Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1)

by Ali Cronin

  It was my policy to instantly hate any teacher who didn’t let us choose our own seats or partners in group work, but you couldn’t hate Mr Evershot because he was tiny like a gnome and nice without being try-hard. He had a really strong northern accent. He was from Wakefield in Yorkshire. I know this because we saw it written on the board when we got into class that first day. ‘Mr Evershot. From Wakefield in Yorkshire.’ Some boy had shouted out, ‘Is that why you talk funny, sir?’ and Mr Evershot had just looked him in the eye and said, ‘Yep.’ That shut him up.

  Anyway. There we were: Donna and Cass all uncomfortable because even though they’d gone to the same school they’d hardly spoken and definitely never sat next to each other; Ashley chewing the skin off the side of her nails and scowling because her mum had just finished with a boyfriend who Ash had really liked; and me feeling miserable and awkward. On paper, not exactly a match made in heaven.

  But then Mr Evershot made us break off into groups to discuss what the most dangerous room in the house was (Year Seven science for you), so we were forced to talk to each other.

  ‘Well, obviously it’s the kitchen,’ said Ashley, who I was instantly terrified of because she was chewing gum in class and sounded bored (it didn’t take much to freak me out back then).

  ‘So let’s say living room,’ said Donna. ‘To be original.’

  Ash must have approved of that, although I don’t remember what she said, but Cass piped up with: ‘I don’t think we get extra points for being different. It’s more a right/wrong scenario.’ I still remember the way her voice sounded: sort of sweet and gentle, like she was genuinely trying to help. I was eaten up with admiration that she’d (a) stood up to Donna, who had a rougher accent than mine and was therefore – yes – scary and (b) used the word ‘scenario’.

  So we were at least talking, though nobody could accuse us of instantly clicking. But then the Defining Moment of our friendship: Mr Evershot stumbled as he walked past our desk and whispered, ‘Fook,’ under his breath.

  And the four of us cracked up. A teacher saying a rude word was funny enough, but a teacher saying a rude word in an accent? We were crying with laughter. Honking and wheezing like a bunch of asthmatic geese. After a minute we’d calm down, but then one of us would catch another’s eye and it’d start all over again.

  ‘Something funny, girls?’ Mr Evershot had asked wryly, but he didn’t tell us off, adding instead: ‘Glad to see you’re getting on, but make sure you come up with the goods.’ He pointed at the piece of paper in front of us and we eyed each other and giggled, but got back to listing dangerous household appliances.

  And you can’t really not be friends after that. Soon we started going to lunch after the lesson, and it went from there. We were only eleven years old then. Just kids. Most of us hadn’t even started our periods.

  And now here we were, still best friends and about to go into the big wide world together.

  But first I had to go to English, Cass to business studies, Donna to theatre studies and Ash to media studies …

  3

  ‘So. Appearance and reality in Jane Eyre … Thank you, Mr Jones.’

  Mr Roberts handed my friend Rich a bunch of papers to hand out. I loved Jane Eyre, but Mr Roberts had the uncanny knack of turning any book into the most brain-bangingly dull story ever written. He also insisted on being called Mr Roberts, in return for which he called us all Mr or Miss Whatever. He thought he was single-handedly maintaining traditional values while treating us with the kind of respect that we, as upper-school students, deserved. We thought he was a dick.

  Anyway, I’d read Jane Eyre, like, five times so I happily zoned out. I didn’t quite gaze out of the window with a secret smile playing about my lips while absently doodling love hearts with Joe’s initials in them, but it was close.

  I so didn’t want to be the kind of girl who couldn’t concentrate on anything except her boyfriend (boyfriend??), but I was having serious trouble thinking about anything else. I sneaked a look at my phone. Exactly a week ago I’d been sitting with Joe in a beachfront cafe drinking coffee and putting the world to rights. A million miles away from a muggy classroom in Brighton.

  Joe and I ended up spending hours together on the beach at the non-barbecue.

  His friends eventually got bored of messing about in the sea and came to join us. I reluctantly sat up and straightened my skirt as they noisily went about getting drinks, putting down towels and dripping water on us. They smelled of boy: fresh sweat, beer and whatever they’d sprayed on that morning to make them fragrant. I shifted uncomfortably at the sudden change in dynamic.

  Joe gestured airily in his friends’ general direction and introduced them: ‘Ben, Rav, Will: Sarah. Sarah: Ben, Rav, Will.’

  I wasn’t sure who was who, although I guessed that Rav was the one with the brown skin sitting in the middle. He smiled and said hello then immediately looked down at his hands. I relaxed slightly. We could be quiet and uncomfortable together.

  ‘So, where you from, Sarah?’ asked Ben/Will. He was short with a Scottish accent, but he could have been a local with his deep tan and dark-brown wavy hair. I put on my best first-impressions-count smile. ‘Brighton. You?’

  ‘Perth.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The one in Scotland.’ I stared at him stupidly. ‘As opposed to Australia?’ I forced out a laugh, and he bowed slightly. ‘I know, it’s a shit joke. But thanks for laughing … Will’s from Brighton, aren’t you, Will?’

  I started with the ‘Oh really! Brighton! Wow, which bit!’ stuff, but Will was monosyllabic all over. He was tall, broad and handsome in a ridiculous Hollywood way. All bronzed with cheekbones and flashing eyes. But he knew it, and he acted sort of tired and sardonic, like he didn’t have to make an effort cos his smouldering good looks did the talking. Yawn. And his teeth were nowhere near as good as Joe’s. As the conversation continued in its fairly agonizing, stilted way, I tried to be part of the conversation, but I was distracted by my conflicting emotions, and I couldn’t concentrate. I was desperate for them to leave me and Joe alone again, but at the same time I didn’t want them to in case Joe went with them.

  In the end, Rav put me out of my misery. He announced he was starving so he, Ben and Will went off to get food. Joe told them he’d give it a miss. He wanted to stay with me. (He wanted to stay with me! I wanted a T-shirt with those words on it.)

  As soon as the boys had sloped off, Joe fell backwards on to the sand and stretched. ‘Thank God for that. I thought they’d never leave.’ He put his hands behind his head and grinned up at me. ‘Thanks for sticking around.’

  I smiled, and had just started the process of plucking up enough courage to make the first move when he gently pulled me towards him. As we kissed, he stroked his hand up my leg, under my dress, up my thigh. I could feel my heart beating faster, partly cos it felt good, but a lot because of the scary new territory. I gently pushed his hand away as it found its way under my knicker elastic.

  ‘Don’t you want to?’ murmured Joe, kissing my earlobe.

  I didn’t know how to respond without breaking the mood, so I did a kind of kiss/shake-head/kiss manoeuvre while transferring his hand to my back.

  Joe groaned, ‘You’re killing me, you know that?’ and he kissed me hard, his tongue grappling with mine as he let out occasional little moans. It was horny as hell and I could have given up my virginity there and then if we hadn’t been in public and I hadn’t known him precisely twelve hours. I’m not a hopelessly unrealistic romantic, but I wanted more from such a momentous occasion than sand in my bits and a nagging worry that we could have provided someone walking by the beach with their own private porno. I’d already gone as far as I’d ever gone before.

  So we carried on kissing (a lot) and talking (a bit), and that was more than enough for me. For now.

  As the sky started to lighten, Joe and I lay on the sand, his arm round my shoulders and my head on his chest. I listened to his heart beating as bubbles of happiness burst inside me.
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br />   ‘I should get back,’ I said finally, running my hand over the soft, washed-out cotton of his T-shirt and desperately not wanting the night to end.

  He kissed the top of my head and said, ‘Shame,’ then reached down and murmured into my ear: ‘I have plans for you, missy.’

  Oh God. Lust lust.

  ‘Yeah, well, you’ll just have to lock them away,’ I replied, clambering to my feet. It wasn’t just my own mixed feelings about losing it that meant I needed to go. Assuming Joe wanted to take me back to wherever he was staying, I really didn’t feel like trying to explain later to panicking parents exactly where I’d been. However, as I wasn’t up for explaining the embarrassing parent factor to Joe either, I just said, ‘Fancy meeting later?’ I tried to sound offhand, in direct contradiction to my actual feelings.

  Joe sat up and rested his elbows on his raised knees. I tried not to stare at the sand caught in the fair hairs on his legs. ‘Definitely.’ He grinned and waggled his eyebrows saucily.

  ‘At the cafe on the beach?’ I said pointedly.

  He gave me a little salute. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry, Sarah Doesn’t-like-beer.’ And he suddenly jumped up and pulled me towards him by my waist. ‘You are gorgeous,’ he said, and went in for another deep kiss.

  I managed to extricate myself, laughing as he pretended to grapple for me. ‘Joe! I’ve got to go.’

  He gave me a short sharp smack on the bum. ‘Yes, go. And be at the cafe, four p.m., or there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘Quaking in my boots,’ I mocked, then ran off giggling as he made a lunge for me. Amazing what some proper kissing can do for a girl’s confidence.

  I smiled all the way back along the winding shrub-lined path from the beach to our bungalow, breathing in the heady scent of lavender and juniper and feeling invincible. As the sun started to climb over the horizon, I quietly let myself in and locked the door behind me. Fortunately the place was silent save for a low electrical humming and the sound of the crickets outside. My flip-flops made a racket on the tiled floor, so I kicked them off and cautiously stuck my head round Mum and Dad’s bedroom door to let them know I was back. Thankfully they didn’t wake up enough to notice the daylight beginning to seep through their shutters. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Ham, cheese, tomatoes, bread, chocolate. Perfect. I made a doorstep sandwich and put it on a tray, along with some crisps, a hefty slab of the chocolate and a glass of water and carried it through to the living room. I grabbed the remote and sat on the sofa, curling my legs under me. There were only Spanish TV channels, but I found an episode of Friends. Dubbed, of course, but still – it was kind of comforting.

  Anyway, I didn’t really want to watch TV. I just wanted to be. To be up as the sky lightened, eating the meal I’d missed because I’d spent hours on the beach kissing a beautiful, funny boy whose eyes made my heart flip.

  I’d never even been close to feeling like this before. While I hadn’t exactly been a late starter – I’d first got with a boy on a school trip to France in Year Eight – I’d never gone much further than kissing. That first time was on one of those activity holidays, and me and Cass had spent, like, two hours kissing two boys from another school. It was totally innocent, but I remember feeling really adult cos I was kissing like how grown-ups do it on TV. Sweet, no? But since then there hadn’t been an awful lot of action. It wasn’t cos I didn’t want to; it was more that I didn’t want to with any of the boys on offer. And so I became Sarah Millar: man-hater. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t flirt, doesn’t put out. End of. The furthest I’d ever gone was being felt-up at a party in Year Eleven. (To be honest, I’d have gone further that time, but my dad arrived to pick me up. Tragic, yes, but it saved me from a potentially scary situation. Sam Massey, the boy in question, had an eighteenth-century-poet thing going on – all brown wavy hair, olive skin and soulful eyes. I’d always fancied him because, as well as being beautiful, he was a bit shy like me, and he talked to me like a human being. But he was also the boy who India Chadwick, the hardest girl in Year Ten, fancied. Stupidly, that was enough for me never to go there again. I spent a week afterwards ducking into doorways whenever I saw India, although amazingly she never found out I’d kissed her crush. Sam left after GCSEs to go to a different school. I don’t know why. I still sometimes wondered what might have happened if India hadn’t been in the way.)

  And now there was Joe. Who I did really like. Really like. And who, incredibly, seemed to like me back. I sighed with contentment and tucked into my sandwich, while on the TV Ross and Rachel got it on.

  4

  My art-history teacher collared me at the end of the lesson to talk coursework so I was late getting to the canteen at lunchtime to meet the others. I looked over the sea of students and spotted Donna instantly. Hard not to, since she was standing on her chair waving like she was directing planes. I grabbed a cheese toastie and a Ribena, paid and hurried over.

  ‘About time,’ said Ashley, grabbing her bag off the one empty seat. ‘Donna almost got into fisticuffs guarding this for you.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, Andrea kept me back,’ I said, squeezing myself into the chair and stashing my bag underneath.

  ‘Bloody hell, Sarah, in trouble already? The term’s only just begun,’ said Ash, putting her hand to her chest, shock-horror style.

  ‘Ha ha.’ I looked at my toastie and the greasy globs of orange cheese dripping on to my plate.

  ‘You going to eat that?’ asked Donna, her mouth full of chips.

  I handed it over. ‘No, you have it. I’m full.’

  Cass frowned. ‘Full? You haven’t eaten a thing!’

  Cass gets suspicious if she thinks one of us is dieting – that’s her domain. She’s got a gorgeous figure, but Adam likes skinny girls. And if that makes him sound like a knob that’ll be because he’s a knob. Anyway, despite the fact that Adam would never fancy one of us and we’d – ugh – never fancy him, for some reason Cass likes to be the thinnest. Go figure.

  Ashley smirked into her Müller Light.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ demanded Cass, her forehead creasing prettily. (Did I mention our Cassie is also super-sensitive about her Adam-based foibles?)

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Ash, taking spoonfuls of yogurt then turning them over so they dolloped back into the pot. ‘Just Sarah losing her appetite over a boy.’

  I gave her a look. ‘Sorry to disappoint, but I had a Ripple, like, half an hour ago.’ (A lie. I’d had no appetite since getting back from holiday. I wasn’t about to admit it, though – it was pathetic to fancy a boy so much you couldn’t even eat.)

  ‘Anyway,’ said Cass, ‘kissing on the beach …’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Donna. ‘Did you have dutty sex among the sand dunes?’

  I shot lazy eyes in her direction. ‘What do you think?’

  Cass reached across the table to put her hand on mine. ‘So go on, Sar. What did happen?’

  The girls may as well have been invisible. I was right back there, the hot dusty smell of the holiday home and ‘Sex on Fire’, my not-purposely-ironic soundtrack to getting ready for Joe.

  But that was later.

  After meeting at the cafe, me and him spent pretty much every waking moment together. We walked around the town, tried out all the bars and cafes, sat on the beach and generally got to know each other. I learned that he’s doing politics at uni in London, that he’s got two sisters, that his parents are divorced but still friends, and that he really wants to work for Aids charities in Africa when he graduates cos his uncle died of Aids in the 1980s. I told him stuff I had only ever told a few people, like how my mum was married to a different man when she met my dad, and how I was bullied at primary school. He was a good listener, and he asked questions as though he really wanted to know the answer.

  When we weren’t talking, we kissed. But we didn’t go much further than kissing. Frustratingly, every time we were at his place at least one of his friends was around, and not only was it a tiny holiday chalet, but he and Will shared a roo
m. One time we were kissing on Joe’s bed – dressed, but only just – when Will marched in, saw us, said, ‘Oops, sorry,’ and marched out again.

  Click here for the full story …

  I was mortified. I buried my face in Joe’s neck and groaned. ‘So. Embarrassing.’

  He laughed. ‘What’s the big deal?’ He tried to push me off him so he could see me, but I wouldn’t let him. ‘Sarah, c’mon. He doesn’t care, honestly.’ He caressed my bum through my denim shorts then slipped his hand under the waistband. ‘At least we know he’ll leave us alone now …’

  I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. ‘No way!’ I waited a moment for the burning in my face to subside, then offered my hand to pull him up. ‘Come on, we have to go and show him we’re not doing anything.’

  Joe looked genuinely confused. ‘But why?’

  Obviously I hadn’t told him I was a virgin. Why would I?

  ‘Because I would die of embarrassment if I thought he thought we were doing … anything in his bedroom!’

  ‘But it’s my bedroom too,’ said Joe.

  I gave him a that’s not the point look and wheedled, ‘Pleeeease, Joe. Let’s go for a drink or something … Please?’ I smiled and batted my eyelashes, and he let me pull him off the bed.

  Then an opportunity arose. Mum and Dad wanted to take me and Dan out for dinner. I hatched a plan to mope around all afternoon clutching my midriff then cry off at the last minute, pleading period pains.

  Joe immediately agreed to come round. I knew what he would think the invitation meant. And I was pretty sure it meant that too. Believe me, I had thought long and hard about it. But my shaved legs, best knickers and condoms from the machine in the cafe toilets spoke for themselves. I was pretty sure tonight was the night. But, still, I planned to wait and see how I felt when Joe arrived.