Boys for Beginners

by Lil Chase

  ‘Yeah, Gwynnie,’ says Tanya Dawson. ‘You’re not initiated in the BB Club so you can M.Y.O.B. – Mind Your Own Business.’

  ‘What the hell is the BB Club?’ I say, clearly not M-ing my own B.

  ‘The BB Club is zip to do with you, is what it is,’ says Kimba, thinking she’s clever. Apparently being in the BB Club means you pick up Jenny’s American-speak like an infestation of head lice.

  Jenny Gregson looks a little shifty. This is a tricky situation for her because when me and her are with Paul she’s my friend because Paul is my best friend, but when Paul isn’t around she doesn’t really need to talk to me. She sticks to looking at the floor and I can’t really blame her. I’m not bothered enough to care anyway.

  ‘Fair enough.’ I make a move to go into a cubicle, but Tanya Dawson is too eager to tell me to let me go.

  ‘BB stands for Belly Button. We’re the Belly Button Club. You have to have your belly-button pierced to be in it, innit?’

  ‘Tanya!’ Kimba’s angry because Tanya has let out the Big Secret.

  ‘OK,’ I say, still not bothered. ‘Like I said, fair enough.’ I get to the toilet door, but then I get confused and turn back. ‘Hang on a second. If you have to have your belly-button pierced to join, then how come you’re a member, Tanya? You don’t have your belly-button pierced.’

  Tanya tries to think of an answer. ‘Errr . . .’ I have just picked holes in the entry requirements of their exclusive club.

  Melissa Rix pipes up. Melissa Rix is actually in Year 10, but no one in Year 10 will talk to her because she is a bit of a saddo. Our year will talk to her though because she is in Year 10. ‘Don’t be stupid, Gwynnie,’ she says. ‘Everyone knows her mum’s really strict and won’t let her do anything.’

  Tanya doesn’t look embarrassed when Melissa says this. It’s common knowledge.

  ‘Well, what about you, Elizabeth? Do you have your belly-button pierced under your top?’

  Elizabeth Phillips goes all red and I feel bad about asking her. ‘I will get mine done, but not until I lose a few pounds. Otherwise the hole might get all warped out of shape when I eventually shed the weight.’

  She looks at the others to see if that’s the right answer and they nod in agreement. It’s clearly been brought to the table before and they’ve made their ruling.

  ‘It’s just a teensy bit of puppy fat, Elizabeth,’ says Melissa Rix, like she’s some sort of dieting guru. ‘You’ll lose it in minutes.’

  Jenny seconds the findings. ‘Yeah, Elizabeth, and it’s really not as bad as you think. If you lost, like, half a stone, you would probably look OK.’

  Elizabeth smiles, but she doesn’t look happy.

  ‘So, out of five members of the Belly Button Club,’ I say, ‘only three of you actually have your belly-buttons pierced. I’m not in Mensa or anything, but that’s barely over fifty per cent. It’s not what I call a hard-and-fast rule.’

  ‘It’s not about actually having the piercing,’ says Jenny. ‘It’s more about joining a group of like-minded individuals with an appreciation of the same ideal.’

  ‘The ideal of having your belly-button pierced?’ I ask.

  Jenny looks at me like, Duh, of course!

  ‘Why don’t you join the club, Gwynnie?’ Kimba says. ‘Oh, sorry, your stomach is so skinny that the needle would go all the way through to your spine.’

  Kimba and Melissa start to snigger; Elizabeth frowns, opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but says nothing. I feel a bit awkward.

  ‘Gwynnie hasn’t come in here to be verbally abused by you,’ Jenny says. Maybe she’s not all bad. Maybe Paul is making her a better person.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’ve just come to use the bog.’

  They all grimace and I feel awkward again.

  ‘Thanks for keeping us up to date with your movements, doll,’ says Kimba, daring to crack another joke at my expense. Even Jenny can’t stop herself laughing at that one.

  I get angry with them and start to shout: ‘Your Belly-Stupid-Button Club is stupid. Didn’t you hear what Mr Roberts said at the beginning of term? Because of you we’ll all have to start wearing uniform! Everyone in the whole school will hate you! And all so that you can put stupid holes in yourselves.’

  Jenny becomes all teacher-like and tries to calm me down. ‘Didn’t you need to use the bathroom, Gwynnie?’

  ‘OK, OK, I’ll pee off!’ I put my hands up in an I surrender gesture and back my way into a cubicle.

  ‘Perhaps you should go too, Elizabeth,’ says Jenny behind me. ‘We don’t want any incidents.’ The others giggle.

  ‘Er . . . Um . . . I’m OK, thanks, Jenny,’ says Elizabeth.

  I sit on the loo and try to pee as fast as I can so that I can I get out as fast as I can – which makes the peeing so much more difficult. I can still hear them gossiping on the other side of the door.

  ‘Do any of you gals know where he lives?’ I still don’t know who’s speaking as they all sound the same, dropping in American words as if they were raised on the prairies.

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but he always seems to come from the direction of Mount Street.’

  Who are they talking about?

  ‘And Mount Street is where all the fancy houses are. If his parents are diplomats, he will probably live in a fancy house, won’t he?’

  There are general noises of agreement.

  Are they talking about Charlie Notts?

  ‘OK, so if, like, one of us hangs out near Mount Street – say, the person who lives nearest Mount Street—’

  ‘You are only saying that because you live near Mount Street!’

  ‘Well, I suppose I do. But it doesn’t have to be me,’ the voice is backtracking. ‘It could be whoever. Just hear me out, will you? Me, or, like whoever, and someone else, hang around Mount Street and wait until he comes by. And we pretend that I, or whoever, have fallen over and twisted my ankle. I’ll be good at that because I can pretend to cry real well. Look.’

  They make impressed Ooooo noises at the pretend crying.

  ‘See. Told you. So then, I cry and he’ll offer to help. He’s got a cell phone so he’ll call an ambulance for me. But when I insist that I’ll be OK he’ll offer to, like, carry me to school in his arms.’

  All the girls do swooning noises because of the thought of this bloke carrying them to school . . . to anywhere . . . to bed. I find myself imagining Charlie Notts carrying me and let out a girlie sigh. Where did that come from? I cover it up with a gigantic coughing fit.

  ‘Then, while he is carrying me—’

  ‘Or whoever!’

  ‘Yeah, while he is carrying me or whoever to school we can start talking to him. We can ask what he likes to do after school and stuff, what music he’s into, what movies he likes—’

  ‘Yeah, and then we can hang out at those places, like we always go there, and maybe he’ll start talking to us—’

  ‘I can’t imagine Charlie Notts talking to me.’ So they are talking about Charlie Notts! ‘I’m sure my tongue would fully shrivel up in my mouth and my throat would close over and I would fully die right in front of him.’

  ‘I would be so embarrassed if I died in front of him.’

  ‘It’s a foolproof plan!’

  I come out of the toilet and say, ‘What if he gets a lift to school?’ They all look at each other, a little bit panicked. ‘Or what if he walks a different way? Your plan is not foolproof . . . it’s foolish.’

  They all look disappointed. Kimba looks angry and disappointed. She says, ‘Come on then, if you’re so clever, you think of a plan to get him to talk to us.’

  ‘Why don’t you just talk to him?’

  They stare at me like I’m crazy. Melissa Rix starts laughing. ‘Go up and talk to him? Are you mad?’

  Someone please tell me why girls are so completely stupid!

  Hang on a minute. Why does Jenny Gregson look like she’s been crying?

  Chapter 7

  The
bell rings for the end of lunch break. Another match is over and we all head in to school.

  ‘Gwynnie!’ shouts Charlie. This is what Juliet must have felt like when Romeo was reciting poetry at her balcony. ‘Oi, Gwynnie. Oiiiii!’

  I turn around and scrunch up my face at him like I have basically forgotten who he is. ‘Hi, Charlie Notts.’ He’s looking at me like I’m a nutter. ‘Er, I mean, hi, Charlie. Good game.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Paul calling to Jenny. ‘Oi! Jenny! Oiiiii!’ Jenny pretends not to hear him. She is staring at me talking to Charlie Notts.

  ‘Are you guys going to play again after school?’ Charlie asks me.

  ‘Oi, Jenny! Come over here and watch my skills!’ Paul’s still shouting, and he’s putting me off. He starts doing keepy-uppies to impress her.

  ‘Gwynnie?’ Charlie tries to get my attention.

  ‘Yes. Hello.’

  He raises an eyebrow at me.

  ‘How can I help you?’ I sound like I work in McDonalds. I hope he can’t tell I’m blushing under my hot, sweaty, puffed-out face.

  ‘Can. I. Play. Foot. Ball. With. You. Later?’ He’s speaking at me like I’m a dimwit and, to be honest, I can’t blame him.

  All I can do is stare at him like I’m an Olympic musical-statues champion.

  ‘Oh well, if you don’t want me to . . .’

  ‘Oh God, no!’ Charlie Notts is walking away and I grab him by the arm. I can’t believe I’ve just touched Charlie Notts. ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I’m just being a mentalist. It’s school, it does that to me. Makes me crazy.’ I pull a face like they’ve just let me out of an asylum.

  He laughs. But not in a mean way like I’m an idiot, in a nice way like he thinks I’m funny. Maybe he’s not that clever. Maybe that means I’m in with a chance.

  ‘We definitely play every day after school. Definitely. We’ll definitely be playing later.’

  Paul comes over. ‘What is up with Jenny?’ he asks me like I’m supposed to know. ‘She’s totally ignoring me.’

  I shrug. ‘No idea. Maybe the earrings block sounds made by people with an IQ over 35.’

  Paul shrugs back. ‘That should make me fine then. She’s always telling me I’m thicker than a frozen milkshake.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Charlie asks about Jenny. ‘Your older sister?’

  ‘No. My girlfriend. Jennifer Gregson.’ Paul is being a bit funny with Charlie Notts.

  Charlie picks up on it and sticks out his hand. ‘Sorry, mate. My name’s Charlie and I’m new here.’

  Charlie and Paul shake hands. ‘No worries.’ And Paul is over it. That’s what’s wicked about Paul, he never holds a grudge.

  ‘Heya, Paul. Heya, Gwynnie. How’s it going?’

  Jenny Gregson has reappeared from nowhere. Everyone’s walking inside, and the way they’re penning the four of us in makes us into some sort of group: Paul and Jenny, and me and Charlie Notts. Wow, I’m in a group.

  Then these kids from the year below block my path so I get forced out of the group. Some people are so rude! Already I’ve been ostracized, after only three seconds of being in a new group. I have to shove the kids out of the way to stick with the others.

  Paul goes to put his arm around Jenny, just like he’s been instructed to, but she sort of subtly moves away so that he’s left hooking the air like a muppet. ‘Did you miss me?’ he asks her.

  ‘Like a runner in my pantyhose.’ Paul and I are not really sure what that means, but Charlie laughs so I laugh. Paul laughs too.

  ‘Gwynnie,’ she says, ‘I really need to speak to you.’

  Why does Jenny need to speak to me?

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Me and my gals were thinking of talking to little ol’ Mr Roberts. We want to arrange a school prom at the end of the year. Would you like to come if we did?’

  ‘Me?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, yeah, you. And I guess, all of you.’ She looks from me to Paul and then to Charlie.

  ‘I’ll come,’ says Paul. ‘Might be a laugh.’

  ‘Yeah, why not. I’ll go to the prom,’ I say. If everyone’s going . . .’

  ‘It’s not the prom, it’s just prom,’ she says.

  Fair enough.

  We step inside the school and Charlie is about to go to his Year 10 classroom when Jenny steps in front of him. ‘What about you? I’m so sorry to appear rude – I don’t know your name.’

  Doesn’t know his name, my bottom.

  ‘My name’s Charlie,’ he says, and looks at Jenny like all the guys do. Except nicer than the other guys because he doesn’t look at her massive chest. He asks, ‘Are you American?’

  I’m glad I’m not drinking something or I would have spat it out right now.

  Jenny giggles in this girlie sort of way. ‘Aw, ain’t you a honey? No, I am not fully American, but I have family across the pond and I have just spent all vacation over there. There’s a chance that I might have picked up a teensy bit of an accent.’

  For goodness sake!

  ‘I like American accents,’ says Charlie.

  Jenny smiles and looks at the floor.

  ‘I do too,’ Paul gets in quickly. ‘I think your accent is nice. I’ve said that before.’

  ‘When have you said that before?’ she asks. Paul’s in trouble again.

  ‘Well, I’ve either said it or I’ve thought it.’ Paul’s a rubbish liar. He changes the subject by turning to Charlie. ‘So, you want to play football later?’

  Charlie nods.

  ‘What team do you support?’

  Please don’t say Arsenal. Please don’t say Arsenal.

  ‘Well, I know they can be a bit rubbish sometimes, but I’m Spurs till I die.’

  I think I might die right here right now.

  ‘Oh, then you and Gwynnie will get on like a house on fire,’ says Paul.

  Charlie smiles at me, ‘You’re Spurs too? Nice one, Gwynnie. It’s tough, but we’re born to it, aren’t we? We’ll have to stick together.’

  Someone must have lent me their hoverboots because I’m like 200 feet in the air.

  Chapter 8

  There are six billion people on the planet. So what are the odds of running into Kevin on the thirty-second journey from my house to Paul’s?

  ‘Gwynnie! Wait!’ I don’t really know what to do because I can’t decide if I’m talking to him or not. I suppose he is my brother and I have to talk to him sometime.

  ‘Hi, Gwynnie.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘So it was the semifinal yesterday? Who’d’ve thought that Spurs would make it this far?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s brilliant.’ Which it totally is. But this is all very polite and therefore weird. I’m not looking him in the eye so that he knows that I am still angry with him a little bit.

  ‘Look,’ he says, ‘I’m really sorry that I shouted at you on your birthday.’

  I sort of grunt in reply. The grunt means that I am annoyed but I accept his apology. Sometimes grunts speak louder than words.

  ‘It was your birthday and I shouldn’t have had a go at you.’

  Grunt.

  ‘I suppose it’s just that I thought really hard about what to get you and I was disappointed when you didn’t like it.’

  Grunt.

  ‘It was probably stupid of me to buy—’

  ‘That’s all right, Kev. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘The thing is Gwyn—’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘But the thing is, is that you are brilliant the way you are.’

  This is getting weirder by the second. ‘Honestly, Kev, I’m not bothered.’

  ‘You are brilliant the way you are: you don’t try and be like other girls, which is great.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m just saying that if you ever want, like, a boyfriend or anything – not that I think you should get one right now – but if you did want a boyfriend ever, you might have to start being a bit more
like a girl than a boy.’

  I contemplate jumping in front of a car but there aren’t any cars coming. Just my luck.

  ‘Most boys like girls. Not boys. Unless, that is –’ he draws in a long breath – ‘you don’t like boys—’

  ‘Oh my God, Kevin, just because I play football doesn’t make me a lesbian!’

  At that moment an old granny walking past almost falls off her Zimmer frame.

  ‘I know. I know! I’m just saying that if you were, that would be OK. We would still love you.’ I can tell he’s regretting this conversation because he can’t quite look at me.

  I give Kevin another grunt and I excuse myself. ‘Look, Kev, Paul and Jennifer Gregson are waiting for me.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. Then he stops. ‘Who’s Jennifer Gregson?’

  ‘Paul’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Is she Stephanie Gregson’s sister?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No way.’ Kevin looks impressed. ‘Tell him congratulations from me,’ he says, and walks back towards the house.

  Why congratulations? You wouldn’t congratulate someone for downloading 80 hours of white noise on to their iPod. You would tell them they were an idiot.

  Right now I would prefer to be in school, sitting next to Rachel Govens in quadruple maths. And Rachel Govens does Sudoku for fun.

  But instead I’m sitting in Paul’s living room playing Gears of War but Paul’s not here. He’s officially present, but he is in his own little world, snogging the face of Jenny Gregson. All I can do is turn up the volume loud enough so I can’t hear the slurpy noises they’re making, but not so loud that I go deaf. They sound like our washing machine when it’s on the blink.

  I get killed by a locust and start to wonder if things could get any worse.

  ‘Your go,’ I say.

  Paul and Jenny don’t look up.

  ‘Oi, Paul! It’s your go on Gears!’

  He says, ‘You can have another go,’ and I swear to God that he doesn’t even take his tongue out of Jenny’s mouth to say it.

  ‘I don’t want another go.’

  Finally he looks up. There is a thread of saliva running from his lip to Jenny’s and I think I might vomit all over Angela’s brand-new Ikea rug. Jenny wipes her face and says, ‘I’ve told Paul that I’m not going to come over any more if I just have to watch you two play the stupid computer.’