Paper Airplanes

by Dawn O'Porter

  That’s OK! I’m sorry I took the piss out of you for playing the clarinet. I actually think it’s quite cool that you play an instrument. x

  I wait for Mrs. Suiter to turn around so I can throw it at Flo. Seconds later, it’s back.

  Chips after school?

  I turn around to smile and nod.

  FLO

  I see Renée waiting for me at the end of the school lane. I observe her more in these few seconds than I ever have before. Renée is really pretty but a bit of a mess. Her skirt is above the regulation length, and both of her brown knee-length socks are scrunched down at her ankles. Her white shirt is untucked and hanging below her jumper, and her tie is loose. She’s wearing a blazer despite the cold—almost everyone else comes to school in their duffel coats at this time of year. Above her round face her hair is messy and brown with a fringe that’s too long. Her eyes are dark, and her smile is wide and cheeky, with dimples on both of her cheeks. She leans against the wall with one foot pressed against it, her bag on the ground even though it’s muddy, smoking a cigarette.

  We first make eye contact when I’m halfway down the lane. She doesn’t take her eyes off me, and I walk toward her awkwardly.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  She picks up her bag. Not even checking to see if it got muddy, which it has.

  “So, what do you want to do?” she says as she swings it over her shoulder and sprays mud on her socks.

  “Honestly, whatever you want. I don’t mind.” I hate myself for being so indecisive.

  “OK, let’s go to the beach. Do you want a fag?”

  I shake my head. “No thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  “I like the smell of smoke,” she says, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “On the right person it smells lovely.”

  We walk down the huge hill into St. Peter Port, passing the boys’ school on the way. They’re all coming out, looking so smart in their gray suits. Julian used to go there, but he left after his GCSEs to work as a mechanic. I can’t imagine any of this lot fixing cars—they all look like lawyers or bankers. No wonder Julian never fit in—these aren’t his kind of people at all.

  We don’t say much while we walk through the sea of boys. Renée links her arm into mine and leads me through them like she has done this a thousand times. Then one calls after us. He looks angry.

  “Renée?”

  “Keep walking,” she says. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just keep walking.”

  “Renée, WAIT. Renée.” He is pretty determined to get her attention, but not as determined as she is to get away from him. As his voice gets louder, she makes more of an effort to avoid him. Then she slips her arm out, grabs my hand, and screams.

  “RUUUUNNNNN!”

  We run down past the Sunken Gardens, past the courthouse, down onto Smith Street and past the post office, then we take a sharp right and run all along the cobbled high street. She is pulling me along so fast that both my feet leave the ground a few times, and it’s a miracle I don’t fall flat on my face. Eventually she pulls me into a tiny alleyway with steep steps that lead to the waterfront. Bent double and panting, I manage to catch my breath.

  “What was that about? Who was that boy?” I ask, intrigued.

  She can barely speak.

  “Lawrence.” Her breathing starts to stabilize. “Do you think he got the message?”

  “Did he get the message? I think the whole school got it. I take it he wasn’t very nice to you then?”

  “He told me he loved me,” she says, still out of breath.

  “Isn’t that good?” I ask, confused.

  “It’s only good if you feel it back. If you don’t feel it back it’s just annoying. Come on, let’s get chips.”

  I follow her, feeling a bit unsure of what Lawrence did that was so wrong. I think I’d quite like someone to tell me they loved me.

  RENÉE

  With our chips, we walk along the seafront and end up at Havelet Bay, a beach just south of town and at the bottom of a huge hill with lots of bends that Mum, Nell, and I used to call the Wiggly Woggly Road. When Mum drove up or down it, Nell and I stood behind each of the seats, holding on to the head rests, leaning to one side shouting, “Wiiiiiigggggllllllyyyyyy,” then when we went round the next bend we would swing to the other side and shout, “Woooogggggglllly.” The idea was that we couldn’t move or start the next word until the car had started to turn. After Mum died I did this in the car with Pop, but he shouted at me to sit down and shut up, so that was the end of that.

  “Let’s sit on the wall and dangle our feet over the edge,” I say, climbing up onto the high sea wall.

  “But it’s so high!” says Flo, looking up at me.

  “I know it’s high, but what is the worst that can happen?”

  “Um, I fall off and drown?”

  Fair point. But I still don’t get down.

  Havelet Wall is high, but so is the tide, so the fall isn’t that big. And anyway, people jump off it all the time. It’s a “thing.” There are no rocks, so unless you bang your head on the way down or forget how to swim you can’t really go wrong. Not that I’ve ever done it. Pop caught me down here last year with a bunch of surfer boys and dragged me away, making me promise I would never, ever jump. So I haven’t. But I don’t know why I keep my promises to Pop. He promised Mum on her deathbed that he would take care of me, and even though I live in his house and he pays for my food, I don’t think ignoring my feelings and making me feel like a continuous pain in his arse is taking care of me. So maybe I shouldn’t care so much about the promises I make to him.

  “Let’s jump,” I say, looking at Flo.

  “Don’t be crazy,” she replies adamantly.

  “Why not? People do it all the time. I know the water will be cold, but I’ve never seen anyone getting out say that it isn’t amazing. Let’s do it.”

  “But what about our uniforms?” says Flo, looking anxious. “We can’t walk home drenched. And there is no way I am stripping off. And it’s freezing!”

  I start to take my clothes off.

  “We can leave our jumpers, skirts, and coats up here. Our shoes will stop the other stuff from blowing away. We can jump in, swim to the beach, run back up here, and put our coats on to wear home. Come on, Flo.”

  “I can’t, Renée. I don’t do this kind of thing. You jump, I’ll hold your clothes. NO, don’t jump. This is crazy. It isn’t safe.”

  “I’m sick of being safe. I’m bored all the time. Come on, Flo. Haven’t the last few weeks taught you anything? We have to live our lives. Keep pushing ourselves, take risks, be silly. If Madonna was here, she’d jump.”

  “What’s Madonna got to do with anything?”

  “Flo, are you coming or not?” I stand up straight on the wall, my legs slightly apart. I’m eye level with the sky. It’s peaceful up here. I close my eyes. I’m going to take three deep breaths and jump. I can do this. Sod Pop and his rules. This is my life and I will live it my way. ONE . . . TWO . . .

  “Wait. Wait for me.”

  Flo tears off her coat, jumper, and shoes. After folding them up neatly (mine are in a heap) she takes my hand. I pull her up and we stand next to each other on the wall. After a few deep breaths I turn to her. She’s pure white and clearly terrified.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready. No, wait. Oh my God. OK, I am ready.”

  “ONE, TWO, THREEEEEEEE.”

  Hand in hand, we jump off the wall and into the sea.

  FLO

  When I walk into school, Sally does her usual act of speaking to me like the sole purpose of my existence on earth is to be her sidekick.

  “Have you been practicing the second part for our clarinet lesson? My solo is perfect now.” She says it like that makes her the Queen or something.

  “Actually, I’m not sure I want to play the clarinet anymore. I’m never going to be in an orchestra, so wha
t’s the point?” I tell her firmly.

  “You WHAT?” Sally’s face seems to get bigger, and she shows her teeth. If this was a cartoon, steam would shoot out of her ears.

  “Yeah, the clarinet just isn’t for me. I’m not going to come to the lessons anymore. Sorry,” I say. I can’t quite believe how much I’m enjoying making her squirm.

  She is literally dumbstruck. This is me making a decision for myself, and she has no idea how to deal with it.

  She grumbles and mumbles like a mad old lady all the way down to assembly. I just keep focusing on yesterday when I jumped off the wall with Renée. Up on that wall, nothing mattered.

  When Miss Grut comes in she has her serious face on. I mean, her face is always serious, but this face looks more serious than usual. Everyone stands and waits to hear whatever it is she is obviously upset about.

  “Ladies, your full attention, please. The bad behavior of two students has been brought to my attention. Yesterday just after school, two Tudor Falls pupils were seen jumping off the wall at Havelet Bay. The two girls were not identified, but their uniforms were recognized to be ours, and I am now suggesting that the two girls responsible come to my office immediately after assembly and own up to this very irresponsible and dangerous behavior. Should the perpetrators of this activity be you, or someone you know, then let me tell you that not coming forward will have you in much deeper trouble in the long run than admitting to it now. Has anyone got anything they would like to tell me?”

  There is a long pause.

  “No? Right, well, I trust that those who are responsible will realize how serious this is and come to my office. OK, ladies, the Lord’s Prayer, please. Our Father . . .”

  “Whoever did that is in soooooo much shit,” whispers Sally.

  I feel sick. I have never done anything so bad, and I’m terrified of the trouble I’m going to get into over it. This is the kind of thing people get expelled for. I don’t want to get expelled. I want to pass all my GCSE exams so that I can go to university. I’ve ruined everything. I feel like a criminal about to get convicted for doing the most awful thing imaginable. I will be expelled, and I’ll have to go and work in a shop. And Sally will come in and spend all her dad’s money and laugh at me for being such a loser with no GCSEs, and I’ll have to stay in Guernsey forever. Living with Mum because I don’t have the money to move out. And, and . . .

  Oh my God, why did I jump? Why, WHY DID I JUMP? What a mess. I look down the row from left to right, searching for Renée, then I look behind me to my right. I feel so conspicuous. Every move I make seems guilty, and I am guilty, so guilty. I look back and then to my left. There is Renée, already meeting my eyes. She doesn’t appear remotely worried. In fact, she looks happy. She winks at me. Winks!

  I turn back to the front. My breath is becoming harder to keep quiet, then I hear a voice, my dad’s voice. He says, Remember how good it felt to jump? And then I realize—I realize that even getting expelled can’t make me regret the fact that I jumped off the wall. Jumping off the wall was the best thing I ever did, and no amount of trouble is going to make me regret it. I turn to Renée and wink back. Maybe I am the kind of person who jumps off walls.

  At break time I find a note in my bag.

  Wanna hang out after your clarinet lesson?

  I’m so excited I do an involuntary star jump.

  RENÉE

  As Flo walks toward me I feel really self-conscious of how I’m standing. Am I slouching? Nana always tells me I slouch. I push my shoulders back against the wall and press one foot into it. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I light a fag. Should I watch her walk toward me, or should I turn away and then look up at the last minute and act surprised? I decide to watch her the whole way. She walks as quickly as she can. This is good, as it cuts down the length of awkward eye contact, but it does mean she looks kind of silly.

  It’s raining, so neither of us wants to go to the beach. Instead we head to the Sunken Gardens, just at the bottom of the Grange before town. It means we have to go past the boys’ school again.

  “You won’t make me run again, will you? I’ll definitely fall over in this rain. For someone who skives cross-country, you sure seem to love running,” says Flo.

  “Cross-country is different, you’re not trying to get anywhere. It’s pointless running.”

  I link my arm through hers and we set off, sharing her brolly. As we get near the boys’ school they’re all piling out as usual. Even though I really don’t want to see Lawrence, I hope that some of the boys notice me. As Lawrence is nowhere to be seen, I make sure Flo and I walk nice and slow.

  “Let’s enjoy this. We’re the only girls around,” I tell her.

  I hold the umbrella up high so they can see our faces. Then, pretending not to be bothered by their attention, I wiggle my bottom ever so slightly and hold eye contact with anyone who looks my way. Flo, on the other hand, is rigid. When I look at her face she looks like she’s about to be run over.

  “What’s the matter?” I say.

  “What? Nothing. I’m cool.”

  It occurs to me that Flo has no idea how to flirt.

  “Relax,” I tell her. She goes completely floppy and does the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “No, just relax. Just be the Flo who jumped off the wall.”

  This seems to have an effect on her. She straightens her back and holds up her head. She’s more like a regimental soldier than a confident young woman, but it’s better than the made-of-jelly routine she was just doing. We walk slowly through the crowd of boys, and giggle at the whistles.

  “See? Nice to be noticed, isn’t it?” I ask, giving her a gentle nudge.

  “They’re looking at you, not me. I’m as sexy as a plank of wood. My lips take over my face. Well, the bits of my face that my nose doesn’t take over, anyway,” she says, like she really dislikes herself.

  That isn’t true. Flo is sexy, she just hasn’t been allowed to notice that about herself yet. She’s skinny but her boobs are big. Her hair is lovely and long and a deep chestnut brown. Her eyes are smallish, but when she puts the right thought behind them they really light up. And sure, her nose is a bit big but her lips are too, and boys love big lips. She seems almost embarrassed by them, though.

  “You need to realize how gorgeous you are.”

  She laughs, but I’m not trying to be funny. “I mean it, Flo, you really are. Somewhere under all that disbelief.”

  “No one has ever said that to me before. Sally went through a stage of calling me Humpty Dumpty.”

  “Well, Sally is an arsehole,” I say, wishing that Sally’s name never had to come up.

  “Dad used to tell me I was beautiful,” Flo says as she stops walking and drops her head. I feel guilty for making her think about her dad. I move her by her shoulders so we’re facing each other.

  “Well, I think your dad was right.”

  I hug her, the umbrella on the ground next to us. There’s a chorus of “Look at the lezzers” coming from the boys, who are still just feet away, but neither of us seems to care. We stand there, hugging in the rain.

  FLO

  By the time we get to the Sunken Gardens we are soaking wet. Hiding from the rain in one of the gazebos, we start to read the graffiti.

  Renée and Lawrence Woz ’Ere.

  “You must have liked him at one point then? Writing your names on the wall is pretty permanent,” I say, still unsure of what Lawrence did that was so wrong.

  “Yeah, we used to have loads of fun. Until he got all serious.”

  “Why is someone telling you they loved you so awful?” I ask.

  “It’s not just that he told me he loved me, it’s more about how he expected me to say it back. I don’t like feeling cornered into saying stuff I don’t feel and doing stuff I don’t want to do. And anyway, love at our age is ridiculous,” Renée says, tapping her toe in a puddle of water.

  Putting it like that, it makes more sense. People live whole lives together pretending to be i
n love. I guess Mum and Dad did that for most of their relationship. Then they realized they couldn’t pretend anymore but were stuck with each other, and look where that got them. I’ve never really thought about love being such a big deal before. I just presumed that if someone was kind enough to say it to me, I would be kind enough to say it back. But maybe you shouldn’t just say “I love you.” You have to mean it.

  “Shall we write something?” says Renée, waving a marker at me.

  I surprise myself by taking the marker. Graffiti? What’s happened to me?

  “What will we write? I’m not writing the word ‘woz,’” I say, making sure she knows I do have limits.

  “OK, no ‘woz.’”

  She takes a moment to think, tapping the end of a marker on her bottom lip. Her lips are really dark pink, like she has lipstick on, but she doesn’t. Her brain is ticking over, her eyes look mischievous, then serious, then confused. Then she puts the marker to the wall and starts writing.

  Renée Flo

  She does a big full stop after it, puts the lid back on the marker, and says, “There!” She looks very proud of herself. I don’t know what I am supposed to say. We sit down.

  “Is that weird?” she asks after a few minutes.

  “What?”

  “That I drew a heart. Especially after my speech about love being ridiculous at our age. I didn’t know what else to put. It’s OK when it’s for friends, isn’t it? It’s not like I’m sitting here desperate for you to tell me you love me or anything.” She does an awkward laugh.

  My tummy is flipping at the thought of Sally seeing it. She would kill me. Do I care? Annoyingly, I do.

  “No, it’s fine. It’s nice,” I say, not wanting to make Renée feel bad. “What shall we talk about?”