Improper Order

by Sullivan, Deirdre; Slattery, Fidelma;

  I really liked hearing about everybody else’s characters. And afterwards we went to the pub around the corner and Joel and Kevin and I had tea and everyone else had a pint or something drinky. Because a lot of them are, like, over sixteen and have fake ID. I always wonder how people end up getting fake ID. I asked Caroline and she said she has an older sister who looks just like her, so she was blessed that way. I don’t think anyone would believe I was eighteen, though. I don’t look almost grown-up. I look like a child with boobs.

  Kevin is really nice, actually, if a little clean-cut when he is not in character. He’s quite funny and he’s going to lend me a comic featuring a character that he says looks as if my character and Joel’s character had a baby. It’s a girl and her name is Death. Which is kind of disturbing, but not as disturbing as the thought that me and Joel could have a baby together. Shudder. I thought about this because when I was ordering a stiff round of juice for Marcus, the bartender said, ‘He’s cute. Is he yours?’

  To which I responded, ‘No. EW. No offence, Marcus.’

  ‘None taken, Primrose.’ (He must have got that from Joel.)

  We think the bartender was probably being funny. But imagine me as a mum. God, I’d suck at it. I can’t even put a duvet cover on properly. Maybe she thought I was older, since I was hanging out with drinkers and stuff. I might have seemed like the responsible, tea-drinking mother, adrift in a land of pints and debauchery. Only, like I said, CHILD WITH BOOBS.

  I don’t want to look old for my age just yet. I already get pervy comments from men on the street sometimes. Things like ‘Fine figure of a girl you are’ and ‘Give us a smile’. A smile is all I want to be asked to give for the foreseeable future.

  It is hard being a teenager. See, we’re not exactly children, so we can cope with some adult things and take care of ourselves, mostly. But at the same time, we still are children. I might be able to make lasagne, but that does not mean I am ready to pay taxes, raise a child or not get annoyed when the budget comes on TV and RUINS my cartoon-watching schedule.

  I don’t know. It was a bit scary. Joel and Kevin thought it was pretty funny, though. Me with a child. Boys don’t get it as much, seeing as how they don’t have to raise the baby until the mother is tragically killed by a drunken driver and the baby is old enough to do basic household chores and cook a very nice lasagne, now that she has figured out how to avoid the burning part of the whole endeavour.

  I think Joel and me and Kevin are going to hang out again soon. I didn’t tell Joel about how I might fancy Kevin but mostly only when he is being a Jesuit. I think it is better left unsaid. I mean, it’s not like I am going to hook up with him or anything.

  But also worrying…

  I am a bad friend. Joel must never know about this. But how can I convince Kevin to keep what happened a secret without telling him that Joel fancies him too?

  It happened on Monday evening. I was walking to the shop for a white chocolate choc-ice because it was sunny and I was finished my homework and Mary needed milk. Kevin was in the shop, buying a Tangle Twister. He lives right near Mary. His little brother was after making his First Communion so he had a bouncy castle in his back garden. I dropped the milk off and went over to bounce. And bounce we did, two carefree young bouncers doing the most innocent, unsexy, completely un-romantic, joyful, plasticky, brightly coloured, ‘oh my God what is this feeling in my tummy’ thing in the world. And it was sunny and we were both in our school uniforms and doesn’t that sound innocent? Well, actually, there is nothing innocent about school uniforms. Their unflattering cut and questionable colour scheme provide an all-too-safe-looking front for all kinds of dreadful behaviour.

  (Also, Satan wears one. Although she does accessorise it with a good deal more flair than the average student. People never seem to notice Karen’s dress code infractions and I think it’s because deep down they know that she could make them burst into hot, brimstoney flames with a single look from her cold, deadly eyes.)

  Kevin looks a bit less together when he is in his school uniform. And he smells all clean and stuff. I don’t actually think I fancy him that much. It was totally a one-time thing that will never be spoken of again. I’m a terrible person.

  Anyway, we were bouncing and singing pop songs with the lyrics changed to be about people we knew. (We have several mutual acquaintances. OK, we have Joel. And the people I met on Saturday. And he did meet Ciara at the disco that time.)

  It was pretty funny. And we talked about things — about Joel, actually, and how brave he is to be out so young and how hard it was for him last year and stuff. Kevin brought that up — I wasn’t all telling of secrets or anything. Which doesn’t make what I did OK. It just makes it not as reprehensible as if I had been planning it and also telling Joel’s secrets to Kevin.

  His parents were at home — his mum gave me a glass of apple juice — but the bouncy castle kind of felt like its own little world, separate from real life, where the rules and strictures that bind our society together no longer applied. We were in international waters, the People’s Republic of Bounce.

  And then he fell over and I rolled over beside him and he tickled me and I laughed and laughed and laughed and then he kissed me and it was everything a first kiss should be.

  And also everything it shouldn’t. Joel is going to kill me. I have to tell him, don’t I? I have to tell him.

  If only Ella had come over too. I did invite her. People don’t get surprise-kissed in front of an audience. There’s no way that this is all her fault, but I would really like it if it were. I need someone to blame who’s not myself.

  And poor Kevin has no idea that Joel likes him like that. So I am the only one who did something wrong. And it wasn’t just a kiss. It was like eight kisses and one of them lasted for the guts of twenty minutes. I was almost late getting picked up by Dad. Luckily he was late too, like he almost always is.

  Nobody suspected a thing.

  I just got a text from Ella:

  You’ve been kissing boys. I could tell by the hair on you.

  To which I replied:

  I have only been kissing one boy. And what about my hair? Was it really obvious?

  To which she replied:

  No, I can only tell because I have been kissing a boy as well. The boy is Caleb. Who did you kiss?

  To which I replied:

  I will tell you tomorrow. But it has to be a secret. Because I am not supposed to be kissing that particular boy. It is forbidden.

  To which she replied:

  Myself and Caleb were forbidden for a while there. It was pretty fun. Is it Syzmon?

  To which I replied:

  No. How could you even think that?

  To which she replied:

  Because it would be forbidden.

  To which I replied:

  Makes sense. No, definitely not Syzmon.

  To which she replied:

  It’s Kevin from down the road, isn’t it? You wanted me to come bounce with you earlier. But I didn’t and he totally kissed you.

  And what could I say to that?

  You are right. But we can’t talk about it until after school tomorrow. OK?

  OK. See you tomorrow.

  I like Ella a lot. Ciara would have been like a dog with a bone. Maybe part of being autistic is that you don’t gossip?

  Ciara met me at my locker this morning.

  ‘What’s all this about you kissing forbidden Kevins?’

  ‘ELLAAAAA!!!!!!!’

  ‘She texted me last night about your hi-jinks. What does bouncing mean?’

  ‘He had a bouncy castle. That sort of bouncing.’

  ‘Oh. I thought it might be a euphemism’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You know.’ She glanced around shiftily. ‘Hanky agus Panky.’

  I stared her down.

  ‘That’s Grandma Lily’s code for sex.’

  ‘Who told Grandma Lily about sex?’

  ‘Probably Granddad Jim. Don’t change th
e subject.’

  ‘I have to. I can’t talk about it at school. Most of all, you can’t tell Joel.’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘I didn’t TELL-tell him. I just kind of intimated that you might have been kissing boys. BUT I said I didn’t know the full story or anything.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said we’d have to drag it out of you at lunchtime.’

  And so he did. And he had to pretend like it was fun and OK and wonderful even though his little heart was breaking. I could see it on his face as Ciara oohed and aahed. I pretended the whole forbidden thing was because he was a LARPer and Ciara was annoyed at me for being so judgemental. She wants to come LARPing next time we go and she is going to help us assemble costumes that are even more kick-ass than they were the last time.

  I said, ‘It just happened. I had no idea it was going to happen,’ helplessly around seven hundred times. Ciara nodded and said, ‘That is the way of it with kisses.’ Ella agreed. Her first kiss with Caleb took place across a very grumpy, very sleepy little ferret.

  ‘We all have boyfriends now!’ exclaimed Ciara. ‘Isn’t it great?’

  Joel looked even gloomier. I felt sick and explained that Kevin is not my boyfriend, will never be my boyfriend, but she was having none of it. When you are as adorable as Ciara and someone kisses you, they automatically want to be your boyfriend. When you are as prickly as me and someone kisses you, it leads to dark and dreadful things that make you feel terrible inside. Not that the kiss made me feel terrible. It was lovely. But that loveliness was supposed to be experienced by Joel, not stupid, grumpy me who hates herself and pretty much everyone else who isn’t in her close social circle. And what I did to Joel, you wouldn’t even do it to someone you hated.

  I tried to get Joel on his own to talk.

  ‘Let’s ditch school and go to the graveyard and chat,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t. I don’t even want to look at you right now.’

  ‘I’m so sor–’

  ‘Save it. How would you feel if I’d hooked up with Felix?’

  ‘Rotten. I know how bad you feel. I know I suck.’

  ‘Then why did you do it?’

  ‘I love you, Joely. I’ll never ever speak to him again.’

  ‘Fine.’

  And with that he stomped off.

  But later, he texted me. (This was after I sent him about seventy-eight texts reiterating how much of a terrible person I was and how sorry I am and how he’s my best friend in the world and I know exactly how much this hurt him and what can I do to make it up to him and so on and so forth.) But later he texted:

  You have to keep kissing him.

  What???! ! !

  Because otherwise he’ll KNOW. He won’t.

  Prim, he is one of two people I’ve told I’m gay. If he kisses you and even though you like him you break off all contact, he’ll totally know it’s because I like him.

  No he won’t. I’ll pretend I hate him.

  If you want to stay friends with me, you’ll kiss that boy.

  OK. But Joel?

  Yes?

  He hasn’t texted. Maybe he doesn’t like me after all.

  Aha!

  Aha what?

  I was testing you. Testing you to see if you actually like him and you totally do. We like the same boy. How weird is that?

  Very weird.

  I’m still mad at you.

  I know. I’m just glad we’re talking.

  Sort of.

  Any way at all. I’d never want you out of my life.

  Prim? I kind of do want you to keep kissing Kevin. Is that weird?

  I don’t know. Maybe?

  I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about it, but I’d rather he was with you than with someone else.

  Ugh. Like Karen.

  There’s another reason I can’t exactly be mad at you right now.

  This scared the bejaysus out of me, I thought he had cancer or something. I always assume people have cancer or some other deathinducing thing when they tell me that they have something to tell me. It is kind of a problem.

  I’m going to tell my parents about me this weekend.

  OMG. You’re so brave and awesome. Very proud of you and I’m sure they will be really supportive because they are lucky to have you.

  Yeah, yeah. I know you’re sorry.

  Shut up! I would have said and meant all those things even if I hadn’t made out with your boy crush.

  I thought you only kissed him.

  I did kiss him.

  And?

  And there was a very very small amount of under the jumper, over the blouse action as well.

  Ewwww.

  I know. He is clearly a damaged and tasteless sex-pervert. You want no part of him.

  I do, though, that’s the sad bit. Except when he’s being Brother Shade. Brother Shade kind of creeps me out.

  Brother Shade is awesome. That is what made me notice he was cute.

  A Jesuit, no less. Now who is the sex-pervert? You are clearly made for each other. Filthy role-playing freaks.

  Thanks for being so awesome about this Joel. I really need you in my life.

  Shut up your stupid face.

  No. YOU SHUT UP YOUR STUPID FACE, STUPID FACE.

  Good night, Stupid. XX

  Good night, Joel McStupidpants.

  And that is apparently how friendships get saved. I still feel very guilty, though. Kevin hasn’t texted. He doesn’t have my number or anything but he hasn’t asked Joel to give it to him either. I stayed in Felix’s room and told Mary I wasn’t at home to callers after school today. She was quite annoyed/amused by this, because

  She is not my butler

  And

  I didn’t have any callers.

  I never get callers.

  I am a big sad loser. I hung out with Ella and Mr Cat, doing science and watching him get wasted off the delicious catnip Ella grows for him. He was all purry and affectionate. He is a slutty drunk; all he wants are rubs and affection. Ella likes to let him have at the catnip every now and then because he is usually such a tightly wound coil of suspicion and greed. He barely lets anyone rub him unless they grab him by force and manage to reach the little spot under his whiskers before he leaps away, affronted.

  I really like Ella and Mr Cat, but I also wanted something to happen. Because there’d been this whole big forbidden kissing build-up and it felt like tomorrow needed a new chapter to the story. You know, to take Ciara’s mind off Grandma Lily. And also because it was weirdly fun being the centre of attention.

  Maybe I should take up prize-fighting or MDMA in order to keep things interesting for my beloved friends and keep the focus all about me for my beloved ego. My beloved ego really likes when things are all about me. It is a bit pathetic. I am like Mr Cat on catnip, rubbing my head against legs and chairs and tables, purring/growling furiously for someone,

  MDMA: A drug that teenagers in British dramas take. It is pretty much the same as ecstasy, I think, and induces plot-twists and feelings of euphoria.

  RING, SEAL, STAMP (8)

  Hedda rang me today to ask if I wanted to go for coffee so she could break up with me as well. I said no.

  She didn’t actually say the bit about wanting to break up with me, but that was pretty much the gist of it, I think. Because I am bereaved and she was going to move in with my dad, she feels like she owes me something. She totally doesn’t. I couldn’t care less. Everyone is ringing me, actually. Sorrel rang to ask me how I was as well. I have many grown-up women who feel somehow responsible for helping me through Fintan’s heartbreak.

  Hedda was totally pumping me for information as well, though. She told me that just because she and Fintan have broken up, it didn’t mean that she wasn’t still ‘there for me’. (Was she ever?) I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to that. (Um, thanks?) Also, she said that she hoped I didn’t think that she broke up with Fintan because of me. Then she went on about li
king her life and her own company and not being a fan of the burdens and responsibilities that come with a marriage, with the result that I now totally think the break-up was at least partly my fault. She was digging herself quite a hole. It felt like she was breaking up with me over the phone because I had turned down her tempting offer of coffee. I don’t even drink coffee. Anyway, basically she was, like, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t want to be your stepmother, but can we still be friends?’

  We’re not really friends, although she occasionally took me shopping for womanly things like sanitary towels and underwear. I don’t think she will be doing that any more. Which is fine by me, because I’d rather Dad gave me the money and let me off to do it myself than someone hang out with me because they think it’s like their duty or somehow charitable or whatever.

  Anyway, she told me to ring her if I ever needed someone to talk to and that the door to her house was always open. What does that even mean? I know what it means, but it’s a really stupid saying, isn’t it? Unless you live in the countryside like Uncle Patsy, then the door of your house can’t even be left unlocked when you’re not home, much less open. You’d be robbed blind. Also, Hedda works funny hours, so chances are if I stumbled weeping to her door, barefoot and pregnant and needing to talk, she’d be off somewhere glamorous getting stuff done.

  It was probably nice of her to call, but it left me with a distinctly guilty feeling, like maybe if Fintan hadn’t got a teenage daughter with no mother to guide her, he’d have been a lot less eager to tie the knot/move in/have another baby with a woman who valued her independence every bit as much as he does (normally).

  After we said our awkward goodbyes I went downstairs and made a pot of tea with real tea leaves. I stirred the pot and put about eight Bourbon Creams (my dad’s biscuit of choice — bit boring, if you ask me) on a plate. I fanned them out artfully and arranged a cup and a little jug of milk on a tray. I brought it in to him in his study. He was not studying. He was snoozing. So I left everything on his desk, gave him a kiss on his big grey head and shut the door very gently on my way out. Sometimes I love my dad. Mostly when he seems a little helpless. I like taking care of people. It makes me feel like I can help.