Good Girls Don't

by Claire Hennessy

  “Sure, thanks. I’ll come around at, what, half seven?”

  “Cool. And we will have a serious meaningful talk at some point during the night, because I don’t think we’ve sat down to have a proper conversation in weeks and I miss talking to you.”

  “Well, whose fault is that?” I tease.

  She sighs. “I know, I know. Did I mention I hate Sixth Year? And that I’m seriously considering dropping out and living on the street for the rest of my life?”

  “You won’t, though,” I tell her firmly.

  “I’m going crazy,” she replies.

  “It’s only a few more weeks. You’re going to be fine, and you’re going to work hard, and you’re going to get the points for law, and then you can relax for the whole summer.”

  She smiles at the thought. “Mmm. Relaxing. I like that idea.”

  “And tomorrow night, as well,” I remind her. “Your night off.”

  “Yes. I will relax. I have to. Thanks, Em. I’ll see you later, or tomorrow, whenever.”

  “Right. Talk to you then,” I say.

  ***

  September of Third Year. I was leaving the locker room and accidentally crashed into a girl in the year above me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” I said.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I laughed. “Well, I think we’re finished that routine.”

  “Yeah. It’s like you learn all these things to say, and you’re not even listening to the person –”

  “You’re just reciting the next phrase,” I finished, and she smiled.

  ***

  That’s how Lucy and I became friends. I saw her the next day and we chatted for a while, and after a few weeks we were constantly yapping away to one another. I thought she knew everything and besides, she was pretty. I was completely infatuated with her, but I never thought of it as a crush. It was just an obsession, I told myself, hero-worship, something along those lines. It had happened plenty of times before, and I honestly had never considered that these little obsessions could be romantic. And I never doubted that any of my infatuations with guys were romantic, because they were supposed to be. I never questioned the similarities between the two, never really noticed it. If you don’t go looking for something, you won’t always find it, I guess.

  I looked forward to seeing her but at the same time it made me nervous, and I used to play out imaginary conversations with her in my head, directing a movie with a happy ending. I had this fantasy that she’d be crying and I’d hold her and soothe her. I’d be the one to make it all better.

  ***

  One day we were talking and I was watching her applying lip balm, and I imagined kissing her. The thought shocked me so much that I couldn’t focus on anything else for the rest of the day. I was walking around in a haze, not sure of anything anymore.

  ***

  I look back on that now and am amazed at how dramatic I was at fourteen.

  Chapter Twelve

  I ring Barry on his mobile after school and ask if I can come over. He says okay.

  It takes me twenty minutes to walk from my house to his. I’m nervous about seeing him, something I haven’t experienced since the days of having a crush on him.

  We do the awkward-hug thing, and then I say, “You call that a hug?” and he laughs, and it’s like it never happened.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, “I really am. It’s just – you’re too good for Declan. He’s an asshole, at least most of the time, and he doesn’t deserve you . . . and your talent.”

  “What talent?” I laugh.

  “I hear things,” he grins.

  “From who, exactly?”

  “Well, Hugh, of course . . . and Michael . . . and Colin . . . and Natasha.”

  “Colin doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I grin.

  “But the rest of them?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “How many people have you actually slept with, Emily?” he asks.

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s ever actually come up,” he smiles. “All the years I’ve known you and you’ve never given me an exact figure.”

  “Not that many,” I say.

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” I admit.

  “You don’t know?” Thankfully, he seems more amused about this than disgusted, which makes a pleasant change from yesterday.

  “I’m not keeping a scoreboard, you know.”

  “Well, approximately. How many? Less than ten?”

  “Are we including girls?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Then more.”

  “Less than twenty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tramp.” It’s said playfully, but –

  “That’s not funny,” I say.

  “I was only joking. You know that.”

  “It still wasn’t funny.”

  “I’m just jealous. Me with my lack of experience.”

  “You have experience.”

  “I don’t think drunken nights count as experience.”

  “Oh, of course they do.”

  “Well, never with someone I loved and who loved me, that kind of experience.”

  I look at him. “If you’re bringing love into it, then I’m about as clueless as you are.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  We sit watching the TV curled up together. There’s something so beautiful about being beside someone when attraction isn’t a factor. Just friends, just pure platonic love, and an arm around a shoulder that’s purely for comfort, nothing else. Maybe because it’s so innocent. Lust can taint gestures, turn them into precursors to sex, rather than something simple.

  And right now, sitting here with him – this is perfect. There’s no tension, no wondering do-I-look-okay and what-does-he-want-from-me, just two friends enjoying a quiet night in front of the television. It’s so peaceful. I could stay here forever.

  My mobile rings and I answer. It’s my mother, wondering where I am. I look at the time. It’s nearly ten. I can’t believe it.

  “I’ll be home in half an hour,” I tell her.

  “You’re going?” Barry asks as I hang up.

  “Yeah . . . did you realise it’s nearly ten?”

  “What? No way.” He checks the clock. “I thought it was seven or something.”

  “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

  “Thanks for coming over,” he says sincerely.

  “I had fun,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  Hug. Leave. It’s dark out, but it’s all through housing estates, so I’m safe, even it’s kind of creepy and spooky out here. And yet there’s something wonderful about shadows. They’re mysterious and interesting. They could be hiding anything – or nothing.

  I feel like I could be in a movie. Young woman walks along deserted street at night. She tosses her hair, walks confidently. But there’s eerie music playing and the shadows seem ominous, and the audience are just waiting for something to leap out and attack her. She arrives home safely, and is greeted by her boyfriend. The audience sighs in relief. Only it turns out that the boyfriend has been stabbed in the back, and he falls dead at her feet. She looks at him, and then steps over his body. A figure emerges from the shadows in the hallway, and the woman says: “Good work.” The audience gasp. Maybe the figure’s another woman, and they’re lovers. I’m sick of movies where the women are always doing it for men, sick of women being the weak ones, too. If I ever do make movies, the women aren’t going to be the victims.

  I arrive home without incident, and retreat to my room. Homework is sitting there, waiting to be done. I make a half-hearted attempt at my maths before deciding to leave it, and retreat to bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lying in bed, listening to David Bowie, and thinking about Barry. I can’t even remember much of Third Year,
but I know he was concerned about me. He kept telling me that he wished I’d go into school more often, as opposed to missing it to get wasted, and I kept telling him that he didn’t understand. I felt sorry for myself that year, I guess. I was very much a “no one understands my deep meaningful pain” sort of girl, so I felt perfectly justified in doing whatever the hell I wanted to do. Anyone who tried to lecture me just didn’t understand.

  And he did accept it and say that it was my choice, but that he thought I could do better for myself. He does everything with the best of intentions, he really does, but sometimes I wish he’d stop thinking that he knows what’s best for me.

  It’s not as if he has all the answers, after all. He can’t even claim to be older and wiser. I’m seventeen and I can make my own decisions, even if other people don’t agree with them. I do what feels right at the time. I trust my instincts. I don’t take into account what everyone else is going to say or think about my choice. That’s no way to live – spending your time worrying about what other people think of you? No, thank you.

  Of course, it hasn’t always been that way. When I first visualised kissing Lucy that day more than two years ago, all I could think about was what other people thought. I was so shocked at myself for being so abnormal and weird and one of them. I actually, although I cringe to think of it now, asked why me.

  And it was so silly, because it was a crush, and it was fun and it was tingly and exciting, but at the same time I was terrified of anyone ever finding out. I’d be shunned. No one would ever speak to me. And once they knew, things could never go back to the way they were before. Things would be permanently changed.

  Besides, I always had the old “well, I like boys, so I must be straight” thing going for me. Because you’re always told that gay people exist (although you get the feeling that despite the political correctness, it’s a bad thing to be one of them) but the idea that there’s something in between isn’t usually discussed. It’s ridiculous, because sexuality should be something fluid and not really clearly defined. No one’s entirely straight; no one’s entirely gay. Let’s just say that we’re all people and we all want love and affection and sex (although not necessarily in that order), and get on with our lives.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wake up late on Friday morning and miss the bus, so I get into school late. A great way to start the day, I think. I’m glad it’s almost the weekend, and that I have Lucy’s party to look forward to.

  Lucy’s parties used to be very risqué. They were legendary events. She hasn’t had one of those in a long time, but I think she prefers it that way. She was never really happy as a party girl. She just didn’t know what else to do. We were so bored, so completely fed up.

  There’s one party I’ll always remember, and it was because it was the first of her parties I ever went to, the first time I was exposed to anything not-so-innocent. I was barely fifteen, and I hadn’t ever even touched alcohol before. I was this incredibly naïve child at this sophisticated party where everyone seemed so grown-up and worldly even though they were only a year older than me. They were so laid-back and cool and I wanted to fit in with them.

  Besides, they were Lucy’s friends.

  ***

  The music was loud and some of them were dancing half-heartedly to it and rest were draped across armchairs or sprawled out on the floor. There was a joint being passed around, and I took a drag. The guy next to me started talking to me about something stupid, and I found it incredibly amusing, even though it wasn’t that funny.

  Lucy came over to us and slid in between us. “I hope you’re being nice to Emily, Declan,” she said to the boy.

  “I’m always nice,” he said.

  She smiled at him and then slipped an arm around my waist. The intimacy of that action surprised me, and my face was hot. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was uncomfortable with it, uneasy with what could be interpreted as a friendly gesture but which meant so much more to me, because it was her.

  “Is this true?” she asked me with a grin. I blushed even more.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the ground.

  “Emily? Are you okay?” she asked, tilting my chin up with her right hand.

  I looked at her and she was beautiful and I was starting to feel nauseous and I just wanted to get out of there. I jumped up and left the room. There was a couple in the hallway, so I darted into the kitchen, which was thankfully deserted.

  Lucy followed me in a few moments later. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I muttered.

  She tilted my chin up again and said, “I think you’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” I said.

  “Is it the weed?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  She seemed satisfied with this. “Come back in. We’re going to play Spin the Bottle.”

  I’d played once before at a party someone in my class had had, only then the rule had been that girls couldn’t kiss girls, boys couldn’t kiss boys. This game – this was a free-for-all.

  And I liked it. Declan had to kiss some guy named Sean, then Lucy. Lucy spun. I watched it go, round and round, please land on me, please, please . . .

  “Emily,” she said. She walked over to where I was sitting and knelt down beside me. I was actually shaking with nervousness, thinking, “Right, I haven’t kissed anyone since last summer and I’m pretty sure I forget how to do it and oh god what if I’m terrible and Lucy’s disgusted and never even wants to speak to me again?”

  And then she kissed me. It wasn’t like the movies and it wasn’t like my dreams, but it was nice and soft and I wanted it to go on forever, and I was disappointed when she pulled away and returned to where she’d been sitting as if nothing had happened, as if it hadn’t mattered.

  ***

  I was still at that age where you believe that a kiss means something.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Everyone’s happy on Fridays. The teachers are that extra bit more easy-going, the atmosphere’s that extra bit friendlier. Stephanie, who’s been awkward around me ever since Monday, talks to me about weekend plans. This type of conversation often occurs on a Friday, I find. When you’re talking to someone you have a class with, but don’t know well enough to consider a friend, you ask them what they’re doing for the weekend. You don’t really care, it’s just something to talk about, a little like the “Going anywhere nice on holidays?” topic of conversation and the “I can’t believe we got so much homework” line of discussion. Completely meaningless drivel, really, but going through the motions seems to make people feel like they’re doing the appropriate thing.

  Roisín, Fiona and Sarah have a Business test after lunch, so they’re looking over the chapter, and I’m restless. I walk down to the shop with Abi and bring up the Declan topic. I’m curious as to what her opinion will be. She knows what I think of him, after all.

  “Abi?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know Declan?”

  “Yeah.” She nods.

  “What would you say if I told you I’d got involved with him?”

  “Involved romantically?” she says in surprise.

  “More physical, less romance,” I clarify.

  “I’d be a little surprised,” she says. “What happened?”

  “He was upset, I wanted to make him feel better, stuff happened.”

  “Did he feel better?” She smiles.

  “I think he did,” I laugh. “I don’t know, do you think it’s weird?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe a little, considering that you don’t like him that much.”

  “I do – some of the time.”

  “But sometimes people do things that don’t really make sense,” she continues, and I love her so much at that moment for getting it.

  “What does he think about it?” she asks me.

  “That’s a good question,” I say.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucy never dealt with anything she didn’t want to deal with, an
d at school she never mentioned anything that went on at the parties we went to, or anything that happened at her house when we were supposed to be in school. She lived in two worlds. One was harsh and cold and real; the other was the fuzzy dreamlike world of alcohol and drugs. You never had to take responsibility in the second world, and nothing really mattered. You could just do whatever you felt like.

  So she could flirt with everyone and fool around with them and let them believe whatever they wanted to believe, and it didn’t matter.

  ***

  We were hanging out at her friend Andrew’s house, the whole lot of us. Declan was there and he was telling me about how he needed to do this because no one understood him. He had all this stuff going on, and no one got it, no one realised how much pain he was in.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Like, the people at school – they’re all so normal and boring and they have their perfect lives and they’ve never known what it’s like not to be perfect.”

  “They’re just mindless sheep,” he said.

  “Yeah, exactly. I mean, you can only have real opinions if you step back from that mob mentality.”

  “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem,” he nodded wisely.

  “They don’t get it,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “My friend Barry – he’s always lecturing me about this. Like, why am I wasting my time? And I’m like, it’s my time to waste, it’s my decision to make. He’s got this perfect life, though, you know. He’s always so happy.”

  “I don’t get people like that.”

  “It’s so fake,” I said. “No one’s really happy. People are just fooling themselves.”

  Across the room, Lucy and Andrew were all over each other. I watched them slip out the door.

  “No one’s really happy,” I repeated.

  ***

  I thought this was going to be like her other infatuations – short and swift. Most people in the group had hooked up at some point, and it usually wasn’t serious, but it was fun. I’d had my fair share of experiences. While most of the girls in my class were going out to discos every weekend with the sole intention of finding guys, I felt safer with this crowd, where gender didn’t seem to matter as much, where being attracted to girls made me cool instead of an outsider. Looking back now I suppose I have them to thank for that, at least – the sense that it was okay to ‘experiment’ if you wanted to, and I did.