Mates, Dates and Pulling Power

by Hopkins, Cathy

  ‘Nesta Williams, can you give me any explanation as to why you find it necessary to wear a woolly hat in the art class?’ asked Mrs Elwes.

  ‘It’s a balaclava, Miss.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is. You’re not wearing it in my class.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  My next tactic didn’t go down too well either.

  ‘And what period are we studying in history at the moment, Nesta?’ asked Miss Watkins.

  ‘Tudors, Miss.’

  ‘Not the Egyptians?’

  ‘No, Miss.’

  ‘Then perhaps you could explain why you have a scarf wrapped around your neck and face in the manner of an Egyptian mummy.’

  ‘I’m cold, Miss.’

  ‘So get a thermal vest, girl. In the meantime, take off the scarf. I like to be able to see the faces of my pupils when I’m teaching. To make sure that they’re still awake.’

  Lucy thought it was hysterical. ‘You in a thermal vest,’ she said as we made our way out of school in the afternoon. ‘That I’d like to see.’

  ‘No way. So uncool,’ I said.

  ‘Thermal vest, so uncool. Course they are, that’s why they’re thermal. Oh very good, Nesta,’ said Lucy laughing her head off. Sometimes I think she takes too many vitamins or something. It seems that all my friends are mad. Apart from TJ maybe, but give it time.

  ‘So what’s with all the headgear today?’ asked TJ.

  ‘I’m trying a few things out before the next acting class,’ I said. ‘To disguise my brace.’ Of course, I’d filled TJ and Lucy in on meeting Luke as soon as I’d got home last night. They were very sympathetic, but both of them thought I should go back to the class and not consider giving it up for a moment.

  ‘If this guy is worth bothering about,’ said TJ, ‘he’s not going to be put off by your brace. I think you should be brave. Be who and what you are and if he doesn’t like it, forget him.’

  ‘I guess you’re right on one level,’ I said. ‘But on another level, boys are highly visual. They go on what they see and if they like it. The time for being who you are, hairy legs, strange habits, brace or whatever, comes later. First you have to lure them in . . . You know that, TJ.’

  TJ sighed and nodded. At the end of Year Nine, she had a crush on a boy who lived next door to her. Only problem was that he saw her as one of the lads, a mate, so she had to seriously reconsider her image and get him to see her as a girl. It worked too except, once he was interested, she realised that he was really boring.

  ‘Yeah,’ said TJ. ‘I think it’s sad but true. Boys do like girls who look like girls.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. And then I had my most brilliant idea.

  Half an hour later, we were in the lingerie department of a store at the Mall.

  ‘And are you going to explain why having a brace put in has resulted in a strange compulsion to buy underwear?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Distraction,’ I said. ‘Obvious isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, shopping is always a good distraction . . .’

  ‘Not for us. For boys,’ I explained. ‘See, it was when TJ said that boys like girls who look like girls that I realised, that’s what I have to do. Get boys distracted from my face and the way to do that is . . .’ I indicated the racks of gorgeous girlie underwear.

  ‘Show them your knickers?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘No.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Wear your knickers on your head? That would cover your brace.’

  ‘Noooo. Don’t be mad. I mean, show them my chesty bits. Have you ever been with a boy when you’re showing even the tiniest bit of cleavage?’

  ‘The tiniest bit of cleavage is sadly all I’ve got,’ sighed Lucy as she eyed the rails.

  Izzie nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s like their eyes are pulled towards it by some magnetic force. They can’t help it. When I wore a low top to band rehearsal one evening, it was hysterical. The boys were doing their best not to look, but I could see their cheeks starting to twitch with the effort. Biff didn’t even try not to look. He just talked to my chest all night.’

  ‘I hate that,’ said TJ. ‘It’s like you’re a walking pair of boobs and nothing else.’

  Lucy grinned. ‘You know that song by Frank Sinatra’s daughter Nancy, “These Boots Are Made For Walking”? We ought to sing, “These Boobs Are Made For Walking”.’

  TJ patted her on the head. ‘Keep taking the tablets, Lucy,’ she said.

  ‘Boys can’t help it,’ I said. ‘It’s their hormones. I know sometimes it’s horrible being leered at, but it can be used to your advantage. Like my next meeting with Luke. My plan is to buy the most uplifting fab-shaped bra there is in this shop then wear it, so that he will be so busy looking at my marvellous chest that he won’t notice that my mouth is full of metal.’

  ‘He’s going to look up sometime, Nesta,’ said TJ.

  ‘And when he does, I’ll shut my mouth. I’ll only talk when he’s looking at my cleavage.’

  ‘You’re bonkers,’ laughed Izzie.

  No, I’m not. It’s simple, I thought. That is until we started to look for the bra. After fifteen minutes I was totally confused. There were rails and rails of them. Not just colours and fabrics but types: bras for total support, egoboosters, minimisers, bras with no front, no back, balcony bras, wired, plunge, moulded, padded, seamed, non-padded, five-way, sheer, strapless, halter-neck, crossover, one-shoulder, bioform, sculptured, push up, multiway, T-shirt, sports, stretch cup. They even had thermal ones.

  ‘Arghhhhhh,’ I cried. ‘I’ve seen Hitchcock’s film, The Birds. But now showing at a store near you. The Bras. They’re mean, they’re keen, they’re taking over.’

  TJ, Izzie and Lucy cracked up laughing as I swung five bras up in the air and made them fly like birds.

  A shop assistant gave me a funny look, so I put the bras back on the rails. ‘But how are you supposed to know which one is best?’ I asked. ‘Do I need a bioform or a five-way push up?’

  ‘I would imagine five-way push ups are for aliens,’ said Lucy. ‘As they are the only beings who could possibly have five boobs to push up.’

  This time it was Izzie who patted her on the head. ‘Poor dear,’ she said. ‘We really ought not to let you out again.’

  TJ pointed at a notice on the wall and began to laugh. ‘God. Have you seen this?’

  We gathered round to read the notice. ‘How to calculate your bra size,’ it said.

  ‘First you need a degree in maths,’ said TJ. ‘Measure your ribcage, add four for an even number, five for an odd number. Measure your full bust then subtract the bra size from the full size to give you your cup size.’

  There was a tape measure on the wall next to the notice.

  TJ got out her calculator. ‘You measure and I’ll calculate,’ she said.

  Lucy got out some paper and wrote as I measured my ribcage then round my bust. ‘Why are bras sold in inches when the rest of the world has gone metric?’ she asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘But all I wanted was to buy a bra. Not do an engineering class.’

  TJ ignored me. ‘Thirty-two B,’ she said after a few moments. ‘Easy.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what my mum always gets me and her method is very scientific. She guesses it. Easy.’

  We picked out a few bras, but in the end decided that the ‘egobooster’ looked like it might give the best cleavage effect. I picked one from the rails, took it into the dressing room and tried it on.

  ‘Oo, matron!’ the girls chorused as they stuck their heads round the curtain five minutes later.

  ‘Too much?’ I asked as I took in my reflection.

  ‘You could get a leading role in Lethal Weapon 2,’ said TJ laughing.

  ‘Only it would be called Lethal Weapons, I Have Two’, said Lucy.

  ‘Well I think it will definitely distract him,’ said Izzie, ‘but it might be a bit obvious turning up to class in that when the majority of the other people are middle-aged and dressed in baggy tracksuits.’

&nb
sp; I sighed. ‘So what next?’ I asked. ‘I’ve tried headgear. Bras. Scarves.’

  ‘You could pretend that you’re dumb,’ said TJ.

  ‘Brilliant idea!’ I said. ‘I could learn sign language.’

  TJ looked taken aback. ‘I was joking,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway, the rest of the class know you can speak from last week,’ said Izzie.

  I felt miserable. All my good ideas had come to nothing. I would just have to talk with my hand over my mouth or perfect the art of talking through closed lips. Nope. Even I knew that no way was I going to be able to do that in an acting class. No. It was too sad, but I would have to resort back to option B. Oh cruel world, I thought. I would have to let Luke go and not go back to the class at all. True love was not meant to be mine. I would just have to grow old with my memories of how it could have been. On the other hand, it would make me more beautiful as people would be able to sense my loss, the sadness behind the smiles, the inner wistfulness behind the mask of success. Yes, mine would be a high but lonely destiny.

  I sniffed and tried to look noble. ‘It happens in all the best movies you know? In Dr Zhivago, after many years apart, he sees Lara, the love of his life, at the end. He jumps off a bus to try and catch her but, too late, he has a heart attack and dies on the pavement and she never knows how close he was. And in Wuthering Heights, Cathy dies leaving her one true love, Heathcliff, heartbroken forever. Sometimes it’s not meant to be . . .’

  Izzie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh for Gawd’s sake. Nesta. Luvvie. Dwarling. You’ve got a brace, not a noose around your neck. You are not dead. Luke is not dead. Life is not over.’

  ‘You don’t understand the pain of unrequited love,’ I said through closed lips. ‘Or true passion.’

  Izzie turned and grinned at TJ and Lucy. ‘True passion? Oh yes I do. And two words sum it up. Chocolate fudge.’

  ‘Yeah, bugger unrequited love and passion,’ said Lucy. ‘Chocolate never lets you down. And it doesn’t care what your teeth look like. Come on. Food department. Now.’

  ‘Best idea you’ve had all day,’ said TJ and the three of them headed off for the chocolate counters like homing pigeons. Huh, I thought as I watched them charge off. Am I misunderstood or what? But what can you do? I thought as I hurried to catch them up. If you can’t beat them, join them.

  How to Measure for a Bra

  1) Measure in inches around the ribcage directly under your boobs.

  2) If it’s an odd number, add 5 inches, if it’s an even number, add 4 inches.

  3) This gives you your bra size (e.g., 31 inches + 5 inches = 36 inches, or 34 inches + 4 inches = 38 inches).

  4) Then measure the fullest part of your bust. The difference between the full bust measurement and the bra size measurement gives you your cup size. For instance:

  1 inch smaller than bra size = AA-cup size

  Same as bra size = A-cup

  1 inch bigger than bra size = B-cup

  2 inch bigger than bra size = C-cup

  3 inch bigger than bra size = D-cup

  4 inch bigger than bra size = DD-cup

  5 inch bigger than bra size = E-cup

  6 inch bigger than bra size = F-cup

  7 inch bigger than bra size = G-cup

  and any bigger that that, you need an over-the-shoulder boulder holder, not a bra.

  Note from Nesta: Whadttttt? Forget all that. Most large department stores offer a professional measuring service for bra sizes for free. Sounds good to me.

  Chapter 7

  Life is full of surprises.

  My brother Tony takes girl chasing seriously. Very seriously. Girls are his favourite hobby and he likes to think of himself as the Casanova of North London. The pro. The Master. He who knows about girls. Part of me thinks that it’s hysterical as I live with him. I’ve seen him in the morning when he’s just woken up (not a pretty sight). I’ve seen him when he’s been ill and wants his mum (also not a pretty sight). But another part of me has to hand it to him. His dedication to his art does seem to pay off and there’s always a queue of girls desperate for his attention. Part of his girl chasing degree has been researching the perfect place to take a girl for a romantic evening. And he thinks he’s found it.

  ‘I read a review in the local paper,’ he said. ‘Family run restaurant, intimate, unpretentious, slightly bohemian, fab food and not too expensive. Voted the area’s favourite restaurant by locals for five years running.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need you to come and give me your opinion before I book it for . . .’

  ‘You and Lucy?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, if she’ll come.’

  ‘Sure.’

  So there I was on Friday evening waiting in a restaurant for my brother who, as usual, was late. I didn’t mind too much though as I’d spent the last hour stacking shelves at Lucy’s dad’s shop and it was good to sit down and relax. Quite a funky-looking place, I thought as I scraped some wax off the wine bottle that served as a candle holder in front of me. There were red and white gingham cloths on the tables and the walls were a colourful mishmash of amateur paintings, faded photos of people from times gone by, postcards from all over the world. All were fighting for space and none were winning.

  ‘Would you like to order?’ said a voice to my right.

  ‘Um. I’m waiting for someone,’ I said looking up. When I saw who it was, I clapped my hand over my mouth. ‘You!’

  It was Luke. Even in his waiter’s apron, he looked Pre-Raphaelite and gorgeous.

  He laughed and placed a basket of bread and a small bowl of olive oil in front of me. ‘Yeah. It’s me. Why? What did I do?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I said from behind my hand. ‘Just . . . you’re the guy from class the other night. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I work here two nights a week. What’s your excuse?’

  ‘Waiting for my brother.’

  Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, I thought, as my heart started thumping in my chest. This is what Iz is always on about. Fate. Just as I’d decided to be all tragic and never see Luke again, destiny decides otherwise. Wahey and hurrahalot. Let’s hear it for destiny.

  ‘OK,’ he said getting out his note-pad. ‘So what would you like while you’re waiting?’

  I suppose a snog’s out of the question, I thought before I could stop myself. I almost blushed then told myself, no relax, Nesta. He can’t read your mind.

  ‘Appuchino,’ I muttered.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Carperino.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Your hand seems to be superglued to your top lip . . .’

  I put my hand down and attempted to speak without opening my mouth. ‘Uepurino,’ I said.

  Luke looked knowingly at me. ‘Brace, huh?’ he said gently.

  Uh? Am I that obvious? ‘No. Yeah. How did you know?’

  Luke pointed behind him to a very pretty dark-haired girl behind the counter. ‘Marisa. She had one until last month. She did the same. Hid behind her hand.’

  My heart sank. She was gorgeous. Obviously his girlfriend as she smiled when he turned to look at her.

  ‘So she works here too?’

  Luke nodded. ‘It’s our dad’s restaurant . . .’

  His sister?! Yabadabadoo.

  ‘It’s well worth it, you know,’ continued Luke.

  ‘Owning a restaurant?’

  ‘No. Having a brace.’ He called Marisa over. ‘Hey. Marisa, this is . . . I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Nesta,’ I said from behind my hand.

  ‘Brace,’ said Marisa.

  I nodded.

  ‘Just in?’

  I nodded again. ‘Week almost.’

  She gave me a huge smile revealing perfect teeth. ‘It’s worth it in the end, but it’s awful when it first goes in. Feels like everyone’s looking at you.’

  I nodded.

  ‘People don’t even notice,’ said Luke. ‘I never really noticed Marisa’s. I think sh
e was more conscious of it than anyone.’

  ‘So how do you two know each other?’ asked Marisa.

  Luke looked around as though looking for someone then whispered, ‘We’re doing the same course.’

  ‘Why the secrecy?’ I whispered back.

  ‘You tell her,’ said Marisa. ‘What do you want, Nesta?’

  ‘Cappuccino, thanks,’ I said.

  Luke turned to go, but Marisa pulled him back. ‘No, Luca, you sit, it’s quiet. Explain.’

  After she’d disappeared, Luke sat opposite me. As soon as he looked into my eyes, I felt myself getting hot and my insides felt like they were melting. He was amazing looking. Sooooooo beautiful. I hadn’t imagined it. It’s a weird thing that when I first meet someone, I can remember what they look like for about a day, then it fades, like from sharp focus to blurry. Seeing him again was a real blast back to picture perfect.

  Luke looked down at the table. ‘I’m supposed to be doing an accountancy course.’

  ‘Oh . . . and?’

  ‘On Wednesday nights . . .’

  ‘Ah.’ Oh well done on the brilliant conversation, Nesta, I thought. Oh. And. Ah. Yes, riveting stuff. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Yeah. Ah,’ continued Luke. ‘Dad’s in the restaurant business. He has three now. This one which has been here for years, one in Soho and he’s just opened a third up near Harrow, not far from where I go to school actually. It’s quite handy for popping into at lunch-time. Anyway, my brother runs the Soho restaurant and Dad wants me to be involved when I leave school after my A-levels, maybe oversee the Harrow one. I want to act. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do but he’s dead against it. So . . . I told him I was going to do accountancy to help with the business when, in fact, I’m doing acting. That’s why I was late last week. Dad dropped me off at the accountancy course and I had to dash like mad to get to the acting.’