by Lucy Cuthew
her nose with one finger.
“I’ve just sent it,” I say.
“He said he’ll give me
my reference on Friday.”
“Excellent!” Dad smacks
me on the back.
“Hairy’s applying too,
isn’t she?”
I don’t want to talk
about Harriet,
so I just nod.
“We are so proud of you,”
Mum says.
“I know,” I say
and try not to think about
what I really did today
as I bite
into Dad’s famous
barbecued chicken thighs.
A PICTURE
I’m in bed at 10 p.m.
when my phone goes ting.
I sweep it up, caressing it.
I know it’s him.
Benjamin
Thinking bout you.
Me
Me too.
Benjamin
Send me a pic?
And those four little words
make my insides
go squish.
Benjamin
with godlike thighs,
a delicious grin
and naked feet
inside his shoes
and clever thoughts
inside his head
wants a picture
of me.
SELFIE
I take a few.
I look all right,
but then the questions start
like:
How much skin?
Pyjamas in?
Straps or skin?
Lying down
or sitting up
or not in bed?
I think
about Benjamin.
I licked his skin,
I bit him,
I menstruated on him.
He said, “It’s only blood,”
and laughed at my curtains
and loved my pictures of the moon.
Then I remember
the picture Harriet
took of me
under the trees
after things started
happening with Benjamin and me
at the ice rink that night.
I find it
and that’s the one
I send him.
Straight away, it says,
Benjamin is typing…
Benjamin
You are so pretty.
Here’s one of me.
Just for you.
Night x
He’s in bed,
smiling,
with bare shoulders.
I can’t get enough of it.
I stare and stare and stare
at it, until my eyes are tired
and I sigh
and lie back
on my bed,
my phone pressed
against my chest,
the weight of it
pinning me to this
perfect moment.
PART TWO
THURSDAY
THE FUNDAMENTALS OF PHYSICS
Harriet steps out of her front door
at the exact same moment as me
and I imagine on another day
telling her about Benjamin
and what we did,
and the pictures we swapped
late at night in bed,
but instead she raises
her middle finger at me
and says, “Bitch.”
“Takes one to know
one,” I say and turn
the other way.
She’s the one
who took a photo of me
in the shower at school.
Talk about bitchy.
I don’t need her anyway.
She said I’m nothing to her.
Well, she can be nothing to me.
I walk to school with
the wind in my hair,
the morning sun
glistening on the dew.
I feel #NoFilter fit.
I’m textbook.
I’ve totally got it.
On his street
Benjamin is waiting for me,
leaning against the brick wall
outside his house.
He stands,
and crosses to meet me.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Nice to see you.”
“Hey, you,” he replies,
smiling and walking beside me.
“Sleep OK?”
“I did,” I say.
“You?”
“Well,” he says,
our feet in sync.
“I had this
weird dream that you and me
were in space.”
“Like astronauts?” I say,
glancing at him sideways.
“Actually, we weren’t
exactly in space,
we were swimming around
like there was no gravity.”
“With spacesuits on?”
“Nope.”
“So we were dead.”
Benjamin laughs.
“We were
sort of in a drawing…”
He hesitates.
“Like your curtains.”
I laugh, nudging him.
“You dreamed
about my curtains!”
“Well, they are
totally cosmic!”
“You dreamed about
my curtains,” I crow,
loving the feeling
of my things
making it into
his subconscious.
“Did you dream
about me?”
Benjamin asks,
and I wish I could lie,
but I hardly ever
remember my dreams.
“I thought about you.
A lot,” I say.
Then Benjamin leans in,
with this sweet uncertainty,
and very lightly kisses me.
I kiss him back,
and feel a rush
of blood to my head
at us kissing
so casually,
so comfortably,
so familiarly.
L i f e i s a m a z i n g.
Our lips come apart,
and that’s when I get
the ooze-squish-blob
of falling blood:
impending f
l
o
o
d.
(How the frick did my
ultra-plus tampon
fill up so quick?)
Benjamin takes my hand
and we start to walk,
our swinging arms
bumping lightly
but
I’m walking funny.
I cannot let my pants
and tights meet,
because once they do,
the blood will find
a path.
Then
I
will
be
done for.
That’s fluid dynamics.
(The period woman
who came in year six said,
“It’s only blood,
just an egg-cupful,
nothing to be embarrassed about.”
But when did she last try to
pull with an egg-cupful
of blood in her pants?)
“You’re limping,”
says Benjamin.
“You OK?”
“I pulled my … thigh,”
I say with #InstantBlush.
The first word that came to mind.
(Obviously.)
We take one step.
His arm s l i d e s under mine.
“Here, you can lean on me.”
My heart goes squish.
Then with one wrong step
my pants and tights meet.
I
walk beside Benjamin,
our bodies touching,
knowing I now have
wet and sticky
thighs.
“What?” says Benjamin.
“What?” I say.
“You said thighs.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“You definitely did.”
But I don’t want to bring up
my period,
after what we did.
So I limp on.
“I can give you a piggyback,”
he offers. “It would help
with my training.”
But I just shake my head
and say, “No thanks,”
hoping I can keep my secret
in my pants.
At the school gate,
Benjamin looks around,
then very quickly
pecks me
on the cheek.
“See you later?”
“Sure,” I say,
tingling where the tickly
feeling of his kiss
on my cheek
briefly distracts me
from the creeping,
crampy feeling
in my womb.
Then I hurry away,
calculating how long
it will take
to get to the toilets
and change my tampon
and get back to class.
#Embarrassing
RUMOURS
I’m only a minute late
to history. Ms Wyse
is running late,
and from the tone
of the pre-lesson murmur
there’s definitely
something
happening
and I wonder
if Harriet’s selfie
sent to Mr B
is still going strong.
It could last the week,
or maybe make the leap
to other schools
and go on and on.
Benjamin’s at the back
with the boys.
He avoids my gaze
as I sit beside Marie,
who has stopped ignoring me
since Harriet took that photo
of me in the shower.
Then
I
hear
one
word
above
the
white
noise
of
gossiping.
P e r i o d.
I whip my head round
to look at Benjamin.
I stare at him.
He must be able to tell
I’m looking at him,
but he will not
look at me.
He hides his face
behind his history book.
I check my phone,
but there’s nothing.
Bethany leans in to Leylah
and Marie,
glancing at me,
unsure if she’s allowed
to talk to me.
“Gossip!” she says,
then cups her hand
whispering,
gradually more quietly.
“Jackson just told me
Benjamin
fingered someone
on their period!”
“Ergh!” Leylah bursts out.
“That’s DISGUSTING.”
The damp patch in my pants
is pressing coldly
against my skin,
and I’m sweating.
I watch Marie
as her face bunches up
in disgust
at the gossip.
About me.
And I swallow
the acid feeling
creeping up my throat.
Benjamin told Jackson
what we did?
I try to imagine Benjamin,
just now,
after he kissed me,
b r a g g i n g
to Jackson and the boys
about getting off with me,
about touching me,
about fingering me.
The betrayal freezes me,
physically.
I turn again, jerkily,
to try to make Benjamin
look
at
me.
But he won’t.
Bethany’s saying,
“That’s so grim!”
And Marie asks the others,
“What do you think of him?”
“He’s fit,” says Leylah.
“I wonder if he’s free,”
says Bethany.
Then Harriet looks at me slyly,
and says, “He fancies you,
doesn’t he, Frankie?”
She’s too close to the truth.
“I think I preferred it
when you weren’t
talking to me.”
“Someone’s got PMT,”
she says, making
the others snigger.
None of them consider
it could actually have been me.
The one thing I have
at the moment
is that no one
seems
to know
it was me.
Still, I can’t stop imagining
all the boys this morning,
laughing as Benjamin
made our intimacy
something funny.
The thing is, it was funny.
But it was funny between us.
BREAK TIME
It’s all anyone talks about
in the queue at break,
because everyone revels in
the opportunity to be
disgusted by something.
“It’s revolting!” Leylah says.
“I bet it went
e v e r y w h e r e !”
Harriet says,
nibbling her flake,
then making a face
like she’s going to faint
(which she actually did
in year eight
when we dissected a frog
and she saw blood).
“Can we drop it now?”
Marie asks,
unwrapping a flapjack.
“Some of us are about to eat.”
Harriet gives Leylah a look,
which points the finger
at Marie.
“Who would do
something like that?”
Harriet asks,
and I notice
her glancing over
at Jackson,
who is probably
asking his mates
the same thing.
Harriet looks at me.
“Come on, Frankie,
tell us what you think.”
I want to say,
“It’s only blood,”
but that would be as good
as a confession,
so I say,
“I thought you weren’t
talking to me?”
She gives me
a filthy look,
and says,
“Why are you standing
near me then?”
“I must have
forgotten
how much I
dislike you,”
I say, shrugging,
then I leave
to search the crowd
in the concrete playground
for Benjamin,
to ask him
why he blabbed
our secret.
POPULARITY
At the end of break,
I spot him
right before we go in
to sex and relationships education.
He stares at me
like a wild animal
caught in the open
and I want to hurt him.
I go to the corner
of the building and
/>
beckon him with my head
to follow me.
I fight the urge to
SHOUT AT HIM.
“You told Jackson?”
“I didn’t! I swear.”
“Well, you told someone!
Or how does the
whole school know?”
“I hoped it was you.”
“Me?” I say,
looking at his panicked face.
“Why would I tell anyone?”
“Not even Harriet?
You said you tell
her everything.”
“We’re not talking.”
“Shit,” he says,
flattening his curly hair
beneath his interlaced fingers.
He has a circle of sweat
in each armpit.
“Did you tell the boys
you were with me?” I ask.
But he just breathes out,
head back,
looking at the sky.
“Benjamin!
What did you tell them?”
“There he is!” Jackson yells,
striding around the corner.
“Up top! You dawg.”
I want to melt into nothing,
become invisible,
try to not be standing here
in broad daylight
with Benjamin,
who
scowls
at Jackson,
leaving him
hanging.
(The first decent thing
he’s done
all morning.)
“Come on, Benji.
Tell us who you fing—”
“Get lost, Jackson,”
Benjamin says,
glancing briefly
at me.
But that makes
Jackson notice me.
There’s nowhere to hide.
“Not her?” he scoffs,
looking me over dismissively.
“Harriet told me she’s frigid.
Come on, who was it?
Does she go to our school?”
Benjamin stands up
a little straighter.
“I said get lost, Jackson.”
He laughs lightly.
“I’ll see you in class,
you massive twat.”
Jackson looks me up
and down
one more time,
then leaves
me feeling
like I’ve been
slapped in the face.
Harriet told Jackson I’m frigid?