by Will Davis
I'm like, You should totally kill yourself.
Freaky's like, You're just jealous 'cos I do what I want to do. People like you just do exactly what you get told. You're so fucking lame. You and that brownie bitch you hang out with are so fucking sad.
This is like, the worst insult ever coming from someone like Fabian, considering the Nazi-punk thing is, like, a total throwback and he's, like, a total loser. I'm about to argue when Al arrives and saves me from wasting more saliva on him. She looks between me and Fabian and goes, Hey let's go, to me.
Just as we're edging our way around him, Fabian suddenly turns back and goes, So, uh, are you guys going to this party of Mary's? in this ultra-casual way that freaks like him just aren't able to pull off.
Al's like, straight in with the, What's it to you? You're not invited anyway, which is pretty rich since she's not invited either and the only reason she's able to go is 'cos she's like, totally latched on to me. In fact, she's the only reason I'm going. Fabian just scowls at her and there's this series of clicks which means he's thrashing his tongue-piercing back and forth against his teeth. He looks like he's about to start spewing and so I begin preparing myself for the spray.
Fuckers, he suddenly goes, in this voice that's like, the definition of bitterness and the next thing he's dashed off, knife and all.
Al's like, What the hell just happened?
I just shrug because I have no idea. I have this sudden memory of me and Fabian when I first started at school and how he used to spit in the test tubes in chemistry. Anybody should have seen his total descent out of this galaxy coming. Then he goes and attacks Mrs Bolsh with a pair of scissors and all of a sudden he's got behavioural problems. Like, Doh! And now he's allowed to roam around freely with his knife and fuck only knows what he's gonna do next.
9
So Grandma's just got out of hospital the day before and Mum and Dad have gone out to some local council meeting or something, which is probably Mum's idea of them spending quality time together. Since they're out I've been left in charge this evening, but I'm hiding with Al in my room. Al had to lie about where she was going so she could hang out with me. Her parents are pretty sure I'm going to turn her gay or something and so we're not supposed to see each other any more. They're like, total fascists.
The reason we're hiding is that The Nun's got The Order over. These girls are all the same as she is: die-hard humanitarians. You'd think that kids in a convent school would be a pretty wild and exciting crew just because they'd want to rebel against all that religious crap they have to deal with, but Teresa's posse are just the opposite. They're like this ultra-fucked-up version of the Brady Bunch. They have these study parties where they'll all sit around the living-room watching The Sound of Music and, like, test each other on it and stuff. It's kind of hard to believe until you see it. Me and Al reckon they must hold secret ceremonies as well, like, where they all dance around the cross naked and smear themselves with the blood of Christ and chant psalms and stuff. That would be almost kind of cool actually, but I've yet to catch her doing anything like it. Right now they're down there practising their vow of chastity or something.
So anyway, me and Al are just hanging out and trying to de-weird ourselves from the latest adventure with Fabian. I'm sitting on the bed cutting out photos from ID magazine for my altar to Orlando, and Al's trying to plait a piece of cotton into her hair, Christina Gorilla style (despite my patiently explaining that this is only beautiful for five-year-olds). We've got the radio on and it's the ad breaks, and all of a sudden Al stops midway through another never-ending rant about how old Fellows just needs some joy in his life or something and starts hopping around screaming. In fact she literally jumps on me.
I'm like, Are you having a hormonal surge or what, sister?
She's like, Shhhh. Listen!
So I listen. There's this totally fake woman's voice which sounds like she's overdosed on Prozac or something, going Why not look out for our special Maker Date agents – because they're looking out for you!
Al's like, This is a sign!
I'm like, What the huh?
Can't you see it? she says as if we've been stranded in the middle of the Atlantic on a raft for days, and now dry land is like, right in front of us.
I'm like, No.
This is how we're going to find Fellows a fella! she goes.
Now this is a joke, right? 'cos there's not much else it could be. Al's still leaping around joyously as if she just invented the vibrator or something, meanwhile I'm groaning in horror, 'cos Al's like a politician in this respect. Once she gets a plan in her head, trying to get her to forget it is like trying to get a dog to forget about the bone they've got wedged between their jaws. One of those little snappy ones that never lets go.
Are you for real? I say, though unfortunately I know the answer.
Oh, come on! It'll be doing everyone a favour, and he deserves it. It's not his fault he's lonely. He's probably too shy to even talk to anyone.
I say, LIC GAS. What is this? Clueless Two or something?
Come on! she insists. He probably hasn't had sex for years! Maybe never!
I'm like, How the fuck do you know? He could be screwing someone right now. He could have a whole basement filled with bodies for all we know.
But Al's having none of it. She's totally attached to this idea that it's like, our duty or something to find Fellows an eligible bachelor. I know what you're thinking, 'cos I was thinking it too. Like, how the fuck do we do that? Well, good old Al's right in there with an idea (she must store plans up for a rainy day, because she always knows what to do, even at the shortest possible notice. I can be, like, I didn't do my homework - what am I going to say? and she won't bat an eyelid before going, Just say your parents are taking you to anger-management counselling).
Maybe he doesn't want our help, I suggest in a last attempt to preserve us from the inevitable chaos I just know is gonna result from this.
She's like, He totally needs it.
And she proceeds to tell me her elaborate scheme. I'm like, Give me a minor role, please, and Al's like, No problem. Next thing worth knowing is we're tiptoeing our way out the house and off to Starlight. (I know, it's like, can't we ever go somewhere else for a change?) The plan is we're going to hunt down a man for Fellows by pretending we're Maker Date personnel - or at least Al is. I'm just going to be assisting her. Unfortunately, before we can reach the front door a girl with like, multiple chins who I recognise straightaway as this witch-friend of The Nun's with a broom permanently shoved up her anus, not to mention a degree in eating, comes bounding out of the living-room. She practically throws herself in front of the door and stands there with her arms out wide across it like she's protecting it from us.
She's like, Where do you think you're going?
I'm like, None of your business.
Actually it is my business, she goes in this superior voice that makes you just know she's a prefect at school, Because you're supposed to be supervising and you know perfectly well you're not allowed out!
It's like, who the hell is this? Al sizes her up and steps forward. She's like, Get out of our way before I kick your—
The fat girl cuts her off by screaming out, Teresa! Your brother and his Indian friend are going somewhere!
Before you can blink the hall's filled with The Order, like this locus of dumpiness. Seriously, you've never seen so many squat-faced girls crowded into such a small space before and neither would you have believed there were so many unflattering clothes in the universe. It's like they're trying to look ugly. It must be something they drum into them at the convent school. I don't have anything against ugly people, by the way - I've got a lot of sympathy for them actually. But it's like we're being assaulted by unattractiveness here, because they kind of cluster in front of the door in this squadron or something, with The Nun up at the front, all facing us with these super-fierce expressions like we're the definition of sin.
I'm like, Get the fuck
out of the way!
The Nun's like, You can't leave the house! Mum's forbidden you to go out and you know it!
There's like, a hundred ways to respond to this. If it were The Nun on her own I'd start scalp-ripping, but there's no way I can take on The Order. We're talking like, seven of the butchest teenage girls in da hood. I end up just going really lamely, What the fuck do you care anyway?
The Witch who first started this goes, This is about doing what's right! We've heard all about you. How you're a gay. You should ask for forgiveness.
There's this whole minute of silence while The Order all simultaneously nod their heads up and down like a bunch of ducks. The witch sticks out one of her chins as if to say we can just bring it on because she's not going to back down if we've got Lucifer himself working for us.
I'm like, Learn to masturbate.
The Witch is like, How dare you?!
The Nun's like, Just ignore him, Joan!
We stand there facing them for a further minute. It starts to seem a bit comical really, since we're basically under house arrest here because of a bunch of Jesus freaks. At this point I remember that there's a back door, and I'm about to signal to Al to follow me into the kitchen when I suddenly think that actually maybe this isn't such a bad thing after all, since at least this way I don't have to enter into Al's stupid scheme to get Fellows a date. But to be honest there's another reason I want to go out, and it's got nothing to do with Fellows. I'm thinking about The Guy of course, who I've been having wet dreams about all week. Every time we go out there's this thin chance I might run into him again, so any excuse is a good excuse as far as I'm concerned. Then Al suddenly pushes in front of me and stands there facing The Order like she's preparing to take them all on at once. She's like, By refusing to let us pass you're breaking the law and if you don't move aside I'm calling the police!
There's this like, collective gasp. No one's expecting this. You can see The Nun wrestling with it on her face, since the idea of breaking the law is second only to blasphemy for these girls. Then she like, steels herself.
She's like, You can leave, but Jarold is grounded.
This is too much. I poke Al in the back and shout, Back door now!
We race into the kitchen, pursued by The Order - which is fucking scary, let me tell you. As we pass the kitchen table I grab the back of a chair and throw it backwards without stopping, Indiana Jones style. I hear the sound of a crash behind me and one of the girls cursing and then being told off for it by The Nun. Al's at the door and is frantically unlocking it. I reach her as she opens it and we launch ourselves into the safety of the back garden. Knowing they've lost us, The Order stand on the step and glare at us as we scale the fence, shaking their heads in this one synchronised motion of disapproval. Once we're over I look at Al and then we both turn and give them a simultaneous up-yours sign.
Al's in full-on vive la revolution mode. She shouts back at them, Burn in hell, bitches!
We watch as they display signs of righteous horror at this before disappearing from sight out of the kitchen, probably to go and pray for our souls or, like, a lightning bolt to strike us or something. We both start giggling, although the truth is I'm a bit weirded out by being mobbed by my own sister and her friends. I'm kind of hoping Al will have forgotten about her crazy scheme and we can just go have some fun but no such luck.
Right, let's do this - she goes, all super-serious.
As soon as we get inside the club I'm cringing, because Al's taken off her coat. Underneath it she's wearing this bright pink T-shirt and a sparkly tiara she nicked out of Mum's dressing-up drawer. I'm wearing black by the way, for extra sink-into-the-crowd-ability.
Hurry up, I hiss at Al. This is the plan: she does the rounds of all the tables and has a quick word, meanwhile I'm supposed to scan the bar to see if I can't find someone who looks desperate enough to go for old Fellows. And if I should run into Jon, well . . . I've got eyes for me too. Assuming he doesn't think I belong to some mental institution round the corner now or something.
So Al goes off even though this so isn't going to work. I mean, her opening is going to be: Hi, I'm a Maker Date agent and we're looking for someone special to participate in our new programme - would you be interested? It's like, so not going to happen.
Which is a shame, 'cos if there was anyone in the room who might actually be Mr Fellows' type, I can't help but reckon it would be this tall, thin guy standing on my left. He's got glasses, but not too unfashionable, and he's not bad either, though he's a bit on the bald side (that can be only good if you're a Bruce Willis lookalike. Otherwise you want to invest in some miracle formula, pronto). The more I look at him the more I can kind of see him having dinner with Mr Fellows - you know, in one of those polite English restaurants that uppity homos go to. I can see them chatting away about the oil industry and income tax, and the state of Antarctica or whatever, and I can see them getting all cosy over dessert … Don't ask me why I'm even thinking these things, but it's kind of addictive, and Al seems to be having success over at the far table, and is noting down the details of all these beefy queers on her glittery pad.
I'm on the point of actually signalling to Al, when Jon turns up. With a guy. I'm like, properly gutted, and I sink into the shadow of the jukebox wishing the ground would swallow me up. Naturally, the first thing they want to do is select some music, despite the fact that everyone knows your song only ever comes on as you're leaving.
So here's me like, cowering behind the jukebox while watching their shadows and thinking that if I get discovered I'm gonna be like, frying with embarrassment. Meanwhile, Al's been surrounded up by a small crowd of excited men who want to be part of her stupid made-up programme. I bet you're thinking what I was thinking, which is all I need now is to encounter Mr Fellows and my night will be complete.
Enter Mr Fellows, dressed in shocking leather trousers (I mean like, shocking on him). Thankfully he doesn't see me, but he does see Al, who's walking right in his direction with some man at her side. Straightaway he's over there and bearing down on her like the phantom menace. It must look a bit weird. I crane forwards, and I can just about hear them.
What the devil are you doing? he demands.
She's a Maker Date agent, says the guy she's with innocently. Al smiles at Mr Fellows like an angel, but of course it doesn't wash.
She most certainly is not! he snarls. Alice Rutland, you're coming with me right this minute! He takes her arm and starts leading her off like a prisoner of war. She shoots a quick glance round behind her, looking for me, so I give her a little wave, at which point . . .
Hey? says Jon, looking at me like I'm a moron.
There's no point in pretending, so I'm like, Yeah, hi.
I come out from behind the jukebox and scope out the guy he's with. I'm jealous even though he isn't even cute really. Just average and No Competition. Jon's looking at me expectantly, so I say, That guy from the other night – long story.
Jon's like, It's OK. Exes can be hard work.
Inwardly I'm like, shrieking in horror at the word ex, but I don't let on. Instead I say, This must be your brother.
Oh. He looks at the guy, suddenly uncomfortable. I give him this real sarcastic look.
He's just a friend, he says, like I could care less.
Sure. Whatever.
But I do kind of believe him, and not just because I want to. I know you might find this pretty sappy, since it's not like we even know each other, let alone own each other or anything, but I feel this real connection with him. And to be honest, I don't give a toss if he is here with this guy, since I've never got this whole hang-up everyone has about being with one person all the time. I think he feels it too, even though he's older. Actually I left out the bit where I lied to him last time about being twenty, which is important. You let on that you're underage and most guys'll evaporate before you've even finished your sentence.
Anyway, I can't stay of course, since Al's probably waiting for me with a slip that say
s detention for life in her pocket. But this time I at least have the sense to get his number, which he gives me on a little card with a printed pair of flippers on it.
Cute, I say and leave.
As predicted, Al is waiting outside. So is Mr Fellows, who's obviously twigged that I'm here too, and catches me as I come out. He shakes his head at me, like he's some kind of old sensei that I've failed.
Jarold, I'm very disappointed in you, he says to me.
I'm very disappointed in you, I say, looking at his leather trousers. He sets his jaw rigidly, like a fighter-jet pilot preparing to dive.
I'm not going to warn you again about this, he says. Either you stay away until you're of age or I'll have to contact the authorities.
I'm like, so Oh brother, since being banned from the one gay club that lets you in without checking for ID is the last thing I need. I drop my head and join Al in a chorus about how sorry we are and that we'll never try to have fun again or something. All I can think is how shit it is since in a way we were only here to do him a favour. Well, Al was anyway.
He's like, OK. Get lost the pair of you. Mind yourselves on the way home.
Al's pretty sorry on the way back. She says he tricked her into letting him know I was there. I'm not angry though, since when I put my hand in my pocket I can feel the edges of this little piece of card that makes everything all right.
Everything stops being all right once I get home. I go through to the living-room and find The Nun sitting beside Grandma, who's asleep on the sofa, watching over her in this totally freaky way, like she's been appointed to make sure she doesn't suddenly pass away or something. The second she sees me she's like, You are in deep trouble, in this super-smug voice.
I'm like, Go fuck a crucifix.
The Nun instantly goes Regan.
I hope they put you in a home! she shouts, but I'm already out of the room.
I go on up the stairs all cautiously in case Mum and Dad have set up like, motion detectors or something, but there's no sign of either of them so I open the door to my room thinking I've had a lucky escape. They ambush me. Seriously. Mum is sitting on the bed, and no sooner have I gone all indignant, demanding to know what she's doing in my room, when the door shuts behind me and I turn to see Dad standing between me and Freedom. He looks thoroughly not amused.