The Secret Life of Sally Tomato

by Jean Ure

  “I could always hold your hand,” I said.

  I obviously moved a bit too fast. She looked at me like I’d made some kind of improper suggestion. Like instead of saying “I could always hold your hand,” I’d said “I could always hold your bosom.” Suppose I really did say that? Suppose that’s what I said and I didn’t realise it? I’m losing control! I have bosoms on the brain! I’m in sexual overdrive!

  I am going to write some more of my novel, I Am A Cockroach.

  I find that the life of a cockroach, although inevitably a sad one, has a calming effect on the hormones. Cockroaches do not have bosoms.

  I have just had to break off and go downstairs. Mum called to me that I was wanted on the phone. I can hardly believe it! It was Harmony Hynde. Again! She wanted to know why I wasn’t at the baths this morning. Cheek! What’s it to her?

  She said she’s found another figure of speech for me: Going at it hammer and tongs.

  It is quite a good one. But I think Harmony Hynde must have even less social life than me.

  G is for grolly

  Which comes out the nose.

  A really good grolly

  Hangs down to your toes.

  My sister says I’m a pervert. All because she caught me fingering – that’s what she called it: fingering – her bra. It was there again, on the line! I just wanted to know what it felt like. She didn’t have to go running off and tell Mum.

  “Mum, he’s a pervert! He’s got to be stopped!”

  Mum said, “Salvatore, whatever it is you’re doing to upset your sister, just stop it.”

  “He’s perving!” cried Iz.

  “Don’t perve on your sister,” said Mum.

  She was pretty busy, shredding bits of grass. Well, that’s what it looked like. (It’s what it tasted like, too.)

  “He’s a lunatic! He ought to be locked up!” screeched Iz.

  Mum sighed and said, “Can’t you two just manage to co-exist like a normal brother and sister?”

  “We could if one of us wasn’t seriously abnormal!” snapped Izzy. “Revolting little freak!”

  I feel very misunderstood, though I suppose I shouldn’t complain. Some of the greatest names of history have been sneered at and vilified. Not that I can actually think of any offhand, but I know it to be true. It is what is happening in my life at this very moment.

  Yesterday, for instance, at school, Sharleen Oates accused me of looking up her skirt. But I wasn’t! Well, not on purpose. I didn’t mean to look up it. She ought to wear skirts that are a bit longer if she doesn’t want people looking up them. Hers hardly even covers her bum.

  “You were looking at my knickers!” she screeched.

  Girls always screech when they get mad. This is something I have noticed. They screech very loudly and hurt your ears. It is like a kind of weapon.

  What made her think I’d want to look at her knickers, anyway? They were pink, as a matter of fact. She had holes in her tights where the pinkness poked through. This is so disgusting! I hope Lucy doesn’t have holes in her tights.

  Old Sharleen, she didn’t half carry on! She’s got this really high-pitched squawk and her eyes bulge out.

  “I suppose you enjoyed that, didn’t you? I suppose you get a kick out of looking up girls’ skirts? Looking at their knickers!”

  Lucy said, “You want to watch that one! He’s trouble.”

  And then she gave me another of her looks and went flouncing off up the stairs, dragging Sharleen with her. Bones said to me later, “She fancies you!” I asked him how he knew, and he said, “It’s the way they behave when they fancy you.”

  “How do you mean?” I said.

  “Well,” said Bones. And he waved a hand. “Slagging you off. Making like they think you’re dirt, while all the time they’re secretly lusting after you.”

  I would like to believe him, but I am not sure how reliable Bones is. And in any case, what about Sharleen Oates? She was slagging me off like crazy. So was Carrie Pringle, if it comes to that. Don’t say they both lust after me!!! I couldn’t take it!!! If I’m not careful I shall have a whole line of girls queueing up for my body.

  But I shall always remain faithful to Lucy. She is my first and only love. The others are as dust beneath her chariot wheels. They can grovel as much as they like. Lucy is the one for me!

  I have written a poem for her. I did it this evening when I was supposed to be doing my maths homework. This is my poem.

  Poem for Lucy

  Lovely, lovable, luscious Lucy,

  Charming, cherry-lipped, cherubic and juicy!

  Sublime, superb and sparkling Luce,

  So dainty and dazzling, even in puce!

  Sweet as sugar, sweet as a nut,

  Sweet as honey, there’s no but.

  Sweet to the senses, sweet to the ear,

  Your voice is a delight to hear!

  Exquisite, enchanting one,

  Like a glowing, golden sun!

  Shine on me, o bright-eyed being!

  Do not send your suitor fleeing.

  Thou radiant maid of the rosy cheek,

  Accept the love of one so meek.

  I am quite excited. I think I might have written a sonnet! I am going to give it to Lucy at school tomorrow. She will be unable to resist!

  In the meantime, I am being stalked by Harmony Hynde. I have heard of men being stalkers. I didn’t know that women could do it. She is stalking me everywhere I go! She hangs around at the end of class. She jumps out of cupboards. (She jumped out of the stationery cupboard and nearly gave me a heart attack.) She looms at the foot of staircases. Today she waited for me so that we could go to the library together. Kelvin Clegg was there. He shouted, “Whey-hey! Fun and games behind the bike shed!”

  Harmony said, “Don’t mind him. He’s just a bonehead.”

  I know that she is right and that Kelvin Clegg’s mental ability is about zero to the power of nothing, and that anyone with even the grain of a brain ought to be able to rise above it. But it irritates the hell out of me! I mean this most sincerely.

  I did my best to shake Harmony off. I said, “Oh! I’ve suddenly remembered.”

  “What?” she said.

  “Something I’ve forgotten!”

  I dived back into the classroom, but she dived back with me so fast we nearly got jammed together in the doorway. Kelvin Clegg gave this really lewd sort of laugh and went loping off down the corridor making obscene gestures and going, “Sally Tomato! Whey-hey-hey!”

  Now he’ll tell everyone that I fancy Harmony Hynde. She has no right to do this to me! I could probably get her stopped by law. I could put the police on to her. Girls shouldn’t be allowed to make boys’ lives a misery this way.

  H is for halitosis

  Meaning, oh boy! What a pong!

  When you breathe upon someone,

  As in speech, or in song,

  And they take great offence

  At the horrible stench,

  Reeling backwards with howls

  And ear-splitting yowls

  “I’m not feeling well!

  I can’t stand the smell!”

  Let the moral of this story be:

  Brush your teeth reg-u-lar-ly.

  (I put this bit in for Dad.)

  It is very difficult to tell if you have halitosis. I am worried that I might have. I have tried cupping my hands over my face and breathing into them but the smell seems to evaporate before you can get a whiff of it.

  Of course, there may not be any smell. I just wish I could be sure! How can I kiss Lucy if I am worried about stinking her out with drains and bad eggs???

  I breathed a few times over my sister tonight, just to see if she would reel backwards, but she stuck her elbow in my stomach and yelled at Mum.

  “Mum, he’s doing it again!”

  “Doing what?” said Mum.

  “Behaving like a pervert!”

  “Salvatore, whatever it is that you’re doing, stop it,” said Mum. She was mixing up a
mess to stuff something with. (Stuffed onions. Yuck!)

  “But he’s breathing on me!” wailed Iz.

  “So what?” I said. “I can’t very well stop breathing, can I?”

  “You don’t have to do it over me! God, you’re such a pervert!”

  She didn’t say, “God, you stink.” Which is what she probably would have done if I did. So I think I probably don’t. But I’d still like to be sure!

  Your first kiss is something that shapes the rest of your life. Bones has told me this. He says he will never forget kissing Nasreen Flynn.

  “It’s made me the man I am today. Know what I mean?”

  He doesn’t count his cousin, as she took him by surprise.

  “Wasn’t really what I’d call an experience. She jumped on me. I didn’t have a chance to respond.”

  It’s very important that it should be an experience. If it doesn’t work, Bones reckons, it can cast a blight on your entire existence. He reckons it’s responsible for a lot of the crimes in this country. Men whose first kiss has been a disaster.

  “I reckon it’s something you never get over.”

  This is why I’m so worried about having halitosis!

  I have just climbed into bed and pulled the duvet over my head and breathed in and out really deeply. It got a bit fuggy in there but there wasn’t any smell. Maybe I am agonising over nothing.

  Today I gave Lucy my poem that I wrote for her. I put it in an envelope and wrote For Lucy on the front in curly writing. She said, “What’s this?” I said, “It’s for you.” She said, “I can see that! What is it?”

  “Something I’ve written,” I said. “But you’re not to read it until you’re on your own.”

  I didn’t want her showing it to Sharleen Oates.

  Lucy said, “It’s not anything rude, is it?”

  I said, “No! It’s nice. But I want you to be on your own so that you can really appreciate it.”

  Needless to say, old Sharleen was there, glued to her side as usual. She gave this inane cackle and went, “He thinks you’re going to eat it!”

  Lucy tossed her head. “It had better not be anything rude,” she said.

  It’s terrible, the way they don’t trust you. I hope she hasn’t had bad experiences.

  Later, when school got out, I bumped into her at the bus stop. On her own! I said, “Where’s Sharleen?” She said, “What’s it to you?” Which immediately got me tongue-tied. She’s very sharp, is Lucy. Very on the ball. She mightn’t do too well in tests and suchlike, but she’s extremely quick-witted.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re going to start grabbing me,” she said, “just because I’m by myself.”

  She must have had bad experiences. Otherwise, why would she think such a thing? I just want to kiss her!

  All the same, I felt a bit emboldened as I don’t think she’d have said it unless secretly, inside herself, she quite liked the idea. (I think at last I am beginning to understand girls a bit better!) I said, “How about meeting up in the shopping centre, Saturday?”

  “What for?” she said.

  I said, “I dunno! Just thought it might be fun.”

  “Why?” she said. “What’d we do?”

  “Walk about,” I said. “Look at things.”

  “What things?”

  I said, “Anything you like.”

  “Clothes? Make-up?”

  “Anything,” I said.

  “Mmm …” She put her head on one side. “I’m thinking about it,” she said.

  It kills me when she puts her head on one side like that! Her hair all swings out, like a curtain.

  “See you there at 10.30?” I said. “Same place as last time?”

  She said, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You could look at all the clothes you wanted,” I said.

  “Mmm …” She tilted her head the other way.

  “So d’you fancy the idea?” I said.

  “Might do,” she said. “Might not. See how I feel.”

  “I’ll be there anyway,” I said.

  “Suit yourself,” said Lucy.

  I think this is what is known as teasing. It’s what girls do. It’s a sign they like you! She really wants to come out with me but doesn’t want to seem too keen.

  I wish I had some decent clothes to wear. I wish I had some gel to put on my hair. I wonder if my sister’s got any? She’d never let me borrow it even if she had. She’s dead mean, and anyway she thinks I’m a pervert.

  I’ve just seriously studied myself in the mirror. I think I can understand what Mum’s Match friend meant about filling out. I haven’t got any muscles! I haven’t got any pecs or lats! If I had some weights, I could do some body building.

  Question: if I started body building now, right this minute, could I get some muscles going between now and Saturday?

  Answer: almost certainly not. Two days isn’t anywhere near long enough. But I could always get started!

  If I had any weights …

  There are some bricks in the garden. They’re pretty heavy.

  Long pause.

  I have made myself some weights! It’s dead easy. I could patent the idea. I could be a millionaire!

  MAKE YOUR OWN WEIGHTS

  Ingredients:

  Bricks (any number you think you can lift)

  One broom handle

  Two plastic carrier bags

  Length of garden twine

  Method:

  Put even number of bricks in each carrier bag

  Tie bags tight with garden twine

  Attach to broom handle, one at each end

  It’s brilliant! I should have thought of it sooner. I could be positively bulging with muscles by now!

  I have been pumping iron all evening. I think I’m already beginning to fill out!

  Nearly forgot to say that Harmony Hynde accosted me as I was on my way to PE. Actually she sprang out of the sports cupboard, all toothy and beaming, with her arms full of netballs. She must have been crouched in there, spying through the door crack, waiting for me to come along. She wanted to know if I was going swimming on Saturday. When I said no, she looked really disappointed.

  It is so pathetic when women chase men like this! Has she no pride?

  She told me she’d thought of another metaphor for my collection. What makes her think I’m collecting them? I asked her what it was, just being polite. I mean, I know she’s making my life a misery but she’s obviously unbalanced. I wouldn’t want to hurt her. She said, “In the teeth of the gale!”

  I said, “Is that a metaphor?”

  “I think so,” she said. “At any rate, it’s a figure of speech.”

  What a sad life that girl must lead.

  I is for impure

  Thouhts

  The Sort

  Of thoughts

  You cannot tell

  Your mum about

  For fear that she

  Would then find out

  That her young lad

  Is just a lout.

  My mind is full of impure thoughts. It is like a sink. Like a sewer. Like a cess pit. I can’t seem to stop myself! I am really worried in case I ever have to have an anaesthetic – like for instance if I get a brain tumour. All the contents of my mind would come spewing out!

  Spent all yesterday pumping iron ready for meeting Lucy in the shopping centre. Looked in the bathroom cabinet for hair gel but could only find some stuff called Foaming Face Cleanser. It’s quite sticky and has a nice smell so I borrowed some and used it on my hair. I thought it worked pretty well, but as I was on my way out my sister caught sight of me. She said, “And what are you today? A lavatory brush?”

  She has a really coarse turn of phrase, my sister. I don’t know where she gets it from; the rest of us aren’t like that.

  “What have you done to yourself, anyway?” she says, sounding all suspicious. She leans forward and sniffs at my hair. “That’s my face cleanser!” she shrieks. “You stinking little pervert!” Then she gal
lops upstairs going, “Mum, Mum, he’s stolen my face cleanser!”

  I got out, pronto.

  I had to wait ages before Lucy turned up. While I was waiting, Harmony Hynde came past.

  “I’ve come to buy a new swim suit,” she said.

  That’s what she said. I’m not altogether sure that I believe it, I think she was stalkine me.

  Anyway, we talked for a bit and then she said, “What about calling someone a stick in the mud?” I said, “Like who, for instance?”

  “Like anyone that’s dull and boring,” she said.

  “It’s another metaphor,” she added. “I found it in Brewer’s.”

  I said, “You must spend your entire life reading that book.”

  “It’s interesting,” she said. “You’d be surprised the things you learn.”

  After she’d gone I almost wished she’d stayed longer. I almost wished I was going swimming. But then I saw Lucy coming towards me and my spirits immediately soared, only not quite as high as they might have done. In fact it would be true to say that they were dashed, almost instantly. She’d only gone and brought Sharleen with her! They were clamped together, as usual, arm in arm, marching in step.

  “Well, look who it isn’t!” said Sharleen.

  “Been here long?” said Lucy.

  I told her that I’d been there for almost half an hour. I said, “I thought we were going to meet at 10.30?”

  “I said I might,” said Lucy.

  “She said she might,” said Sharleen.

  And then for absolutely no reason at all they started to giggle.

  Girls are always giggling. It’s very offputting, especially when you don’t know what they’re giggling about.

  “Oh, look!” chirruped Sharleen. “He’s put egg white on his hair!”

  I said, “It’s not egg white, it’s foaming gel.”

  “How sweet!” said Lucy. “All right, Sally Tomato! You can come with us if you want. He’ll be useful for carrying stuff,” she said to Sharleen.