Tessa in Love

by Kate Le Vann

  ‘Sorry, I’m talking too much,’ I said.

  ‘No. You’re not,’ he said. ‘The point of this was for me to get a feel of how you think of the Wood – what you’re going to say. And then I’ll come back tomorrow and get down to it.’

  ‘I suppose I haven’t really had a chance to think it through yet. I could write something tonight and come back with you?’ I said, and then closed my eyes and waited for the rejection. This was, in Tessa World, a very big and very obvious pass. He didn’t answer for too long. I opened my eyes. He was looking straight at me. Just say it, I thought, just say no. Just say you need to be alone to work properly, but please let me down gently.

  ‘I’d love that,’ he said. This time I think I might actually have gasped.

  Neither of us spoke and we just looked at each other, and he frowned just slightly, and I let my lips part just slightly, and I was thinking, please come here and kiss me, just kiss me, just once – that would be enough to make me happy for, oh, for ever, and I held my breath.

  Then he said, ‘OK, shall we meet here tomorrow after school? As early as possible, because we want to get good light, I mean, even though this is nice now it won’t look as good in a black and white . . .’ and he started walking back out of the wood away from me. I followed, running to keep up.

  I did get home before Matty.

  When I woke up I had about five seconds of normality and then I remembered the previous evening and what a fool I’d made of myself. I pulled the sheets over my head and groaned, wondering if I could get away with not getting up at all. Better make it early, Wolfie had said, and no wonder, when all it took was a bit of sunset to make me gape at him like a lost puppy. He must have known what was on my mind. How could I have thought he’d want to kiss me? For one thing, he was probably on the verge of going out with Lara – what with the way she defended him, the way he talked about her in that admiring way, and the fact that she had that gorgeous hair – and if he told his mates that I had some stupid crush on him, I’d never be able to face any of them again.

  Then there was Matty, who was apologetic and worried about making me feel left out, and she had no idea that I’d been trying to get away so I could keep my crush a secret from her. I was being a terrible friend. But I didn’t want to tell her at all, now that I knew Wolfie wasn’t ever going to feel the same way about me. I was fed up with only confiding my romantic failings to her.

  It was a busy day at school and we only really caught up with each other at the end of it in a free period.

  ‘So, yesterday,’ Matty said, ‘I think Lee said a lot of stupid stuff, and I want you to know it’s not what I think, and it’s not what he thinks, even. It’s just his sense of humour is sometimes a bit dodgy.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘I do not want you and me to grow apart because you think my boyfriend doesn’t know when to stop.’

  ‘Oh, Matty, don’t be nuts. You know you can’t get rid of me. Why would the things he said upset me, anyway?’

  ‘Because you’re totally into Wolfie Cole,’ Matty said.

  I gaped at her.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ she said.

  I gaped at her some more.

  She smiled. ‘I am right, then. Good, I’m glad I can still see right through you. Oh, you can so get him – this is going to be great. When are you seeing him next?’

  ‘Well, this evening, I’m supposed to be going to ... Oh, but listen, Matt, forget it anyway, because I’ve already made it obvious and he’s not interested. So yes, I fancy Wolfie, and yes, you’re some kind of evil genius, but it’s no good, and let’s not get upset about it – there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What happened?’ Matty said.

  I told her about the day before, in the Wood: how I’d stood right next to him, how I’d stared up at him with my lips open and then closed my eyes – all the techniques Matty herself had taught me to use to show a boy I was interested. And he’d legged it out of the wood like it was full of angry bears, and moved up the time of our next meeting to make it before tea, nowhere near date-time, so I wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

  ‘But you don’t know this for sure,’ Matty said.

  ‘He had every chance to let me know he felt the same way as me, and he couldn’t get away fast enough,’ I said.

  ‘Well,’ Matty said. ‘You’ve still got tonight to change his mind. What are you wearing?’

  ‘This,’ I said. ‘We’re going straight after school.’

  Matty looked at me. I was wearing my oldest jeans and no make-up, and my hair was scraped back in a ponytail. I also had a fabulous new spot on my chin.

  ‘You’ve got time to change,’ she said.

  ‘But nothing to change into. Anyway, don’t you see? I wore this on purpose. Now he knows I fancy him, I have to look the opposite of trying to get him. If I turned up in a little skirt and make-up, he’d just call the whole thing off in horror.’

  ‘Or,’ Matty said, taking my hair out of its stubby little ponytail, ‘now, he’ll think you’ve hippie-fied yourself a bit to try to be the kind of girl he’d go for. Dressing down, becoming less materialistic . . .’

  ‘Nooooo!’ I said. ‘Oh my God, there’s no way he could think that. Is there? No, I bet he thinks I’m too shallow to even be able to empathise enough to imagine that there was a possibility that. . .’

  ‘Shut up! You’re doing my head in,’ Matty said. ‘Have you seen him yet today?’

  ‘No. But what diff–’

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s no time to lose.’

  Matty took me to the drama studio, where there were little changing rooms to the side, and sat me down.

  ‘OK, have you got a T-shirt under there?’ she said, looking at my baggy jumper.

  ‘Yes, but it’s cold.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter – you’re taking my denim jacket. Is it a pretty one? Come on, get that thing off.’

  It was a black T-shirt with a cute little drawing of a flower with a face on it, in white.

  ‘Good,’ Matty said. ‘All is not lost. Now, do you have your make-up with you?’

  ‘You know I only wear mascara,’ I said.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Matty said. ‘And you’re bloody well not today, even. Luckily, I am always fully armed ...’

  She sat me down and for the next ten minutes smudged, powdered and painted my face. Part of me was terrified, I was thinking, ‘Oh my God, she’s going to make me look like a complete tart,’ but I was also secretly pleased, because I’d always wanted a ‘but Miss Taylor, you’re beautiful’ moment. Basically, though, I knew I was just one of those girls who looked terrible in lots of make-up and I didn’t fancy her chances.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing me her compact mirror. I looked. I looked again. It looked as if I wasn’t wearing any make-up. I looked like me, but so much better. And my new friend, Spotty McZit, appeared to have gone completely.

  ‘What did you ... ?’ I said.

  I touched it, to feel where it was, and Matty screamed. ‘Agh! No touchy! Now off you go to the ball.’

  ‘Matty . . .’ I said, feeling all sentimental.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Matty said.

  But my confidence started to drain away when I was on my own again. I cringed when I remembered the way I’d opened my eyes to find him just looking at me, clearly embarrassed, and the way he’d suggested we met earlier rather than later, because he obviously thought it was too late to pull out altogether. I decided I would just stick it out, be a grown-up about it. I wouldn’t talk too much like I had the day before, or stare at him like a lovesick idiot, and, when it was done, I was going to be the first one to say that I had to go, and not leave it dangling until he had to come up with excuses to get rid of me.

  Wolfie was leaning on the gate where we said we’d meet – alone, staring at the sky, not looking out for me. I thought that he must have been hoping I wouldn’t turn up. He was wearing fad
ed cords and a fitted black shirt. I ignored the way my heart was pumping blood recklessly round my body, pulled myself together and called his name.

  I’d been terrified I’d run out of things to say to him on the way there, but it was easy. I started off talking about the Wood, and the notes I’d started to write, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to show him any of them, because they were all scrawled in a girly pink notebook. Then he asked me questions and it took the pressure off me, and suddenly we were just talking without thinking, and, not only was I not worried about silences, I was waiting for Wolfie to finish talking so I wouldn’t interrupt him constantly, and he was funny and laughing, and enthusiastic and interested.

  He really seemed to get me, and I didn’t feel I had to explain anything, and I just couldn’t believe we’d got over yesterday’s embarrassment so smoothly. I was talking about the things I could remember of spending time in the woods as a kid: Matty and me looking for foxes because we’d just read a book called Little Red Fox and loved it, my mum personalising fairy tales like Snow White as we walked through the kind of scenery that was in the stories. My brother and I collecting conkers, both of us climbing trees and trying to rig up secret hide-outs in their branches, and then we were there, suddenly already in the wood, and Wolfie had whipped out his camera and was looking through the lens.

  As he concentrated, I suddenly realised I’d broken my don’t-talk-too-much rule, but I’d felt so relaxed, I was sure that it was allowed. Still, I made up my mind to ease off a bit. In the silence, I started wondering if Wolfie had really been interested in all the childish crap I’d just come out with. He was a little way from me, and I didn’t want to look as though I was following him or staring at him, so I walked slowly around, trying to remember the names of flowers my mum had taught me. Then the next time I looked up, he was pointing his camera at me. I cried out in protest and put my hands in front of my face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, softly, as if he really couldn’t understand.

  ‘I look horrible in photographs. And I look horrible today. So that’s like horrible squared.’

  He walked a few paces closer.

  ‘You look great. But if you don’t like being photographed, that’s OK. Lots of people don’t. Lara, for instance, is incredibly photogenic, but she’s camera-shy.’

  I got the message. Lara is beautiful: don’t waste your time, kid.

  ‘So did the wolf catch you?’ I said.

  He looked confused for a moment. ‘Ah, the Alsatian?’ he said.

  ‘Well, don’t spoil the ending,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘Well, the wolf saw me; I saw the wolf, and it started running after me, barking.’

  ‘My God! Don’t wolves howl?’

  ‘I believe wolves make a variety of noises, and some of them can sound like a common dog bark.’

  ‘I see . . .’

  ‘I knew you would. So I’m running away as fast as I can in my shorts and wellies . . .’

  I smiled very widely at the image.

  ‘. . . the wolf’s in hot pursuit. I’m terrified – did I mention the fact that it didn’t have an owner with it? It was just a loose dog.’

  ‘Big dogs are just as dangerous as wolves anyway,’ I said.

  He smiled. “That’s a very good point. It adds a real sense of menace to the story, too. So I’m running, and the wolf is running, and the toe of my wellie gets trapped under a raised tree root – it comes right off my foot, but I’m so scared I don’t stop. Then my socked foot lands on a sharp rock – the pain is . . . intense . . . and I fall over, and the wolf catches up, stands over me, bares its big teeth and then . . . ’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It licks me all over my face.’

  I giggled, and he lifted his camera and took a picture.

  ‘Not fair!’ I protested.

  ‘You looked pretty,’ he said. Then, looking away from me, he added, ‘We probably need byline pictures of all our contributors.’

  He’s worried I’m getting ideas again, I thought. We were both quiet for a moment.

  ‘Show me your friend Matty’s tree,’ he said.

  I took him to the James Lvs Matilda tree and he traced their names with his finger.

  ‘Wanton vandalism of nature’s beautiful design,’ he said, and I looked at him in disbelief, and then realised he was joking.

  ‘It lasted longer than their love affair,’ I said, and thought to myself, but not longer than James’s love, because that was strangely comforting.

  ‘Yeah, she’s going out with that . . . well, it doesn’t matter,’ Wolfie said.

  ‘I get the feeling you don’t get on with Lee,’ I said. They were in the same year, so I guessed they knew each other. I couldn’t believe I was talking to Wolfie in this relaxed, unguarded way.

  ‘He’s your friend’s boyfriend,’ Wolfie said. ‘It wouldn’t be very sensible for me to talk about him.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell him,’ I said.

  ‘I mean, because you’ll think less of me,’ he said.

  ‘But that’s not true!’ I said. ‘I’m not Lee’s number one fan myself.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ he said.

  ‘Well, you’re right. I shouldn’t bitch about my best friend’s boyfriend to someone I hardly know.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to think you think you know me a bit now,’ Wolfie said. ‘This is very nearly a date.’ I didn’t let myself believe he meant it.

  ‘Except you don’t fancy me,’ I said, sounding exactly as I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

  ‘Is that right?’ Wolfie said.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ I said. ‘I mean, you fancy Lara, right?’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘And even if you didn’t, why . . .’ His face was now close to mine and I had to stop talking because I was confused and nervous. ‘But yesterday . . .’

  ‘Yesterday I had more self-control,’ he said, ‘and I didn’t want you to think I was, you know, like, “Come into the woods with me, I’ll show you some ... wildlife”. I’m serious about this article, and it’s not about trying to . . . and I didn’t know how you felt . . . but today I’ve listened to you telling stories that make you even sweeter, and look at you through a lens that shows me how beautiful you are, and I’m losing the fight.’ I leaned back against Matty’s tree, my hands tucked behind me, and Wolfie rested his arm on the trunk above me. ‘Am I... if I’m barking up the wrong tree ...’ and we both held our breath hoping the bad pun wouldn’t break the spell,’. . . you have to let me know now.’

  ‘You’re not,’ I whispered. He kissed me. His lips were so soft, I felt dizzy, and when I opened my eyes, he was still there.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  ‘You must think I’m a creep. Tessa, I swear I didn’t plan this. I didn’t bring you here to make a move.’

  ‘Shhh,’ I said, and kissed him back.

  My dad had changed out of his suit into the Simpsons T-shirt I’d bought him for his birthday, and was coming downstairs at the moment Matty came in.

  ‘Matilda,’ he said. ‘If I’d been told you were coming round I’d have worn something more fashionable.’ My dad loved Matty because she talked to him like they were both adults. Everyone else our age was monosyllabic and shy with parents, and I was no exception, but Matty was always Matty – no one rattled her.

  ‘Fashion fades, Bob. Style never does,’ Matty said. I knew that I would never be old enough to talk like Matty.

  ‘It takes someone with style to know that,’ Dad said. ‘Are you here to steal my broadband?’

  ‘I am here,’ Matty said haughtily, ‘to do coursework with Tessa.’

  ‘Course you are,’ Dad said. ‘Let us know if you need coffee, tea, food, hard liquor . . . ’

  ‘The forty Bensons I’ve got in my bag should keep us going, thanks,’ Matty said.

  ‘Good,’ Dad said. Til leave you to it.’

  ‘Has he e-mailed yet?’ Matty said, when the d
oor to the den was closed.

  ‘He e-mailed as soon as he got in yesterday, but I only saw it today when I got in.’

  ‘Show me?’

  I found the e-mail.

  From: wolfiec@globernet.com

  To: ttaylor@spectraweb.com

  Subject: …

  Tessa

  Wow. I’d love to see you again and have it not be about saving trees. Not that saving trees isn’t very important. Oh yeah. Gotta save those trees. Which reminds me, I was supposed to tell you we’re all going back to Chunk’s on Friday to put our pitch together. Really hope you can make it. Really hope you and I can get some time to talk afterwards.

  W

  ‘What do you think?’ I said to Matty, chewing my bottom lip.

  ‘Yeah . . .’ she said, but she didn’t sound sure. ‘It’s cute.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Except . . . ?’

  ‘He’s a bit . . . well, nothing,’ Matty said.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ I said. ‘What?’

  ‘He’s just a bit. . .’ she trailed off.

  ‘Oh come on, Matty, you’re driving me mad.’

  ‘He’s a bit serious? “Gotta save those trees”?’

  ‘He’s joking,’ I said. ‘He said he didn’t want me to think he was just taking me into the woods to try to snog me, so he’s pretending he has to remember to pretend the Wood is important.’

  ‘Wow, you get all that just from the e-mail, do you?’ Matty said, dubiously.

  I threw my hands up in disbelief. Of course I got it just from the e-mail: I knew him now – I really got him.

  Then I thought, oh God, I hardly know him – what if she’s right? Then I thought, well what if she is right: he wants to save the Wood – what’s wrong with that? But it would mean that Matty was right about him being a bit serious.

  But was there anything wrong with someone who was a bit serious, when I was always moaning on about boys being too shallow? God, someone take me out of my head for five minutes!

  ‘And it’s not that romantic, is it?’ Matty said. ‘I mean, it’s nice enough, but . . . ’