40 Things I Want to Tell You

“I don’t understand why you can’t study at home and then walk in with me like we used to.”

  “I explained it already: the library’s a good place to work. I want to take this year seriously. You know the plan.”

  “Right, the plan.” He grimaced.

  “What?” He was the worst person in the world at talking about what was wrong—he just liked to pretend everything was okay all the time. Things with his mum were a perfect example of that. “Tell me.”

  “Be honest, Bird.” He put his hand up to the side of his neck, his fingers lightly touching the skin. I knew the gesture meant he was nervous. He sighed, and then the words came out in a rush. “You didn’t want to see me last night, and again this morning. Like you don’t think it’s normal for me to want us to … you know?”

  “Griffin, nothing’s wrong. This isn’t anything to do with sex.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “If you’re not ready—”

  “That’s not the issue.”

  “Well, I don’t get it, Bird.”

  The conversation was starting to slide out of control. God, we were having our first real—uh—disagreement as a couple.

  I snapped, “It doesn’t help having you pressure me all the time.” Wow, I was being a total bitch. Griffin didn’t deserve me being so grumpy. I looked up at him and the muscles of my face smiled automatically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know you’re stressed about school and applying to Oxford and everything. But by telling me we have to wait until your birthday, well, I was thinking about it and it’s not very— Well, it’s not very spontaneous.”

  “Why does it have to be spontaneous? This way we can look forward to it.”

  He softened. “You’re so … so you, Bird. So predictable.”

  Predictable. That was me.

  He bent close. “Come here. Give me a kiss. We’ll figure it out.”

  The bell rang. The word saved popped into my head. Some of what Griffin had said was still sneaking about uncomfortably under my skin. I kissed him lightly, grabbed my books and said—perhaps to reassure myself as much as him—”It’s all fine, I promise. Come on, we’ll be late.”

  IN FIRST CLASS, MRS. LIVERMORE WAS SAYING IN HER HIGH VOICE, “You need to think about your exams. This isn’t about fun. This is about the future.”

  No one was really listening. I doodled in a notebook, jotting down some ideas for my website.

  It took a second to register that something was going on, but quickly the ripple of interest in the room made me pay attention. I raised my gaze to see a guy lounging against the open doorway. I couldn’t help but notice that he was really hot. I glanced at Cleo, who was sitting there with an expression of pure admiration on her face. I swivelled back to the guy. He was older than us. He wore jeans and a black shirt with the words Born to Die scrawled over it. His sandy blond hair hung slightly long, like he hadn’t got round to cutting it, and he had stubble on his jawline. He managed to look like he didn’t care about his appearance at all, yet he was one of the— No, he was the most gorgeous man who’d ever walked into our school. God, the last thing I needed was a teacher like him around. Totally distracting. I’d have to work doubly hard to concentrate if I had any classes with him. I wondered who he was replacing in the middle of term.

  The guy folded his arms over his chest, totally at ease, as if he were modelling for a photo shoot. Then he turned his eyes upon me and everyone else vanished. I tried desperately to drag my gaze away.

  Mrs. Livermore’s voice cut loudly through my mind. “Pete Loewen. Finally. You’re late. Not a good start, young man. Take a seat.”

  Oh my God. He was a student. No way was he sixteen. The rest of us looked like kids compared to him.

  “Morning,” he said. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

  “That is not my fault,” she squawked. “Sit down, just there.” She signalled to a desk a couple of rows to the left of me. I watched him walk across the room, an inner pinching deep in

  my gut.

  He sat, shrugging his bag to the floor.

  I thought how amazing it was that this gorgeous guy was sitting so close to me. If I cranked my neck around, I had a great view of the side of his head. Hmm. Even the side of his head looked good. He turned to the right and caught me gawking at him. Caught me out a second time. He leaned back in his seat and winked at me. Winked! Like we were in some cheesy movie. I sat up straight and tried to listen what Mrs. Livermore was saying, ignoring the new guy completely. Sort of.

  AT LUNCH, CLEO AND I HUNG AROUND IN AN EMPTY CLASSROOM. SHE leaned her hip against a desk, her black hair straightened and sleek. She wore a denim shirt-dress and black leggings with knee-high boots, making her look skinny and pretty. As always.

  She said, “Your hair isn’t enjoying the weather.”

  I thought of the time I’d spent straightening it. Time when I could have been studying. My unruly blonde curls were the bane of my life. “Stupid hair.”

  She said, “All the work is worth it. It still looks good.”

  “Sure.” I ran my hand over my head, feeling how the moisture in the air was making me frizzier by the minute.

  “That guy is hot,” she said.

  “Who?” I pretended I had no idea who she was talking about. I didn’t want her to know I’d been sneaking peeks at him in every class for, like, the whole morning.

  “Come on, Bird. You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

  “The new guy?” I tried to be casual. The image of him winking at me appeared in my head.

  Her iPhone vibrated. “You’re just so loved up with Griffin you didn’t even see him. Hang on.” Her big liquid eyes concentrated on reading a text. She said, without looking up, “Hmm, I thought she’d know him. She knows everyone.”

  “Who? What are you talking about now?”

  “Hello, Bird.” She rapped me lightly on the head. “The hot new guy. The one who started school with us today: Pete Loewen.”

  “Oh, him.” I tried to be nonchalant by changing the subject. “Who knows everyone?”

  “Becca.” She held up her phone and flicked through Facebook. “She has all the gossip on Pete.”

  “So what does she say?”

  “Read this.”

  Hey C! Pete Loewen’s at your school now? He’ll be expelled again, for sure. Goss: Sleeps around. Into drugs, etc. Everybody loooves him. Girls, anyways. When do I get to seee yooouuuu???? Love and super hugs Becca

  Cleo said, “I know you don’t like Becca that much, but you’ve gotta admit, she always knows everything.”

  “It’s just … I’m not sure how being into drugs and getting expelled makes him so fun that everyone looovvves him,” I said stiffly.

  Cleo rattled on. “Anyway, I have Dan and Joe to think about for now. No time for hot new guys just now. So, Miss Take-Control, tell me what to do.”

  “Shh, don’t call me that here.”

  “No one’s listening.” She gestured around the deserted room. “I need your advice. Look—” She tapped through to show me two texts. One from Joe Friesen in the year above us and one, almost identical, from Dan Swain in our Computing class.

  “Uh, Cleo. They both want to see you on Saturday night. You can’t be two places at once, no matter how good you are at dazzling men.”

  “One for dinner and one later—or is that terrible?”

  I giggled. “Definitely terrible.”

  “Really? Terrible terrible? Let’s say I do it anyway, what should I wear?”

  “For supper or for later? Will you have time to get changed?”

  She smiled wickedly.

  I threw up my hands and said, “That black dress with the long sleeves for Joe. Show off your legs. Levi’s and your silky top for Dan. He’s more, you know, casual. And what happened to Xavier? Didn’t you see him just yesterday?”

  It was a moment before she spoke. “Yeah, except he didn’t show up.”

  “You know I hate that guy, right? And the way he makes you f
eel.” I squeezed her arm.

  “Anyway, that was all before Dan and Joe texted.”

  I could tell from her voice that she was more hurt than she wanted to let on.

  Griffin came into the room. As usual, we kissed. His mouth was soft and he pulled away quickly, shyly. Not for the first time, I wished he’d be a bit more confident when he showed me physical affection, more certain of what he was doing.

  He gave me a look that was hard to read and wandered over to the far side of the room, where he hauled himself up onto a desk. He picked up a pen and tumbled it from one finger to the other so it was in constant movement—a trick his dad taught him when we were young.

  Cleo chatted on about something while I watched Griffin. He looked tired and grumpy. And I should know—I knew him better than anyone in the world. I thought about the first time I’d seen him—the day his family moved next door to mine, when a skinny boy appeared at the hole in the fence at the end of my garden. At the time he was a goofy-looking, glasses-wearing kid, with black hair hanging all the way to his shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” he asked that first day in an accent I placed immediately.

  “Are you American?” I rubbed my dirty hands on my T-shirt and pulled a twig from my crazy, frizzy hair.

  He nodded. “I am. From Montana. What’ve you done to your leg?” He pointed at the plaster wrapped tight around it.

  “I flew out of a tree.”

  He looked at the blue sky. “I don’t think I’d like flying very much. Did it hurt?”

  But before I could answer, his dad called him away.

  Later I’d watched from my window as Griffin’s father scooped up the skinny boy in a side hold, swinging him round with a meaty laugh.

  Griffin’s dad died three years ago of a heart attack. Life sucks like that sometimes.

  Cleo interrupted my nostalgia by asking, “So do you two want to go get lunch?”

  Griffin said, “From the cafeteria?”

  “Gross,” I said. “But it’s raining, so there’s no choice.”

  Griffin and Cleo carried on discussing it, and I thought about the day Griffin and I kissed for the first time. We’d been sitting in his room, studying, and suddenly his hand covered mine on the carpeted floor. I felt him leaning closer.

  He said, “Would it be weird if we …?”

  I knew exactly what he meant.

  Everyone already thought we were dating because we spent so much time together, and kissing him seemed like it would make sense. At sixteen I had never kissed a boy before, which was starting to worry me. I knew loads of girls my age had boyfriends, but with Griffin as my best friend, there’d never really been time for any other boys in my life.

  Sitting on his bedroom floor, I felt like I was watching myself as Griffin tipped his face so his mouth landed on mine. I remember thinking, He tastes exactly like I thought he would. The idea was comforting, so I experimented by kissing him a little harder.

  He pulled away and smiled his goofy grin at me. “You’re perfect,” he said, and the compliment made me feel a bit tingly.

  Okay, so I didn’t have the rush that Cleo talked about when she described kissing guys, but I wasn’t anything like Cleo. And Griffin wasn’t anything like the guys she dated.

  Griffin stared glumly at me now, so I gave him a small smile, feeling bad about our almost-argument. Maybe my tummy didn’t flip-flop when I looked at him, but we were so … right together. His fingers touched his neck.

  Neen Patel had come in and was loudly gabbing with Cleo, who was still leaning against the desk next to me. “I heard his father was in prison,” Neen said.

  “Who?” I asked, suddenly interested.

  “Pete Loewen. He’s in foster care, apparently.”

  “How do you know?”

  Neen said, “His mum left him—she just walked out on the family. Can you imagine your mum just leaving? His dad was bad news, apparently, and Pete’s the same according to everything everyone’s been saying. He’s just got trouble written all over him. Can’t you tell?” Her tongue rested between her teeth. “Super sexy. I’m going to ask him out.”

  Cleo said, “I’m definitely going to ask him first. You can have him when I’m done.”

  My phone buzzed and I turned to it. It was Griffin texting me from the other side of the room.

  Sorry that things are weird.

  I smiled over at him. Cleo and Neen were still chatting. I texted him without them noticing.

  Me too. We cn b more spontaneous if u like. What do u want us 2 do?

  Another text popped into my phone.

  No, I get it—we’ll stick w the plan. 1 month and counting ;-)

  He was being so patient. He flashed a smile at me. It seemed everything was fixed, so I should feel better. But I didn’t. I looked at his text again. 1 month and counting.

  All of a sudden I had a bad taste in my mouth.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sat 16 Oct

  Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,

  My life’s totally out of control … how do u keep it together?

  MetalGirl

  Dear MetalGirl,

  Tips to Take Back Control

  Take a deep breath when you’re feeling like you’re not in control.

  Write a list of all the things you need to do.

  Stay on top of your homework and try to keep your workspace tidy—it helps keep your mind tidy.

  Meditation, Pilates or yoga can help reduce your blood pressure and calm you down, and you’ll find some great classes online which you can watch.

  Talk to your friends and family about your feelings.

  Remember, you are in control, always.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  I smiled as I reread my answer to MetalGirl, and then sorted through some of the other emails in my inbox before adding to the new Top Tips section.

  TOP TIP 2: DO WHAT YOU LOVE

  I’d finished all my homework the night before, so Saturday called out to me like an invitation. I closed up the site and pulled out my new, fantastic Canon Rebel XTi. When my grandmother died, she left me some money and left my mum the house we now lived in. I used some of the inheritance to buy myself the camera—Mum said the money was for me to invest in something I loved. I wandered downstairs and snapped some shots of my dad absorbed with typing furiously on his laptop, his cup of coffee congealing next to him. He didn’t even notice me crouched on the carpet trying to get a good angle. Dad is a gigantic man and I wanted to represent how big he was, how he filled any space, not just physically but with his ideas and excitement. Mum passed by in the corridor carrying laundry, which I offered to help her with, but she didn’t reply. Shortly after, the laundry gone, she reappeared with a pen and a pad of paper in her hands.

  She said, “I have the schedule for the week written out here and I’m just wondering if there’s anything we need to add before I post it on the fridge. Any meetings or anything that I should know about?”

  Dad told her about a Tuesday evening meeting he’d forgotten to mention earlier, and Mum scribbled down the details.

  She glanced at my dad. “Okay, tonight we have you making your Saturday spaghetti with tomato sauce”—she turned to me—”and you, Bird, are doing the salad. Everything’s laid out in the fridge where it should be. All set?”

  We both nodded. “Sounds good, Mum.”

  My phone rang. It was Griffin. I headed out the room as I answered.

  “Want to hang out?” Griffin asked.

  “Come over. I’m taking photos. I could take some of you.”

  “You know how I feel about photos.”

  “I’ll make you coffee.”

  I met him on my front step and passed him a steaming cup of coffee. He kissed me lightly on both cheeks, then softly on the mouth.

  “Morning,” I said. “I know it’s cold, but could I take a couple pictures of you out here?”

  He growled with displeasure
but leaned obediently against the house and I snapped a series of shots.

  “Are you okay, G? You seem tired.”

  “Just a bit worried about Mom.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “You know—the same. Worse.”

  I lowered the camera and smiled sympathetically at him. “Anything I can do?”

  He shook his head.

  I said, as flirtatiously as I could, “Would it make you feel better if we talked instead about—you know—the night of my birthday?”

  “What’s wrong now? You know, Bird, for someone who lives by her plans, you sure keep trying to change this one.”

  Shocked, I said, “I didn’t mean I was backing out, Griffin. I’m not backing out. I just wanted to—”

  “What is there to say? Look, I can’t stay long. Mom needs me around today.”

  “I’m sorry.” I went over and gave him a hug.

  He leaned his chin on my shoulder, flopping his weight on me, tangling his hands up in my hair. “Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured, then slid away and picked up the empty cup he’d placed on the step. “I didn’t mean to get so— Things at home are kind of …”

  “No, you’re right. I’ve been acting like I don’t want us to go through with this. It’s my fault. I guess it feels like a big deal. Maybe I’m a little scared. I don’t know. Everything just feels a bit weird. Don’t you feel it too? Like, we’re friends but now there’s all this other stuff to deal with.”

  He frowned down at me. “Why would you be scared with me?”

  I didn’t answer. He wasn’t really getting what I was trying to say. I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to say. I changed the subject. “Why don’t I come over and help you out?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Today’s not a good day. You know how she is.”

  I did know. And I knew he wanted to deal with it all by himself. Secretly I was worried that the situation with his mum was much worse than he let on, but no matter how much I tried to ask, he kept stubbornly silent.

  “We’ll talk later.” He kissed me on the top of my head and headed out the gate, turned onto the path leading to his house and, with a final wave, disappeared. I let out all the air I’d been holding.