by Lil Chase
‘Yeah, Gwynnie,’ says Paul. ‘You’re always saying that I hog the game. Now you can have as many goes as you like.’
He turns back and starts snogging Jenny’s face off again. I’m surprised she even has a face left. As I start playing I realize it’s no fun killing locusts if no one is watching to see how brilliant you are at it.
Suddenly I have an idea. I kind of prepare myself to sound really calm, but inside, just thinking the words is making me feel nervous. ‘Maybe I’ll give Charlie Notts a call and see what he’s doing. If you two are going to eat each other all afternoon then I might as well have someone to look at – er, I mean – talk to.’
This gets Jenny’s attention and she’s crawled out from underneath Paul. ‘Yeah, Paul, we are being very rude to Gwynnie.’ It’s amazing how that accent of hers drops when it’s just me and Paul. ‘Why don’t we see what Charlie is doing? Because, you know, three’s a crowd!’
‘I don’t have his number.’ Paul doesn’t look quite as keen as me or Jenny.
‘Oh, no problem, I’ve got it.’ Jenny gets out her mobile. Paul frowns at the fact that his girlfriend has another bloke’s number in her phone. And not just any other bloke, a Year 10 bloke.
I reach out my hand for her to pass me the phone but she says, ‘I’d better call him. It’s a breach of trust to give someone someone else’s number. You don’t want him to think you’re stalking him.’
She presses call and she doesn’t seem nervous one bit. Sometimes I wish I was like Jenny Gregson. Oh my God, did I just think that out loud?!
‘Heya, Charlie,’ and the American-speak is back. ‘How’s it going?’ Then she starts giggling.
‘What’s so funny?’ asks Paul, and Jenny frowns at him like, Can you please be quiet? So then Paul looks grumpy at me, and I look at him like, What have I done? I am only the one that suggested we get him over; she’s the one who called him.
All she does is giggle and say things like, Oh my God, and, I fully know what you are saying, and, Shut up! (she so doesn’t want him to shut up). Finally, when she manages to stop laughing, she says to him, ‘We’re all round at Paul’s – me and Paul and stuff – if you wanna come on over. They’re just playing some game or something and it’s real boring, but if you wanna come it could be cool.’
Me and Paul are waiting like Charlie is the referee and he’s deciding whether to allow a goal or not. I want him to come over. Paul doesn’t want him to come over, but if he does come over then everyone will know that Paul had a Year 10 round his house, and that’s pretty cool.
‘Oh, I really can’t say.’ Then she screeches at us in a hushed voice behind the phone, ‘What’s this game called?’
‘Gears of War,’ we both say together.
‘It’s some little ol’ game called Beards of War.’
He corrects her and she giggles. ‘Oh, how silly of me! Of course I mean Gears of War.’
‘The latest version!’ I add, as extra incentive.
‘The latest version,’ she repeats.
We hear Charlie get excited in a muffled way. Jenny gives him Paul’s address. It looks like he’s coming over.
Now that Jenny is off the phone, Paul is trying to snog her again, but she’s putting on make-up and pushing him away. She’s always putting on make-up. It must be on in layers so thick that you could dig for fossils. I hate to admit it, but it looks good. She has long eyelashes and shiny lips all the time. I wish I knew how to do it.
Basically, Kevin is right. If I want Charlie Notts to try and snog me the way that Paul is trying to snog Jenny, then I am going to have to make myself be more like a girl.
So here I am, staring at Jenny Gregson when suddenly she catches me staring. I quickly turn away. She acts all angry when she says, ‘Why are you staring at me? That’s so gross and pervy!’
Paul looks at me like I’m gross and pervy too. I go red and sort of stutter, which makes me look pervier. ‘N-no, I wasn’t. I, er, just wanted to ask you something.’
‘What?’ says Paul, thinking that I wanted to ask him something as I never want to ask Jenny something.
‘No, I meant Jenny.’
They both look as shocked as if I just said that I wanted to ask the Dazzler for extra homework. I wish that there was a way of saying this like it wasn’t a big deal, but there isn’t. I’m just going to have to say it.
‘Can I borrow some of your make-up?’
Chapter 9
Paul’s mouth drops open so wide that you could fit a Double Whopper in it. Jenny eyes me like she thinks I’m taking the mick out of her, but once she realizes I’m not, she goes all flustery and doesn’t quite know what to say. Which is a first.
‘What the hell do you want make-up for?’ asks Paul. ‘You don’t wear make-up.’
‘I sometimes wear make-up. You don’t know – I’m not with you absolutely every second of absolutely every day.’ I am with him most seconds of most days. ‘Anyway, you two are being so boring that it’s even made Gears of War boring, so I thought I’d try something new.’
Jenny stares at me with one eye closed. ‘Is this because Charlie Notts is coming round?’
‘What? Er, no! Why would that have anything to do with it?’ I hope my face hasn’t gone bright red.
‘If that’s true, then why is your face bright red?’ Paul’s not helping.
‘Forget about it, if it’s going to make you two go all conspiracy theory on me.’
‘Oh my God, no!’ Jenny is up and holding her bag and racing towards me like a big-boobed gold-hooped flash of lightning. ‘This is going to be so much fun. And I thought today was going to be another lame-o day with you two.’ Paul doesn’t know how to take that one, so he just uses my grunting trick. Jenny is in full flow. ‘I have always wanted my own makeover show.’ She’s tipped out the contents of her make-up bag on the floor. ‘And what could be a blanker canvas than Gwendolyn Lewis?’
She pulls me up from where I’m sitting and eyes me like Picasso eyeing his blank canvas. Or like a baker eyeing his ingredients. Or perhaps like a cat eyes a cornered mouse.
‘The thing is, Gwynnie, you are not as ugly as you try to be.’
‘Er, thanks.’
‘Skinny is in.’ She looks at me in my cut-off tracksuit bottoms and football top. ‘But you have to know how to use it. Have you got any tight jeans or smock tops?’
‘Smock whats?’
‘Well, anyway, you don’t have them here do you? No, right now we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.’
‘How long is this going to take?’ Paul asks. Now he knows how I feel when he spends the afternoon with his tongue down Jenny’s throat.
Jenny and I both ignore him. ‘Let’s start with your eyes. You have grey eyes that you need to emphasize to enhance their beauty and give you that wow factor.’ She spreads out the fingers of her hands when she says wow, as if she was a sorcerer. ‘The most important part is the eyeliner, because that will really make your eyes stand out.’
She rifles around in the pile of cosmetics and finds the thing she’s looking for. It’s a black pencil like the one I used on my lips that time, but now I realize that it’s for the eyes. I am actually learning something from Jenny Gregson. The question is, is she really going to help me or will she make me look like a panda who hasn’t slept for three days?
‘Now just relax,’ she says, and she sounds like a surgeon. I’m scared, but the way she holds the pencil, it’s like she’s so completely familiar with it – like the way I hold an Xbox control pad, or kick a football. She knows what she’s doing, and that makes me relax.
She draws a line around my eyes and I realize that eyeliner does exactly what it says on the tin.
‘Where’s the mirror?’ I ask.
‘Na-huh. Not yet.’ She wags her finger at me like I’m a naughty child.
She gets out something else. I’m pretty sure it’s mascara, but what do I know?
‘Now this, Gwynnie, is called mas-ca-ra.’ She says it like she’s te
aching a language.
‘Thanks, Jenny. I do know what mascara is.’
She shushes me by putting up a hand. Clearly I’m in the presence of the master here and I mustn’t dare to interrupt. She twists open the top and pulls out a circular brush like the one I poked myself in the eye with the other day. ‘Close your eyes.’ She swipes at my lashes a bit. ‘Now open them . . . I said, open them!’ She has lost her surgeon cool for a second. ‘Now look up.’ She does her thing, working her magic and finally she says, ‘Now look at me.’
When I look down again Jenny’s face is right up close to mine. I flinch. But she smiles at me in a way that she’s never smiled at me before: genuinely. And do you know what? It’s quite nice. I can’t help myself but smile back.
‘There you are,’ she says. ‘That’s already an improvement. What do you think, Paul? Don’t you think that Gwynnie looks almost pretty with mascara on?’
Paul has taken advantage of the fact that Jenny isn’t demanding his attention and he’s playing Pro Evolution Soccer.
‘Paul!’
‘What?’ He doesn’t even look away from the screen.
‘What do you think?’
‘Yes,’ he says, still not looking.
But Jenny seems pleased enough by that. ‘See, even Paul notices the difference, and Paul never notices anything.’
She’s referring to the time when she had half a millimetre cut off her hair and he didn’t say something about it. She didn’t speak to him for like two hours. Personally I think that would be a relief. But I’m not going to be mean about Jenny any more because she’s acting really sweet. I think it’s more for her enjoyment than mine, but still, she’s helping me. It’s not like she’s going to try and remove my eyeballs or anything.
She looks for another thing in her bag and pulls out the scariest object I’ve ever seen. It’s definitely an eyeball remover! It’s silvery metallic with handles like scissors and it’s got a crushing mechanism.
‘What’s that for?’ I ask, completely terrified. Yes, she still looks like she knows what she’s doing, but now she looks like a butcher, or a psychopath, and I’m not her first kill.
‘It’s an eyelash curler.’
‘You are not coming near my eyes with that thing!’ I’m yelling for my life here and putting my hand up to block her.
‘Gwynnie, if I’m going to do this makeover then you just have to trust me. Do you trust me?’
Er, no!
‘Of course I do, Jenny.’
‘Good, then here goes. Close your eyes.’
I close my eyes for what I imagine must be the final time. Shame that the last thing I’ll ever see is Paul playing Xbox while picking his nose.
She clamps the thing around my eyelashes and says, in a way that I know she means it, ‘Don’t move!’ I don’t even breathe. Eventually she releases my left eyelashes and starts on the right.
‘There,’ she says like Picasso again, putting the final touches to her painting. ‘Now look in the mirror.’
I’m pleasantly surprised! I definitely look better. It’s as if my eyes are twice the size they were before.
‘They look great!’ I say. ‘Jenny, what did you do?’
Jenny looks really proud of herself, and for once she deserves it.
‘Thanks so much,’ I tell her.
‘You’re welcome, Gwynnie. Right, next, we’re going to straighten your hair.’
At this point Paul looks up from his game and stares at me. ‘Gwynnie, you look different.’
Is that good or bad? ‘Do I look OK or do I look stupid?’
‘You look different.’
I don’t know what to say. Paul has never complimented me on anything other than my football skills or a move on the Xbox or something. If that was a compliment, it feels weird. But he goes back to his game so I don’t have to say anything.
‘I told you I was a miracle worker. If I can improve someone like you this much, imagine what I could do to Angelina Jolie or Penelope Cruz.’ She picks up the straighteners that she apparently carries with her everywhere.
‘Do you know what Jenny?’ I say. ‘I don’t think I can handle having my hair straightened today. What’s that phrase about running before you can walk?’
‘You shouldn’t do it.’ She’s made a joke and I smile at it.
‘Exactly. I think I’ll leave it at the eyeliner, macs-ra-ra and curled eyelashes for now.’
‘OK,’ she says. ‘But this has been fun. If you ever want make-up lessons, give me a call. I’ve been doing it since before I ate solid food.’
‘Cool. Thanks.’
The way we look at each other makes me think that we are actually friends.
Somewhere below the earth, hell freezes over.
Chapter 10
The doorbell rings and Angela yells that she will get it. It’s Charlie Notts. My heart starts beating really fast and I feel a bit ill. I grab the controller and demand that Paul and I play a two-player so that I won’t have to talk to Charlie.
Charlie sort of knocks on the door and then opens it. He looks a bit shy because he’s never been to Paul’s house before.
‘Hi, guys.’
‘Heya, Charlie,’ says Jenny.
‘All right, mate,’ says Paul.
‘Hi, Gwynnie,’ says Charlie. But I’m too embarrassed to look up so I just say, ‘Hi,’ and carry on staring at the screen. I’m glad that this make-up looks good but I don’t want him to think that I’ve made an effort or anything.
‘Nice pad.’ Paul’s got a ginormous plasma screen TV that looks wicked when you play Xbox and really comfy brown leather sofas. ‘Are you playing Pro Evo? Can we put on Gears of War after? I’ve never seen the new one. I’ve heard it’s great.’
‘It is,’ says Paul. ‘I’m pretty OK at it. Gwynnie’s the expert.’
‘Is that right, Gwynnie?’ Charlie asks. ‘Will you give me a demo?’
Paul stops the game and hands Charlie his controller. For one second I think that Paul is trying to be a brilliant host, but then he says, ‘Well, now that Gwynnie has someone to play with, me and Jenny are going to go to my room for a bit.’ He walks over to where Jenny is sitting and gives her a hand. She takes it and he pulls her up and kisses her properly on the lips – tongues and everything. ‘Come on, Jenny.’
She squeezes Paul’s bum to make sure that we know what they will be getting up to next door. ‘Bye, guys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do . . . which isn’t much!’ She giggles and they leave the room.
It’s just me and Charlie, we’re sitting next to each other on the same sofa and suddenly I wish I had never suggested that he come over. I have no idea what to do. I mean, I speak to blokes all the time, like Paul, and Ranj, but it’s usually to say, Pass it! or, Did you see the match? or, You’re such a knob! I’ve never had a proper conversation with a proper bloke.
I keep looking at the screen when I say, ‘Want to play Gears then?’ I stick the game in the machine, not waiting for an answer.
‘Yeah. Cool. Whatever,’ he says.
Charlie is definitely feeling a bit awkward too, perhaps because I still won’t look at him. He says, ‘So, is it better than the first one?’
‘It’s OK.’
That killed that conversation so I try something else. ‘Here, you have this controller. That one doesn’t really work. But I know how to make it work because I’ve used it loads and . . .’ I realize I’m sort of rambling so I just stop speaking mid-sentence, which is worse than rambling because it sort of brings attention to the rambling and makes it more obvious that you were rambling in the first place . . .
I’m doing it again.
‘Thanks,’ he says, and takes the good controller.
‘What’s properly cool about this game is you can use your partner’s body as a human shield.’
‘Ooooh, that’s wicked! I am so going to use your body as a human shield!’
‘My skinny little body wouldn’t be much of a shield, Charlie. You might as well
hold up a toothpick in front of you.’
Charlie laughs and says, ‘Don’t put yourself down, Gwynnie. I wouldn’t call you a toothpick – a pencil maybe, but not a toothpick.’
He’s joking so I throw a pillow at him. ‘That’s so rude!’
I laugh. Oh my God, I am talking to Charlie Notts and we’re laughing together! OK, he’s laughing at me, but still. I don’t know much about blokes, but I’ve heard that it’s a good thing when they insult you.
‘The truth hurts,’ he jokes, and he looks at my face properly for the first time. Then he says, ‘Oh,’ like it just slipped out.
I quickly wipe my nose and check it for bogies. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
Has he noticed my make-up? Does he think it looks good or does he think it looks rubbish? ‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’
I smile at him. ‘You’re just trying to put me off my game, but I’ve got my eye on you, Charlie Notts.’
‘And a very pretty eye it is too,’ he says, and winks at me.
I’ve gone a bit shy now. I shuffle round a little so he can’t look at me.
Fffbrrrrrp.
Oh my God! The movement of my skin against the leather sofa has just made this really bad farting noise.
‘Pardon you,’ he says.
Just when it was all going so well! It’s our first time alone together and he thinks I’ve farted in front of him. ‘That wasn’t me!’ I say, and I know I am as red as a baboon’s bum. ‘I didn’t just fart. I swear!’
He’s smirking. ‘If that’s true, then why are you blushing?’
‘It was the sofa. I moved on the sofa—’
‘Millions would believe you, Gwynnie, but I don’t. Call me cynical . . .’ He’s shaking his head in disappointment.
‘I don’t fart, not ever!’ Then I realize that I might be protesting too much. ‘I mean, of course I fart. Everyone farts. But not in front of people, only when I’m on my own and—’
He’s laughing at me properly now. ‘OK, OK, Gwynnie!’ he says through his tears. ‘You fart, but only for your own personal use – I get it.’