Dating Disasters of Emma Nash

by Chloe Seager

  TUESDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:18 A.M.

  Damn You, Steph

  Steph was being very cagey, and then I spotted her phone under the desk, her screen full of boy pictures.

  “Is that... Steph, did you not delete that yet?!”

  “Er...”

  “STEPH. Please delete it NOW. I mean it!!”

  “OK, OK. I promise I will. I just wanted to have a look.”

  “NO.”

  “Come oon. Play with me!”

  “I’m really not in the mood. Plus Mum would kill me.”

  “She’s already grounded you and taken away your phone. What can she do?”

  “Homeschool me.”

  Then Gracie looked over Steph’s shoulder. “Oh my God! I know that boy. He went to my brother’s college. Oh that’s so weird!”

  And before long they were all crowded round Steph’s phone, giggling.

  “‘I’ll probably kiss you on the first date,’” Faith read. “Do I have a say in this? Because that sounds like sexual harassment.”

  “Myles Henderson loves food, drink and sleep,” Gracie suggested.

  “Yes, we have so much in common... I am also a human being.”

  “What about him?” Faith pointed at a boy holding a puppy. Steph clicked on him and read,

  “‘I am a keen racist.’ Do you think he’s trying to be funny?”

  “Hmm, either way I’d rather go out with the dog,” replied Faith.

  “What about him?” Steph’s eyes widened at a good-looking boy, who also looked like he knew it.

  “Hilarious dude. ‘Six-day-per-week gym routine. Give me a bench and I can press the world,’” Faith read.

  “Ooh!” exclaimed Steph.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. He’s got a really nice body.”

  “And about fifty pictures of his really nice body.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Oh look, ‘Luke’ looks quite normal.”

  “Yes, not to be confused with the last Luke, who ‘love wild girl!!!!!!’”

  “I suppose it’s better than ‘Donz,’ who simply says ‘hi, women.’”

  “Enticing.”

  “Oh my God. Emma, LOOK!”

  “What?”

  “It’s Charles Manson boy! We saw him on Jess’s Tinder, remember?”

  “Ugh, he looks creepy!!” squealed Gracie.

  “Oh, I know him!” said Crazy Holly, elbowing her way in.

  (Of course she does.)

  “Are you OK, Emma?” asked Faith.

  “I’m fine, sorry,” I mumbled.

  But I’m not really fine. I want to be having fun like normal, and joke around about Charles Manson boy. But today, all I keep thinking about is Charles Manson boy in reality. He’s probably just lonely, looking to find someone. And here we all are sitting mocking him. Like he’s not a person... Like he’s completely disposable. One glance and someone says “no” and dismisses another human being with an entire life and mess of feelings in the tap of a finger. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. It isn’t so much like dating as a game.

  If this is what I’ve got to look forward to in adult life, then count me out. Not that it matters, because I’m never going on another date anyway. Ever.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:43 P.M.

  I’m in the Tech Lab again because I can’t watch Leon and Apple anymore. He was leaning all over her and they looked very...together. Mr. Morris walked past and told them to stop “canoodling,” but they didn’t. Does no one have any respect for teacher authority anymore?? He gave her a Chewit and she ate it without a second thought. Like it was just food to her.

  I said, “I bet she doesn’t store all the wrappers under her bed like I do.”

  Faith said, “That’s probably in her favor, Emma.”

  I sat there in disbelief that I could be feeling this deeply, and no one else knows. No one else can feel what I am feeling. Why isn’t there some tangible sense for other people’s internal life? Why can’t we smell when someone is feeling very sad, or happy? Everything would be much easier. Maybe then they would know how truly awful they are making me feel and go and do their “canoodling” somewhere private.

  “Emma, you have to stop staring at them.” Steph’s voice penetrated my somber shroud. “You are the least subtle person.”

  So maybe people notice a bit.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:57 P.M.

  Steph came bounding into the computer room.

  “Emma!! Emma!!” she called.

  “You’re not allowed to talk in here,” someone muttered.

  “Oh, sorry,” she stage-whispered, putting her finger over her lips.

  She clambered over to me, waving her phone around.

  “I’m not interested,” I whispered.

  “Look!”

  She shoved her phone in my face. There was a picture of “Greg Seymour.”

  “Is that...?”

  “Yes!”

  Oh my God... Greg.

  “I was on your phone changing your age to make the, er, joke profile.” She looked sheepish. “And he followed you. Forgot to tell you, my bad.”

  I paused for a moment. “Why would he do that? I yelled in his face and puked on his coat.”

  “I know, I was confused as well. But I thought...”

  “What? You thought what?”

  “Might as well say hi?”

  “STEPH!!!!” I hissed.

  “Anyway, he just said hi back, KBYE,” she said, retreating from the room. “You really should change your password now and again!” she called over her shoulder.

  “My” Conversation with Greg

  Emma: Hey :)

  Greg: Well you’re keen ;) only two weeks later!

  Emma: Haha. Well, same to you...

  Greg: Ooo yeah awkward, was kind of avoiding you but, since you couldn’t keep away... :/

  Then we exchanged numbers.

  I swear to God, if I had more friends I’d consider getting Steph arrested for fraud.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:00 P.M.

  I’M BACK

  Moaned so much about dinosaur phone that Mum gave me back my regular phone. But she called my network and froze my data. I was pretty impressed. Obviously I can still connect through Wi-Fi, but she was halfway there.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:29 P.M.

  For some reason, I’m still thinking about Greg. Here’s my internal debate.

  Reasons Not to Talk to Greg

  I’ve gone past caring about dates.

  I was a bit put off by how drunk and full-on he was at first.

  I’m technically still grounded.

  Reasons to Talk to Greg

  Though I do feel lethargic about dating, I’m nonetheless still very horny.

  Although he was full-on, he was quite sweet, and it’s not like I can talk about being drunk, is it? Why was I so harsh? Hadn’t I resolved to give some different people a chance? Isn’t that what this whole blog is about?

  Really, if Mum wants me not to lie about my whereabouts, she shouldn’t ground me and then I wouldn’t need to.

  Hmm. I’ll sleep on it.

  WEDNESDAY, 1 OCTOBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:19 A.M.

  In English. We’re still talking about the “dangers of knowledge” in Frankenstein. How much more can we possibly analyze this?

  “But is it science itself that is the danger, or what it becomes through abuse by society?”

  I’ve already written an entire essay on this. Why do we only read one book a term? Are they trying to bore us? It’s almost like she’s forcing me to blog instead...

  My Actual Conversation with Greg

  Earlier
on I got a message from an unknown number. My heart started pounding and I didn’t open the message for a good thirty seconds, just to savor the excitement...which is when I realized I must have shockingly little excitement in my life. Anyway, it was Greg.

  So, did you have fun at Andy’s party? x 9:42 a.m.

  Did he see me at the party? Best to just gloss over that.

  Yeah, did you? 9:45 a.m.

  Well, I can’t remember anything past 11... So that means I probably did 9:45 a.m.

  Uh-huh 9:47 a.m.

  Teacher has seen me on my phone so gotta go 9:47 a.m.

  See you 9:47 a.m.

  Oh OK, see you xx 9:48 a.m.

  Of course, I was in Maths so could’ve got up and done karaoke if I felt like it. But basically, what he’s saying is he doesn’t remember kissing me, or more likely he doesn’t want to remember. So I thought it best to just end our conversation there. I’m never going to find the answer to the world’s dating problems, no one wants to date me in the first place. Except a thirteen-year-old who brings his mum along for moral support.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:38 P.M.

  I was just drifting off when my phone buzzed. Recording it here before I fall asleep again. Too tired to analyze it.

  Hi, it’s Greg. I think I might have offended you earlier... I was really drunk, and I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember one thing... Night night x 11:27 p.m.

  And then:

  Do you want to go for a coffee tomorrow after school? x 11:29 p.m.

  OK sure. Where shall I meet you? 11:32 p.m.

  I’ll come to pick you up after school? See you 4:00? x 11:33 p.m.

  OK, see you then. Night. X 11:34 p.m.

  THURSDAY, 2 OCTOBER

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:34 A.M.

  Woke up and remembered that I basically sleepwalked myself into a date today. Huh.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 11:16 A.M.

  Confusing Feelings for Older Men

  Mr. Allen was talking about his time in a Buddhist retreat in India really passionately. Now, there is a man who feels things deeply. I considered my feelings for him a little while. He half makes me want to take my top off and lie out before him on the desk, and he half terrifies me and makes me want to wrap myself in bundles of cotton wool. He also sort of makes me want to sit on his knee and receive lots of praise for my homework, but let’s not explore that too much.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:15 P.M.

  I paid lots of attention in French today. If I’m going to be a big star in the world of design and fly over to Paris Fashion Week, I’m going to need to know French. I haven’t thought about my “coffee date” much. Probably because it definitely can’t go any worse than the last one. Although, that’s what I thought about meeting Alex, and that really was worse than the date with Paolo.

  But at least I have seen and spoken with Greg, and ascertained that he is not a child in disguise.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:02 P.M.

  The bell went two minutes ago and Mr. Crispin is still talking. What’s wrong with him!!! Does he think he’s teaching a class of people who don’t have lives?? Who are here voluntarily??! I’ve packed up all my things and am standing by the door with my hand hovering over the handle.

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Freedom!!! I can’t believe I lost three minutes of valuable time talking about triangles

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:11 P.M.

  At the Gates

  I sort of wish everyone was still around to see me getting into an older boy’s car. What’s the point of doing something cool if you don’t have an audience? It would be like having a really, really funny thought and then not tweeting it.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:58 P.M.

  Date Number 4

  When Greg’s car rolled up I was incredibly relieved that the gates were deserted. It’s this sort of pea green box-shaped thing that looks like it might collapse any second. There were bits of dirty smoke coming out of the back pipe.

  He rolled down the window (manually, of course)...

  Finally, after about a year of rolling, his face appeared through the cloud of pollution.

  “Are you going to get in?”

  I don’t know, am I? I thought. Is this coffee worth risking my life? I concluded no, but sheer awkwardness pushed me on. I tried not to imagine what Mum would say if she saw. I told her I was at home watching Deal or No Deal.

  We drove along, very slowly. The engine was making questionable noises and I was beginning to long for Noel Edmonds’s face. (You really have got to admire a man who can fake enthusiasm hundreds of times for people opening boxes at random, pretending like there are lots of different “methods.”)

  I realized that Greg and I hadn’t spoken in twenty seconds, so I said this to him.

  “Oh, I applied for that,” he said.

  Of course he did.

  Once we parked the “car,” we took a stroll along...my high street!! What an exciting destination. I probably could have walked there faster.

  “Where do you want to go?” I asked.

  “I thought we’d go to Costa?” he replied.

  “Costa? I don’t think there’s a Costa on this road...”

  “There is.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen it...”

  Then Waitrose loomed in front of us and Greg started walking in. Is he taking me shopping? I wondered. Am I going to hold the sack of potatoes whilst he scouts for a good bit of chicken breast? Then I saw. There’s a small Costa at the back of Waitrose. Greg looked very smug, like he’d won a game. Five minutes later, we were wedged in between an old couple “taking time out from the frantic shop floor” and a middle-aged man explaining to his wife how cucumber had never “agreed” with him. Whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t winning.

  Then came the strange part. Despite being in the middle of a supermarket, fearing running into my friends’ parents or, worse, my mum, we actually started getting along. Maybe the surroundings were so bleak I forgot to be nervous.

  “So wait, you broke your arm three times in six months?!”

  “Yes. I swear!”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It was my mum’s fault.”

  “What? She pushed you down the stairs?”

  “She cut dairy out of our diet. She’s a massive hypochondriac so she sometimes picks up the Daily Mail for affirmation. It said that there was ‘new evidence to suggest dairy gives you cancer.’”

  “The Daily Mail says everything gives you cancer.”

  “Well I know that.”

  “So how did your breaks happen?”

  “Oh...you know...”

  Trying to pick up a bag with my foot, and falling over.

  Doing an overly complicated clappy-hands game with Steph, and falling over.

  Rolling around on the floor pretending to be “en-sausaged” and squishing my hand under my arse.

  “...sports injuries, mostly.”

  He nodded.

  (I know, I know. I said I was going to be completely myself from now on, but there’s definitely a fine but very important line between being yourself and too much yourself.)

  I can’t remember the rest of our conversation in detail but I know that it barely stopped flowing, once we got started... Then suddenly I saw the time.

  “CRAP. I have to go.”

  Greg drove me home as fast as he could (which wasn’t very fast). The whole time I was praying that Mum wasn’t back and watching out the window for me. I made Greg park on the road next to us, which I told him was our road. I was going to explain, but then saying, “Oh, could you just secretly drop me round the corner because I’m actually grounded and if my mum sees me out in a boy’s car she might implode?” seemed like it might highlight our age difference. />
  “So, which one’s your house?” he asked.

  “Er...that one.” I pointed to some random house.

  “OK, well, bye, Emma.”

  “Bye, Greg.”

  Are we going to kiss?

  “We should do this again.”

  “Yes...definitely.”

  How long are you supposed to wait for a kiss to happen, before leaving?

  Then his head whacked me in the face. It was nice, I think. At least, I wasn’t thinking about getting stabbed in the bum this time. Although my head is throbbing a little bit from where he crashed into me.

  When I got out of the car, he didn’t immediately drive off. It dawned on me that he was one of those people who waits to see that someone’s gone inside, and my heart sank. I was going to have to walk up to the house I pointed at. The next five minutes went like this:

  Maybe if I walk really, really slowly he’ll get bored.

  GO HOME, GREG.

  Oh God. Walking up to the front door of no.17 Mornington Road.

  I hope they don’t have a dog.

  Mock fumbling for keys.

  Mock can’t find them.

  Oh, gonna have to pretend ring the bell...

  Then Greg rang me from the car, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes...forgotten my keys but it’s OK, my mum’s just about to let me in. I think she’s just getting out of the bath. You can go.”

  “OK, then. Bye, Emma.”

  “Bye!”

  I waved cheerily as he drove away, and waited until his car turned the corner before I bolted.

  After all that, I might not have bothered. Mum still isn’t back anyway.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:38 P.M.

  When your mum is always out and you’re at home watching Gilmore Girls and drinking your ninth cup of tea it’s pretty sad.

  Thoughts on Gilmore Girls

  This show would be nothing without Kirk.

  Why does everyone think Rory’s so nice? She clearly isn’t.

  Why is Lorelai so mean about her parents? They’re not even that bad.

  Oh God. They’re starting to annoy me as much as my own family members. Maybe I’ve watched it too many times?

  Not possible.

  POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:20 P.M.