I wanted to say sorry my mum didn’t let you in. She overreacts. One sniffle, and the house is on lockdown for a week. Hopefully see you Saturday?
Me: Don’t even worry about it. All parents are strange. Anyway, it’s better than having a mum who forgets you exist.
Emma: I’m sure that’s not true.
Me: It actually is.
Emma: My mum doesn’t even trust me to have a sleepover anywhere anymore.
Me: Why?
Emma: She’s always stressing that something could happen to me.
Me: Why?
Emma: In case I die, too.
Me: Sorry.
Emma: It’s fine.
Me: We should run away together.
Emma: I’m packing my bag.
Me: My grandparents live in Hong Kong. They’re a bit odd, but we can stay for free.
Emma: I’m climbing out of the window.
Me: I’ll have the flights booked by the time you pick me up.
Emma: OMG, I so wish.
Me: Me too.
Emma: Sleep well.
Me: You too. And make sure I see you Saturday.
Emma: Can’t wait.
Me: Me neither.
Emma: x
Me:…
Of course I was wide awake for hours after, and this morning, instead of studying, I looked out of the window at nothing, and this afternoon at the thrift shop, I dropped everything, because apparently having realized you fancy someone messes with your basic motor neuron functions.
I smashed a shitty crystal jar of potpourri, and the whole shop stank of chemically manufactured lavender, and Pat was like: “Oh, Kate, I’m getting quite a migraine, I don’t think I’ll be able to be on the shop floor today.” (Like she ever is. OMG, could I hate her any more?)
I rolled my eyes, and Kate was like: “What’s the matter with you today?” and I was like: “Why? Have you never dropped anything?”
Alex was behind the till, and he just laughed.
Kate was like: “All right, Snappy, why don’t you and Alex take lunch together?”
So Alex and I sat in the sunshine by the back door, eating our sandwiches, and then we wandered up to Sprinkles to get some ice cream to go. I got mango, strawberry, and peach, and Alex got three scoops of chocolate, and halfway down the street, I looked at Alex, and he had chocolate ice cream all over his face, and I was just like: “I should have gotten chocolate.” And Alex was like: “You should always know what you want. So you don’t have regrets.”
What do I want?
PS: Sticking to my list is going well so far. But to be fair, I haven’t seen Emma.
Friday, June 1 #LifeOnMars
Today I came to the conclusion that the only feasible solution to my problem is entering NASA’s space program.
I can’t live my life trying to ignore that I fancy Emma, because that would make me as crazy as everyone else, only in a different way.
So I’ve been looking into possibly studying astrophysics at university.
At King’s you can study physics with astrophysics and cosmology, which sounds exactly right.
But, if you want to work for NASA and go on a manned interstellar mission, you have to be fluent in both Russian and English.
I wish they’d tell you these things when you’re choosing a language for GCSEs. Why did I want to learn French? Who’s ever needed French to do anything? I don’t even think you need French when you want to work for the European Space Agency.
They should offer Russian for all those people who are considering a career at NASA, because I’m going to have to learn Russian in my own time now, and I’m already five years behind anyone who went to a school with forward vision, and obviously Russian people who already speak Russian as well as English, because everyone speaks English.
I spoke to James about it who, FYI, seems to have moved in, even though he’s in the final stages of his dissertation and should be writing or painting or doing whatever nonsense fine art students do. But anyway, he reckons if I get into a decent uni and if I’m serious about it all, I can probably take a foundation course in Russian then.
But it’s going to take that much longer because of their bizarre alphabet.
Like bloody Hebrew.
But who knows, maybe I’ve inherited weird-alphabet genes from my dad, and it’s actually going to be a piece of cake.
Maybe instead of driving lessons like everyone else, I’ll ask for Russian lessons for my birthday. After all, who needs a car in London, or in deep space for that matter?
Saturday, June 2 #DontLook
Emma was back today, and she looked like she hadn’t even been ill.
I didn’t know what to say to her, mainly because most conversations I’ve been having with her took place in my head this past week, and so I pretended to be busy and was just like: “Hi,” from across the stockroom.
She walked straight over, and for a second, it looked like she was going to hug me, and I swear my whole body went rigid.
In the end we just stood there, and she was like: “How’s the bruise?”
Me (clearing my throat, because apparently I do that now): Fine, yes, great, okay, much better. How are you?
Emma: Finally out of prison.
Me: Oh.
Emma: Sorry again about my mum.
Me (shrugging):…
Emma:…
Me: I saved your Lucozade.
I got it from the fridge and gave it to Emma, and then I was like: “And I got you Minstrels,” and Emma was like: “Oh my God, I love you.” And then she did hug me.
You know when you’re at the dentist, and they tell you that you need a filling, and they’re going to do it straightaway, and you’re unprepared, and helpless, and reclined, and your stomach is fluttering like it’s actually trying to break out of your body?
That.
She smiled at me, and her eyes were pale blue, which basically means that she was focusing on something and her pupils had contracted, which had made the retinal tissue expand and therefore appear lighter. Like when you stretch a balloon.
Then she opened her Lucozade and was like: “How have you been, Pat?” and Pat was like: “Oh, you know me. Same old. Flat’s still looking nice, mind. And it’s nice to have you back, too. I had no one to talk to all week.”
I HATE that woman. Because I was there. Every day.
PS: I don’t understand how I feel about Emma. One moment I want to message her, the next moment I want to never see her again.
PPS: I wish I could talk to Polly.
PPPS: But Polly would be all romantic about it, and no help at all with me trying to not feel anything.
Sunday, June 3 #Busted
Mum wanted to know everything about upcoming GCSEs and my career in NASA tonight, and I was so not in the mood to talk about it, and so I was like: “Have you met Kate’s boyfriend yet?” And Mum was just like: “Kate has a boyfriend?”
I took the laptop downstairs and totally busted Kate and James on the sofa.
I mean, they weren’t having sex or anything, but it was so awkward that it was great.
I was like: “Mum, this is James, James, this is Mum.” And James was like: “Hi, Mum.” I could tell that Kate was dying on the inside, and she was like: “Amelia, I’ll email you. Go away, Phoebe!”
Mum then became proper LOL, because she was like: “No, no, no, wait a minute, Phoebe. If you take me away now, I’ll disown you.”
And so I just left the camera on Kate and James.
Mum: Hi, James.
James: Hi again.
Mum: Are you and Kate an item, then?
Kate: Ameeeeeeliaaaaa!
James (smiling, dimple-alert): Yes, we’re seeing each other.
Kate: We are?
James: Of course we are.
Mum (smiling): Congratulations. I’m happy for you both. Well, I’m happy for you, James, because my friend’s pretty epic. What is it you do, then, James?
Me (silently LOLing):…
Kate: Amelia, g
o away, I’ll email you.
Mum: But we’re having such a nice time.
Kate: Amelia!
Mum: Fine. But email me tonight.
Kate: I will.
Mum: And I want details.
Kate: Go away!
Afterwards Mum started going on about the astronaut thing again, and how King’s is a very good school, and that I should definitely look at their entry criteria right away.
Thing with Mum is, I never know if she says these things because she actually engages with me or because she wants me to like her.
PS: I got sidetracked during studying and discovered that all that standing-on-my-head business was the worst thing I could’ve done to get rid of my infatuation with Emma.
Apparently when we fancy someone, the blood flow to the pleasure center of the brain increases, which is the same part of the brain implicated in obsessive-compulsive behaviors. So I’ve been accidentally feeding my obsession by making all the blood pool in my brain.
I’m now aiming to reverse the effects by remaining upright twenty-four seven. Which probably means I’m going to fail all future GCSEs, because of my brain’s intentionally reduced blood flow.
Life! It’s all swings and roundabouts.
Monday, June 4 #LustLoveLost
This morning before History 1, Polly pulled me into the toilets.
Polly: I tilted my pelvis, and presto.
Me:…
Polly: The vaginal orgasm.
Me: We’re about to take a history exam.
Polly: I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t work for ages, and it’s only happened once so far, but you know …
Me: We’re about to take a history exam.
Polly: Yeah, I know. It’s great. Love you.
Then she winked at me and sort of floated out of the toilets and down the hallway.
I know it’s all my fault, but
Oh!
My!
God!
On the bus home, I texted Emma because:
a) I subconsciously know that I’ve lost Polly to Tristan forever and should therefore, in the most pathetic way possible, start clinging on to the people who are still in my life, and
b) I’m stupid.
I was like:
Are you studying, or do you fancy coming over and seeing Richard?
And Emma was like:
I’ll be over at five.
And because my brain was having a bus-nap, I asked her if she wanted to stay for dinner, and she said yes.
So then I had to check with Kate if it was okay, who told me not to be so daft, and that Emma could come over whenever she wanted to, but that she couldn’t stay long because of tomorrow (English Language 1, Geography 2).
* * *
When I opened the door, Emma was like: “I’m here to see Richard, please,” and I was like: “Right this way, madam.”
Emma played with him for a little while, and then he fell asleep on her. I told her to stay where she was, and I went into the kitchen to help Kate make dinner.
Me: You can’t sell Richard. Emma saved his life, and she should have him.
Kate:…
Me: He thinks she’s his mother. He loves her.
Kate: Does he, now?
Me (grating cheese): Why do you say it like that?
Kate: Like what?
Me: Like I’m making it up?
Kate: Phoebe. Take a deep breath.
Me (taking a deep breath):…
Kate: And another.
Me (taking another):…
Kate (whispering): I think you love Emma.
Me (taking no breath):…
Kate:…
Me:…
Kate (still whispering): Okay, fine, moving on. But, anyhow, you can’t just give her a kitten. Her mother’s going to have a fit. The woman’s a total germophobe, and I don’t blame her for it.
Me (whispering, but in a shouty way): I don’t love Emma.
Kate (shouty whispering, too): I’m talking about the kitten now.
Me: And what if I did?
Kate: Nothing.
Me: I’ll never speak to you again if you say anything.
Kate (pretending to be locking her mouth with an invisible key and then tossing the invisible key over her shoulder):…
When I walked Emma home after dinner, it was all weird. Like I didn’t know what to say to her and like I had to think about how to walk. By the time we got to her house, I’d additionally lost the power of speech, and so I just stood there, like a stranger in my own life.
Emma (looking at her shoes, then looking at me, smiling, possibly mocking me): Good night. And good luck tomorrow.
Me: What’s tomorrow?
Emma (laughing, definitely mocking me): GCSEs.
Me: Oh, yeah. Fine, okay, I almost forgot. Night.
If you could die from awkwardness, I’d be dead.
Tuesday, June 5 #TheLoveFactor
I’m exhausted.
I didn’t sleep very well after yesterday, and everyone stressed me out this morning, asking stupid last-minute questions, so by the time I sat down to take the English exam, I couldn’t remember how to spell my own name.
In other news, the person from the cancer charity is coming to the shop on Friday night to give us the fund-raiser award.
Someone from the Wimbledon Gazette is coming, too, and Kate wants us all to be there so we can be in the picture and raise awareness.
I wish this school year would hurry up and be done with, because I’m over everyone and everything: GCSEs, Polly, Tristan, kittens, the thrift shop, Emma.
I don’t think I have the tolerance for heightened emotions.
When Polly first had a crush on Tristan, she ran with it. She loved being in love, and she loved how it consumed her.
But I’m not like that. I feel like I’ve fallen into quicksand, and now I’m unable to move, and I’m sinking, and I can’t breathe, and I hate it.
Being in love is ridiculous, and it makes people do ridiculous things.
Look at Romeo and Juliet: ridiculous.
Wednesday, June 6 #NoExamWednesday
Today all the clever people (like Emma) who took Spanish instead of French had their exam, and I had the day off.
I studied for math all day, which was strangely soothing. I appreciate the structure of it. Everything makes sense, there’s only ever one right answer, and my thoughts don’t drift so much when I look at numbers.
Mum sent an email to say she’ll definitely be back for my birthday and that we should have a big party in our garden and invite all my “new” friends. And James.
I wonder if she’ll ever find a new boyfriend.
Maybe she doesn’t want one.
Or maybe she’s got one. Maybe he’s like my dad: Israeli, and funny, and gorgeous.
Thursday, June 7 #Math
I took Mathematics 2 today pretending it was the entrance exam to NASA’s Mission to Mars program.
I think I did really well.
I was done before everyone else, and I was like: Hmmm, shall I sit here and go over it, like, a thousand times, even though I know it’s right, or should I just hand it in?
So I handed it in.
Afterwards Miriam Patel said that it wasn’t as bad as she thought.
Drama queen.
Emma texted me asking if I’m coming to the thing tomorrow night, and I said I was, and then she was like: Great, because Alex is coming, too, and now the three of us are going to Sprinkles before, and one half of my brain is going: Remember the list, Phoebe, but the other half is just like: List? What list?
PS: Tomorrow we’ve got English Language 2 and History 2.
I honestly want to sleep for a week. My whole body aches. And speaking of aches, my bruise currently looks like a love bite.
Friday, June 8 #AndTheWinnerIs
It was so hot today.
I was literally melting during English, and even though they’d opened all the doors and windows over lunch to air out the room, it w
as absolutely boiling in the afternoon, and instead of history, all I could think about was the future and how much I wanted to get out of that room alive. The Jew in me kept groaning: Oy vey! the whole way through.
Afterwards I rushed home, because I wanted to have a shower before meeting Emma and Alex, and after spending half an hour trying on all sorts of outfits, I ended up back in my black skinny jeans, and by the time I got to Sprinkles, I was sweating again.
I once read somewhere that you know exactly how you feel about someone when you see them again after a prolonged period of absence.
When we met outside Sprinkles, it had been ninety-three hours since I’d last seen Emma, which isn’t all that prolonged, but I couldn’t stop looking at her, and it took me, like, five minutes before I could form a full sentence, which basically means I don’t just fancy her the way I fancy cake, and can therefore take it or leave it, but that I’m actually completely in love with her.
Me: Hi.
Emma: Hi, how are you?
Me: Fine.
Emma (smiling):…
Me (possibly not smiling):…
Emma (smiling more):…
Me (possibly still not smiling):…
Emma: How did today go for you?
Me: It was hell.
Emma: Same. So hot.
Me: If I fail, I’m not retaking anything.
Emma (nodding): I think we all feel like that.
Me: I’m not joking, either.
Emma (smiling at me like it was funny):…
Me:…
Emma: Any sign of Alex?
Me: Not yet.
Emma: He’s the one who didn’t have exams today, and he’s late. Such a diva.
Me: Totally.
And then I finally dragged my eyes away from Emma’s face, and I realized that she was wearing a cute little pastel-y summer dress and Vans, and that her hair was down, and that she’d put on some lip gloss that didn’t turn her lips into a different color, but made them look naturally juicy delicious.
Me: I should have made an effort.
Emma: What do you mean?
Me: I look like a vagrant.
Emma (laughing): You don’t look like a vagrant. You look like … you.
Then Alex appeared, and even he’d put a dress shirt on, and even though it was proper hot outside, he was wearing his smart coat. Both Emma and I watched him walk up to us, and I was just like: “Nope, I definitely should have made some sort of effort,” and Emma laughed and was just like: “Just wear something from the shop, then,” but I was like: “Please don’t mock.”
Love Is for Losers Page 18