by Chloe Seager
Emma Nash
Yes, but otherwise I’m trying to pass as black with blue hair 12:37 p.m.
So I’m not looking for perfection here 12:37 p.m.
FAITH?! 12:38 p.m.
Faith Connelly
All right all right 12:42 p.m.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:57 P.M.
The Stress of Being Under 18 When You Are Internally a Sophisticated Adult
At Faith’s to get her sister’s passport. You’d think I was asking her to steal the crown jewels. She opened the door and let me in, without making eye contact.
“Do you have it?” I asked.
“Yes.” She sulked, putting it in my hand.
“Hope won’t notice.”
“I’m not a natural thief,” she said, implying that I am.
Oh God. I really look nothing like Faith’s sister. But people might assume I dyed my hair. (Though anyone dyeing their hair my murky color seems unlikely.) Probably couldn’t have changed my eye color, though...
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 2:35 P.M.
Faith Finally TALKS
It was an incredibly brief window but IT HAPPENED. I stayed at hers for a while and she kept snipping at me (she said Pretty Little Liars was “crap”). At first I thought she was just moody about the ID, but then she opened up a bit.
“Are you OK?” I asked. “You seem a bit...”
She sighed. “I’ve been at a flower market with my mum and Hope.”
“Ah.”
“Mum’s so excited. I mean, I’m excited, too. But she’s so excited. The woman can really talk about flowers. And color schemes. And salmon blinis.”
“I do love a salmon blini.”
“She’s practically delirious. And I just...I just keep thinking.”
“Go on?”
“Would she be this excited for me? If I was getting married? And instead of a groom there was another bride?”
I sat awkwardly for a moment, thinking about the right thing to say. Because I really don’t know. Thankfully, Faith didn’t let me answer,
“It’s like it’s about so much more than two people finding each other and falling in love. It’s like getting married is some sort of achievement, and for the love to be celebrated it has to fit into this traditional mold. And mine will never be worth as much, because it doesn’t. Hope said she might carry a bouquet of herbs instead of flowers, and my mum laughed like it was the most outrageous thing ever. She said, ‘Well, dear, as long as you’re happy,’ like she’s so...accepting...when all it is, is about friggin’ flowers. I bet if I said, ‘Hey, Mum, I’m marrying a woman instead of a man,’ she wouldn’t say, ‘Well, dear, as long as you’re happy.’”
“Maybe not. BUT...I do have to point out that you haven’t tried.”
She ignored that one.
“Oh, they were just so...smug, Emma. And I really wanted to stop and scream ‘I’M GAY. I LIKE GIRLS.’ But all I did was stare at my shoes. Like always.”
Faith took a breath.
“Agh, this is stupid. This isn’t about me. God, all I keep thinking about is myself, feeling jealous like a five-year-old.”
“Faith, you’re not being stupid! It’s not like you want to take away what Hope has. You just want the same excitement for your own life.”
She nodded.
“You should go get ready for your date.”
“Are you sure? I can stay, talk some more?”
“No. I’ve talked too much already.”
On my way out I held up Hope’s passport. “Faith, I need your honest opinion. Do you think I’ll get away with this?”
She shrugged and said, “You’re the same race, I guess.”
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:26 P.M.
Getting Ready for Date No. 2
Steph turned up at the door, wearing a leather jacket, crop top and purple lipstick.
“What are you doing here?!”
“You didn’t think I was letting you go alone?”
I felt like I was going to cry.
“Emma, please don’t cry.”
“Sorry. You look AWESOME.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I know.”
“Do you think I could pull off purple lipstick?”
“No.”
When Steph came into my room she screeched, “Agh, what IS that?!”
“That...that is the band we’re going to see.”
“How is that music?!”
“I happen to like it.”
Not strictly true, but if I keep saying it enough maybe I’ll believe it.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:58 P.M.
Still in my room, desperately going over “my” birthday and “my” star sign and “my” address. Why can’t I just be older? Why can’t I just be BETTER? Why can’t I feel like Internet Emma all the time? Why can’t I turn the clock forward and be twenty-five?! And then stop the clock and never turn twenty-six?!!
I’m suddenly starting to feel all nervous about having lied about my age. And about almost everything else. I’d feel so much better if I had my blanky dress.
My Blanky Dress
Steph calls it this, because it’s essentially my teenage equivalent of the “blanky” to a five-year-old. It’s black, the skirt is sort of skater-esque, and the sleeves are three-quarter-ish length. It sounds like a fairly standard dress, but IT’S SO MUCH MORE. The black is not just any black; a really subtle, softer gray-black, which sets off smoky eyes. The length of the skirt is perfect. I don’t know... I’ve just never found anything that I like as much, or that I feel as comfortable in. I’ve worn it so much it’s essentially just a rag now.
Faith messaged:
Good luck! 6:47 p.m.
Thanks 6:47 p.m.
I’m with Gracie. She says avoid dancing, if you do get in 6:48 p.m.
Tell her THANKS 6:49 p.m.
Please please please say I don’t get turned away at the door. Oh God. It would be the worst thing to get turned away at the door.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:24 P.M.
In the Queue with Steph
“Now, we have to split up,” said Steph.
“Why?”
“We’re less likely to get in if we go together.”
“But I’ll miss you.”
“Be cool, Emma.”
Now I’m standing way ahead in the queue alone. I turned around and winked at Steph a couple of times but she pretended not to notice.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:33 P.M.
I’m In. Sort of
UGH!!! The man on the door was so EVIL!! When I arrived I tried to look as natural as possible.
“ID, please,” he ordered.
He scrutinized the passport and for a blissful second I thought I’d gotten away with it, because he flashed me a big grin.
“I have a daughter about your age,” he said, stamping my hand with a giant red circle.
Then he waved me past. I started doing a jig until I got to the bathroom and saw that, in the middle of the red circle, it says “UNDER 18.” I’ve been scrubbing for at least five minutes!!! AND IT WON’T COME OFF.
Steph strolled in and saw it. She said, “I told you to be cool!!”
“I WAS COOL.”
“Evidently not.”
“Did yours work?!”
“YES.”
“HOW?!”
“Probably because I wasn’t stuttering and moving my eyes from side to side.”
AGHHHHH.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:25 P.M.
How to End a Date by Ten Thirty
At Steph’s. I ended up dragging her out before the main band even played. Thankfully her nan has gone to bed so there’s no more Goodnight Sweetheart on. It really is a very morally dubious premise. Anyway, here are my top tips on being a terrible dater:
Do the Dorky Wave
Paolo walked in and faithful Steph scampered off to lurk in a corner. He spotted me and nodded his head slightly. Unfortunately, I’d already broken into the “dorky wave” and for some reason, once I’d started, found it very hard to stop. He actually looked away uncomfortably.
Talk About Your Sty
He sat down and kissed me on either cheek like my aunt does, when you’re not really kissing but just sort of bumping faces.
“Ciao, Emma!”
“Ciao, Paolo!”
“Come stai?”
“What?”
“Come stai?”
After three attempts to understand him and a second of sheer panic where I thought my sty was back and he was pointing it out to me, I realized that this means “how are you” in Italian. The moment was somewhat lost, and to fill the conversation gap I started explaining about my gross eye-lump.
Cough in Your Date’s Face
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Errr...what are you having?”
“A beer.”
“Yep. Sounds good.”
I was sure it would taste fine. People drink beer all the time, right? It’s UNIVERSALLY LOVED so it must be all right. Wrong. It’s disgusting. I had a WHOLE PINT to get through and every gulp made me splutter.
Keep Your Left Hand Under the Table at All Times
This doesn’t sound like it would really affect the date but it made any natural movement very difficult. Still, at least he didn’t see my glowing mark of underage humiliation.
Reveal Too Much About Your Family
“So, Emma.” Paolo folded his arms. “Tell me another story about your mother. She sounds so amusing when you speak of her.”
“Err... Gosh. A story? I don’t know. Today she broke an egg cup that she was really attached to and yelled and swore at me for about half an hour for not ‘helping’ her.”
He grimaced a little. Not such a good story I guess.
Act like a Ninety-Year-Old
The music was SO LOUD and, with his accent, it was near impossible to hear what he was saying. I kept yelling “WHAT?” like my granddad.
Dance
Gracie was right.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:42 P.M.
Discussing with Steph.
“Oh God. It was so, so awful.”
“Did you not think he was attractive?”
“No no, he was REALLY attractive.”
She looked at me as if to say, Then what’s the problem?
“I don’t know. We just didn’t bond.”
“How did it end?”
“He offered me another beer but I said no, thanks. He shrugged and went off to get another one... Then when he came back there was a really long gap in our forced conversation and he downed it with a really pained expression on his face. Then I said I wasn’t feeling very well.”
“Oh, Emmy, I’m sorry.”
“He looked genuinely relieved when I said I was leaving. I feel like a popped balloon.”
“I’m just so confused.” She frowns. “I thought you got on really well before?”
“We did.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“Me, neither.”
But I do understand. I’m too ashamed to say that I lied about certain things, and that I felt more confident and witty behind my phone. In real life my bravado fell completely flat.
Evidence: Online connections do not necessarily entail real-life connections. Especially when you’ve e-tweaked yourself a little bit.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:12 A.M.
Oh my God... I’M LAURENCE MYER. Maybe I should just go out with him and live in a Minstrel-made house of silence.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:21 A.M.
Got a message from Paolo.
Emma, thank you for meeting with me tonight. But I do not feel that I want to see you again... You were different, I cannot explain. Maybe you weren’t drinking enough. Forgive me and it was lovely to meet you, you are a wonderful girl. Tua, Paolo. x
Maybe you weren’t drinking enough???????????
MAYBE YOU WEREN’T DRINKING ENOUGH??????????
As if in order for me to POSSIBLY be any fun I’d have to be DRUNK?
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:28 A.M.
Sent a message back: You were different too. You said your music was good.x.
A minute ago that felt really cutting and edgy and now, looking at it sitting there on our message thread, it looks like something a petulant five-year-old might say.
Aghhhhhhh.
This is one of the worst things about technology. You can say something stupid in real life and it will essentially just disappear into thin air. You say something stupid on a phone, and the message will hang there in cyberspace, haunting you with proof of your stupidity. It’s permanent. It’s out there forever. Even if you delete it someone else will still have it. They can hold it up and say, “Look at this message Emma sent me. Look how stupid she is.”
I wish I could go back to the gig and pour the gross beer all over his head.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:56 A.M.
Spooning Steph as she sleeps, very lightly so that she doesn’t wake up and push me off. I feel so low. For a brief time, I really felt like talking to Paolo over the internet was helping me discover myself, or something, but now I feel like all it did was remove me from myself. And introduce me to a complete butt face.
SUNDAY, 21 SEPTEMBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:18 A.M.
“Maybe you weren’t drinking enough???????” The phrase keeps resounding in my head. For a brief moment I (sort of) stopped thinking about Leon. I started feeling good about who I was. Now I’m back to thinking about Leon constantly, and self-loathing.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:08 P.M.
Sitting on the toilet just letting my period drip out because I am sick of always having to change my sanitary towels. It’s quite satisfying. Animalistic. Natural. Almost regal. I bet, if I sat in the middle of a gallery, people would say I was an amazing feminist performance-art piece.
How come, when you do really mundane things on your own, it’s not art, but as soon as you invite people to look at you doing it, it can be art? I feel like that’s a rule that should change. I can be art right here, right now. I can be still, unthinking, unfeeling art. Some might say I was just a person sitting and staring into space on a toilet, but they would be wrong.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:49 P.M.
Mum and her stupid bladder interrupted my art.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:05 P.M.
You know what else I’m sick of? SHAVING MY LEGS. Why must I shave my legs in order to feel attractive? Boys don’t have to. Stupid, horrible boys like Paolo can be as hairy as they like and people actively LIKE it. You know what I want to do... Reclaim leg hair for women!!! I’m going to grow it out, and really make myself see it as fine. You know why? Because it should be fine. There is absolutely no reason for it not to be fine. It’s just a stupid decision that society has made, and I can just as well un-make it.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:36 P.M.
Sitting in my room, willing my leg hair to grow faster so that I can start liking it.
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
Sum total of my day: sat on a toilet for an hour for no reason. Watched my leg hair grow. I suppose it could be worse.
Steph Brent @Brentsy
@Em_Nasher You’re not supposed to admit these things on social media
MONDAY, 22 SEPTEMBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:35 A.M.
All Dates Should Come with a Reference
Steph sat down next to me.
“I told my sister about you and Paolo,” she said.
“What did she say?”
“She laughed and said, and I
quote—‘next time you rifle through my acquaintances looking for someone to rub up against, just ask me and I’ll tell you which ones are dicks.’”
“Noted.”
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:20 A.M.
In Art
I dropped a pencil on the floor and Ms. McElroy came and stood beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Every time you drop a pencil, it dies.”
Then she floated off to stare out the window. Probably having a moment of silence for the dead pencil.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 2:46 P.M.
I forgot to ask my mum to sign my work report, and Crazy Holly offered to do it because she “forges signatures all the time.” I’m just about to hand it in when I look down at the signature she did...
Oh God.
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
Would anyone buy that my mum’s signature was “Emma’s Mum”?
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
If I slide it over to Ms. Parker, keep talking & maintain freakish eye contact maybe she won’t notice...?
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
SUCCESS!!! Can’t believe that worked @HoHoHo
Holly Barnet @HoHoHo
@Em_Nasher Told you I’m a pro
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:33 P.M.
At Home
I turned down my music a little and heard this sort of wailing noise coming from downstairs. I thought, What is that? Is Mum singing? Has she stubbed her toe? I went downstairs to investigate and Mum had her arms around this thing in a blanket. I thought for a moment she had uncharacteristically taken in a stray animal, but the thing turned out to be Steph.
“I found her on the doorstep,” Mum explained.
“You are making impossibly inhuman sounds. What happened??”
“I, I...he...”
“I’ll make tea.” Mum nodded sternly.
It turns out that on Saturday night Jonno went to a party and got with some girl. Andy saw and told Gracie.
“Oh no, you had to hear it from Gracie.”
“She was actually sort of nice about it. But she took AGES to build up to it, like she was announcing the winner of The X Factor. And I was the loser to be pitied.”
Steph has stopped crying now. She actually seems OK, except Jonno won’t stop phoning her.
“I’m not answering,” declared Steph. “I sent him a message saying this wasn’t how I wanted to be treated, and he’s made his choice.”