The 12 Christmases of You & Me

by Jennifer Joyce

  Do I think she’ll go through with it? Go through with what?

  I follow Jonas’s gaze and my stomach churns again, but this time it has nothing to do with exams. Lily is up on the stage, to the left of the third row, a band of red tinsel wrapped around her high ponytail.

  Do I think she’ll go through with it?

  I know she will.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Squeezing my eyes shut, I fumble for Jonas’s hand and hold it tightly. She’s going to do it.

  ‘Oi. Are you two…?’

  I allow one eye to creep open. On the other side of me, Aaron is leaning towards us, a sleazy grin on his face. The fingers of one hand are curled to create an ‘O’, while the index finger of the other hand is jabbing in and out of it.

  ‘Don’t be such a prick.’ Jonas’s eyes are fixed on the stage, but he gives my hand a comforting squeeze.

  ‘Don’t be such a fairy.’ Aaron nudges the boy next to him before nodding at Jonas and fluttering his hands by his sides. My blood is boiling, despite the chill in the school hall, and I feel the wild urge to punch him as hard as I can. I take a couple of deep, calming breaths while telling myself that this isn’t real. It’s just a dream and I don’t really want to punch Aaron.

  I don’t punch him. In fact, I forget all about Aaron as Evie’s singing is suddenly overpowered by the hideous sound of my best friend. She’s singing with gusto but completely out of tune, her voice cracking and rasping as she belts out the lyrics, her hands flying about so much that Charlie, the boy standing next to her, has to duck out of the way.

  ‘I’m so sick of being plonked in the back while Evie Lane gets all the glory,’ Lily had moaned the day before as we ate soggy chips in the canteen. ‘I’m going to give myself a solo. I’ve been practising and everything.’

  If this is what she produces after practising, I’d hate to hear her sing off the cuff.

  ‘Oh no.’ Jonas is shaking his head, his fingers crushing mine, but he can’t take his eyes off the stage. I watch as they widen further with every note Lily attempts – and fails – to hit. I want to cover my ears, to block out the horror before they start to bleed, but I’m frozen to the spot. Beside me, Aaron is sniggering, and a couple of girls in front of us have turned to stare open-mouthed at each other. On the stage, Evie’s face is contorted, her hands planted on her hips as she silently rages at the music teacher to make Lily stop. But Mrs Hayes seems frozen in shock too. I can only see her back, but her hands have stilled in mid-air, no longer conducting what is happening on the stage.

  ‘Make it stop!’ someone yells from the back of the hall. I only wish I knew how to. This is even more unbearable than the first time it happened. Why would I conjure this memory and replay it? I’m cringing so much, my face is in danger of folding in on itself, but finally the song comes to an end, with one last loud, shaky note before absolute silence falls. On the stage, Lily has finished with a flourish, her arms outstretched, her chin tilted, her beaming smile lighting up the room brighter than the strip lights ahead.

  ‘Whoop!’

  The silence is broken as, beside me, Jonas is up on his feet, clapping so hard his bones should be shattering. Taking his lead, I jump out of my seat and join in the applause, ignoring the looks of bewilderment on the dozens of faces turned towards us.

  ‘Get up.’ I stoop to hiss at Aaron, who snorts with derision. ‘Get up or I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with your Care Bear.’

  Yes, I know a lot about Aaron Dean too.

  ‘What?’ Aaron’s derision has turned to confusion, his brow furrowed. ‘How did you…’ His eyes dart around him, confusion transforming to fear.

  ‘Get up.’ Hooking my hand under his armpit, I yank Aaron to his feet. He complies, and I don’t even have to instruct him to applaud.

  ‘Whoop!’ Jonas is stamping his feet now to create more noise but he doesn’t need to as we’re no longer a trio of appreciators. Seeing the three of us on our feet applauding the savage destruction of ‘O Holy Night’ has sent the headmaster in an apoplectic rage and he’s marching towards us, beetroot of face and clenched of fist. Which is mightily appealing to a hall full of pupils at Westgate High who sense a chance to get one over on their headteacher. The noise is almost as painfully ear-splitting as Lily’s singing as clusters of kids shuffle to their feet and bang out their appreciation with their hands and feet and whoops of pure joy. Inspired by those around them, more pupils join in, including those up on stage, until it’s only a horrified Evie Lane, a still-frozen-to-the-spot Mrs Hayes and the purple-faced Mr Stewart who are not applauding Lily’s effort. Even Lily herself is whooping and high-fiving her choir mates, her beam brighter than the sun itself.

  ‘I was shit, wasn’t I?’

  Jonas nods, the corners of his lips twitching. ‘Ear-bleedingly awful.’

  ‘Truly horrific.’ I’m grinning, despite the words, because although my best friend cannot sing for toffee, she is a wonderful, courageous, high-spirited bundle of joy and I adore her. And then there’s Jonas, who would pit himself against a hall full of people of the opposite opinion just to support his friend.

  The assembly has just finished, later than planned as Mr Stewart struggled to get a grip of the mayhem that followed Lily’s impromptu solo, and we’re on our way to our first lesson of the day. I’m surprised I can still remember the way to our maths classroom, but the route is familiar. Comforting, almost, which is weird as I never thought I’d find these school corridors anything other than confining and bleak. They look quite cheery now, actually, with strings of tinsel draped along the display boards between the classrooms and oversized Santa faces moulded out of plastic grinning from their pinned positions on the doors. One classroom even has a frame of twinkling fairy lights around the frosted glass in the door.

  ‘You.’ Mr Stewart’s voice booms along the corridor, causing the pupils in the vicinity to freeze momentarily before turning to see who the victim of his rage is. I don’t need to look to know that his finger is pointing directly at Lily, the digit quivering with fury, and I know that in a few seconds I’ll hear his thunderous footsteps marching towards us. This has all happened before, and I’d almost forgotten I’m dreaming about past events. It all feels so real, as though when I reach out to take Lily’s hand (which I’m doing right now) it’s really her flesh against mine, not a figment of my imagination.

  ‘What did you think you were playing at, you silly girl?’ The beetroot hue is back as Mr Stewart looms over us, his blazing eyes trained on Lily as he spits the words. Literally. I have to subtly wipe the spittle from my cheek (see, even Mr Stewart’s saliva feels too real).

  ‘Do you have any idea how hard Mrs Hayes has worked to produce a top-quality performance for today’s assembly? Does your tiny pea-brain comprehend how much effort poor Evie Lane has put into perfecting her solo? No! Of course it doesn’t!’ There’s the spittle again, flying through the air but luckily missing any human targets. ‘Because you are a very, very stupid girl who will amount to nothing!’

  ‘You can’t say that.’ Stepping in front of Lily and pushing my shoulders back, I’m in full Mum mode. I may look like a fifteen-year-old in this dream – the fifteen-year-old who stood back and allowed her best friend to be degraded in the school corridor back then because she was too afraid to confront authority – but I’m a grown-ass woman now and there is no way I’m going to let his foul words slide this time.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Stewart’s eyebrows lift as he shifts his gaze from Lily to me.

  ‘I said you can’t say that.’ I take a step towards the man, imagining it’s a teacher of Annabelle’s I’ve just overheard belittling my daughter to bring out the mama bear in me. ‘You are here to teach these children, to encourage and nurture them, not demean and humiliate them.’

  ‘I think Ms Davis humiliated herself, don’t you?’ Mr Stewart shifts to the right, so he can look past me and observe Lily through narrowed eyes.

  ‘I think Miss Davis expressed herself beautifully.
’ I jut out my chin, challenging the headteacher to disagree with my assessment.

  ‘Maisie.’ Behind me, Lily’s voice is a murmur as she takes my hand and gently pulls me back into our little group. ‘Leave it.’

  But I can’t. I left it the first time round. I allowed this man to shame my best friend, to make her feel worthless, and I won’t do that again, even if the confrontation is making my hands tremble.

  ‘You’re wrong about Lily.’ My chin is raised even further. Defiant. Robust. ‘She has a wonderful, bright future ahead. She’ll have a career…’

  Mr Stewart snorts, and I take a step forward, despite Lily trying to pull me back. ‘Yes, a career, and one she loves. And she won’t use her authority to quash the spirits of her pupils.’

  Mr Stewart snorts again, louder this time. ‘Pupils? Don’t make me laugh. You honestly think she has the competence and fortitude to become a teacher? That would require hard work and determination, both of which are severely lacking in Miss Davis’ character.’

  You are a pompous tosser, I think to myself, pressing my lips together so I don’t say the words out loud. I want to say them – badly, they’re on the tip of my tongue, fizzing with the anticipation of being released – but I won’t win any arguments by lowering myself like that.

  ‘We need to get to class.’ Jonas tugs on my other hand, quite hard as I’m resisting, and I start to stumble backwards until he steadies me.

  ‘You’re absolutely right, young man.’ Mr Stewart cocks his head to one side, a sly smile creeping over his face. ‘Or young lady. Whatever it is you’re supposed to be.’

  ‘You really are a tosser.’ I can’t believe I restrained myself for those few seconds, because I know I’m right. And he had the cheek to question Lily’s character!

  I hear a whoosh of gasps and tinkle of giggles as the corridor full of onlookers reacts to my statement. Jonas groans loudly behind me.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Stewart’s roar cancels out all the other noise in the corridor, and he looks ready to explode. His eyes are bulging, his nostrils flared, his lips scrunched up tightly as he attempts to suppress his rage.

  I’m about to repeat my words – why shouldn’t I? – but Jonas pulls me away, wrapping his arms around me and manhandling me away from the incensed headteacher.

  ‘She said we really, really need to get to class. Didn’t you, Maisie?’

  ‘I know what she said.’ Mr Stewart’s whole body is vibrating, his hands clenched by his sides. ‘And I will not tolerate such language in my school. You.’ Unfurling his fist, he jabs a finger in my direction. ‘You will report to my office after school. In fact, all three of you can report to my office after school.’

  ‘But it’s the last day of term, sir.’ Lily’s shoulders have slumped, her body accepting the punishment even as she rails against it.

  ‘I don’t care if it’s the last day of existence.’ Mr Stewart leans in towards Lily, spittle flying towards her. ‘You will report to my office after school for that little stunt during assembly. And you.’ He straightens and flares his nostrils at Jonas. ‘You will report to my office for wearing make-up to school.’ He swallows hard as he looks Jonas up and down. ‘Which you will go and wash off immediately. You will also adjust your tie in accordance with school rules.’ Turning sharply on his heel, the headteacher stalks down the corridor, his head held high, arms swinging with purpose.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mouth at Jonas. He shrugs before turning and hurrying away towards the loos.

  NINE

  ‘Is it true you called Stewie a tosser to his face?’

  It’s lunchtime and Lily and I have become celebrities at Westgate High for our anarchic displays this morning. If celebrities were forced to huddle in a corner of the playground in sub-zero temperatures in what can only be described as tracksuit tops, that is. It seems that teenagers didn’t wear woolly hats in 1995 (or even weather-appropriate coats), so the only way I have to warm myself is to ineffectively rub my hands together and breathe onto them. Not even the glow of my elevated status is enough to heat my bluish fingers.

  Aaron leans forward, eyes alight, eager for my answer. He never used to hang out with us at school. We didn’t become close – or even friends – until later.

  ‘She totally did.’ Lily beams first at me and then at the small gathering that is surrounding us. ‘Right to his face.’

  ‘Epic.’ Aaron gives a slow nod. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Lily throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in tight. ‘Maisie here is badass.’

  Maisie here is freezing.

  ‘I heard he went ballistic and threw a chair across the room.’ Charlie (no longer Kool C, it seems) bounces up and down in glee at the day’s drama.

  ‘I heard he tore down all the tinsel and ripped it to shreds with his bare hands.’ A girl whose name has completely fallen from my memory looks intensely at me, wishing the rumour to be true, but I shake my head.

  ‘Sorry, nothing like that. He just went a bit purple.’

  ‘So he didn’t punch the wall?’

  ‘I heard it was a kid he punched. Full-on in the face.’

  ‘No, it was definitely the wall. I’ve seen the cracked plaster.’

  I start to edge away from the group, not wanting to disappoint any more kids with the truth of the headteacher’s not-so-dramatic reaction. Unfortunately, the group follows and by the time the bell signals the end of the lunchbreak, Mr Stewart has transformed into The Trunchbull and has launched a poor pupil the full length of the corridor (one of the kids swears he saw the human javelin being loaded into an ambulance, semi-conscious and with a set of flashing fairy lights twined around his bruised body).

  ‘Jonas!’ Spotting my friend about to duck into the science block, I speed up to catch him. I haven’t seen him since he scurried off to the loos earlier; he skipped maths and didn’t join us at lunch.

  ‘Wait a sec.’ I’m pulled back by Aaron, who moves us away from my new adoring fans. I sigh, impatient to get away. I need to catch up with Jonas, make sure he’s alright after Mr Stewart’s insensitive comments earlier, but Aaron’s gripping my arm.

  ‘How did you know? About…’ He scrapes the toe of his shoe against the concrete ground and I have to stop myself from chiding him. He’s going to scuff those shoes if he carries on. ‘About … you know.’

  I shake my head. I have no idea. I don’t remember this conversation ever taking place. In fact, none of this happened; in reality, Mr Stewart bellowed at Lily in the corridor for her unscheduled performance and that was that. There was no drama. No star status for Lily and me.

  Aaron leans in close. Too close. ‘About the Care Bear.’

  Ah, Aaron’s bedtime companion. The stuffed toy he’s had since he was a toddler. He still has it now, though it no longer shares his bed.

  ‘Your sister told me.’ That’s a lie, but I can hardly tell him the truth. It was Aaron himself who let slip about the Care Bear, his hands covering his face as the full horror of his confession dawned on him. I’d thought it was sweet and had exchanged my own cringe-worthy confession to even the score. But that won’t happen for a few years yet.

  ‘Anyway, got to go.’ I’m already backing away before I say the words, and I turn and run once they’re out, heading straight for the science block so I can find Jonas. I think I hear Aaron calling my name, and I’m pretty sure he’s asking if we can hang out during the holidays, but I keep moving, my teenage legs surprisingly sprightly as they spirit me away with ease.

  I find Jonas in the corner classroom on the first floor of the science block. Our form room. The classroom I started each morning and afternoon in during my time at Westgate High. There’s a tiny Christmas tree drowning in silver tinsel on the desk at the front of the room, and somebody has chalked the outline of a family of snowmen on the blackboard. Excitement has been simmering since assembly this morning and now there’s just one more lesson before the school closes for the Christmas
break.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Slinging my backpack on the table in front of Jonas’s (was it always so heavy? No wonder Annabelle dumps hers as soon as she’s in the house), I pull out a chair and sit down gratefully. My shoes are pinching as they’re on the tight side, but I remember Mum made me wear them until the end of term. Attempting to stretch out my toes, I twist so I can see Jonas at the table behind me, but he’s staring out of the window. He shrugs as a reply.

  ‘Everyone’s going on about this morning. Lily’s singing – if you can call it that – and my altercation with Mr Stewart.’

  Jonas turns away from the window, a half-smile on his lips. ‘Altercation? Did you eat a dictionary for lunch?’

  I don’t answer, and not only because the room suddenly fills with rowdy teenagers, fired up at the prospect of charging from the building in just over an hour and not having to return for two weeks. Jonas is smiling at me, but the vibrant young man who started a mass appreciation of Lily’s vocal non-talents has gone. Jonas is physically still with us, but he seems diminished, as though by washing away the eyeliner and lipstick he’s scrubbed a part of himself away in the process. He appears smaller somehow. Shrunken and pallid.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I reach across the gap between our tables but Jonas has turned away again and doesn’t respond as I place my hand on his arm. He doesn’t even react as a cheer erupts, filling the room with an even bigger din than before. I turn to see Lily in the doorway, curtseying at her adoring fans.

  ‘Here.’ Grabbing Jonas’s backpack from under his table, I unzip the front pocket, where I know he used to keep his cosmetics. ‘Put it back on. Don’t let Stewie tell you who you should be.’ Pushing the kohl pencil and lipstick across the table, I rifle through my own bag and produce the compact mirror I kept in the inside pocket. It was an old one of Mum’s with a crack slicing through the middle, but it’ll do the job. Jonas’s eyes flit from the cosmetics in front of him to the room full of fellow Westgate pupils.