Super Awkward

by Beth Garrod

  I sat down, at what I hoped was an appropriately casual distance away. As he chatted, his face lit up by the moonlight, I took in every detail. He had an insane bottom lip that seemed to pout out, even when he was smiling. Just above his left dimple was a tiny scar that looked like he’d had it added on just to make his face less perfectly symmetrical. And his brown hair looked so good I had to stop myself from sniffing it. Now, I’m all for personality over appearance, but oh my gosh. He was so fit. Like, uncomfortably fit. He must have never had a normal conversation with a girl, ever. It’s scientifically not possible to casually chat to a boy of such hotness. He didn’t even seem aware that he shouldn’t be wasting his time talking to someone like me. Instead he talked away about when he once messaged his mum about a game of Cluedo, telling her he was going to kick her butt, but it got auto-corrected to ‘lick’. And how the first song Velvet Badger, his band (HE WAS IN A BAND, SWOON x 1 MIL), recorded was ‘V is for Viennetta’, an electronic-guitar ode to their love of ice-cream-based desserts. I laughed along, loving every second with him. Despite my severely lacking conversational skills, he made talking/listening feel easy. Even if I did bring it all to a stop by saying, “What’s brown and sticky? A stick.”

  I’d only known him for under one earth hour, but felt able to talk to him about anything. That’s probably why, despite everything in my brain saying ‘no’, my mouth ended up pouring out full deets about the message from Tegan. I’m not totally devoid of sense, though – obvs I pretended that the whole scenario was actually about Jo. He didn’t need me verbally confirming I was boy-repellent. His man-brain perspective was useful, though. He said the same as Jo – I was reading too much into it. But when he said it, it felt like he meant it, and wasn’t just trying to shut me down.

  Zac shifted nearer to me on the bench giving me a full waft of his amazing man-smell. He smelt like how an underwear model holding a puppy looks. I bet all he’s thinking about me is why am I shivering so much that I’m like a human phone on vibrate.

  I rubbed my hands on my arms to warm myself up, catching an unwanted sight of my watch. How long could I ignore that panicky feeling in my stomach? It was almost midnight and Mum was probably having a very un-zen post-yoga meltdown. But I could hardly admit that to Zac and risk looking like I was either fifteen, or a seventeen-year-old whose mum had attachment issues. Could honesty be the best policy?

  “Zac, sorry if this sounds lame, but I should probably be getting back.” Well, half honesty. “I need to get up for dawn yoga with my mum.” One quarter honesty. His eyebrows raised.

  “Wow – dedicated. You must be pretty good?”

  “Well, some people might say so.” I wasn’t sure who those people might be, as I wasn’t even flexible enough to tie my shoelaces without sitting on the floor. “You know, downward dog, and pose of a, er, pigeon and all that.”

  Zac nodded like he’d never had a mum that had made him bend in such ways. My mouth continued to speak without sign-off from my brain.

  “Every session ends in an argument, as Mum refuses to wear deodorant. She thinks it’s a government conspiracy theory. It’s mortifying. I die whenever we have to put our arms over our heads. Which is like, all the time.”

  Zac laughed.

  “Everyone knows what it’s like having a crazy family. Especially me.”

  “No offence, but I doubt they can be as bonkers as mine.”

  “You have no idea. You have nothing on me. Seriously.” He shoved his hand in his pocket. “And I will use my last two per cent to prove it!”

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled down the screen.

  “Here you go.”

  THE TIME YOUR MUM COMES TO YOUR

  FIRST COLLEGE ART EXHIBIT AND SHOUTS THAT

  THE BIGGEST SCULPTURE ‘COULD

  HAVE BEEN DONE BY A YEAR 7’.

  IT WAS DONE BY MY TUTOR.

  What. I didn’t get it. Was this him?

  “Wait – is this your mum?”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh. You want more?”

  He swiped across.

  THROWBACK THURSDAY:

  THAT TIME WE ARRIVED LATE TO THE

  CINEMA AND MY MUM SAT ON AN EMPTY

  SEAT – THAT TURNED OUT TO HAVE A SMALL

  CHILD ON IT. HE CRIED SO MUCH THEY

  HAD TO RE-START THE FILM.

  I snorted.

  “Are these for real?”

  “Yup, they’re real and they’re my life.”

  EVER TAKEN A LOVED ONE TO A&E

  ONLY TO FIND OUT THE REASON THEY’D

  PASSED OUT IS BECAUSE THEIR HOLDING-IN

  PANTS ARE TOO TIGHT?

  How had he turned out so normal?!

  “Enough, enough! I can’t believe you put this on the internet!”

  Zac grinned. “Nah, it’s just a silly app. All anonymous. My mum’s too funny not to share with the world, especially since Dad left and she’s become a wannabe-cougar.” I looked at the screen – ‘PSSSST’. I hadn’t heard of it.

  “I waste loads of time on here, it cracks me up.” I searched the screen for his username just as his screen disappeared. RIP battery. “Anyway, you’re right. We should get back before your phone dies too, and I’m stuck alone in a forest with no one to save me from your next shoe rage.”

  He clearly couldn’t read my mind that getting stuck alone with him, anywhere, was probably the best idea in the world.

  I pushed myself up from the bench in a weird sideways style to try and shield him from my bum, which was currently eating my trousers. I’m so prone to buttock wedgies that Jo calls me ‘Hungry Bum’, or ‘Bumgry’ for short.

  “Thanks for the jacket, now I feel a toasty minus 25 degrees, not minus 105.”

  “My pleasure. It was the least I could do for . . . for probably giving me some sort of massive face bruise?”

  I laughed it off, which felt more reassuring than saying ‘yes, it’s officially ginormous’. He really didn’t know the half of it. Thank goodness there weren’t mirrors in woods.

  “Hold up, if there was hypothetically a tiny, miniscule bruise, it would give you the perfect opp to think up a whole new story. Make out it was all part of some insanely brave deed?” Oh crapballs, I said ‘make out’. Had he noticed? Change subject. “Shout if you see any hazards. I’m paro about stepping on a slug in my bare foot.”

  “Worry not, I’ll protect you . . . or abandon you with slug oozing between your toes. One of the two.”

  “Prepare yourself for a full-on freak-out then.”

  He raised his eyebrows, as if challenging me. “Sounds interesting.”

  I tried to smile back, but his direct eye contact had paralysed my reacting muscles.

  He lowered his voice.

  “In fact, I think I’d quite like to see a full-on freak out. . .”

  He put his hands either side of my arms. Now, I’ve seen this on Hollyoaks. Unless I was very much mistaken, he was either about to try some basic judo moves, or – and it was hard for me to possibly imagine this – or . . . or he was about to try. . . And. Kiss. Me. An actual kissing situation. With me. A random boy, a hot boy, an older boy, an extremely cool boy, a boy who had a guitar/dog called Keith, a boy who looked like I’d designed him on some kind of BoyfGoals app. A boy who definitely knew how to do kissing very well. And me. Who definitely didn’t. Could I run away? If only Rach and Tegan were here for moral support. Although maybe a crowd of four would not make this less awkward. His hands didn’t move. His eye contact didn’t budge.

  My heart was beating so hard he could probably hear it. I am NOT equipped to deal with kissing of boys. If I wrote a kisstory book, it would be one page long. And that’s if I used really large font. And it had small pages. Zac CANNOT find out how tragic and inexperienced and not able to kiss, and not seventeen, I am.

  Auto-pilot-Bella-panic kicked in. Talking absolute nonsense at double speed. If I talked with wild enthusiasm, it would be harder for his lips to hit a moving target.

  “Sorrydidyou
nothearmeabouttheslug? Nothing’s worsethanstandingonaslug.” Breathe. “Becauseit’shard enoughtoknowwhenthey’realivewhenthey’realive, let alonewhenthey’resquishedonyourshoe.” Breathe. “Andlikewhatdoslugsdoanyway?”

  Lucky boys are not like animals and can’t smell fear. And they’re not furry and don’t have six nipples (I assume). MUST NOT think of Zac’s nipples. This will not help anything.

  He stepped nearer. What was wrong with him?! Did he find slug chat sexy? What a weirdo. I knew he couldn’t be normal.

  He took another step. His belt buckle pressed into one of the many cereal boxes that was stubbornly still hanging on to my body, making yet another piece of sellotape ping loose. Could I fake death? Or actually die. Anything other than him kissing me and me messing it up and him being embarrassed for me and me being even more embarrassed for me and us never speaking again.

  He moved a hand to the back of my neck.

  I needed days, weeks to prepare for this sort of thing. This was NOT FAIR. When had I brushed my teeth? Was it ages since I had put on my strawberry lip-balm, or was it too recent and I smelt like pudding? I hadn’t breathed for thirty seconds; why hadn’t I fainted yet? Why was my saliva the consistency of nail varnish that I’d left the lid off?

  He pressed his lips into mine.

  KISS ALERT. KISS ALERT. We had contact! I, Bella Fisher, was being officially being kissed by the Grand High Lord Of Hotness and his sexy pouty bottom lip and equally as hot but less pouty top lip. Award for Happiest Moment Of My Life goes to NOW. (And also Most Terrifying, in a double winning twist.)

  It felt soft, and warm, and amazing, and way better than two people just touching talking apparatus should feel. My head span with all the magazine tips I’d ever read. ‘How to guarantee your first kiss won’t be your last.’ ‘Be natural.’

  BELLA.BELLA.BELLA.

  ‘Don’t use too much tongue.’ ‘Don’t use too little tongue.’ ‘Lean.’ ‘Close eyes.’ ‘Don’t bash teeth.’ ‘Don’t panic about those weird suction noises or who was making them’ (it was deffo me). ‘Follow his lead.’ ‘Make your own leads.’ ‘Remember everything.’ ‘Don’t overthink it.’

  BELLA.BELLA. BELLS.

  Jo?

  BELLA. BELLINGTON BOOT.

  I opened one eye to work out what was happening. All I could really see was Zac’s stubbly (eek, stubble!) face so near mine he looked like one big fit blur. But something glinted at the edge of the clearing. Something was pushing through the trees. Oh, holy meatballs. I knew EXACTLY what that something was.

  “WOW – sorry. I didn’t know I was interrupting anything.”

  Zac stepped back, confused. Probably his first ever sub-three second snog.

  A hugely annoyed Jo crossed her arms.

  I willed myself to disintegrate.

  I’m pretty sure number one on the list of things not to do when snogging a hot boy is bite his tongue off. And number two is be interrupted by an older, and totally raging, sibling.

  “Bella – I’ve been looking for you for HOURS. I’ve been worried sick.”

  Yup, Zac, I’m the kind of hot, independent girl who has to be babysat by her big sister. I couldn’t bring myself to even look in his direction. I was so hot with embarrassment I worried I could ignite the last few bits of cardboard still clinging to my waist.

  “Go. Away.” I spat my words out.

  Zac shuffled awkwardly. He made a little cough.

  “Erm, sorry to be a bit slow. But what’s going on here?”

  “Good to know you can speak when you haven’t got your tongue shoved down my little sister’s throat.”

  AS IF SHE JUST SAID THAT. Could she BE any more awful? Please don’t let my ears have heard right.

  “Don’t be such a cowbag. I’ll see you back home.” But she didn’t move. “. . . OK?!”

  Despite Jo being way out of order, Zac tried to break the tension.

  “We were about to head back anyway?”

  “Oh, were you? Cos Bella is coming back with me. NOW.”

  Jo grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. I wrenched it free, but the damage had already been done. I was a total loser, and Zac had only needed ninety-five minutes to work it out.

  Jo hissed “Come on” and ducked under the first branch.

  I paused for a final glimpse of Zac. How had it gone so wrong so quickly?! Best moment ever had nose-dived to the worst. This was the first proper silence we’d had since we’d met.

  Zac put his finger to his lips and whispered.

  “Maybe it’s a bad time, or whatever. But . . . lunch? Tomorrow?”

  OUT-LOUD GULP. Sorry, what? I was not expecting that?! Has Fittie McFittington, who I’d kicked, talked to about slugs, half-snogged, and just been sister-shamed in front of, just asked to see ME? For a second time? I pinched myself to check this was real. Ouch. It hurt more that I meant it to. I looked up at Zac. He’d totally seen. He kindly pretended not to have seen the thing we both knew he just saw. “Up to you . . . no pressure?”

  Maybe no pressure from him, but serious pressure from my future self to not make the worst decision of my life. I checked Jo was far enough away to be out of convo-range.

  “Deffo. Let’s do it.” If it was ‘up to me’ I’d happily chain myself to his ankle on the spot, but that probably wouldn’t help raise his opinion of me.

  “Main block. Midday.” Perfect. We weren’t leaving till five. He gave me a short one-handed wave. How could he even look hot in silhouette?

  I waved like a robot as I ran through hilarious options of what to say back. My first impression had been terrible, so I should make the last one a high. But Jo reappeared and grabbed at my wrist, nearly toppling me over a badly placed tree stump.

  “WIX.” I shouted back after him as I got dragged out of view.

  No, Bella. No. Tell me your final word hadn’t been an abbreviation of ‘wicked’?!

  Jo and I marched back to the caravan, hurling insults at each other. She couldn’t believe I’d been ‘soooo selfish’, I couldn’t believe she had deliberately ruined any chance I’d had with Zac.

  When we finally got back, Mum was still out moonlight meditating, so Jo pushed me for details on exactly who Zac was. I told her I didn’t want to talk about anything. She ignored me and asked me where her other shoe was. I told her I was a footwear freedom fighter and had returned it to the wild. I was going to be in big trouble when Mum was back.

  Despite never feeling more awake, I climbed into bed, pulling the duvet over my head and pretending I couldn’t hear Jo drone on 1.5 metres away. It was hard to be alone in a room which was three people’s bedroom, kitchen and lounge.

  I’d just had the best and worst night of my life and all I wanted to do was replay every Zac second – Zecond – that had happened. The way his hair got ruffled by all the twigs. The way his scar wiggled when he laughed. The way his jacket smelt. The way it felt when he’d half-kissed me. . . Although, I never wanted to replay the look on his face when Jo arrived. Was there any way he’d ever want to attempt an actual full snog ever again? Maybe if I made an amazing impression at the lunch. I looked at my watch. I did still have twelve hours to practise interesting conversation topics. I could even steal Jo’s perfume so I smell a bit older.

  I set my alarm for the picnic and drifted off to sleep, Zac running through my mind. But it wasn’t my clock that woke me up, it was Mum – with the most alarming news.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  11.30 a.m. – thirty minutes until the scene of the biggest-crush-crammed-total-love-packed-mind-meltingly-so-dreamy-and-hot-that-a-bit-of-sick-almost-comes-up-in-my-mouth-whenever-I-think-about-it moment my life will ever experience. AKA Zac time.

  I should be counting down the 1800 seconds until I get to witness his fitness.

  I should be planning how I can redeem myself for last night.

  I should be putting the finishing touches to my mascara and checking for black eye bogies.

  I should be getting Jo to take
a video of me doing various everyday poses so I can check I haven’t got VPL.

  I should be about to meet up with the only boy who has ever swept me off my feet. (Well, technically, I swept him, but that’s just detail.)

  But I’m doing none of these things.

  I’m panicking.

  I’m losing my mind.

  I’m on the verge of tears, but they’re not coming cos I’m so angry they’ve got blocked somewhere in the system.

  And I am SO mad at Mum.

  Yesterday’s snogteruption scores a ZERO in relation to this. This isn’t just a step too far, it’s a gold-medal-winning triple jump past the boundary of acceptable motheringdom. Today is the day I know for certain she officially doesn’t care about my life.

  Instead of what I should be doing, what I’m actually doing is staring at the back of Jo’s head feeling sick because of the combination of Mum’s bad driving and dealing with my life being ruined.

  Can hearts actually stop when they realize there’s no point in carrying on, cos the one chance they had at being happy in life has been abandoned in Wales?

  NO work emergency is a good enough excuse for Mum waking me up at six a.m.. NO life crisis gives her the right to herd us out of the caravan in a frantic departure fifteen minutes later. I’m not a pot plant – I have rights! I can’t just be transported against my wishes! Mum always nagged me to enjoy Black Bay, and now I finally was, we’re 280 miles away.

  “Come on, love. You have to say something. Or are you planning on keeping silent for the rest of your life?” This was Mum’s fifth attempt at talking. Considering all of her spiritual development this week, she was still exceptionally bad at reading minds.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “You just said that.” Eye-roll. How dare Jo say I’m behaving like a child, when she says stuff like that? Was she nineteen or nine? I kneed her chair. I hate them both right now.

  I had a date. A real date. Well, sort-of date. With the best person I’ve ever met. And they’re making me stand him up. Which doesn’t even make sense, as I’m not even standing, I’m sitting, really annoyed. And I bet he is too. This was meant to be my chance to win him back round, not annoy him so much I got relegated out of both the friend AND casual-acquaintance zone. I don’t even have his last name.