French Kiss

by Sarra Manning

  I was sort of trying to find out whether Shona and Dylan had ever bumped uglies, but basically I was just going on and on about him in a really sad fashion. Shona wouldn’t admit anything – she just smiled knowingly. Before we went our separate ways, she suddenly gripped my arm tightly and said, ‘Don’t get too besotted with Dylan, Edie. He eats up little girls like you for breakfast.’

  Was that friendly advice or a warning to back the hell off?

  31st October

  Nat and Trent forced me to go trick or treating with them. They decided to go as Jedward and I dressed up as a dead girl from a splatter movie.

  So there I was tramping the streets covered in fake blood with a rubber pick-axe stuck to my back. The carrier bag of chocolate we’d got was almost worth it, until I saw Dylan and a huge bunch of his mates (well, like, five of them) coming towards us. THERE WAS NOWHERE TO HIDE!!! I ran across two busy lanes of traffic and nearly succeeded in getting mown down by a bus and replacing my fake blood with a couple of pints of the real thing.

  Nat and Trent told me I hadn’t got away with it anyway. They’d heard Dylan say, ‘Someone’s parents never taught her to look both ways when she’s crossing the road.’ Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  Nat and Trent were like, ‘Time to engage the brain cell,’ but I think I looked so desolate that they finally stopped teasing me (which they’d done mercilessly for about half an hour) and shared their chocolate with me instead.

  2nd November

  When I went to get some books out of my locker at lunchtime, I found a note from Shona asking me if I wanted to go to a gig with her next week and to give her a ring.

  I went swimming at lunchtime and afterwards, as I hurried out of the sports centre, I bumped into Dylan. When I say bumped, I actually mean that I hurtled into him with all the velocity of a high-speed train. I had Tinie Tempah on my iPod and he always makes me walk really, really fast. Dylan put his hands out to steady me and I could feel them through my T-shirt. I had wet hair and tatty old trackie bottoms on, why couldn’t he see me when I looked less dorkish?

  ‘I’ve been swimming,’ I said, as if he couldn’t already tell. Dylan still had his hands on my shoulders and he sort of gently pushed me against the wall and bent his head, so his lips were almost touching mine and whispered, ‘We’ve got a date on Sunday. See you then, kid.’ And off he sauntered.

  Although I’m really into Dylan, I hate the way that he treats me like his little personal plaything. I think he must know that I fancy him, which is horrible enough, but why does he have to make me feel so lame about it?

  8th November

  I’m thawing out in front of the fire with a mug of hot choc and a headful of strange thoughts.

  Dylan picked me up this lunchtime in this tiny bashed-up car. I had to sit with my knees hunched against the dashboard because my seat wouldn’t go back and when Dylan got in it seemed even more cramped. Our eyes met in the driver’s mirror and we both smiled. Time seemed to get really slow and then stop altogether.

  He said, ‘It’s OK, Edie. I know,’ (which I think is the first time he’s ever said my name and just confirmed my worst fears that he’d guessed I had a planet-sized crush on him) before putting on a Beatles CD and starting the car.

  I never wanted the journey to end. Occasionally Dylan’s hand would brush my leg as he changed gears but it wasn’t sleazy, it didn’t even make my heart skip a couple of beats, it just felt really, well, right. I sunk as far as I could into the seat and listened to the music and the car purring along the country roads. Dylan and I were silent but it wasn’t awkward; it was, like, the most comfortable quiet in the world.

  When we got there, wherever there was – I didn’t have a clue – I had to scramble over the driver’s seat, because he’d parked against a hedge. Dylan just stood there while I tried not to snag my woolly tights. I wished I hadn’t worn a dress.

  ‘You could’ve helped me,’ I muttered.

  Dylan just grinned. ‘You seemed to manage very well all by yourself.’

  ‘Charming,’ I said witheringly, but you could tell I didn’t really mean it.

  We had to scramble up this hill with, like, a force 10 gale blowing, so Dylan grabbed my hand and pulled me up behind him. The ruins were all twisty and pointy, a bit like Dylan. He was fiddling with my camera.

  ‘You ready for your close-up then?’ he asked with a smile. There was no way I was going to let Dylan photograph me, I felt vulnerable enough. I snatched the camera back.

  ‘No, I wanna take pictures of you. It’s my camera.’

  Dylan shrugged, then stood there glaring at me. ‘Come on, then.’

  He was ruining everything by going weird and moody. It made me feel very aggressive. I yanked him, so he was standing in a crumbling doorway and then shoved the camera lens towards his face and took photos as fast as I could. I surprise myself sometimes. Then he surprised me by pushing the camera away and kissing me.

  I knew then that nothing else mattered because I wanted to die from Dylan’s kisses. He did things to my mouth that made me realise what it was for. All the time I’d been using it to eat and talk and blow bubbles from wads of Hubba Bubba and instead its sole purpose in life was to be the place where Dylan’s tongue stroked along my teeth and the insides of my cheeks and danced with mine.

  I realise now that the way that someone kisses is as individual as the way they do their hair. Also, there’s no right or wrong way to do it. It was a major revelation. When Dylan kissed me, I couldn’t help but believe that I was the only girl in the world that he’d never get enough of and it made me fall a whole lot more in love with him.

  His hands were in my hair and his lips were on mine and it was like everything and nothing that I’d expected. It seemed to last for ages before he pushed me away.

  ‘That didn’t happen,’ he hissed, narrowing his eyes. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  On the way back down the hill to the car, I slipped and fell over. Dylan didn’t even help me, he just watched impatiently while I scrambled to my feet. We drove back in this horrible silence and I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough when we got to my house. He was already driving off before I’d even shut the door.

  What the hell did I do wrong?

  9th November

  Dylan ignored me all day. As luck would have it, I kept bumping into him everywhere I went but it was like I was invisible; he just brushed past me like a sudden gust of cold air.

  Shona kept pestering me about going to some gig tonight. She was really friendly and I wanted to ask her if she’d spoken to Dylan but I was too chicken.

  I didn’t feel like going out but Shona wouldn’t take no for an answer. She came round to my house and lounged on my bed while I decided to wear my new dress with the cherries on it and a little red cardie. She’s not at all scary now that I know her, but she is annoyingly tight-lipped about Dylan.

  ‘So did Dylan say anything about me then?’ I plucked up the courage to ask, after about ten minutes.

  ‘No,’ Shona replied flatly, flicking through my copy of The Virgin Suicides. ‘Any reason why he should?’

  I pretended to be doing my hair but really I wanted to look at Shona without her realising it. To see if she was twitching or something and therefore lying about Dylan not saying anything.

  ‘Oh, it’s just we went out the other afternoon to do this project and I thought he might have mentioned it,’ I said ultra-casually but Shona just shrugged.

  And when we got to the club, who do we see but Dylan with Mia all over him! Shona made a beeline for them, and I trailed (unwillingly) along behind her. She and Dylan started having this really quiet, really heated debate, while Mia looked me up and down with this really evil smirk on her face. I had to get away, she was doing my head in, so I got myself a drink and wandered off to watch the band, which is when I started talking to this skate kid. He kept telling me that I looked really fresh and I knew Dylan was watching me, so I smiled at this guy and touched his arm while he witte
red on. Then skate kid grabbed me and shoved his tongue down my throat, which was so inappropriate and ewwww that it took a while to actually process what was happening. I pushed him away and told him to cut it out, just in time to see Dylan looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face.

  I didn’t go and find Shona, I didn’t even tell Dylan that he was a treacherous, two-faced git, I just shot out of the club, ran all the way home and collapsed on my bed.

  10th November

  I’ve been spending a lot of time hanging out with Nat and Trent (who must be gay. Or else they just really, really like show tunes). In fact, they’re coming round to mine at the weekend for pizza and a Ryan Gosling DVD marathon. Shona asked why I hadn’t stuck around to see the band last night and I was like, ‘Some guy kept trying to suck face with me and wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ in the hope that she’d tell Dylan. But she just kept going on about what a witch Mia was.

  I had Photography class in the afternoon. Dylan and I were meant to be developing the pictures we took but he obviously didn’t want to be alone in a darkroom with me and we were chaperoned by Simon and Paul. Dylan slumped at the end of the bench glowering and talked to Simon in low murmurs (I distinctly heard the words ‘she’s a fucking headcase’) while me and Paul actually managed to do the developing. I was glad it was dark. It’s easier to hide your emotions when the lights are dim.

  As Dylan’s face emerged from the photographic paper, I felt my insides turn to mush. His eyes seemed to look right through me and then I glanced at the real Dylan and it made me sad and angry that he couldn’t even bring himself to look in my direction. Paul walked me to the top of my road. I don’t fancy him, thank God, because one crush is about all I can handle, he’s just very easy to talk to. But when I mentioned that I’d been hanging with Shona he went all quiet. And when I muttered something about Mia, he nearly tripped over his feet. I just don’t understand boy-shapes.

  16th November

  I had a fantabulous time with Nat and Trent yesterday. I knew I was right about the gay thing because a) they insisted that we watch The Notebook twice! And b) they ’fessed all.

  I’d just gone to get some more garlic bread out of the oven and when I came back they were all whispery but looked up immediately.

  ‘Were you talking about me? Was it about me and Dylan?’ I asked suspiciously because I have a one-track mind. Well, I have a several-track mind but they all go in the same Dylanwards direction.

  I tapped my foot and glared at them while they nudged each other until Trent blurted out: ‘We’re gay. You know that, right?’ And, honestly, they looked so scared like I was about to start screaming that I burst out laughing and said, ‘Hey, what else is new?’ It was all cool.

  But today? Urgh! Mia and two of her hench-women cornered me in the loos.

  ‘I want a word with you, you skanky slut,’ were her first words. I almost dropped my make-up bag in the sink. WTF? ‘Excuse me?’ I said because I was too astounded to even be scared.

  But Mia grabbed me by the wrist and slammed me right against the paper towel dispenser. ‘You’re such a ho,’ she hissed. ‘Everyone knows you’ve got off with Dylan and Paul.’

  She was right in my face, practically spitting with venom and I felt all shaky and weepy ’cause when someone’s nose to nose with you and giving you aggro, it’s quite traumatising. Plus I didn’t have a clue what she was going on about. I’d kissed Dylan. I’d had major kissing with Dylan and now he was treating me like a leper and as for Paul… Since when did walking home with someone equal letting them have a quick feel?

  Luckily, a gang of secretarial trainees came in and she had to let me go but the whole thing left me very trembly.

  I’d just about recovered and pushed the door open when I saw Shona walking down the corridor, and she blanked me! I thought that maybe she hadn’t seen me and I ran and caught up with her.

  ‘Hey you,’ I said brightly and then took a step back as Shona shot me a venomous look. ‘What’s wrong?’ I said.

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ she repeated with disbelief. ‘What’s wrong is that I’ve been hanging out with a two-faced bitch like you!’ She flounced off in the direction of the art block and I went to another bathroom and sat on the toilet seat and cried until it was time for French. I think everyone must be on drugs. I don’t know what’s going on. It seemed like the whole college was pointing at me and whispering. To top it all, I saw Dylan on my way to the bus-stop and he looked at me like I’d just crawled out of a primordial swamp.

  I got home and had a huge hissy fit at the ’rents about moving to this hideous town in the first place but it didn’t really make me feel better.

  22nd November

  I used to love the weekends when we lived in Brighton. From Friday evening to Sunday night, I’d be out of the house and hanging with my friends. I was part of a gang of people that cared about me. This weekend, I barely came out of my room. I mostly slumped on the bed, cuddling Pudding until even she got bored and miaowed indignantly until I let her out.

  I spent the whole weekend either moping, gazing at that stupid photo of Dylan or phoning Shona only to have my calls roll to voicemail. Yeah, right. I know that this icky mess is all Dylan’s fault.

  23rd November

  I was definitely at the back of the queue when they were handing out common sense.

  I’d spent so long having these confrontation fantasies in my head about exactly what I was going to say to Dylan that I completely forgot all the very good reasons (about 147 of them at the last count) why I shouldn’t corner him in a deserted studio at lunch-time.

  The really sarcastic little speech that I’d prepared flew out of my head and I screamed and swore at him. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I was a total harpy!

  ‘You’re just an arrogant jerk who thinks he can play around with my heart just for something to do,’ was one of the not-so-highlights of it. I even stamped my foot a couple of times. The more angry I got, the more choked up and snotty-nosed I became while Dylan sat there looking utterly horrified. Then I burst into tears properly and ran out. Sometimes I think that I suffer from arrested mental development.

  I made it as far as the patch of ground by the kitchens where the bins are, before Dylan caught up with me. One moment I was running as fast as I could, the next he’d grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me round to face him. Of course, I was struggling and flailing about like someone had emptied a packet of itching powder into my knickers but then I became aware of how tightly Dylan was holding me and I went still.

  ‘God, just stop it,’ he said and his voice was all strained. ‘Calm down.’ And he was looking at me like he really cared about me and then he stroked one long finger down my hot face and I knew he was going to kiss me. I knew it. It was even better than before. We melted into each other. He kissed me so hard and so long that time seemed to freeze around us.

  After that we went for a walk in the park and he held my hand. Really held it. And every now and again, he’d squeeze my fingers. It was primo hand-holding. But I was still really mad at him. And he said, ‘Edie, there’s all this complicated stuff going on that I need to clear up.’

  So I asked, ‘You mean, before we can be together?’

  He crinkled his eyes at me like he was seeing me for the first time and then he muttered, ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’ People always say that when they’re about to hurt you.

  It was the hardest thing that I’ve ever done but I just said in a small, tight voice, ‘Well, when you’re done with all these games, maybe you’ll let me know.’ I turned and walked away and I forced myself not to look back.

  I think I felt worse, if that was possible, after that. I wish I’d never come here. Nat and Trent are the only people who speak to me. Shona acts as if I’m an icky piece of ick she’s found at the bottom of her bag. Even though I hear whispers, I walk the corridors with my head up and my shoulders straight, even though deep inside I’m cringing. But it’s hard. It’s really hard.
It’s too hard.

  24th November

  Nat and Trent had a fight today. Nat pinched the last chip from Trent’s plate. Trent stormed off and Nat went all sulky. I walked him round the park and we talked about finding a cure for boy disease.

  Eventually after I’d been banging on and on about you-know-who for half an hour at least, Nat said, ‘Edie you’ve got to let it go.’ But really he was telling me to let Dylan go and I just can’t do that. Even though Dylan seems to carry a huge amount of emotional baggage around with him, I can’t suddenly forget the feel of his kisses and those rare moments when we really seem to… connect.