Dating Disasters of Emma Nash

by Chloe Seager

  At least, I’m trying to walk to Biology. My brain can’t work out what it wants. One minute I’m half running, the next I’ve stopped, quivering by a bush. I was standing, frozen, pretending to be really interested in a leaf and Holly walked past me. She paused and frowned.

  “Are you all right, Emma?”

  Crazy Holly is concerned by my behavior.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:59 P.M.

  Outside the Classroom

  It’s taken me ten minutes to walk about thirty meters, but I am finally approaching the classroom. I’m taking a moment outside, peering through the window in the door.

  OH there he is. I knew that he was going to be here, but somehow didn’t quite believe it. But yep, he’s here. He’s here. I’m here. He’s here. With his hair and his toes and elbows and cheekbones. Every single part of him is here. It’s funny, isn’t it, how we’re all just bones and skin strung together by cartilage and muscle? What makes Leon’s bones different to another set of bones? Why can’t I just attach myself to another bag of organs?

  There’s a spare seat next to him. Looks like we are together, then. I’m heading in.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:00 P.M.

  I’ve Left College in the Middle of the Day

  Yep. I’ve left school. In the middle of the day. I’m currently moving like a zombie towards home. It was surprisingly easy, actually. I half expected alarms to go off or for Mr. Morris to leap out from behind a corner and rugby tackle me to the floor, but nothing happened.

  Why I Left College in the Middle of the Day

  I entered the classroom and he, the bag of organs that I so desire, didn’t even notice me come in. He was too busy looking intensely at something on his phone. I find it incredible that I can be consumed by knowing that he’s present on the same planet, and he doesn’t notice me standing three meters away, but whatever. When I came and sat down, he jumped.

  “Hi.”

  He quickly fumbled to put his phone away and looked down at his sheet. Suddenly this made me irrationally angry... Is this what I’d been building up to? Just to be ignored for an hour and twenty minutes, leave the room and carry on?

  “I said HI?”

  “Emma?” called Dr. Penzik from the front. “Am I disturbing your conversation?”

  “No,” I muttered.

  I already knew by this point it was going to be a long lesson, then I picked up the dried yeast and Leon grabbed it from me, spilling it over the desk. We both stared at it.

  Yeast is kind of gross.

  He wouldn’t let me touch anything. It was completely ridiculous. Fifteen minutes into the lesson everyone else was already miles ahead of us.

  “Leon. Let me hold it while you do that, you’re going to spill it everywhere. Just let me help.” I leaned forward to take the test tube.

  “Get off,” he hissed in the most vicious, horrible tone, which really should be reserved exclusively for blood relatives. A big lump rose in my throat and tears welled up. From that moment on I sat back and refused to do or say anything else, for fear of breaking down in a fit of sobs. This would have been fine, if Dr. Penzik wasn’t circling like a vulture. He came over to our table and loomed over us. He really is incredibly tall.

  “Emma. You haven’t done a single thing all lesson. You might as well be lounging at home.”

  He looked at me expectantly, and I looked at Leon, who was pretending not to listen and looking oh so diligently at his little tubes. Dr. Penzik sighed and ambled over to a different group. Once he was gone I said, “I think I will. Go home, that is.”

  “Finally,” Leon said.

  And then I walked out. Just like that.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:55 P.M.

  Examining Every Single Moment of Our Short-Lived Relationship with a Microscope

  I usually love staying home and watching daytime TV but I feel all lonely and weird. I turned it on and burst into tears. Potentially, Jeremy Kyle’s face was the last straw.

  How could he be so horrible to me?! What did I do?! I’m completely stunned. He seemed genuinely hurt and angry. I keep coming back to this question: Is there something I’ve done to justify it? All summer I racked my brains, and I keep reaching the same conclusion: No. There is 100 percent nothing I’ve done. The only thing I can think of was going out with Laurence, which was after he ignored me for two months, and which I was completely entitled to do.

  It’s so unfair. I’m the rejected one, so I’m supposed to be the one who gets to be hurt and angry. Everyone knows that!! He should be acting guilty whilst I tell him to go away!! He’s acting like I’m the one who broke up with him...or worse!! Like I killed his family pet or something. I don’t know what he’s acting like...

  As if it wasn’t enough to get broken up with, now I’m getting bullied by him, too. Sitting there as he yanked those test tubes out of my hands, I felt like I was about five years old. It was as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. This must be how Frankenstein’s monster felt, out there in the woods.

  I’m actually looking forward to Mum coming home.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:03 P.M.

  Steph rang.

  “Dude!! What the hell?!”

  “What?”

  “You just...left.”

  “I know.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice wobbled.

  “Oh, Emma.”

  I cleared my throat. “Am I in huge trouble?”

  “Well...er...no one really noticed. I did, obviously, but I thought you were just doing a huge poo.”

  “At least I won’t get in trouble I guess.”

  “Uh...yeah, well, you probably could have got away with it. But then Leon put up his hand and...sort of...told Dr. Penzik.”

  What. The. Hell.

  “Emma? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “I think I just need to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “OK. Night night. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:20 P.M.

  En-sausaged

  All sausaged up in bed where no one can hurt me. The door slammed and Mum came raging up the stairs, shouting, “EMMA! EMMA!” But I am unperturbed in my roll. Sausages do not have thoughts. She stormed in, her face all red, then she saw me and softened. She leaned down.

  “What happened?”

  I tried to talk but a sort of strangled wail came out.

  “Emma, I’ve had another call from Mr. Morris. I don’t care how bad things seem, you must never, EVER just walk out of school. OK?”

  I nodded. She tried to coax me out with a shepherd’s pie, and sat on the floor next to my bed spoon-feeding it to me. I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous we must look. She laughed too until I accidentally spat a bit of pie on the floor.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:06 P.M.

  Had to get out of bed to wee. Stupid body. Feeling so miserable I could barely be bothered to put in a tampon. I just sort of stared at it for about fifteen minutes, gathering momentum to use it. I went on my phone briefly. It felt like everyone’s photos were saying “We are SO MUCH HAPPIER THAN YOU” and it just made me feel even more lonely. Saw Paolo was online and put my phone under my pillow. I don’t feel like I have the energy to be anything but my miserable, pathetic self right now.

  FRIDAY, 19 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:39 A.M.

  Losing My Mind

  I was so distracted this morning I’ve forgotten to wear deodorant and brush my teeth. I am actually repugnant.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:34 A.M.

  In Maths

  “Holly, do you have any deodorant I can borrow?”

  “No, sorry. I just get Botox in my
armpits.”

  “I... What?”

  “My aunt’s an anesthetist,” she says, like that explains it all.

  I pause for a second.

  “So you just...don’t sweat?”

  “Oh, no, I do. But it comes out other places. Like my boobs.”

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:07 P.M.

  Ms. Parker handed out our grade sheets for the presentations. She didn’t look at me as she gave me mine. I think she’s annoyed at me for putting in zero effort. Agh, as if I don’t have enough to worry about without mothers and teachers constantly showing that they’re people with emotions, too.

  “You read it,” I said to Steph.

  She scanned her eyes over the sheet, her mouth agape like a fish.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said, handing it back to me.

  “What? How bad is it??”

  “You got an A.”

  “What?? You’re lying!”

  She wasn’t lying. Curiouser and curiouser... My comments read:

  Well, Emma, you could have been better prepared but after watching twenty-five Victor Frankensteins I decided to give you an A for originality. Don’t make me regret it.

  ps. German???

  I was feeling pretty smug until Steph pointed out that no matter what happened today, it would always be the day I forgot to brush my teeth.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:24 P.M.

  Mum drove up to the school with a toothbrush. She quickly handed it over, glancing around her all shady-like.

  “Mum, you know you’re not selling me marijuana.”

  “Just take it and get back inside.”

  I looked back at school and it seemed very bleak... The car looked so warm and cozy.

  “Mum, can I come home with you?”

  She rolled up the window and sped off.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:51 P.M.

  The Burden That Is Home Ec

  “What are you making in Home Ec, Emma?” asked Gracie.

  Oh bollocks. I forgot. Every week we have “activities” and Mum thought it would be a good idea to choose Home Ec, so that I learn how to survive without her.

  Now I’m frantically going around collecting pieces of fruit. So far I have Steph’s apple, Faith’s orange, a banana I bought from the cafeteria and a lemon from Crazy Holly. She was reluctant to let go of the lemon at first but I let her plait my hair for a while and she gave it to me.

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  What can one make with an orange, banana, apple and a lemon?

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Dammit! The orange rolled under a bush. Make that a banana, apple and a lemon. HELP.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:14 P.M.

  Got to dreaded Home Ec and, of course, Apple is in our class. UGH. I know that Gracie’s talking to me, but all I can do is watch Apple sitting there smiling and... SHE JUST LOOKED AT HER PHONE. Is it Leon??! Is he messaging her?! Oh God. This is going to be so bad for my “stop obsessing over Leon” resolution.

  At the beginning of class everyone sits with their ingredients in front of them, explaining to Ms. McElroy what they’re going to make, and the method. Apple is making rainbow rose meringue cookies. My apple, banana and lemon look a little sad.

  “So, Emma—” Ms. McElroy glanced at the fruit “—what are you making today?”

  “Uh, fruit salad.”

  “I see. And how are you going to do it?”

  “Well, Ms. McElroy, I thought I’d chop up the apple first, then the banana, and then squeeze the lemon juice over it.”

  I cut the fruit reaaally slowly. But now I’m done. Hmm. What to do now? Stare intensely at the back of Apple’s head? Yes, that will pass the time.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:57 P.M.

  Ms. McElroy went around tasting everyone’s food. She said Apple’s cookies tasted like “fresh spring buds opening up to the sun,” and I had a really vivid daydream that she started choking on one.

  When she tried my salad she closed her eyes and said, “Mmm, yes, the lemon really harmonizes with the banana and the apple.”

  She is mad. But at least I sort of got away with it.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:32 P.M.

  Why Do Parents Have to Be People?

  I could hear Mum on the phone to someone.

  “I just don’t know what to do... I think it’s that boy again.”

  “MUM! CAN YOU PLEASE NOT DISCUSS MY PRIVATE PROBLEMS WITH YOUR FRIENDS.”

  “Hang on,” she said, and slammed the door to her room so I couldn’t hear her anymore. As if I shouldn’t be hearing a conversation about my life. Ten minutes later, she came into my room.

  “Finished discussing me, have we? I’m sorry, I do hope I didn’t interrupt.”

  “That was your father.”

  “What?”

  “I feel I really needed some backup, Emma.”

  “Backup?? I’m not an armed criminal.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “What is my dad going to do? Talk to me? Have a little heart-to-heart? We’re awkward enough when we’re speaking about my homework, without admitting that we’re both human beings with feelings. Ugh, I can’t believe he knows I’m upset, ugh.”

  “It was more for me. But yes, it was a stupid idea.”

  She did look genuinely sorry. Which wasn’t good enough, but it was a start.

  “He’s not going to come over here, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  There was a silence. She must be really worried if she’s calling my dad...

  My Dad

  He travels around a lot doing work for various charities. (So he says, anyway, really I’d have absolutely no idea. He could be concealing himself in a house down the road for all I know.) He sends a postcard from time to time and shows up for a couple of hours at Christmas with some sort of generic present, wearing a novelty jumper. We do a vague catch-up as if it were a job interview and then he pats me awkwardly on the shoulder and leaves again until the next year.

  * * *

  “Mum, it’s OK,” I said gently, “I’m fine, really. I even have a date tomorrow night.”

  “A date?”

  “Yes.”

  “With who?”

  “His name is Paolo.”

  “PAOLO? And where did you meet Paolo?”

  “He’s friends with Steph’s sister.”

  “All right. Well, don’t go upsetting yourself even more.”

  “Why?! Because my date’s going to be a disaster?! Is that what you’re saying?!”

  “I’m just not sure you’re in the right frame of mind to be going out on dates, my love.”

  I can’t believe this. I was just trying to stop her worrying, and she starts criticizing me.

  “Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  She slammed out of the room then. How mature. Five minutes later, she came back.

  “You know, I have my own problems, too, Emma.”

  I stayed silent.

  “But of course, you don’t care,” she went on.

  “What? Have you and Olly broken up again? It’s hard to stay sympathetic when it happens every other week.”

  She folded her arms.

  “Yes, we have. We’re over for good this time, and you can stop being so patronizing. But aside from that, I’m trying as best I can to look after your granddad, I’m struggling to raise you alone with no support, I’m trying to keep my business afloat and I’m constantly tired and I’d love to actually relax now and again, but I can’t.”

  “Fine,” I snapped.

  Suddenly I felt so overwhelmingly guilty I wanted to break down into tears and throw myself at her feet. But I just sat there. She left the room, and didn’t come back.

  My Mum

&
nbsp; Is really the best, despite having questionable taste in men and an embarrassing Tinder profile, and she’s right about everything. I feel like a worm. I’m going to bury my head under a pillow and never, ever come out.

  SATURDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:04 A.M.

  When I got up Mum was already downstairs making pancakes. I think this means we’re OK now. She dropped most of them on the floor attempting to flip them and they were covered in little bits of dust, but I ate them with good grace.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:35 P.M.

  Trying to focus on tonight, and not the fact that I seem to have engendered hatred in a place where I only ever tried to inspire love. There must be something terribly wrong with me. Yesterday, Leon was standing at the gate with his friend, and when I walked past he actually scowled at me. His friend looked a little bit shocked, so at least I know I’m not imagining it. It might almost be comical, if it didn’t make me want to repeatedly bash my head against a wall. (Can something be funny and rage-inducing at the same time?)

  But there is nothing wrong with Internet Emma. Internet Emma ONLY inspires love, admiration and sometimes a bit of casual envy. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t stare at other people’s social media profiles as a form of morbid self-persecution, or focus too much on the angle of her selfie or pitching her tweet exactly right. She just tweets. She doesn’t care about what other people think and never compares herself to others.

  Internet Emma is who Paolo will be meeting in a mere matter of hours. At a gig. Which is what cool people like Internet Emma and Paolo do... And then it dawns on me. Internet Emma might be eighteen, but real-life Emma certainly isn’t. Do they check ID at gigs?!

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:44 P.M.

  Looked at the link Paolo sent me: “If you are lucky enough to look under 25 years of age we will ask you for ID when you enter the event.”

  Nooooooo.

  Emma Nash

  Guys... I don’t have any ID 12:29 p.m.

  Stephanie Brent

  I’d love to help but don’t think you’ll get away with using Jess’s 12:32 p.m.

  For obvious reasons 12:32 p.m.

  Faith?! 12:33 p.m.

  Faith Connelly

  You don’t really look like Hope either 12:36 p.m.