Popping the Cherry

by Aurelia B. Rowl

  When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I climbed out of the bath and dried off gently, wrapping the fluffy towel around me to walk the short distance to my bedroom. I couldn’t resist staring at my body in the full-length sliding mirror that concealed my wardrobe. The bruising looked even worse than before—‘angry’, even. My gaze fell on the phone perched on my bedside table. Oh, God! Why did I have to think of angry?

  Painfully aware that my time was running out, I changed into my own pyjamas, soft and cuddly ones with teddy bears all over them—so not grown-up—then sat on my bed and picked up the phone, scrolling through my contacts until I reached the Ts. I hit ‘call’ and dialled the shop’s phone number for the second time ever, the only other time being when I’d applied for the job in the first place.

  My heart was beating so fast, I could see the veins pulsing in my wrist, the blue threads brought to the surface by the hot water. I couldn’t sit still and ended up pacing the room despite the aches. By the time my boss came on the line, I’d worked myself into such a tiz that I very nearly was sick, in the literal ready-to-hurl way, not just the I-can’t-come-to-work way. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t like me at all.

  Hmm …

  Come to think of it, I was acting more like Gemma in full-on drama-queen mode, when I was usually the cool, calm and collected one. I stopped pacing and took a deep breath, already feeling calmer. Instead of feeling overanxious, now I just felt silly, even more so when ‘calling in sick’ turned out to be a perfectly straightforward exercise.

  The call was over in five minutes flat and most of that was my boss asking me over and over again if I was all right and if I there was anything I needed. She even said to take the next Saturday off as well, full pay, no arguments. By the end of the call, I’d regained enough composure to ask her to warn the other girls to be on the lookout, too. Maybe I could do the grown up thing after all?

  With the rest of the weekend to myself, I closed my curtains, then hobbled back to my bed, crawling beneath the thick quilt and resting my head on the pillow. I stared up at the ceiling and replayed the conversation with my boss. I’d been working at Topshop for coming up a year now, every Saturday without fail, with extra shifts during the holidays as well. In all that time, I had never taken a day off sick, so why I felt guilty was anyone’s guess.

  Maybe for underestimating them, too? As well as yourself?

  Ugh! I pulled the quilt over my head, then sat back up to grab my iPod. I spent most of Saturday with my MP3 player on low, the headphones jammed into my ears to block out the usual daytime sounds, catching up on missed sleep to the background music of Ed Sheeran, Rihanna, Olly Murs and the Twilight soundtrack. My constant stream of painkillers continued, and, when I did drag myself out of bed for meals, Mum and Dad made a point of not mentioning … it.

  Too exhausted to dream, I woke up on Sunday morning feeling fully rested. I thought about going out and getting some fresh air, but decided against it in the end. I’d had quite enough the other night and wasn’t quite ready for the big bad world yet. My bad mood was instantly wiped when Gemma turned up unannounced at my bedroom door. She’d figured I needed pampering more than Ben needed cheering on at rugby, so came bearing face masks, her trusty pedicure kit and three tried-and-tested chick flicks. Best of all, she’d brought the ultimate in comfort food, consisting of a bag of fresh pain-au-chocolat and a steaming hot hazelnut latte from Donovan’s, our favourite coffee hangout.

  Sheer bliss.

  She didn’t even chew me out for disappearing on her, and letting Jake run me home instead of getting her up. Maybe Jake had been right, but it struck me as a bit odd that she didn’t say anything at all about it, not even as a joke, as if she was trying to avoid any mention of her brother, full stop. Something was definitely amiss but I couldn’t put my finger on what, or why, especially when she was otherwise acting her usual bubbly self.

  So much so, I shared with her my increasing paranoia about being a virgin; about how the attack would never have happened if I’d put out to Hayden, or Damian even, except I wasn’t as succinct as that. Gemma listened to my rambling, hugging me at all the right moments, then, once I’d got it all of my chest, she squeezed my hand and suggesting I keep going with Operation: Popping the Cherry and not let creepy Hayden scare me off.

  No chance of that, my virginity was starting to feel like a curse.

  After a day’s worth of being thoroughly spoiled, followed by Mum’s legendary roast-chicken dinner, I was feeling pretty good about life when it was time to head up to bed. I woke bright and early, half an hour before my alarm was due to go off, but I was wide awake and raring to go. Aside from some bizarre dreams I was doing my best to forget, I’d had another great night’s sleep.

  There was a definite spring in my step as I got showered and ready for college; even the thought of having to face Hayden on the bus didn’t bother me as much as I’d feared. Determined to show him what he’d lost, I risked washing and blow-drying my hair before dressing in my usual jeans and long-sleeved tee. I even had time to put on some makeup before I headed downstairs for breakfast.

  ‘Morning, Dad,’ I said, as I walked into the kitchen and saw him sitting at the breakfast table with a newspaper. Either I was running earlier than I thought, or he was running really late. His eyes widened when he saw me. I swear I could feel him watching me the entire time I poured a bowl of cereal, looking away only when I joined him at the table. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work already?’

  ‘You’re going to school today, then?’ he asked, ignoring my question.

  ‘It’s college, Dad, not school. And, yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?’ Like I needed to ask. It was written all over his face that they didn’t think I’d be going back today and didn’t want to leave me on my own. Dad must have drawn the short straw to have to stay home and play babysitter. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or touched by their concern. I was about to press him for an answer when the doorbell saved him.

  For an old man, he could still shift. He was on his feet and out of the kitchen before the chime had finished echoing. Typical. Never mind, he’d be back in a minute. I scooped up a spoonful of cornflakes and tried to crunch quietly, listening to him open the front door, and the sound of mumbled voices on the doorstep. Except that the other voice was familiar. And it was doing funny things to my tummy, unleashing a swarm of butterflies and sending heat to my cheeks and everywhere in between.

  ‘Tink?’ Dad called out, raising his voice to make sure I heard him. Along with half the neighbours. And Jake. Oh, God, shoot me now. ‘There’s somebody here to see you.’

  I was already up on my feet and charging to the front door before Dad could embarrass me even more. Pity I hadn’t remembered I still had a mouthful of food; I nearly ended up choking, cutting my throat to shreds as I swallowed the remaining, unchewed, cornflakes. I passed him in the hallway and shot him with my best evil glare, but he just smiled and raised his hands in the air as he wandered back to the kitchen.

  More likely running from the scene of the crime.

  ‘Jake?’ I croaked, trying to dislodge the last of the cereal and doing my best not to splutter all over him.

  He looked good—great, even—and I was secretly glad I’d had extra time to get ready this morning. The early-morning sunlight was hitting his hair, making the gold and bronze shine out. Not many guys could pull off the ‘white overalls covered in paint splodges’ look but Jake worked it, along with the grubby, well-worn, work boots.

  ‘Tink?’ he teased, dragging my attention from his attire to see the playful glint in his eye. He was biting back a grin but the corner of his lips turned up at the edges anyway.

  When the world didn’t open up and swallow me as I’d wished, I settled for covering my face with my hands. ‘I’m going to kill him,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Why? Jake reached for my fingers, lowering them so he could see me, bright red cheeks and all. His eyes shone brightly, full of the laughter he was doing a good job of holdi
ng inside. ‘It’s cute.’

  Overcome by the tingles that had spread from my fingertips all the way down to my toes and were now on a beeline to my chest, I looked up to meet his gaze, hoping to see some kind of sign that he’d been affected too. He squeezed my hands tighter and the sudden shock—the zap—made me want to gasp. Jake released my hands and flexed his fingers, his action matching mine, and he stared at me with wide eyes.

  Interesting …

  Without Jake’s touch bombarding my senses, the fog in my brain cleared. ‘So what brings you here?’ I asked, scrambling to get back onto firmer ground.

  ‘I’ve got a proposition for you?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I blurted. It was safe to say, they weren’t the words I’d expected him to come out with. My firmer ground dissolved into quicksand and I was left floundering.

  ‘Although I should probably run it past your folks first,’ he said, oblivious to my mounting peril. ‘You know, check they’re OK with it?’

  ‘OK with what?’

  ‘How about you invite me in? I’ll even promise not to call you Tink.’ Jake winked and slammed me with a self-assured grin that brimmed with confidence.

  ‘Er, yeah, sure.’ I shuffled to one side to make room, amazed I was capable of moving my feet.

  Here I was, on the verge on a mental meltdown, and there he was, looking cool and unruffled. I didn’t generally go for violence but considered making an exception, sorely tempted to grab hold of his overalls and shake him. Jake immediately stepped inside and hovered in the hallway.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, then waited expectantly, looking right at me as I clung to the open door for support.

  ‘Um … Dad’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘Great. Lead the way.’

  Grateful to get away, I set off down the hall, and for the second time since I’d come downstairs, I could feel a gaze burning into me from behind. It was totally different knowing it was Jake doing the staring, though. A pep talk was in order before I did something stupid, like exaggerating the swing of my hips and sashaying down the hallway. As we made our way towards the kitchen, I listed all the reasons it was such a bad idea.

  For a start, I was still too sore to pull it off; it would actually hurt if I tried it. Second, I was flustered enough to get clumsy, which I just knew would wind up with me flat on my face; that would hurt too, in addition to being the most embarrassing thing ever. And third, this was Jake, not some guy I wanted to impress; flirting was utterly out of the question, even if I did fancy him—which I did not—and, quite frankly, I’d embarrassed myself enough in front of Jake already for one lifetime.

  ‘Dad, Jake wants to talk to you about something. Just don’t ask me what because he wouldn’t say anything to me.’ I suspected I was doing the Gemma drama-queen thing again. ‘He insisted on speaking with you first.’ Dad’s raised eyebrows confirmed it. I’d embarrassed myself yet again. Great. Just great. Here I go again. ‘Sorry, that was rude of me. Jake, can I get you a drink at all?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve not long had one. Unless you’re having one,’ Jake added as an afterthought.

  ‘I’m going to have a coffee; you’re welcome to join me?’

  ‘Sure, thanks. I’d like that.’

  My brain screamed at me not to read anything into his words. It was just a coffee. Nothing more. ‘Dad, another cup of tea?’

  ‘Go on, then, seeing as you’re offering.’ Suitably appeased, Dad finally redirected his gaze from me to Jake. Dismissed, I crossed the room and busied myself with making the drinks. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Jake, seeing as you’re staying?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bell.’

  ‘Mr Bell is my father’s name,’ Dad said, making me cringe as he spouted one of his favourite lines. I’d lost count of the number of times he’d used it over the years, complete with what can only be described as a ‘chortle’ before he added his usual, ‘Please, call me Richard, especially after what you did for Tink.’

  Jake darted the tiniest of glances towards me at the mention of my ridiculous nickname, so fast that I doubt my dad even noticed. ‘I was only too glad to be able to help.’

  Dad nodded. ‘So what did you want to speak to me about, Jake?’

  ‘I don’t know if you are aware, Mr Bell … Richard,’ Jake corrected, ‘but I turn twenty-one later this week.’ I stood at the sink, keeping my back to them in the hope they forgot I was there as I tried to figure out where Jake was going with this. ‘I’ve been driving for over three and a half years now, and I have a clean driving licence.’ Now he’d really lost me. ‘If it’s OK with you, I’d like to take Lena out for driving practice, assuming she’s insured to drive her car.’

  ‘Dammit!’ I cursed under my breath. The mug I’d been pulling out from the cupboard slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Shards of purple porcelain scattered across the tiles. I didn’t need to turn around to know that all eyes were on me. Again. Why the hell had I suddenly turned into a walking disaster, especially whenever Jake was around? Correction: I was a stationary disaster: with no shoes on, and sharp bits just begging to bury themselves into the soles of my feet, I stood stranded in my own little island.

  It crossed my mind to just strip my clothes off right there and then, in front of my dad and Jake to complete my total and utter humiliation. A scraping sound, closely followed by another, told me that Jake and Dad had both stood up. Two sets of footsteps crunched towards me and Dad appeared first, broom in hand. He swept around me, the bristles tickling my toes through my socks as he cleared the area surrounding my feet.

  ‘May I?’ Jake asked me from directly behind, his breath tickling the hair on the back of my neck.

  I nodded, trying to ignore my dad’s reaction and his suddenly jerky sweeping action as he watched Jake reach around me, sliding his hands beneath my armpits in a now all-too-familiar move. It was easily the most male contact my dad had ever witnessed, no matter how innocent it was, and I had to smother a giggle.

  Jake plucked me off the floor, lifting me several inches into the air, then carried me over to the waiting chairs. Dad soon joined us at the table, choosing to stand beside Jake. The offer of driving sessions hung in the air and I had to crane my neck to look up at them both. I realised it was the first time I’d seen them standing next to each other in years, and it surprised me to discover that Jake now had the height advantage.

  It unnerved Dad too.

  He pulled himself up even straighter, exerting his authority and looking Jake in the eye. Jake didn’t budge, staring right back at my dad and exerting authority of his own in his strong but relaxed stance. Watching them butt heads would have been even funnier if Jake was a potential suitor, rather than my best friend’s brother. I didn’t even pretend to understand what went through a guy’s head, or how the whole testosterone thing worked, but, after a drawn out silence, Jake apparently passed the test.

  ‘Very well,’ Dad said, offering his hand to Jake, who immediately shook it.

  I clamped my lips together and sat on my hands to stop myself from squealing and clapping like a giddy child, not wishing to jeopardise my ‘almost an adult’ status with Dad, or make Jake change his mind about taking me driving. Dad then made his excuses and left the kitchen, leaving me alone with Jake.

  ‘How about it, then, Lena?’ he asked. ‘Do you think you could put up with me in the passenger seat?’

  With Dad out of the room, I leaped out of my seat and threw myself at Jake—doing exactly what I said I mustn’t do—and nearly sent him flying, forcing him to step back to brace himself, even as his hands caught hold of my waist to make sure I didn’t fall. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips against Jake’s cheek to plant a kiss on his warm skin, inhaling the scent of him in the process.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then, huh?’ Jake said, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

  I laughed and squeezed him even tighter.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, before pulling far enough back to see his fac
e, revelling in the quirky smile he wore.

  ‘How about I give you a lift to college so we can discuss it on the way?’

  Crap.

  In all my excitement, I’d forgotten about college.

  ‘That would be great,’ I said, letting go of Jake and smoothing down my clothes. ‘I just need to grab my bag and get my shoes on. I won’t be a minute.’

  Even though both items were downstairs, I popped upstairs just so I could brush my teeth again, while Jake waited in the kitchen. Dad appeared on the landing. He’d changed clothes and was now wearing his suit, ready to head into work, I guessed, seeing that I wasn’t going to be at home after all.

  ‘Are you off, then, Tink?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, Jake’s going to give me a lift to save me getting the bus.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Dad looked miles away, so I went to move past him to get to the bathroom but he reached for my arm to stop me. ‘Jake’s a nice lad,’ Dad said, picking at a nonexistent speck on his sleeve. ‘So is there … um … something going on between you two now?’

  Omigod, no way.

  No wonder there was the whole stand-off thing going on downstairs. Dad thought Jake was my new boyfriend. I could feel my eyes bugging out as I stared back at Dad’s anxious face.

  ‘No!’ I blurted. ‘He’s just a friend, you know, Gemma’s big brother,’ I said, protesting a little too loudly perhaps, but Dad looked too relieved to notice.

  ‘OK, that’s good to know. Saves me and your mum having to sit you down for “the talk” for a while longer, then,’ he said, making the quotation marks in the air with his fingers.