By the Time You Read This Page 5

  Boys want a girlfriend. Maybe not a pink-ribbon-wearing, frilly, soft, rose-scented little package, but a girl all the same (sorry!). Forget all this talk about them wanting to be with a girl who understands the offside rule, burps and leaves her hand down her trousers “because it’s comfortable.” Terrible. It’s only natural for a bloke to be attracted to someone who acts like…well…a girl (sorry again!), who flutters her eyelashes, flicks her hair when she’s embarrassed by a compliment and who’d never even dream of a burp or a fart.

  So if you want one of your friends to ever see you as girlfriend material (and when I say girlfriend, I mean the holding hands, going to the park type) then try to be girly as well as (most importantly) yourself.

  I decided to stop being friends with Gary and the others. No post-match analysis, no help with their homework and certainly no “women” advice. This alienation lasted a whole week, right up until Gary Jones commented on what a bitch I’d turned into, which stung like a fresh bee sting and I quickly changed my mind back to being me.

  fact: humiliations will only get worse with age

  Kevin Trivia While men orbited the moon, looking for aliens, there were others on earth who publicly insulted some human beings over the color of their skin.

  Your last year of secondary school.

  Your friends are probably talking about traveling, getting full-time jobs and/or changing the world…as soon as they “escape” the bars and locks of school. But Lowey, if you haven’t decided to stay on at sixth form, please start thinking about it now. I’m not saying that by leaving school at sixteen you won’t get anywhere (I did and I earn a very good wage as a hospital administrator), I’d just prefer you to have more choices and that means getting more grades. Please, think seriously about it, and in the meantime buckle down to some studying. Don’t neglect your friends and boyfriend (if you have one. Please don’t have one yet!!!!), just try to limit the time spent “hanging around” when you could be studying.

  This is an important year for you.

  Remember, your daddy loves you. With stars on.

  By the time I was fifteen, three major events had occurred in my life.

  I got asked out by a boy for the first time.

  I became a revolutionary.

  I got beaten up for the first time.

  First, the beating part. Sharlene Rockingham finally got her way by pulling at my hair as I ripped her school shirt almost in half. A couple of slaps (from her), a few shoves and it was over. I gave as well as I got, but her bulk and my generous amount of “bone” would never be equal in any weigh-in. The clump of hair left behind on the playground floor looked suspiciously like mine as gasps and laughter increased among the assembled onlookers. It wasn’t until we were standing sheepishly in the middle of Mrs. Codrington’s office that I realized the front of my bra was actually showing, complete with ripped seam. Oh, the shame!

  Miscellaneous: Humiliations

  I’ve had my fair share:

  Being beaten seventeen-zip at a soccer cup match.

  Spending a whole day at work with a piece of toilet paper attached to my trouser leg.

  Danny and Charlie pinning me to a shop window (blindfolded and naked) after my stag night, two hours before opening time.

  Hopefully, you won’t be as lucky as me in the humiliation stakes. You might think your mom turning up at parents’ evening wearing the most embarrassing floppy hat is the worst thing that can ever happen to you—but believe me when I say you ain’t seen nothing yet. Humiliations have this unique ability to rise in number, with age. But how you deal with it will also change as you mature—an ability I hope you’ll put to good use along with your ever-growing wisdom, experience, mortgage costs…well, you get my drift.

  Two weeks of after-school detention was not a surprise. But the offer by Carla and a couple of reliable cronies offering to “deal” with Sharlene for me, was. Touched, I decided to let it go. I only had a year left at secondary school and getting good SATs had to remain my priority. Nothing else mattered…Oh, except perhaps becoming a revolutionary. Well, sort of.

  One assembly, the headmistress announced the local council’s plan to amalgamate our school with a rival comprehensive. The hall fell into a hush, as our minds contemplated what this meant. My own thoughts drifted to the next twelve months, possibly spent surrounded by members of the opposite sex—new boys, non-friend boys. And this new batch had to include someone mad enough to even glance my way. But as we filed out of assembly that morning I could almost taste a new energy around us, alive with titters, whispers and opinions—ones turning against the new school.

  “I can’t believe they’re mixing us with THAT lot!” spat Sharlene Rockingham, typically.

  “Boys!” drooled Carla, almost licking her lips in happiness.

  “Not everyone’s a—”

  “Just say it and see what I’ll do to you! I’m not Lois, you know!” spat Carla.

  Sharlene backed down as another girl spoke up. “This is what they want! Us fighting among each other. Well, you know what…?”

  “What?” we asked in surprised unison.

  “We ain’t gonna stand for it! Why should we?”

  This question seemed to pump the now larger crowd full of adrenaline. So I thought it a good idea just to join in with it all.

  At lunch, I followed Carla and a few others to the back of the science block.

  “You know, we can’t let this happen!” said one.

  “No way. We’ve got to fight it!” said another.

  “Too right! They can’t amalga-wotsit us with another school, can they?!” added Carla, punching the air, the quickest change in opinion I had ever witnessed. I’d also never seen this side of her, or any of the other girls assembled on the wooden bench-cum-podium. They reminded me of check-coated old men on rallies, shouting at the television camera as placard-holding masses chanted and nodded their heads in agreement—the type of thing you saw on the six o’clock news and certainly not in my secondary school. Even after Mrs. Codrington shooed us all away, the meeting continued behind the gym block and by the next day even our Home Economics teacher had pledged his support.

  What followed over the ensuing weeks were lunchtime “rallies” and meetings to decide how we were going to see off this threat to our education. My thoughts of handsome new boys became a sad but not forgotten memory as I joined the cause, secretly enjoying the togetherness. So, if this meant singing “We shall not, we shall not be mixed!” in the street, then so be it. If this meant welcoming Sharlene Rockingham into the fold, then so be it. We were a team, after all. Women, united in our quest to secure a good education for ourselves and future generations to come.

  Lowey, if you’re not prepared to fight for what you believe in, then you might as well pack up and go home.

  When the head announced the amalgamation would be put on hold until further notice, I knew a bunch of fifteen-year-olds couldn’t have swayed the minds of a selection of evil-doing council heads. But still, the taste of “victory” collided nicely with my taste buds: refreshing and unfamiliar.

  But I was still glad to get back to normal, dodging Mom and studying for my SATs, which worked well until Mickey Mills asked me out one rainy evening as I stood outside Lanes chomping on a steak pie.

  Now, Mickey Mills could hardly be described as handsome. Skinny, he resembled two legs sticking out of a neck and probably needed a bottle of Clearasil for his birthday. He wasn’t cool, but at the same time held his own among the cooler kids at his school, commanding respect among the boys as well as having a small but creditable fan club among the girls. He dressed okay (even if his feet weren’t in the latest Adidas). And he was mad enough to ask me out to see Jurassic Park, more to the point. I was quick to say yes, hungry for a morsel of what Carla and all the pretty girls at school had been consuming for years now.

  Luckily there were no sex scenes in the movie, so I didn’t have to check for any bulges in Mickey’s trousers. Plus, I made sure I never b
ent over to pick up any popcorn (or pencils!) either.

  “I…I really had a great time,” stuttered Mickey Mills outside my house. If I really squinted my eyes and ignored the spots, he could almost pass for quite a good looker.

  “Me too. Thanks for the ticket.”

  “Erm, thanks for the popcorn,” he said. His faced moved in closer to mine and he squeezed his eyes shut like I did the last time I was constipated.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He opened his eyes. “I was going to give you a…kiss?”

  We stared at one another for ages before I moved in and planted a huge wet kiss…on his cheek.

  “Goodnight!” I said, the key already turning the lock. My heart was racing as I shot up the steps with a great big smile on my face.

  You may think you’ve found the best thing since, I dunno, video laser discs, but it’s best not to fall for the first person to pay you any sort of special attention or hair compliment. There will be plenty of other lads who will comment on your lovely hair, sweet little laugh and your special ability to do fractions without a calculator (you can, right?). Besides, if he is truly “the one,” then surely it’s meant to be and you’ll end up together anyway. Only, later. Much later. When you’re, like, thirty-six? Okay, thirty.

  I couldn’t wait for school to start in just over twelve hours, so I phoned Carla right away with the news.

  Mom appeared as soon as I replaced the receiver.

  “You see each other every day and she lives next door. Why do you have to phone her? I’m not made of money, you know,” she moaned, dressed in an old nightie and clutching a mug of cocoa.

  “There’s loads to talk about, Mom. You wouldn’t understand!” I stressed.

  “Did you have a nice time tonight?”

  “What?” I asked coyly.

  “I guessed you were meeting a boy.”

  I felt myself blush with embarrassment. “Just a friend, Mom.”

  “Corey’s a friend. This was a date, wasn’t it?”

  Suddenly, I longed to jump into bed and escape this unwelcome interrogation.

  “Not really. Mom, I’m really tired.”

  “Okay, love. But you know you can talk to me about…anything.”

  “Yes.” I was already hiding under the covers.

  “And feel free to bring him round. Perhaps I could make us all some tea. Snapper and rice?”

  Knowing I’d rather boil my own toe, I nodded a quick agreement and raced upstairs to dream about Mickey rescuing me from a pack of green dinosaurs.

  At school, Carla and I gossiped heavily about my date and then replayed it all back at hers that evening.

  “This is sooo cool!” enthused Carla.

  “I know!”

  “You know what?” asked Corey, who since leaving school seemed to have embraced maturity overnight. His walk strayed from anxious gorilla to masculine strut, and he now wore his jeans straight.

  “None of your biz!” I said.

  “Oh, go on!” he whined, sounding like a five-year-old all over again.

  “Lois has a boyfriend!” blabbed Carla.

  I stamped on her foot.

  “Ow!”

  “Who?” Corey asked.

  “Why?”

  “Want to see if I know him,” replied Corey.

  “You don’t, so mind your biz!”

  “I was only wondering…that’s all!”

  “Wondering what?” questioned Carla.

  “If he’s a jerk or not.”

  As soon as he left, Carla and I resumed our gossiping. It felt so great to have something in common with my best friend again. And as time went on, I began to enjoy this more than the company of Mickey Mills, who on closer inspection had really bad breath. I knew I’d never kiss him and was glad when he finally dumped me, citing my refusal to “french him” as strong-enough grounds.

  there’s a good way and a bad way to do it

  Kevin Trivia: The best thing to happen to me the year I turned seventeen? Watching Pele’s amazing opening goal against Italy. What a match!

  To leave or not to leave?

  You probably hate school and can’t wait to be released from the shackles of all those rules, not to mention the revolting school dinners. But please, Lowey, really think about staying on at sixth form or going to college. Get those extra grades. Remember, it’s all about having choices.

  Sixth Form College represented a change of scenery, and with it a handful of perks. Top of the list: no school uniform, plus daily access to some really cool guys. Not that any were ever interested in me. It had been and would always be my best friend Carla who enticed the hungry crowds. She’d grown into something quite special too—if you liked slim waists, large breasts and a sassy Jessica Rabbit walk just to top it all off. Even Mr. Tally had started to look at her funny as he weighed out a quarter bag of cola cubes. While I preferred to live in my jeans, Carla’s Daisy Duke’s (i.e. the tiniest shorts ever) seemed to be in constant competition with her bum cheeks, so it was hardly surprising when she got together with Antoine Richards, a smooth guy from the upper sixth, proceeding to spend most if not all of her spare time with him. Again, I got used to this and it failed to niggle away at me until I called round one day and Corey answered the door.

  “She’s out with some boy,” he offered. I hadn’t seen him in ages. Almost eighteen now, he seemed to be into more grown-up things like Art College and a scooter. He’d also grown a goatee and looked really impressive. And he’d been spotted recently with some blonde bombshell from the Hankle Estate. Not that I cared about that.

  “This is the second time she’s blown me off for Antoine!” I whined as we entered the lounge.

  “What kind of name is that?” he asked, producing a box of cigarettes from nowhere.

  “No thanks. Don’t smoke.”

  “Neither do I, then!” he said, flinging the box across the room.

  “She said she’d be home by six!” I continued pointlessly.

  “I dunno why you bother with my sister.”

  I wanted to say, because my dad told me to.

  Corey disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Where is everyone?” I called.

  “Mom and Dad are at the pictures. It’s just me here.” He reappeared with two cans as I parked myself in front of the telly as always. He threw a can of beer at me, which I failed to catch.

  “Still can’t catch, Lo Bag. Bad. Very bad indeed.” He shook his head in mock horror and I gave him the finger. “So, how is you?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You still with that idiot?”

  “You mean Mickey? That was eons ago.”

  “No one since?”

  I ignored him and began sipping at the beer, which tasted absolutely disgusting (although I’d never, ever tell Corey that). “How are things at college?”

  “I’m really enjoying my art course…” he began, smiling, showing off those dimples. As he spoke, I hoped he’d forget to ask me anything “profound.” He attended Art College to study…art, I suppose, while I studied A-level English and Computer Science at the local sixth form. His friends were all arty folk, whereas my only friend was Carla. The more we chatted, the more I knew we’d hardly anything (except Carla) in common any more, and this made me a little sad.

  “Music,” he said with a smile.

  “What about it?”

  “You still into LL Cool J?”

  “A little bit…”

  “You remember that tape I gave you?”

  “I dunno where it is now. That was ages ago.”

  “I always thought of you when I listened to track two. That was my favorite album.”

  “Can’t remember that,” I said quickly.

  “Track two?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s probably in Mom’s cabinet.” I sipped away at the beer, feeling giddy as the fizz caught the edge of my tongue. I swallowed and, without warning, that feeling you get when you’re about to choke your insides out made an u
nwelcome presence at the back of my throat.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh hum!” I struggled, trying and failing desperately to clear my throat. As things advanced up the embarrassment scale with cough after cough, Corey stood up, making his way behind me as I continued to splutter madly.

  “Just let it out, okay?” His hands slapped onto my shoulder.

  As quickly as it had begun, the throat tickle subsided and I attempted to regain some dignity and composure as Corey remained behind me.

  “I’m okay now, really.”

  “I know, Lo Bag,” he said, his hands kneading a tense shoulder. My tense shoulder. I automatically froze with the sudden intensity of this act, not wanting to move while wanting to turn around and…kiss him. All I could hear was his breathing because it felt like my breath had long since disappeared with the shock of it all. What to do? What to do? What to do, Dad?

  “Turn around…” Corey’s voice sounded different. Hoarse. Urgent. I stood up to face him and then it just happened. “It” being my lips connecting with his, followed by a beer-tinged tongue rummaging around my teeth like a penniless man digging for gold. I was wishing I’d brushed my teeth for the full three minutes that morning, and I also wished something romantic was playing in the background instead of the Top of the Pops theme tune. Looking back, it probably wouldn’t be my most enjoyable kiss, but at the grand old age of seventeen, it was certainly my first.

  Words failed me afterward. I’d just kissed my best friend’s brother, for pete’s sake!

  “D’you want another beer?” he asked, all matter of fact.

  So that night, we drank a little as we watched EastEnders on telly, and by nine p.m. hid the beer cans as Carla’s mom and dad returned from their night out.

  Dad had written something in the miscellaneous section about kisses, so as soon as I fled next door, heart racing with the intensity of it all, I dug it out.

  Miscellaneous: Your first real kiss