The Kissing Game

by Jean Ure

  Hey! That’s another one. Tongue-tied.

  We went and I bought us both a Coke and I still couldn’t think of anything to say, I mean I just didn’t know what to talk to her about. I was starting to get really twitchy in case my mouth suddenly opened of its own accord and said something obscene, like, “What cup size are you?”

  I’ve heard of this sort of thing happening. It’s like when you get people walking down the street shouting four-letter words. It’s called Tourette’s. It’s this illness they have where they can’t stop swearing. I think as a matter of fact my sister probably suffers from it, yelling words like pervert and other stuff which she could almost certainly get prosecuted for. I am seriously concerned in case it runs in families, which means at any moment I could start doing it myself.

  “Don’t talk much, do you?” said Lucy.

  I said, “I’m the strong and silent type.”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Lucy. Then she said, “Written any more poetry?”

  I was so relieved to have something to talk about that I went and blurted out J is for Jimmy before I could stop myself.

  Lucy shrieked, “Sally Tomato, don’t be so rude!”

  I knew she wouldn’t find it funny. I shouldn’t have told her. I don’t know why I did. It must be my Tourette’s starting up.

  “Can’t you think of anything not rude to talk about?” she said.

  I said, “I could tell you about this book I read.”

  “What book?”

  “Book where these people were in a plane crash.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Well, some were killed and some survived, and the ones that survived ended up eating the ones that were killed.”

  “Eating them? That is disgusting!” shrieked Lucy.

  “They were dying of starvation,” I said.

  “That’s no excuse! Eating human flesh … ugh!”

  “We eat animals,” I said.

  “That’s different,” said Lucy.

  I said, “Why?”

  She said, “Because it is! Don’t be stupid.”

  There wasn’t much to talk about after that so I took her back home. But guess what? I almost got to kiss her! My lips touched her cheek … if I had only been a bit bolder I think she might have let me kiss her on the lips. I think she really does like me!

  I have spent the afternoon writing a poem to Lucy’s cheek.

  Poem to Lucy’s Cheek

  Lucy’s cheek, so soft, so squishy,

  Unlike some, which are quite fishy.

  Lucy’s cheek, so soft and dimpled!

  Others’ cheeks are rough and pimpled.

  Not so Lucy’s! Lucy’s cheek!

  The cheek of Luce, a damsel meek,

  Is like a golden sun-kissed peach,

  Upon a bough just out of reach.

  O let me pluck the cheek of Luce!

  And deeply drink th’immortal juice.

  I can’t make up my mind whether to give it to her or not.

  When I got home my sister said that my other girlfriend had rung. She said, “How many do you have, you disgusting little pervert? A whole harem?”

  I said, “That one is not my girlfriend. She just happens to be in my class.”

  “Sounded like a girlfriend to me,” said Iz. “She was ringing from the swimming pool. Seemed to think you were going to meet her there.”

  I never said that I would meet her! She might have thought that’s what I said, but it most certainly was not. All I said was, “See you.” See you could mean anything. It could mean, see you tomorrow, or see you next week, or just see you some time. It didn’t mean that I was necessarily going to see her today. People oughtn’t to take things for granted.

  I wonder if I should have rung her? She didn’t leave her number. I suppose I could always look it up in the book, but there must be loads of people with the name Hynde. How would I know which one was her?

  She should have told Iz her number if she wanted me to ring her.

  Tomorrow I will do some pictures to illustrate my poems. I shall take them in to show her and that will make her happy.

  Tonight Mum said about someone, “She’s like a dog with two tails.”

  M is for match –

  Your cheek, my bum.

  This was a joke

  When I was young!

  I recited this little ditty to Harmony in the library, Monday lunch time. Well, first off I said that I was sorry I wasn’t at the pool on Saturday. I said, “I didn’t realise you were expecting me. And I couldn’t ring because I didn’t have your number. If I’d have had your number—”

  Harmony said, “You don’t have to apologise. I quite understand.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant by this. Did she mean that she understood about me not having her phone number? Or did she mean that she understood about some girls being the sort to set your hormones off and others just being the sort that you have intellectual conversations with?

  I felt kind of sorry for her. I suddenly imagined her waiting and waiting and me not turning up. It wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t like to see her looking all miserable.

  Also I felt that perhaps I had been unnecessarily harsh. I could have looked her up in the telephone directory. I don’t expect there are as many Hyndes as all that. So to cheer her up I showed her the pictures I’ve done for our book. I told her that I would do some to go with her poems, as well, and then I told her the joke about your cheek, my bum. She enjoyed that. She said that she’d got one for me.

  “It’s another one for the book.”

  E is elastic that holds up your knicker.

  If it should snap, beware!

  In the wink of an eye, in a flash, in a flicker,

  You’ll find that your bottom is bare!

  I said, “Hey! That’s really good.”

  I wasn’t just saying it. I really meant it! But I don’t think she believed me. She got all dejected again and said, “It’s only doggerel.”

  I said, “Yeah, but it’s funny.”

  She said, “Do you really think so?”

  “It’s ace,” I told her. “It’ll go great in the book!”

  She said, “Mmm … I suppose the third line isn’t too bad.”

  She’s very critical of her own work.

  Today is Friday and on the way home I bumped into Lucy at the bus stop.

  I said, “Where’s Sharleen?”

  “What’s it to you?” she said. “She’s at the dentist.”

  After this interchange, silencen descended upon us like a thick cloak. It brought on a touch of the Tourette’s. I found myself blurting out my cheek and bum joke. She didn’t get it!

  I said, “Your cheek, my bum.”

  She still didn’t get it. She said, “Are you being rude again?”

  I said, “No. It’s a hallowed tradition.”

  Harmony was the one that told me this.

  Lucy said, “A hallo tradition? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s like those post-cards,” I said. “Ones you get at the seaside, with fat ladies bursting out of bathing costumes? They’re not rude.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Lucy. “They’re disgusting!”

  “Well, anyway,” I said, “Roald Dahl did it.”

  “Did what?” said Lucy.

  “Wrote Revolting Rhymes. There isn’t any harm in them.”

  And for some reason I told her Harmony’s one about knicker elastic. I think my Tourette’s must be developing really fast.

  Lucy said, “Do you always have to be so crude? You’ve obviously got an extremely dirty mind.”

  I explained very hurriedly that the poem wasn’t one of mine. “It was written by Harmony Hynde.”

  Lucy said, “Oh, well! Her,” as if that explained everything.

  I don’t know what she has against Harmony. Maybe it’s just that she is a boffin. I have noticed that people don’t always like people that are brainy. But Harmony can’t help it! It’s in her genes.
/>   I asked Lucy if she’d like to meet me in the shopping centre again, tomorrow morning. I said, “I’ll buy you another Coke.”

  “Mmm …” She crinkled her nose. It kills me when she does that!

  “I’ll buy you something to eat,” I said.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  I said, “When will you let me know?”

  She said, “When I’ve thought about it. But I don’t want to hang about by the Swiss Clock again.”

  She hasn’t had to hang about! Well, only the first time, when she was waiting for Sharleen.

  “We could always meet in the library,” I said.

  She said, “In the library? What’s in the library?”

  “Well … there’s books,” I said. “And there’s a place to eat.”

  “There’s places to eat in the shopping centre. What d’you want to go to the library for?”

  I explained that I wanted to see if they’d got any books by this author that’s coming to talk to us. Jason Twelvetrees.

  “You mean you’re going to read them?” said Lucy.

  “Well, I thought perhaps I ought,” I said. “I mean, as he’s coming.” Lucy tossed her head and said, “One was bad enough.”

  She meant the one we did in class, with Mr Mounsey. Doomageddon. I thought it was quite interesting, actually. But I didn’t let on. I mean, I didn’t want to put her off, or anything.

  I said, “So you’ll let me know?”

  “I told you,” said Lucy. “When I’ve thought about it.”

  “Give me a ring,” I said.

  She’s got my number. Maybe she’ll ring me tomorrow.

  N is for nuddy,

  A word for nude.

  Oh, Lucy, nuddy!

  I’m not being rude.

  I waited in as long as I could, but Lucy never rang me. So then I went to the library and waited there. I thought perhaps she might turn up. I thought she might have forgotten I’d said to give me a ring.

  I waited for almost an hour, then the Town Hall clock struck eleven and I just knew she wasn’t going to come.

  I expect what it was, she didn’t want to be on her own with me in case I tried to kiss her again. I can see now that I was a bit too macho last Saturday. I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I’d brought my Poem to Lucy’s Cheek, and I would have liked to give it to her. I know that she enjoys my poetry. My real poetry. Not Disgusting Ditties. It shows she has taste!

  When I went through to the children’s section to look for some more books by Jason Twelvetrees I found Harmony in there. She was also looking for books by Jason Twelvetrees. They only had two, so we took one each. Harmony said she was really looking forward to hearing him talk. She said she’d never met a real live writer before. I said me neither.

  “He might be able to help us get our book published,” said Harmony. She said she was working on some more ditties, but she hadn’t finished them yet. She said, “How far have you got?”

  I told her I’d got as far as N. She immediately wanted to know what N stood for.

  “Oh … um! I’m not quite sure,” I said. I wasn’t going to tell her about Lucy in the nuddy. No way!

  “I’d thought of naked,” said Harmony.

  I said, “Yeah. Naked would be all right.”

  “It’s not the same as yours, is it?” she said. “We don’t want to have two the same.”

  I said, “No, but we can have variations.”

  Harmony wrinkled her brow and said, “Like what?”

  “Well,” I said, “like … boob and breast. Or bum and bottom.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean,” said Harmony. “Yes, that would be OK.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that when our book was published I would have to go through and take out every mention of Lucy’s name! I would have to use a pretend one, and that would upset some of my rhymes. L is for lips, for instance. L is for lips, so soft and juicy … They would have to be something else, like –

  I couldn’t think of anything! All I could think of was manna.

  Lovely lips

  As soft as manna.

  I’d love to kiss

  The lips of Hannah.

  Except that I don’t know anything about manna. I don’t even know whether it is soft. I said to Harmony, as we left the library, “You know manna?”

  “Do I?” said Harmony.

  “Manna. In the Bible.”

  “Oh! Yes,” she said. “That manna.”

  “What exactly was it?” I said.

  “It was the food of the Israelites in the wilderness,” said Harmony. She’s the sort of girl that always knows these things.

  “Was it soft?” I said.

  “I suppose some of it was. You probably got different types.”

  “Like soft roe and hard roe,” I said.

  I said it without thinking. Harmony narrowed her eyes.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I forgot you were a vegetarian.”

  It’s not very poetic, anyway. I shall have to think of something else.

  Harmony wanted to know if I was going into the shopping centre. I said, “Yes, I suppose so.” I couldn’t think of anything else.

  She said, “What do you usually do when you come here? Do you just look at the shops?”

  I said, “Only the model shop, really.”

  “So what do you mostly do?”

  I said, “Well …” And I told her about going to the car park and setting off car alarms.

  “Just as a game,” I said. “We dare each other.”

  “Who’s we?” said Harmony.

  “Me and Bones.”

  “Aren’t you scared of getting caught?”

  “Part of the fun,” I said.

  “I’d be scared,” said Harmony. And then she said, “I’ve got a dare game! It’s something I’ve just invented. D’you want to hear it?”

  Harmony’s game was that you had to dare each other to go up to someone and ask them a question in a foreign accent. “And not giggle!” She said if you giggled, you forfeited a point.

  “The person that loses most points has to buy the other one a Coke. Shall we play it?”

  Well, I mean, I didn’t have anything else to do.

  “You go first,” said Harmony.

  “Why me?” I said.

  “Because I say so,” said Harmony. She can be very bossy. “I dare you to go up to someone and ask them where the toilet is … in a French accent!”

  It was far more scary than setting off car alarms.

  “Well, go on!” said Harmony. “I’m daring you!”

  So I went up to this really nerdy-looking person in a raincoat and said, “Excusy, monsieur! Where, pleez, is ze toilette?”

  “Ze toilette for ze man,” added Harmony.

  I don’t know whether she was genuinely trying to be helpful or whether she was just trying to make me giggle. But anyway, I didn’t!

  I didn’t even giggle when the person in the raincoat said he was sorry he couldn’t help me, he was a foreigner. Harmony did! I told her she had forfeited a point but she said it didn’t count if the other person giggled. Only the person that was asking the question. I thought that was cheating, myself, but she said that she had invented the game and she was the one that made up the rules, so to pay her out I said, “All right! I dare you to ask someone where Marks & Spencer is … in a Japanese accent!”

  “Ah, so!” cried Harmony. “Mark & Spensah!”

  You’d never think, to look at her, that she’d be the sort of person to play a game like that. You’d think she’d be really geeky and serious, but actually she’s quite funny when you get to know her.

  We went all round the shopping centre asking people things in different accents. First we did foreign ones, and when we couldn’t think of any more of those we started on Welsh and Irish and stuff like that. In the end I was getting pretty hungry so I dared Harmony to go and buy us some ice pops “in a West Country accent”.

  She went waltzing up to this litt
le window where they sell them and said, “Oi want a straw’bry oice pop fer ’im an’ a raspb’ry oice pop fer oi.”

  What happened next was totally unexpected. This girl shot out of the window like a jack-in-the-box and went, “Harmony Hynde, have you been drinking?”

  It was one of the Year 12s from school! Fortunately she didn’t recognise me; only Harmony. This is because (Harmony told me) she lives in the same road as her.

  Harmony went “Ug! Wah!” and collapsed against me, giggling. I had to put my arms round her or she’d have fallen over. Definitely no more than A. But she felt kind of nice. I just wish it had been Lucy!

  We bumped into Lucy while we were eating our ice pops (which Harmony bought for us in her normal voice as she’d forfeited loads more points than me. She’s just as giggly as any other girl is what it comes down to).

  Lucy was with Sharleen. They were arm in arm. As usual.

  “Didn’t take you long to find someone else, then, did it?” said Lucy.

  “Boys!” sniffed Sharleen. And they both went stalking off.

  I was mortified. (I think that is the word.) I felt that Lucy would never forgive me. But since then I have had time to reflect and I think perhaps it may have been a good thing for her to see me with another girl, even if it was only Harmony. It will make her scared of losing me!

  I am definitely going to give her her poem. Poem to Lucy’s Cheek. It is a question of finding the right moment.

  After she and Sharleen had gone, Harmony said, “Do you fancy her?”

  Do I fancy Lucy??? That is the understatement of the year! Of the decade!! Of the century!!!

  “All the boys do,” said Harmony.

  She sounded really wistful. It made me feel a bit sorry for her, like I did the other day. We’d had fun doing all the accents and everything. I think maybe I’ll write a poem for her. Something intelligent. Something she’d appreciate.

  Before we went home she said, “How about cauliflower ears?”

  I suppose that could be classed as a figure of speech.

  O is for off

  Meaning tasteless and crude.

  Filthy, disgusting,