I took off the bandages as soon as I got home and breathed the biggest sigh of relief. Now that I knew for sure that Kate wanted to kiss me, I was on top of the world – nothing could touch me. When Mum and Dad got back from Glasgow and Mum was in a foul mood because there was nothing in the fridge for dinner so we’d have to get takeaway again, I just smiled and fanned out the menus in front of her like a magician. Said I’d even go and collect it. She looked at me suspiciously; I never volunteered to get the takeaway.
Mum knew something was up, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. It must have been the smiling. I wasn’t one for pointless smiling. Anyway, she didn’t push the matter and we actually had a pretty decent evening, stuffing ourselves and taking the piss out of people on some TV talent show. Kate texted a couple of times and asked what I was up to. I said I was listening to music in my room. Weirdly enough, this tiny lie made me feel guilty. Probably because there was no good reason for it, other than the fact that I didn’t want Kate to think I was the sort of loser who watched Saturday night telly with their parents. I decided that one day soon I’d come clean about it. Strange how you can focus on the little things when there’s a massive black cloud looming over you.
*
On Monday the real world was waiting for me. I showered quickly and got dressed. I zipped up my skirt and stared at myself in the mirror. My shirt was at least three sizes too big. Most of the girls wore theirs tight, desperate to show off their boobs. Which you could just about understand in a co-ed school, but in a girls’ school it was just bizarre. Everyone else usually rolled up the tops of their skirts to make them as short as possible. I never bothered. There was no way to make it look good so what was the point of trying? I hated the tights too. I went bare-legged for as long as possible every year, waiting for the day Mum insisted I wear tights. By that time it was usually so cold that my legs went mottled and blue-ish.
I looked like crap in my uniform, there was no question about that. It just looked wrong somehow. Like I was wearing a costume, dressing up like someone playing a schoolgirl in a play. The first day of secondary school when I came down for breakfast decked out in my new clothes, Mum clapped her hands together and said, ‘Look at my baby girl, all grown up and off to big school!’ Dad smiled indulgently. Jamie laughed for five minutes straight. I didn’t even mind; I laughed right along with him.
There was a strict no-phones policy at school, so I didn’t even have texts from Kate to get me through the horrors of Monday. I tried to convince myself that none of this mattered – the teachers droning on, the girls ignoring me, the boredom. This wasn’t my real life. My real life was skating and music and … Kate?
I spent most of the morning thinking about Saturday, trying not to cringe at the moments I’d made a right twat of myself. There weren’t too many, but that didn’t stop me going over them in my head, again and again, trying to work out just how lame Kate thought I was. When I’d had enough of beating myself up about things I focused on the good stuff. The way she laughed when I was trying to be funny, the way she looked at me all intense when we were talking about something serious, her shy smile when she thought she’d said something outrageous. These thoughts were enough to get me through double Maths before lunch.
I always brought a packed lunch with me. Mum used to make it for me but she gave up a couple of years ago. She usually made fancy stuff like quinoa salad and Moroccan wraps but I was happy with ham sandwiches (white bread, a tiny bit of mustard), an apple and a banana. The way I saw it, there was no point having anything better. School was a depressing place to be and I hated the thought of it tainting any nice food Mum made for me. Ham sandwiches were inherently disappointing (to me at least), so they were the perfect lunch for schooldays. I never tried to explain all this to Mum because she wouldn’t have understood.
I usually ate my lunch on some steps near the staff room. No one else hung around there, obviously. It was getting way too cold to sit out there though; my hands were numb by the time I’d finished my sandwich. I was just getting started on my apple (I always had the banana last – always) when I heard voices. They were getting closer and I was pissed off that someone had dared to invade my space. Two girls came round the corner, leaning against each other to hold themselves up, laughing and screeching. Anyone else and it would have been OK. Anyone else in a school of eight hundred pupils. But no. It had to be her. Heather Harris.
Heather Harris with her stupid messy dyed red hair and her eyeliner and her pierced nose (totally against school rules but no one ever challenged her on it).
Heather Harris, who somehow managed to make the school uniform look halfway decent. Like it had been custom-made to fit her just right.
Heather Harris, who’d tried to kiss me last week. And succeeded.
chapter eight
Heather Harris was this year’s New Girl. She’d arrived after the start of term and was specially introduced by the headmistress in assembly. Mrs Goldberg made Heather stand up in front of everyone. I would have died of embarrassment but Heather stood there like she didn’t give a toss that the entire school was staring at her. She looked like she was waiting for a bus and so not impressed that it was late. Whenever I saw her in the corridor after that, she usually had that same expression on her face. I couldn’t blame her: school was unimpressive in every way.
For the first week or so Heather was by herself every time I saw her. It even crossed my mind that maybe I should talk to her. She looked different from the rest of them – she didn’t seem to be another clone of Marcy Davies for one thing. She looked like she might have something interesting to say for herself. Of course, I didn’t end up approaching her, because that’s not the kind of thing I would ever do.
A few weeks before I met Kate, Heather Harris and I talked for the first time. She’d joined the running squad even though she was crap at running. I always waited until the changing room was empty before taking a shower. Undressing in front of people has always been a bit of a phobia of mine. The one and only time I’ve ever been invited to a sleepover I didn’t even have to fake a stomach ache to get Mum to call Priya’s mother to say I couldn’t go – I threw up three times from nerves. I could tell Mum was disappointed that I couldn’t go to Priya’s – she probably thought that me being invited was the start of something for me. She wasn’t to know that Priya’s parents had forced her to invite every girl in our class.
That day after training I was sitting on a wooden bench in the furthest corner of the changing room, waiting. I knew someone was still there, but I didn’t know who. I wouldn’t allow myself to look up in case I had to engage in conversation. I unlaced my trainers painfully slowly, like I was defusing a bomb. The mystery person still hadn’t left by the time my Asics were off. I was going to have to get a move on otherwise I’d be late for English. I’d just have to be really quick about it and hope that whoever it was would leave as soon as possible. I took a deep breath and went to pull my T-shirt over my head. The fabric was right over my face when I heard a voice in front of me.
There was a cough. ‘Hi. I was just wondering where you got your trainers from.’
I quickly pulled my T-shirt back down, hoping my face wasn’t too red. It was Heather. Barefoot, wearing running shorts and a sports bra and nothing else. ‘Um … that shop on Lothian Road?’ As if I wasn’t entirely sure.
‘I don’t know it.’ Of course she didn’t. She’d just moved here.
Heather was staring at me, waiting. I was clearly going to have to elaborate. ‘It’s pretty decent. They video you on a running machine so they can work out which trainers you need. It’s not cheap – my mum doesn’t understand why I can’t just get a pair from the supermarket or whatever.’
‘Oh God, tell me about it. My mum’s the same.’
This seemed like a natural point to end the conversation, but Heather showed no sign of moving. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself – there was no way I was getting changed right in front of her. She didn’t seem in th
e least bit self-conscious about standing there in her bra. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Mum always says that means someone’s being defensive, but I didn’t think that was the case here. In fact, I was pretty sure Heather was standing like that to push her boobs up and make them look bigger than they were.
I glanced at my watch and saw that the bell was about to go. I was going to be late. Heather took my hand and turned my wrist round so she could see the time. ‘Shit!’ She rushed over to the other side of the changing rooms and whipped off her bra. She carried on talking as she changed back into her uniform. ‘Oh God, I’m going to stink this afternoon. Reckon I’ll be giving Mr Perkins a run for his money.’ She paused to spray copious amounts of deodorant over every inch of her body. I was watching her even though I didn’t mean to. She glanced over. ‘Aren’t you going to be late?’
‘Nah, I’ve got a free period next. I thought I’d take my time … maybe wash my hair.’
Heather stopped for a second and looked at me. She knew I was lying – I was sure of it – but she just nodded slowly. ‘So I was wondering if you need a training partner? Maybe we could run together on weekends or something?’ She was buttoning up her shirt really slowly as she said this.
‘Yeah, that would be cool.’ There was no way in hell she’d be able to keep up with me, but I wasn’t bothered. For some reason this new girl seemed to want to be friends with me. Maybe she was different from the others. It would be kind of nice to have a friend at school.
‘Cool.’ Heather smiled and held my eye for a moment or two – slightly longer than was comfortable, if I’m being entirely honest. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Enjoy your shower.’ There was something about the way she said ‘shower’, something sarcastic. Like she wanted me to know she knew I was lying. Not in a mean way though – almost as if it was our little secret. It made me feel uneasy all the same.
In the end I was ten minutes late for English, but I just told Mrs Enthoven I’d been helping one of the PE teachers with something. She believed me. Teachers always believed me, because I always handed in my work on time and got good grades. My thoughts kept drifting back towards Heather all afternoon. There had been something strange going on between us – a weird kind of tension in the air. But I couldn’t work out where it came from or even whether I liked it or not.
*
Heather and I weren’t left alone together for another couple of weeks. She hadn’t asked again about us running together, and I wasn’t about to talk to her first. I’d noticed her watching me a couple of times during training. I thought she might be trying to pick up a few tips – she certainly needed them.
A week before I met Kate at the gig, Heather and I were the last ones in the changing room again. I’d dawdled around outside, taking extra time over my warm down exercises. Some of the girls were already coming out of the changing rooms by the time I went in. I sat in my little corner and waited. When silence finally descended I looked up and saw her looking at me. I wondered how long she’d been watching.
‘Hi.’ Sounding as uncomfortable as I felt.
‘Hi.’ Heather didn’t sound at all uncomfortable.
There was a long silence, which I had to break with an insightful ‘Um …’
Heather smiled and rolled her eyes, as if my awkwardness was endearing. She glanced towards the door then walked over and sat down next to me. ‘You really don’t like getting changed in front of people, do you?’
‘What? I don’t—’
‘It’s OK, you don’t have to explain yourself.’
So I said nothing. Just waited to see what happened next.
‘You’re not big on talking, are you?’
I shrugged and Heather laughed. She shifted closer to me on the bench. Our legs were nearly touching. My mouth was dry all of a sudden.
‘I’m not going to bite, you know.’ Her voice was a whisper now. Her hand was on my thigh. I could not believe what was happening.
‘What are you doing?’ I turned to face her. I had no other option, really.
Her face was really close to mine. Close enough for me to see the spot brewing just under her nose. ‘You know full well what I’m doing. I’ve seen you watching me.’ I had no idea what she was talking about. I didn’t watch her more than I watched anyone else – and it was kind of hard to avoid watching people, due to the whole ‘having eyes’ thing.
‘Um … sorry. But I really don’t think …’
And that’s when she did it. Closed her eyes and tilted her head and put her lips on mine. All the signs had been there (a hand on my leg, for Christ’s sake) but I still hadn’t seen it coming.
I froze. Her tongue was prodding at my closed lips, trying to find a way in. I jerked my head back, hitting it against the metal bar behind me. Heather looked surprised but then she leaned in again. I jumped up from the bench. ‘I’m sorry … I …’ My words trailed off when I saw the look on Heather’s face.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ She stood up and stalked back over to her side of the room.
I didn’t know what to do with myself. Should I say something? Go over to her? Say sorry again? I couldn’t decide so I did nothing.
Heather gathered up her things, stuffing her uniform into her bag. All her movements were sharp and forceful. She was furious.
When she was done she shouldered her bag and stomped over to the mirror. She smoothed down her hair and swept her fingers across her eyes. I could see the tears glinting from where I was standing. I had to say something before she left. ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m not sure exactly what I was apologizing for – I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it’s never good to make someone cry.
Heather swiped away another tear and took a deep breath before turning to look at me. ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone about this … If you breathe a word I swear I’ll …’ She didn’t finish the sentence so I never found out exactly what she planned to do if I told someone. Besides, I had no intention of telling anyone – ever. It was way too embarrassing.
One last look in the mirror then Heather stormed out. The bell went. I was twelve minutes late for English this time.
chapter nine
I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened. I don’t think Heather did either because a couple of days after that I saw her hanging out with Marcy Davies. She didn’t come back to training. As far as Heather Harris was concerned I did not exist. And that suited me just fine.
I kept myself to myself even more than usual after that, wrapping myself up in thoughts of Kate. But then Heather had to go and stumble round that corner with Marcy, shattering my peace and quiet.
Heather noticed me first. And I was sure she was going to stick to her new policy of ignoring me. But she made this big show of stepping away from me and dragging Marcy back with her. ‘I didn’t realize this was the designated dyke corner. They should put a sign up or something – warn the rest of us to steer clear.’
Marcy laughed in that way you do when you’re not supposed to be laughing. ‘Heather! That’s terrible!’ But she was smiling; it was obvious she didn’t really think it was terrible at all. And there was something about the way Marcy was laughing that made it clear that this was not the first time my sexuality had been questioned. People must have been talking about me behind my back and I’d been too stupid to even realize.
I put my half-eaten apple back in my lunch box, then gathered the rest of my stuff together and stood up. I skulked away without saying anything. Their laughter followed me round the corner. It briefly occurred to me that Kate would never let these two girls get away with acting like this. She would say something. She would stand up for what she believed in. I was the worst kind of coward.
*
I didn’t talk to Heather again but I couldn’t help thinking about her, trying to work out what the hell had happened in the changing rooms that day. Had I done anything to encourage her? Had I led her on in some way? I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Not that I was in any way experienced with this stuff,
but all I’d done was talk to the girl. I hadn’t said anything that would make her think that it was OK to kiss me. Maybe it had been a moment of madness on her part – a mistake that she’d instantly regretted as soon as she’d seen my reaction. Or maybe she’d pounced on an unsuspecting girl before and things had worked out just fine. I’d never know the truth unless I asked her and there was no way that was ever going to happen.
I played the kiss over and over in my mind. It hadn’t felt bad, exactly. But it hadn’t felt right either. It wasn’t how I’d pictured my first kiss, that was for sure. I’d always thought it would be with someone I really liked. I’d always thought it would be with a boy. But the more I thought about it the more I wondered if I’d only ever thought about boys because that was the way I’d been conditioned to think. Way back when I was little, Barbie went with Ken. That was how things were supposed to be.
I couldn’t help wondering if Heather had recognized something in me. Something I’d never even realized myself. Had she known, somehow?
When I thought about Heather kissing me I’d try my hardest to imagine it was Kate instead. By the time my second date with Kate came along, I’d done so much imagining that sometimes it felt like the kiss had already happened. Of course, when it actually did happen, it was nothing at all like I’d imagined.
chapter ten
It was up to me to decide what we were doing for our second date. I reckon Kate was testing me, seeing whether I’d come up with something decent. I put a lot of thought into it – all the places I usually hung out suddenly seemed inadequate somehow. I wanted it to be special.
It was Jamie who gave me the idea in the end, not that he knew it. I was rummaging around in his room after school because I’d run out of hair gel. I was finding all sorts of interesting things in his desk drawer – condoms and Rizlas and porn. I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t cleared out his drawers before he’d gone off to uni. Jamie wasn’t the sort of boy to care if his mum knew what he was up to – he knew his status as Number One Son and Golden Child was safe, no matter what. I eventually found a crusty-looking tube of hair gel, but I kept on looking out of pure nosiness.