I Want to Kiss You in Public

by Zelda French

  But to get to François I must first go through Yasmine. I must proceed with caution. She takes shit from no-one, especially not Tony or myself, whom she’s known from before kindergarten. She will flatten me with the back of her hand if I just as much as make a bad joke. She’s also fiercely protective of François, for reasons beyond my understanding.

  She sees my sweaty face and arches an perfect eyebrow. “What do you want, Mésange?”

  Oh oh, the oldest trick in the book, calling me by my surname. She’s all business. My only way out is to feign drunkenness.

  “Yas’! I’m so glad to see you!”

  I manage to throw her off by flinging my arms around her neck and in my hasty demonstration of affection, knock down her glass of champagne. The liquid splatters over her navy dress and she lets out a curse that makes François jump off his perch on the TV stand.

  I don’t have to fake the apprehension on my face. I’m honestly terrified she might punch me. “I’m sorry Yasmine. I was just so happy to see you.”

  “Now I’ve got to get cleaned up! Don’t move, I’ll come back for you.” Her murderous eyes do not leave me as she stomps out of the crowd toward the main corridor.

  That’s a problem for future Louis.

  Immediately I slither in the tight space between the wide armchair and François and light his cigarette in a flick of my thumb. He watches me with wide eyes. I too, light a cigarette, accidentally blow smoke in his face, and start giggling nervously.

  “I don’t get how champagne on a dark dress deserves so much fuss, but I’m not exactly great at understanding fashion.”

  François gives me look, doesn’t smile. He takes a large swig of his cocktail and almost dips his nose in it. He’s not having fun at all. I’ve never even seen him looking so downcast.

  This looks serious. I remove my sunglasses and put them in my pocket. “What’s up with you?”

  “One of these days…” He sniffles. “Everyone’s having a good time but I just can’t.” He looks at my puzzled face and shrugs. “Ignore me. I think I just need to get laid.”

  I give him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Then get laid.”

  “Do you think it’s as easy as saying ‘get laid’? Unless you have someone for me?”

  I shake my head and he lets out a long, terrible sigh. Poor François. He’s an absolute dildo but no one should be miserable on NYE, take it from me.

  “Hang on, hang on.”

  After a short while ruffling through my pockets, I fish out a joint, perfectly rolled yesterday by the small and expert hands of Lucie.

  “I can’t help you get laid, but I can help you get high, so you won’t worry about it anymore. How about that?”

  François accepts my offer and even returns a smile.

  “Thank, Lou. That’s nice of you. Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

  “That’s all right. I smoke too much anyway.”

  “You know…”

  “What?”

  “Since you’re nice to me, can I tell you something helpful?”

  “Sure. I’m all ears.”

  François picks up one of my locks and drops it with a grimace. “Your hair, you should, you know... Wash it once in a while.”

  “It’s grunge.”

  “It’s disgusting. And you would be so good looking if you made an effort.”

  I’m already good looking, and François commenting about the way I looks just feel even more awkward. I have zero idea what to think about it, even less what to comment about it, so I stick my lighter under his nose to light up the joint.

  “So, François. Sacha has asked me to change the music.”

  Smooth transition. Impeccable. 20/20.

  “That’s impossible,” François says, blowing out smoke. “Sacha hates your music. Everyone does.”

  Rubbish. But that’s not the point. I force a smile. “But Sacha she likes me. She said I could change the music.”

  “It’s almost midnight.”

  “Yes! And do you want to celebrate the new year to this crap or do you want a hymn that represent youth and hope and ideals and—”

  François holds up a hand. “Lou, come on. Stop lying. Tell the truth, for once. And maybe, maybe, I’ll let you play your music.”

  He rolls his eyes and doesn’t budge when I try to nudge him away from the sound system. I give up with a frustrated sigh.

  “The truth? Really? I need Lucie to like me again.”

  “Why, what have you done this time?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but suddenly don’t know what to say.

  François clicks his tongue. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Your girlfriend is always mad anyway.”

  François would know. Lucie used to hang out with the Golden Fork before she discovered her inner rockstar and ditched them all to hang out with Tony and I. However, they’re still friendly.

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I do,” he says, “but she’s always angry, that’s true.”

  “She’s only angry at me, not the others.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m always late, among other things.”

  “That’s true. People call you Ever-Late Lou behind your back.”

  Wrong! It’s not behind my back if I know about it, dumb dumb. But anyway.

  “If you don’t do it for her, do it for me. Or I’ll spend the first day of the year single and miserable, and it will be your fault.”

  François puts his head in his hands and groans. “Fine! But only because you gave me weed.”

  Works for me. François steps away from the sound system, and seconds later, the comforting and feverish sound of Kaiser Chiefs is blaring through the speakers, and Yasmine is glaring at me from the kitchen door, knowing full well what I’ve done.

  Gesturing at François with a grin, I show her I have his permission. There’s nothing she can do to me now.

  Pushing into the crowd, Tony joins me, shaking his head. “I wish my life was as easy as yours. You always get what you want.”

  Dancing in place, I pretend I didn’t hear that. “What did you say?”

  He’s drunk, it doesn’t matter. What matters is Lucie. She has this baffled look that she reserves for me, the one that says: “I can’t believe I’m dating Fake-Kurt Cobain.”

  She runs into my arms and laughs in my face, all anger forgotten. Tony, bobbing up and down, is shouting more than singing out the lyrics. Midnight is seconds away, and all of our faceless bodies are dancing together, too happy, to drunk to hurt, to care.

  10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

  Not yet eighteen but at the top of my world, obsessed with my own madness, sandwiched between the two people I love the most in the world. I don’t want it to end.

  I think I’ve got it all figured out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I'M SO HUNGOVER

  OK, SO IT’S 2008.

  Nothing’s changed.

  One thing, one thing changed. One number to write at the bottom corner of my essays.

  I’m still exactly the same.

  I even recall having the same nasty hangover last year.

  My first attempt to stretch results in me crushing my knuckles against the wall. My bed’s usually against the right side of the wall. Not the left. I guess some things did change. Or I’m not in my own bed. Ok. I’m not in my own bed. And I’m not alone.

  Nudged on my side, her hand dangling from the edge of the bed, Lucie is still asleep, wearing her party clothes, and still smelling of booze. We’re in Tony’s bed, and probably passed out right on the spot when we made it back to his.

  On the mattress on the floor, Tony’s fast asleep, his face pressed into the mattress and his mouth open, dangerously close to a bunched up pair of dirty socks. Daylight filters through the dark curtains of the only window in the room.

  How did we get back here? I don’t remember much after the countdown. Alcohol was flowing. I drank in my victory after Lucie j
umped back in my arms. I’m hoping I was totally awesome and on top of the world, not some sort of nonsense slurring brutish thug like poor Lars. Only now I’ve got to pay for it with a splitting headache.

  My mouth is like paper, and there is no water in sight. If I don’t go the bathroom before they wake up, Lucie will wake up to find me smelling like a Neanderthal, and fat chance of her ever thinking I’m the hot again.

  I slide down the bed inch by inch not to wake Lucie, stumble out the bedroom, and right into Tony’s mom, in her nightgown. She’s holding Kiki, the family’s small and ugly dog, whom Tony pretends to hate.

  “Look at you,” she says, yawning. “Looks like we both indulged last night.”

  I force a laugh. Can’t exactly tell my mate’s mum she looks like I feel, can I? And who wants to stare at someone’s mum while she’s not wearing daytime clothes? Not that Tony’s mum minds me at this time. She has seen me practically every weekend since I met Tony two and a half years ago.

  Tony’s mum leans in. “Want some coffee?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Okay. Happy New Year, then.”

  “Happy New Year.”

  I bet you I’ll be fed up with vows before the day is over.

  With a small snort of laughter at my bemused expression, she shuffles into her bedroom and I slink, relieved, toward the bathroom, only to find it occupied.

  As I hesitate retreating to the safety of the bedroom, the lock pops open and Simon, Tony’older brother, comes out, a large smile on his face. Behind him is a tall blonde, with a great mane of hair and an insane amount of jewellery.

  “What’s up Lou?” Simon shakes my hand. “Did you have fun last night?”

  “Yeah, was great, thanks for the booze.”

  Not being eighteen yet, Simon is usually the one who buys us supplies before our parties. He’s cool. And blessed with better looks than Tony’s, which would explain the giant standing behind him.

  “Remember Gretchen?”

  She gives a little wave.

  “Sure.” A blatant lie. “Are you done in there?”

  Simon laughed and slaps me on the shoulder. “All yours.”

  The blonde flashes me a perfect supermodel smile as she clinks back toward his room.

  Shaking my head, I lock myself in the bathroom and retrieve my own toothbrush from the depths of their medicine cabinet — like I said, I practically live here in the weekends. One look at my face, and I quickly splash some water on it.

  Come to think of it, I haven’t been much home since the holidays began. I could drag my sorry ass home, right now, do some homework. Start off the year with a bang, instead of spending another day between video games, joints and movies. The other night, weed got to my head and I was starting to feel paranoid, and I was complaining to Tony.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself,” I said to him, joint in hand. “Every time I think about the future, all I see is fog.”

  Tony took the joint. “That’s just the smoke.”

  You see what I’m dealing with here.

  As I tiptoe back to Tony’s room, I can hear him and Lucie laughing. They’re awake, then. They turn at the sound of the door being pushed open, and both grin at me.

  “Lou!” Lucie crawls over the bed toward me. “I thought you abandoned me.”

  She pulls me into a rib shattering hug, and makes a content sound. Down there, Tony is struggling to get to his feet.

  “We need some fresh air.”

  “Agreed,” I say, parting from Lucie to draw the curtains.

  A blast of icy cold wind slaps engulfs the room when I open the window, rustling Tony’s tired posters on his walls, prompting us to escape into the corridor. In the kitchen, we find Tony’s father, already dressed in his usual corduroys and cardigans, a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose, reading newspapers with actual reputation.

  “Happy New Year, kids!” He smiles as we enter the room, still blinking at the glaring daylight.

  Grunting, Tony goes straight to the coffee machine and pours the life-saving nectar into assorted mugs for all of us.

  On the kitchen table, a breakfast for champions is laid out, the type you see in American movies that no one in their right mind would have time to prepare. Not that Tony’s parents made this. It clearly comes from the bakery down the street. Lucie stuffs a croissant into her smiling mouth. I take a seat opposite Tony’s father and take a long scalding sip of coffee. My favourite.

  Tony’s father folds his newspaper. “Did you have fun, last night?”

  Tony grimaces, pretends he doesn’t like it. I know better. Tony loves his parents. To be honest, they’re okay. They’re still young and curious about the world. My parent’s aren’t curious about anything. Including myself.

  “We had too much fun, Father.” Tony says.

  His father laughs. “Amen to that.”

  “Lou looks alright, of course.” Lucie says. “It’s infuriating.”

  Tony smirks. “Lou always looks good to compensate the fact that he’s an asshole.”

  “Thanks, Tony” I say.

  But of course he’s always right.

  He winks at me.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Tony’s father says. “At my age a hangover lasts for days. And remember to be safe, and have each other’s backs.”

  “Yes, dad, come on.”Tony shoves half a pain au chocolate into his hell-hole of a mouth and slams a croissant in front of me. “You, eat.”

  “I think you eat enough for the both of us.”

  He slaps his flat stomach. “And look at my amazing body.”

  “You’ll die from cholesterol one day.”

  He laughs, sprinkling pastry all over the table. “And I’ll die happy.”

  “Lou,” his dad says, “I meant to ask you.”

  My shoulders tense. Tony’s parents are strange adults who like to talk, even to other people, like me, who are not even their kids. It always starts me when someone twice my age wants to talk to me. It makes me anxious, like I’m about to pass a test. And about to fail it. I much prefer the company of my peers, you know. But Tony’s dad is okay, really, so I smile politely and wait.

  “Are you still planning to go to London?”

  My head jerks back toward Tony, who lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. He told them? My plan to go to London after graduation is not known to many, and I prefer it that way. Partly because I don’t like talking about my private business with other people. Partly because I have no idea if I’m really capable of it, you know. Leaving everything behind.

  It was our secret, Tony’s, Lucie’s and I. Well, and my father’s, because I need his approval. So I don’t know how I feel about Tony telling everyone.

  “I don’t know, maybe.” I stare down at my feet. “It’s definitely still on the table.”

  I’m expecting my friends to start shouting in protest, but to my surprise, Tony keeps silent and starts buttering himself a piece of toast. Lucie watches us intently, in silence, even though two weeks ago she was pestering me to apply at the same University. I even told her rockstars don’t go to university, which Tony approved, but it didn’t make her laugh at all at the time. I guess I’m on my own, then.

  “I was talking to a friend last night,” Tony’s father explains. “He says he’ll have a room to rent when his current tenant leaves, at the beginning of July. I told him it could interest you.”

  I glance at Tony for support, but he’s buttering his toast and not looking at me.

  “Nothing is certain yet. My father hasn’t exactly given me permission to go.”

  That’s not exactly true, but not exactly a lie either, so that makes it okay.

  “Well,” Tony’s dad says as he gets up. “Just let me know whenever you’re sure. I’ll talk to my friend about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tony’s father leaves us to our breakfast. We’re a little too quiet. Simon breaks the silence when he and his blonde walk pass the kitchen door on their wa
y out.

  “Happy new year!”

  They both wave at us on their way out of the flat. Lucie and Tony wave back. They share a few words while I’m wondering again if I should go home and start my homework. When the door shuts behind them, Lucie turns to Tony, her mouth agape.

  “Is that who I think it is?”

  Tony nods. “No comment.”

  “Who is this?” I help myself to more coffee. “She famous or something?”

  Lucie throws me a look. “That’s Gretchen, Lou.”

  “Who?”

  “Julien’s girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend,” Tony says.

  “Who?”

  Who are these people? It doesn’t ring a bell.

  Lucie rolls her eyes. “Lou sometimes I think you’re completely blind.”

  Tony gives a cackle. “That’s the sunglasses.”

  “Gretchen,” Lucie says, sounding impatient, “was with Julien for years.”

  I look up, coffee mug halfway to my mouth. “Wait, Julien? Your brother’s best friend?”

  Tony looks annoyed. “Yeah. That caused some drama.”

  You bet that it caused some drama.

  “They use to go to my school”, Lucie says. “Such a cool couple.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask. “To Julien, I mean. Is he okay?”

  Tony shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re not exactly talking anymore.”

  “That’s really sad,” Lucie says. “They were inseparable.”

  “It’s not like my brother could help it.” Tony begins to pick up dishes and turns his back to us to stack them in the sink. “They fell in love, there’s nothing they could do, you know.”

  Tony doesn’t like injustice. He wears t-shirts with Karl Marx’s face on it. He also pretends to hate Kiki, his ugly mutt, but will try to break both your legs if you make fun of the little cutie. So it strikes me as curious that he doesn’t have more to say about it. That’s probably because his brother, in his eyes, can do no wrong.

  In any case, the subject is dropped, and another matter arises. Which of the Blu-Rays Tony got for Christmas are we going to watch today? My motivation to start over, go home and do some homework is quickly thrown out the window. Before the hour is over, we’re all tucked under blankets in Tony’s bedroom, homework completely forgotten.