“Here! I ran as fast as I could, Michelle.” I handed her the bottle.
“Ta,” she said, putting her hand out.
I saw her face for the first time. Jiminy Cricket, it was like looking at the saddest clown in the circus: green eyeliner sprinting down the side of her face, red lippy smudged as though she’d been snogging a camel, black stuff all over her cheeks. Sweaty and bogging. Wowzers! Michelle Malloy in front of me on her knees, sweaty and bogging. Gulp-a-lulp. She still looked cute, though. She sank the first bottle of water down in two gulps. Impressive. She would definitely make it onto mine and Amir’s Fastest Drinker Challenger Team.
“STINKING FUCKING BAG.”
“Where’s my fucking bag, Mint?”
“Sorry, Michelle. I took it to the bogs and cleaned it up for you, in case it got all crusty and minging.” I handed her the bag. She grabbed it off me.
“Did you look inside it?”
“No.”
“Did you fucking look inside it, Mint?”
“No, I didn’t. FUCK YOUR BAG. SLUT.”
“You better not have.”
“I didn’t. Major promise.”
She reached out for the second bottle and started drinking. Out of nowhere the eureka moment hit me like a ping-pong ball on the temple.
Boom!
Michelle Malloy was wellied, steam boats, pished as a fart, trollied, blotto, bloottered, sozzled, wrecked, drunk.
“Have you been drinking, Michelle?” I asked her.
“What do you think, Einstein?”
“I’d say so.”
“It’s like being here with Jimmy McFuckingNulty.”
Aw, I got it. Doughnut had filled Michelle Malloy up with the booze he’d blagged from his dad.
“Did you drink some of Doughnut’s crapper?”
“What?”
“Did Doughnut give you the drink?”
“Why the fuck would Doughnut be giving me drink?”
“He had some earlier.”
“I wouldn’t even talk to that fat mong.”
“So did you buy it yourself?”
“What is this, Mint, the Spanish Inquisition?”
That stopped me in my tracks. What the Spanish had to do with Michelle Malloy being blitzed in Drumhill School’s playground in Glasgow had my head frazzled. I said nothing. I sat down beside her.
“If you really want to know, I was in the park,” she said.
“What park?”
“What the fuck does it matter, what park?”
“Just asking.”
“It had trees.” Her head wobbled and her speech slurred, but that could have been the effects of the medication she was on.
“I’d say you must have had a lobotomy, Michelle,” I said, trying to cheer her up.
“You don’t half talk shite, Mint. What are you on about now?”
“You said that you would only come to the Halloween disco if you’d had a lobotomy.” I smiled at her in my I’ve-got-your-card-marked-sister way.
“Am I in there?” she said, pointing to the gym hall.
“No.”
“Did you ever see me in there tonight?”
“No.” She hadn’t been in there tonight; I’d have fixed my peepers on her earlier if she had.
“Am I dressed up as anything?” She could have been, for all I knew. A lady of the night, for example.
“No. WHORE.”
“So then, I haven’t been to your fucking loser Halloween disco.”
“So why are you here, then?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“You won’t know them.”
“How do you know I won’t?”
“Because they don’t go to this school.” Now, I’m not a forensic expert or a Detective Inspector or a Detective Chief Inspector or even CIA, but Michelle Malloy’s reason for being at the Halloween disco so she could search for her friend, who wouldn’t have been at the Halloween disco in the first place, sounded like a big giant juicy pork pie.
“That seems a bit Billy Bonkers.”
“Talk normal, Mint. You’re not a fucking baby.”
“It sounds weird that your friend, who doesn’t go to this school, would be at the Drumhill Halloween disco.”
“Did I say they were at the disco?”
“No.”
“Well, then.”
Then we did silence for a bit. I thought of going back in and finding Amir. Michelle Malloy put her head in her hands. “I’m fucked. I’m really fucked.”
“What do you mean? Are you okay?”
“I can’t go home in this state. My mom will go PURE apeshit.”
“You could sneak in through a window.”
“With these fucking legs?” She had a point. “I was supposed to be staying at my pal’s tonight, but she decided to fuck off with these two wankers we met at the park. I can’t find her, and now I’m fucked.”
“Was it those two wankers who gave you the drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think your pal will be okay with those two wankers?”
“She’s going out with one of them, sort of.”
“That’s heavy-duty stuff,” I said.
Michelle Malloy still had her head in her hands.
“What did these two wankers give you to drink?”
“Buckfast and a toke of hash.” Then came my second eureka moment. A golf ball on the head this time.
“Were any of those wankers called Gaz or Fritz?”
Michelle Malloy lifted her napper. “Do you know them, Mint?”
“Not really, but I’ve bumped into them, and I can confirm that they are a couple of wankers.”
“Too right they are.”
“Why is your pal going out with one of them?”
“Because she’s mental.”
“But you said she doesn’t go here.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Is she at the normal school, then?”
“Yeah.”
“I hope she’ll be okay with the two wankers.”
“She’ll be fine. It’s me who’s fucked. I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do.”
“There must be something,” I said.
“There’s no fucking way I’m going home in this state.”
“What else are you going to do, Michelle?”
“Fuck knows, Mint. I suppose I’ll have to do an all-nighter.”
“What, stay out all night?”
“What else can I do?”
“But it’s freezing.”
“It’s a bit chilly.”
“You’ll freeze to death.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You only have a short skirt on and a pair of tights. You’ll die.”
“I’ll break into the school.”
“How?”
“I was going to sneak into the losers’ disco and just stay inside when everyone left.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t even have a costume.”
“I’ll say I’m a drunk tramp.”
Then she puked again, yet nothing came out this time except a big worm of bile that hung from her mouth. I made a face to myself, because this was a rank yuck moment. I liked spending time with Michelle Malloy apart from the vomit, snot, sweat, and swearing. She was my kind of woman. She stopped puking.
“I’ll just tell that minge-face Flynn I’m dressed as a fucking spazzie student; then she’ll let me in.”
“Not in that state she won’t.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, Mint,” she said.
That was when I had my third eureka moment. A bowling-ball-full-force-in-the-face eureka moment.
“Why don’t you crash at mine?” I tried to whisper this question, because sixteen-year-old fellas don’t usually ask sixteen-year-old lassies to crash at theirs overnight. I wanted Michelle Malloy to think that I was dead sensitive and vulnerable and cute, that I was a Prince
Charming trying to help a beautiful damsel in distress. But it wasn’t a whisper; it came out more like a “WHY DON’T YOU CRASH AT MINE?” scream, all aggressive and pervy.
Ohhhhhh, sugar shit, Mint!
What have you done, son?
Silence.
Stupid question.
Stupid idea.
Stupid me.
Michelle Malloy put her head between her legs and didn’t say anything for yonks. My head flicked from side to side; thankfully she couldn’t see me. Her head eventually came up from her lady area.
“What?” she said.
“What, what?”
“What did you ask me, Mint?”
“Well . . . I . . . erm . . . said . . . SHITBAG DYLAN . . .”
“Come on, stop hiding behind your condition. What did you just say there, Mint?” she asked again.
I heaved my chest and sucked in as much air as possible.
“I said, why don’t you just crash at mine?”
“Your gaff?”
“Yes.” “Gaff” was such a brilliant word; I was raging I hadn’t used it. It seemed that Michelle Malloy liked cool words. I’d try much harder to use them too. “Yeah, my gaff,” I said.
She sniggered.
“I’m not joking, Michelle, honestly I’m not.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m laughing.”
“Really, you can roll in my crib tonight if you want,” I said.
She laughed harder, which confused the bejesus out of me, because here I was offering to be a damn good bud to her, and it’s not polite to laugh when someone is offering to be a bud or to help you out when you’re in a tricky sticky situation.
“What shite are you talking about?”
We looked at each other. Not in a fantastic romantic way. More like two beasts ready for battle.
“You’re a fucking head-wrecker, Mint, you know that?” she said.
That was the straw that broke the donkey’s back. I came back all knives blazing. Dylan Mint turned from being a weak-arsed boy into a brave-arsed beast. Dad would have been boom-boom-booming with pride.
“Look, Michelle Malloy, I only offered to help you because you’re in a hell of a state. I mean, look at you. You’re so wrecked that you’re just like a burst couch, and your breath smells like an alkie’s carpet. If you dare try to go home in that nick, your old dear will blow her gasket and maybe chuck you out for good, and you’ll have to live on the streets and sleep in a cardboard box and sell The Big Issue outside grocery stores in order to buy your drugs and cider. And all because you refused my offer to crash at my crib. If you want to look a gift horse in the teeth, then it’s your loss. But don’t say that I didn’t try.” At that point I was just getting ready to go back into the Halloween disco and strut some stuff.
“Don’t think this means you’ll get a shag out of me,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“I’m not going to shag you, Mint,” she said.
I thought my heart was going to need those two heavy irons placed on it to restart it, it was pounding so much. Mad CPR style. I couldn’t believe Michelle Malloy had actually used the word “shag” in my company. In real conversation. Twice. A-mayonnaise-ing or what? The fact that she said she wouldn’t shag me could mean that she really did want to shag me. Dad says that if a woman says she wants to do one thing, usually what she means is that she wants to do the opposite of that thing. Maybe this was one of these times? Oh, I didn’t know. Women are bloody confusing people.
“If I crash at your gaff, that’s all it’ll be,” she said.
“I know; that’s why I said it to you.”
“This isn’t anything, Mint,” she said, waving her finger between the two of us.
“I know it’s not.”
“No hand job either.”
“I know, Michelle, absolutely no jobs.” It was a puzzle why when people spoke of sexy stuff the word “job” was often in there somewhere.
“And definitely not a shag.” Three times. I couldn’t wait to tell Amir. Maybe he would be getting his own job tonight.
“Of course.”
“Not so much as a kiss.”
“It’s just a crash, Michelle.”
“Okay, then I’ll crash,” she said.
Wow! Times eighty.
Michelle Malloy would be sleeping in my bed tonight, with her head on my pillow. Bonkerinos! Maybe our feet would stroke each other as well, which would be a supersonic weird machine feeling, with her big foot and wee foot beside my normal feet. Touching. Oh! Jiminy Cricket!
“But if you try any funny business, Mint, I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said, and there defo would be No Way, José funny business ’cause I really wanted to keep my balls. I liked my balls.
“Okay, let’s go,” Michelle Malloy said, getting on her feet. “Fuck me, my head feels like a rocket has hit it.”
“I just need to tell Amir that I won’t be around after the disco. I’ll get you at the main gate, okay?”
“Okay.”
I rushed back into the Halloween disco and looked for Amir. He was still dancing with that girl, Priya. I went up to him right there on the boogie floor, pulled him to one side, and had a bff word in his shell.
“Amir, I have to go.”
“What’s happened?” he said.
“Michelle Malloy is crashing at mine ’cause she’s blotto, and she’s waiting for me at the gate and we’re going to go back to my room, but we defo won’t be shagging each other.”
Amir’s eyes lit up and his teeth became whiter than Daz. “You’re sh-sh-shitting me.”
“I’m not, it’s so true.”
“Are you going to poke her?”
“No, she’ll cut my balls off if I do. It’s just a crash, bud. I’ll explain all later.”
“Okay, captain.”
“You two seem like a packet of cheese and onion,” I said.
“Dylan, Priya’s the DBs.” This means the dog’s bollocks. “I think we’ve hit it off big-time.”
“Do you think you’ll need any rubbers?”
“No, she’s a n-n-nice girl.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I only asked because there was always something wrong with Drumhill students; why else would they be at the school?
“Not sure yet, but she’s a cracker.”
“Okay, bud, I have to dash. Michelle Malloy will be waiting for me,” I said.
I opened my gob and eyes super-wide as if to say, Blinking, bloody Helen of bloody Troy. Amir did the same. It was a happy time for both of us. There was no danger now that we were Reservoir Dicks. I flew out of the Halloween disco, speeding past Miss Flynn at the door and heading toward Michelle Malloy, who would be sleeping in my bed.
MY BED!
25
Crying
Tony the taxi driver drove us to the hospital in his maroon car. Mom was still a bit Mad-agascar about the whole Michelle Malloy crib-crashing night, but at least we were talking again.
Hong Kong Phooey!
I’d read that some men put this insane psycho drug into girls’ booze or grub so that they conk out, and when they do, these maniac men try to dip their wick into the conked chick. When we were walking home to mine on the night of the Halloween disco, I was thinking that if I lobbed a drug into the tomato soup I was going to give Michelle Malloy when we got home, I could have ticked Have real sexual intercourse with a girl off my Cool Things to Do Before I Cack It list. But I had NO sex drugs on me, and I was NOT a maniac psycho, AND it probably wouldn’t have counted, as only one of us (me) would be doing the heavy breathing and mucky talk.
If I’d known Michelle Malloy was going to yank all over my room, piss the bed, and squeal at the top of her lungs ’cause she thought she was going to snuff it, then I would never have asked her to crash in the first place. No, that’s not true—I still would have.
Even though I didn’t get a poke or any kind of job or as much as a kiss, I did get a good old
-fashioned huggy hug. When it all got too much for her and she was roaring like a banshee in a fire I had to cuddle Michelle Malloy, soothe her head, and wipe her tears away. I liked that part. She snotted on my shoulder, but I didn’t mind—after all, they were Michelle Malloy’s snotters. Watery snotters at that. When she went back to her own house to puke in peace, have a bath, and sip some tomato soup (that was my idea), I found a wee note she’d written for me on my computer.
Thanks, Mint, you are a mad .
Sorry for being such a F?*%ing B@?ch to you.
Give me a call sometime.
M
Mom went gorilla-shit and piss with anger when she found out. After Michelle Malloy’s old dear came to pick her up from our house in the morning, Mom and me did some screaming, grunting, and barking at each other. She went, “DYLAN, YOU ARE A BLAH-RDY BLAH BLAH,” and I went, “I FUCKING HATE YOU, THIS HOUSE, AND ALL THE BLAH-RDY BLAH BLAH.” She said that it wasn’t that I had a girl vomiting in my room all night that “incensed” and “hurt” her so; it was the fact that I told her a “horrible and heinous” lie about Amir’s uncle’s funeral and that I had actually lied about “some poor man’s death.” Tony the taxi driver put another hole in our water-shite plan when he told Mom that Muslim people bury their dead after only twenty-four hours. It seemed that Tony the taxi driver wasn’t as thicko as all the other taxi drivers. I didn’t come out of my room for donkey’s days, which was tough because it still ponged of Michelle Malloy’s vomit, and the stains on the walls wouldn’t come off. I did some serious brain gym in there and nearly twiddled Green out of existence. Tony the taxi driver told me that Mom put tea bags and cucumbers on her eyes for two solid days after our scrap. We had a wee snigger to ourselves, and he said, “So don’t offer a cucumber sandwich to anyone if they come in for a chat” which Tony the taxi driver found hilarious-issimo. I pretended to laugh, as I didn’t want him to feel super embarrassed ’cause he’d made such a rubbish joke. Why in hell’s bells would you offer someone a cucumber sandwich if there were Cup Noodles and tomato soup in the cupboard? ADULTS!!!
When Mr. Dog Bites Page 19