Looking for a Hero

by Cathy Hopkins

  Brook, Leela and even Zahrah looked spellbound by the film. I watched them for a few moments. I couldn’t imagine any of them drowning themselves over a stupid boy. Nor me, I thought. Times have changed since Romeo and Jules’s day. We don’t have to let boys play the tune, with us just dancing along and letting them lead until they break our hearts. No. Ours is the age of girl power. I don’t want to be sad or a tragic heroine. I want to be like Aunt Sarah. Her husband, who was the great love of her life, left her and did she lose her mind or wither away and become a shadow of her former self? No. She became a businesswoman, earned a ton of dosh and showed him she didn’t need him. Although sometimes I see a hint of sadness in her eyes, she doesn’t wallow in it. No. She kicks butt. She’s a butt-kicking heroine. I want to be like her, but ... I don’t want to give up on love either. Not yet and especially not because of Joe Donahue. I want to meet a boy who doesn’t do my head in. A boy who is kind and sensitive and, most of all, likes me – adores me. And what’s more . . . I am going to find him.

  While up on the screen, Romeo drank the potion and ranted on about it having touched Juliet’s lips, I thought, Oh grow up, you stupid prat, for heaven’s sake, you’ve only known Juliet five minutes. I leaned over and poked Leela. ‘Lee,’ I whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The challenge. I’m in.’ Then I made a fist. ‘Girl power.’

  Leela gave me a strange look but did the fist back. ‘Um.Yeah. OK. Girl power.’

  I settled back to watch the end of the movie and felt determined that I would find a boy. A nice boy. A gorgissimus boy. No compromises. An equal. Maybe even The One. So look out London boys, I thought. Here I come. And Joe stupoid Donahue. You, my friend, are history.

  We fell into a fun routine – after school every night, we’d take it in turns to pick a location then go boy spotting. By the end of week one, we’d hung out in all the local cafés that were popular with schools in our area, we’d mooched about outside two boys’ schools as well as outside the local cinema. On Friday, Leela dragged us along to a bonfire party in the local park, but it was pouring with rain so the fireworks got cancelled and the bonfire was a big wet mass of wood. Leela wanted to stay because there did seem to be a lot of boys around but, after we got drenched in a torrential downpour, Zahrah called a halt to the venture.

  ‘We look like a bunch of sad stalkers,’ she said as we adjourned with dripping wet hair and coats to Starbucks to dry off.

  ‘Seek and ye shall find,’ said Brook.

  ‘Er ... I think you might find that is a quote by Jesus and he’s talking about finding the kingdom of heaven, not boys,’ said Zahrah with a frown. She knew her Bible well on account of her family being devout Christians.

  ‘Whatever,’ said Brook, leading us to our favourite place by the window. ‘The principle applies whatever you’re looking for. Like, you’re not going to meet anyone if you stay at home and don’t get out, right?’

  ‘Not unless you have a bunch of older brothers who all have gorgeous friends,’ said Leela.

  ‘Ranjiv is cute,’ said Brook, looking wistfully at Leela.

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ she said. ‘He’s taken. Hate to tell you but he’s all loved up at the moment. Girl called Chloe. Don’t know what she sees in him myself.’

  ‘Oh I do,’ I said, and then blushed as Zahrah, Leela and Brook all turned to stare at me. ‘He’s very handsome, Leela. All your family are gorgeous like Bollywood actors.’ I’d met Leela’s mum and dad a couple of times when I’d been over to their house. Her mum was stunning. Leela told me that when she was younger she had been a contestant in a Miss India competition and the judges wanted to put her through for the Miss World contest, but she decided to go and train as a pharmacist instead.

  ‘Try living with them,’ said Leela.

  Brook sighed. ‘The tragedy of my life is that Ranjiv only sees me as Leela’s silly little friend.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because you go stupid whenever he’s around,’ retorted Leela.

  Brook gave her a look of disdain.‘I do not do stupid,’ she said. ‘I am way too cool for that. I just go, um . . . quiet.’

  ‘Stupid,’ said Leela with a wicked grin.

  ‘I go stupid with some boys,’ I confessed. ‘Like I can be myself with the ones I don’t care about but, if I fancy someone, I start talking hogwash and blushing and I’ve even been known to knock things over.’

  ‘I thought you only had eyes for Joe Donahue, India,’ said Zahrah.

  ‘That was then and it never meant that I couldn’t appreciate a cute boy like Ranjiv – although it was Erin who really fancied him. Sorry Brook – but I wouldn’t worry about us because I reckon Ireland is a bit far away, and he’s not really my type.’

  ‘So what is your type?’ asked Leela.

  ‘Not sure yet. I’ll think about it and get back to you.’

  Leela and Brook went off to get the drinks while Zahrah and I settled down on the sofas.

  ‘So Leela,’ said Brook when they came back with the drinks, and also Mikey who is in our year at school, ‘where exactly are we supposed to meet these perfect boys? So far, it’s been hopeless. A dead loss.’

  ‘Perfect boys? Talking about me again. What’s all this?’ asked Mikey. He was a new friend of mine who lived near Aunt Sarah’s house and we often walked to and from school together. He kept saying that he wanted to be more than a mate one day, but I’d told him that it was never going to happen. I didn’t fancy him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cute; he was. With his dark floppy hair and big brown eyes, he was very sweet but just not right for me – too young-looking. I like hanging out with him though – he is a laugh.

  Leela quickly filled him in on the quest.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘Well of course I would offer myself but then I am taken at the moment.’ He had been dating Amy in our French class since just before half-term.

  ‘Shame,’ said Zahrah and we laughed because Zahrah and Mikey would have made a totally unlikely couple. She would have made mincemeat of him.

  ‘So where are we going to meet new boys, Leela?’ I asked.

  ‘Early days still,’ she replied. ‘But I think we should try a new tactic’.

  Zahrah groaned.

  ‘No, wait, let’s hear her out,’ said Brook. ‘I feel a plan is coming upon our small but perfectly formed friend.’

  ‘Oi. Less of the small. I’m five foot, if you don’t mind. And yes, I do have a plan. Tomorrow afternoon, Portobello Road. There are always loads of boys from all over London and even some from Europe.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Brook. ‘Good idea, Leela.’

  ‘Has she hypnotised you or something?’ Zahrah asked.

  Brook shook her head. ‘No.’ And then she made her face go completely deadpan and spoke in a robotic way. ‘Although I will obey. I will obey’ She relaxed her face. ‘At least she comes up with ideas.’

  ‘Yeah but there’s a slight flaw in the plan, like it’s not much good if you fall in love with a German or Italian boy. Longdistance love never works,’ said Zahrah.

  ‘And how are we going to get to meet them?’ I asked. ‘This hanging about looking cool and interesting hasn’t exactly worked for us. We’ve seen a few decent boys but they’ve just walked straight past. We need some excuse to talk to them.’

  ‘Exactly’ said Brook. ‘India’s right, we need some reason to talk to them and boys don’t always like it if you make the first move.’

  ‘Oh. Mikey. You’re a boy —’ Leela started.

  Mikey lifted his right arm and pumped his muscle. ‘So you’d noticed,’ he said in a silly deep voice.

  ‘Only just,’ said Zahrah. Mikey playfully punched her.

  ‘What should we do?’ Leela continued.

  Mikey thought for a few moments then grinned. ‘I know. What you need is an opening, so why not pretend that you’re doing research for a project about what boys want from girls. You could say that you’re doing it for the school magazine. You could
even submit it to the school magazine – I bet everyone would want to read the results, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Mikey my man, you are awesome,’ said Brook ‘That is a brilliant idea.’

  Mikey looked very pleased with himself.

  ‘So who’s in?’ Leela asked. ‘Tomorrow, turn up looking sharp with a notepad and paper.’

  ‘I’m in,’ I said. ‘Sounds like a laugh.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Brook.

  ‘And me too, I guess. Someone has to come along to make sure that you don’t get arrested,’ said Zahrah.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Leela.

  ‘Now, questions,’ said Mikey. ‘You each need to think up three or four so you look professional.’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ said Leela.‘OK girls. Have a think then email what you come up with to me when you get home and I’ll print them out ready for tomorrow.’

  Brook saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Mikey got up to go. ‘I have to go in a minute but . . .’

  ‘OK. Bye and thanks for your great idea,’ said Leela.

  ‘Anytime,’ said Mikey, ‘but . . .’ He shifted about on his feet for a few seconds and looked awkward.

  ‘Spill,’ said Zahrah.‘What is it you want?’

  Mikey coughed. ‘Urn. Advice.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Zahrah. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  Mikey sat down again, leaned towards us and said in a whisper. ‘I ... I want to know how to be a good kisser.’

  ‘Why? Do you think you’re not?’ asked Brook.

  ‘That’s it. I don’t know. I mean, Amy has never complained or anything but... I’d like to be more confident about it and . . . well, there are four of you.’

  ‘Yes. Four of us. And?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Um. I wonder if you’d show me.’

  ‘Show you or tell you?’ I asked.

  Mikey’s expression grew cheeky and he looked at me hopefully. ‘Both?’

  I looked at Brook, Leela and Zahrah. None of them said anything. Brook shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘We’ll discuss it,’ I said. ‘And get back to you later.’

  ‘How about on my birthday? Mum said I could have a party – which you’re all invited to, of course.’

  ‘Consider it our birthday present,’ said Brook.

  Mikey’s face lit up. ‘Really? Cool,’ he said, and headed for the door.

  ‘So?’ asked Zahrah.

  Brook shrugged. ‘We could show him. I don’t mind. He’s a nice guy and sometimes I feel for boys, like, where are they supposed to learn if we don’t show them.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But I’m not kissing him. I don’t mind giving him a few pointers though.’

  ‘How do you know that you’re a good kisser?’ asked Zahrah.

  ‘Experience,’ I said. ‘Erin and I sold kisses at a Christmas fête one year over in Ireland. It was hysterical. By the end of the day, I had really got the hang of the fact that there are all sorts of kisses: light, deep, sloppy, dry.’

  ‘And how do you know you’re a good kisser?’ asked Zahrah turning to Brook.

  Brook sat up with her back very straight. ‘It’s just something I was born with.’ She ran her hands over her body. ‘This bod was made for love,’ she drawled in a Texan accent. ‘And I was born to kiss and be kissed.’

  Zahrah rolled her eyes. ‘Oh for God’s sake.’

  Brook laughed. ‘I’ve practised,’ she said. ‘There’s always some boy like Mikey who wants to learn. And I’ve done my homework. I’ve read up on it and then practised.’

  ‘Good. So you can teach Mikey. Sorted,’ said Leela.

  ‘What about you, Lee?’ I asked.

  Leela blushed. ‘OK. I haven’t snogged many boys but I think I’m OK at it. I’ve had no complaints.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And in the meantime, let’s do a list of the boy contenders so far. Zahrah. You go first.’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Oh come on, there must be someone at school you fancy a little.’

  Zahrah looked pensive. ‘OK,’ she said after a few moments.‘I guess there is Mr Bailey’

  ‘Ewww,’ Leela and Brook chorused.

  ‘You can’t have him – he’s a teacher,’ said Leela.

  ‘And he so fancies himself,’ said Brook.

  You’re always making up rules,’ said Zahrah. ‘You asked my opinion and that’s it.’

  Leela wrote down Mr Bailey. ‘OK. I’ll add his name but we all know he’s not a real contender.’

  Zahrah shrugged. ‘There’s no one else I fancy’

  ‘Joe Donahue for India, although he’s out of bounds now,’ said Brook, ‘Callum Hesketh, Mark Mitchell.’

  ‘Callum Hesketh is a waste of time,’ I said. ‘And he’s already in a relationship.’

  ‘Who with?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Himself#x2019;

  ‘OK,’ said Leela and she crossed Callum’s name off. ‘Er. . . Liam Wiseman, Ramesh from the drama group . . . You got any to add, India?’ she asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Eddie O’Neil from the Sixth Form fancies me, but it’s not mutual,’ I said. Eddie was OK but there wasn’t any chemistry. I wondered if I’d ever feel as strongly about another boy as I had about Joe. He really had got to me and I still felt cut up about it. What’s the point, I thought.

  Leela lightly slapped my arm. ‘Enough of the glum face,’ she said. ‘It’s too early to give up.’ She did the girl power fist.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said and did the fist back at her, but I wasn’t feeling very enthusiastic about it. Maybe you only ever get one true love in a lifetime, I thought. Joe was mine and, from now on, all will be compromise.

  I could feel the nunnery beckoning again.

  ‘What are you doing, India?’ asked my younger brother Dylan later that night as he watched me cut out bits of girls’ heads and bodies from magazines and spread them over the kitchen table. ‘Is this some kind of witchcraft ritual?’

  ‘No,’ I said as I continued snipping.‘I’m making a collage for art.’ I took the eyes from one girl, the hair from another, the chin from another and stuck them down on a piece of paper. ‘I’ve had a new idea for my project of self-portraits. I am going to call this one Cut Up.’ Cut up was how I felt after Joe had told me that he was seeing someone else, I thought, snipping off a leg and sticking it down, so it will be a perfect self-portrait to do to represent my state of mind. Mr Bailey, the art teacher, was going to think I was totally mental when he saw my latest batch of work. Tragic heroines. Cut-up girl collages. And then I wondered if Joe might see them – art is one of his subjects. I hope he does, I thought. Then he’ll see how he’s made me feel!

  ‘She looks like a freak to me,’ said Dylan. He looked over my shoulder at my collage then went to the fridge and helped himself to juice and a slice of carrot cake. ‘Want anything?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. We’d just had dinner so I wasn’t hungry any more and I was enjoying creating my cut-up self while I thought about my questions for Leela’s survey. I found art could be very therapeutic some days - it let me express feelings that sometimes I found hard to put into words.

  ‘What do you want from a girl?’ I asked Dylan as he sat down opposite me and began to cram cake in his mouth.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I don’t like girls. They always want to kiss me.’

  I should have known better than to ask a twelve-year-old, although, judging by the number of calls he got, girls weren’t put off by the fact that he wasn’t interested. Dylan is very goodlooking with the same fine features as Mum – cherub-faced with long eyelashes and red blond hair. He’ll be a heartbreaker by the time he’s fifteen. As I sat there cutting and gluing, various members of the family came into the kitchen, including Lewis who is a student in his first year at university. He has digs in Crouch End but comes home a couple of times a week to eat and get his laundry done. Like my other brother, Ethan, Lewis has my dad’s dark Italian looks - they’re handsome too, but in a different way to Dylan.r />
  As always in the mad house I live in, my business was soon everyone’s business and I began to wish that I had started my collage in the privacy of my room upstairs. Dad came and sat at the top of the table and started making a collage of his own. Kate sauntered in with her red silk Chinese dressing gown on and her long dark hair freshly washed and smelling of the peach shampoo in the bathroom. She sat down and had a look at what I was doing.

  ‘I think you may be in need of a shrink,’ she pronounced before getting up and disappearing for the rest of the evening. (We don’t see a lot of her these days. She’s more like a lodger than a cousin whose house we’re living in.)

  Mum made everyone hot chocolates and Lewis and Dylan sat and stuffed their faces with choc chip biscuits. What those boys can put away is breathtaking.

  What’s your perfect girl, Lewis?’ I asked.

  ‘The perfect girl kisses you goodnight then turns into a pizza,’ said Lewis. Everyone groaned. It was a very old joke. Why?’

  ‘I’m trying to work out what I want from the perfect boy,’ I replied.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Mum. ‘You’re young. You’ll get to know lots of boys and discover what you want along the way.’

  I looked at the strange creature I had created on paper in front of me. I hoped that I never really ended up being so torn apart and I made myself remember my resolve not to go under because of a boy. Be positive, I told myself as I put the collage to one side.

  ‘We’re doing a . . . um ... project survey sort of thing,’ I said. ‘I need some questions to ask boys about what they want from girls. Any ideas. Dad? Lewis? Dylan?’

  They all replied at once. My family is anything but shy.

  ‘Her phone number,’ said Lewis.

  ‘Love, loyalty, good times,’ said Dad with an affectionate glance at Mum.

  ‘To get off my case and leave me alone,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I don’t want to know what you want,’ I said. ‘I need questions to ask boys tomorrow.’