed my apple.
Definitely time to get out of there.
I was halfway to standing when Gemma appeared through one of the side doors, closely followed by Flick, Chloe and Piper.
Gee, thanks for the invite, girls.
They made Charlie’s Angels look tame as they strode towards me en masse. My pulse spiked and I eyed the doorway, ready to flee, but there was no way I could get there in time.
‘I was just leaving,’ I said, trying to sound as if I didn’t give a damn, but my voice cracked and betrayed me. I collapsed back into my
seat and glared at them instead. It was either get angry or burst into tears. ‘Where have you been?’ I demanded, my tone getting more high-pitched with each syllable.
‘Sorry,’ Gemma said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. ‘I thought I’d texted you to say we were going to be a bit late, but I’ve just spotted the failed-delivery message. I must be out of credit after calling Ben during first break.’
‘So where were you? I asked, as Gemma plonked herself in the seat opposite me. Chloe and Piper took up the seats either side of me, and Flick chose the chair next to Gemma. ‘And what were you doing that took so long?’
Gemma quirked her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. ‘This, my dear Lena, is an intervention.’
Chapter Two
INTERVENTION
‘A what?’
Heads turned to look at us, my words coming out louder than intended.
Gah!
Gemma waited until everybody had gone back to minding their own business. ‘An intervention,’ she said, completely matter-of-fact, using the same tone she’d use to tell me I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. ‘We, as in all four of us—’ she paused for dramatic effect and waved her hand to include Flick, Chloe and Piper ‘—are all agreed that you need our help.’
‘Is that so?’ I asked.
Flick suddenly seemed determined to avoid eye contact but I refused to let her off the hook. She finally gave in and offered me a small shrug, along with a resigned smile.
Not good.
The heavy feeling in my gut got even worse. ‘Help with what, exactly?’
Gemma met my glare head-on. ‘You need to lose your virginity.’
‘Pardon?’ I hissed, unable to believe my ears.
‘Don’t you see, Lena?’ she said, not backing down so much as an inch. ‘You have so many hang-ups about sex, you’re like a faulty telephone.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ I forced out a laugh. Gemma jutted out her jaw even further, not even a flicker of a smile. My nails pierced the apple, the juice running down my fingers to form a satisfying puddle on the table. ‘Don’t tell me this is your big plan.’
‘It’s a damn sight better than being dumped.’
‘Whoa, hang on,’ I said, narrowing my eyes to accuse each of them. ‘Are you all saying I should have slept with Damian?’
‘No way.’
‘Eww, no.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Nuh-uh.’
They all answered at the same time, their voices jumbled together so I couldn’t be sure who said what. At least we were all agreed on something.
‘You can do a million times better than him,’ Flick said.
‘Which is exactly what I said,’ Gemma said. ‘And that’s where we come in.’
‘Huh?’
‘We had a little brainstorming session and came up with the most wicked idea.’ Gemma reached into her tote and produced a piece of A4 paper with a flourish. I could already see Piper’s cursive handwriting running down one side.
‘Wicked as in evil and demonic, or wicked as in excellent?’
‘It’s good to see you’ve still got your sense of humour.’
‘Who’s joking?’
Gemma ignored my outburst and started to slide the page towards me, but then she noticed the state of the table. ‘Bloody hell, Lena, what did the apple ever do to you?’ She prised the mangled apple out of my grip and dumped it on my tray. ‘You’ve well and truly murdered it,’ she said, grabbing a load of napkins. She tossed one to me, then used the rest to mop up the juice and bits of pulp. ‘Right, let’s try that again,’ she said, finally getting back to the sheet of paper and offering it to me. ‘Here is your mission, should you choose to accept it.’
In no mood for one of her silly games, I snatched it off her and scanned the page. It turned out to be a list of names, all of them boys, and some of whom I recognised. And then I noticed the title: ‘Operation: Popping the Cherry’. I leaped to my feet and fired a glare at each of them in turn, trying not to shout. ‘Are you shitting me?’
Flick at least flinched and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’ I asked, caught in two minds whether to tear the list into a thousand pieces or scrunch it into a ball. ‘Work my way down the list and sleep with them all?’
‘Are you going to at least hear us out before you go off on one?’ Gemma sounded infuriatingly calm compared with my wailing-banshee routine.
‘I don’t even know who half of these guys are.’ I settled for tossing the page back onto the table in disgust. ‘Why not just shove me at the first guy to walk in here and pay him to have sex with me?’
‘It’s not like that, Lena, and you know it.’ Gemma snapped, finally biting back, but, instead of getting drawn into a slanging match, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Composure restored. ‘I know you’re spoiling for a fight, and I know this is hard, but you know we’d never do something like that to you.’
‘Hmph,’ I grunted.
‘Can’t you at least give us two minutes to explain?’
As I stood mulling it over, trying to decide whether to stay or flounce off as I’d intended, I noticed the glances and raised eyebrows being directed my way. Being the only one of our group standing up, combined with my raised voice and Gemma’s hissing, I was drawing way too much attention. All of the fire left me and my legs gave way before I’d made the conscious decision to sit back down.
‘Thank you.’ Gemma seized the opportunity and slid the list back across the table. This time, she kept her hand on it as if expecting me to try to destroy it. She wasn’t wrong. ‘These are just a few of the names we came up with. Guys we thought you might like, but wouldn’t necessarily think of yourself. Now it’s your turn to add your own potential candidates to complete the shortlist.’
‘Candidates? You make it sound like some kind of election.’
‘In a way, it is,’ Chloe said, speaking up for the first time. ‘Take a look at the list and get to know some of the guys on there that you don’t know already. Go on a few dates maybe. And then you cast your vote.’
‘As in …?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Chloe lowered her voice, ‘You have s-e-x with them.’ She even spelled out the word ‘sex’ as if it would deter eavesdroppers and lessen the impact.
‘And this is the best you could come up with? Your brilliant plan?’ I said to no one in particular. ‘What happened to saving yourself? Waiting for the right person?’
‘Saving yourself? This isn’t the 1950s. All you’re doing is missing out on something fun. No guy expects you to be a virgin on your wedding day these days, so you might as well get it over with.’
‘Get it over with? Jeez, Gemma, you make it sound like going for an injection?’
‘Let’s just hope it’s more than a little prick when the time comes, then, eh?’ she said, waggling her eyebrows up and down. Her quick-witted innuendo earned a chorus of giggles. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of making me smile but—damn it—the corners of my lips were curving up whether I wanted them to or not.
‘Touché,’ I said, giving up the fight. ‘That was a good one, even for you.’
‘I am rather proud of it.’
‘But isn’t the first time supposed to be special?’ I asked.
‘I wish,’ Chloe muttered.
‘My first time was over in thirty seconds flat,’ Flick said. ‘He barely got it in there in time. Talk about an anticlimax.’
‘I hate to break it to you, but it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Gemma said, yet I knew for a fact Ben had been her first. Even Piper sighed. ‘It gets better, though,’ Gemma said brightly. ‘It’s a bit like kissing, I guess.’
‘Kissing? Yeah, right.’
‘No, really,’ she said, sitting more upright to plead her case. ‘Nobody is a great kisser at the first attempt. You might accidentally bump teeth, or the guy might try to suffocate you by covering your nose as well as your mouth. And sometimes he might s
hove his tongue too far down your throat until you gag and—’
‘Ugh, yeah.’ The memory of my first ‘proper’ French kiss still had the power to make me shudder. ‘Been there, done that.’
‘It just takes practice, you know, until you get the hang of it.’ It might not be want I wanted to hear but Gemma was making sense even if it went against every romantic notion I’d ever harboured.
‘I think I see what you mean,’ I conceded. ‘So you’ve all had … I’m the only …’ I squirmed, too embarrassed to say the words. I’d already gathered Gemma, Flick and Chloe had done … it … but then Piper nodded, too. I spun in my chair to face her, unable to mask my surprise. ‘Even you?’
‘Yes, Lena, even me,’ she said, lifting her chin and meeting my stare, her eyes brimming with defiance.
‘Jeez.’ I was in the minority again.
‘Oh, come on. Is it really such a surprise?’ she asked.
‘Yes!‘ I wanted to yell. If I’d had to put money on anyone else still being a virgin, it would have been Piper, the oh-so-shy girl who always had her nose stuck in a book. ‘No, I guess not,’ I lied, seeing Piper in a whole new light. ‘I guess that makes me the odd one out, then,’ I said, forcing out a feeble laugh.
Nobody spoke. It was as if they could sense the battle raging inside my head. Up until that moment, I’d never considered myself to be naïve, nor did I think I was a prude, but now I had to wonder. Operation: Popping the Cherry went against everything I’d been brought up to believe, but my closest friends made it sound as if I’d been fed a load of old-fashioned nonsense.
We couldn’t all be right, so which of us was wrong?
A girl laughed at the next table but one from us, disturbing my thoughts. I couldn’t help peeking at her out of the corner of my eye, watching her from beneath my lowered eyelashes. She was sitting with a guy from Upper Sixth, holding hands, and their heads bent together. I didn’t know either of them, except in passing, but any fool could see how happy they were. The guy was hanging onto her every word, and, when he leaned in to plant a tender kiss on her cheek, a pang of jealousy zipped through my veins.
Popping the Cherry Page 2
