40 Things I Want to Tell You

  Wandering away from the house, I began to photograph my street. I loved getting shots of empty streets—completely the opposite of my love of taking photos of people. The absence of people made the photographs intriguing. I tried to catch the sunlight filtering through the tree branches, and then I stood on a wall and pointed my camera down at the line of the deserted road.

  All of a sudden, the image of the new guy floated like a lifeboat into my mind. Pete Loewen. That strong, toned body. That mussed-up hair. That penetrating stare. He was so grown up and so … so … so … sexy …

  I realized I was biting my bottom lip.

  I WAS UP IN MY ROOM THAT EVENING WORKING THROUGH SOME EXTRA reading for Spanish when Dad knocked on the door.

  “Can I come in, little Bird?”

  He burst in before I even had time to answer. He patted his big gut, saying, “Should be eating less. Those stairs wear me out.” He sat heavily on the bed and took a few ragged breaths.

  I asked, “Didn’t you study Spanish once? Do you know anything about the subjunctive voice? I just can’t figure out why the writer’s using it in this sentence.”

  He frowned and scratched his chin. “That was your mother—she’s still pretty fluent. Uh, subjunctive: something to do with the future.”

  “Yeah, I know that much.”

  He flipped up both palms. “You know more than I do, then.”

  “Never mind. How was work today?” He didn’t have a conventional job; instead he worked in his office downstairs, often trying to secure funding for one of his business plans. I loved that he was an entrepreneur—it made him seem exciting and dynamic, although I wasn’t sure my mum saw it the same way.

  He said, “Ah, well, you see, I wanted to talk to you about this new idea I have. What do you think: instead of solar-powered panels, solar-powered bricks? I’ve been doing the research and it seems to me this country’s crying out for a way to get energy through the walls.”

  I loved Dad and his big ideas. “Huh, might be brilliant.”

  “See, that’s what I think. But your mother doesn’t want to invest in it. Thinks it’s risky.”

  I wheeled my desk chair closer to him. “I guess a little research couldn’t hurt.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Exactly. And research is the expensive part. I knew you’d be on my side.”

  “That’s not what I was saying—”

  “That’s my girl.” He hauled himself up from the bed and kissed me on the top of my hair.

  “No, Dad, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Anyway, I shouldn’t interrupt you working. How are you going to get to Oxford University if I keep stopping you from studying?”

  Oxford University. Just the words conjured up spires and bicycles and long afternoons of fascinating conversations in cluttered cafés. I imagined myself wearing a cool vintage outfit I’d just picked up from a little boutique shop, carrying my camera and photographing my fellow students. The plan was that Griffin and I would go together when we finished school in a year and a half.

  Dad was admiring the corkboard next to my desk. I followed his gaze to a printout of the homepage of the Oxford website. Around that, I had pinned inspirational quotations and things I’d found online to help me with the Top Tips section on my website. One of my favourite quotations read:

  It is possible to fail in many ways … while to succeed is

  possible only in one way.

  Aristotle

  Out loud, Dad read the two quotations underneath it:

  I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

  William Shakespeare

  There is no greater guilt than discontentment.

  Lao-tzu, The Way of Lao-tzu

  “Very profound. And that’s a good photo.” Pinned to the far left was a photograph I’d taken three months ago. It was a self-portrait. In it I was sitting on the bench in the park opposite my school. I’d used the self-timer and framed myself entirely against the sky so neither the bench nor the park trees could be seen at all. My hair was straightened, blonde against the blue. My mouth was firmly set. Looking at the shot, I wondered why I looked so grimly determined.

  Dad said, “It’s well composed. ‘Nicely framed,’ as your mother would say. Only it doesn’t look like you.”

  I frowned at it, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “I suppose it does. But you look all grown-up. Not like my little Bird, ready to take a risk and fly out a tree.”

  “I broke my leg when I did that.” I forced a laugh.

  He peered down at me. “Are you okay, Bird?”

  “I just have a lot of work to do. Big year.”

  “I should let you get on.” He squeezed my shoulder.

  “Okay, well, good luck with persuading Mum about the bricks.”

  His phone rang and he answered it on his way out the room. I heard him chatting excitedly about solar power as he headed downstairs.

  My phone buzzed and it was Griffin.

  Mom fine. Gd 2 C U earlier.

  I replied.

  All okay? Want me 2 come over?

  His reply popped into my phone.

  All fine. Love U. Maybe 2moro. xxx

  I replied.

  Love U xxxx

  He texted back.

  2½ weeks and counting. xxxxx

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I STUDIED HARD AND CONCENTRATED ON staying ahead in my classes. Occasionally I’d look up and spot Pete Loewen. As soon as I caught myself staring, I’d stop, but as the week went on I found myself thinking about him more and more often. I tried to pay attention to my teachers, even to Mrs. Livermore when she ranted on.

  “You might think you’re all very mature,” she droned one day, “but this is a huge year for you, one in which you become adults. Don’t throw your chances away.” She shot a glance at Pete, which made me look around at him too. God. Look away, look away. Her voice was like the buzzing of bees. “If you fail you’ll end up going nowhere …”

  But I wasn’t listening anymore. I half twisted in my seat and bent down, pretending to be getting something out of my bag. Covertly, I studied Pete’s trainers … his jeans-clad legs … his tight black jacket … the side of his head. His sandy hair looked soft, touchable. His chin jutted out like he was mad about something; maybe he was clenching his teeth. Hmm, perfect cheekbones, full mouth. I’d have bet the rest of the room could just disappear and he’d still sit there, jaw clenched, staring off into the distance. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the rumour I’d heard from Becca. Expelled. Into drugs. He was so blatantly not my type.

  I was gazing up at him, so when his grey eyes flicked to rest on mine, amusement danced over his lips. I must have looked so stupid all twisted up in my seat, my empty hand resting on top of my bag while I goggled at him. As the blush heated my cheeks, I stared back and I was pretty sure he’d seen right through me. This had to stop. I tried to think about the advice I’d given that twelve-year-old girl Mercedes on my website recently. I was acting just like her. But sitting there, chewing on my pen, I couldn’t even remember the things Cleo said were ways to forget a crush. A crush.

  Mrs. Livermore beamed in my direction, oblivious to the fact my heart was beating three times faster than it should. Even though I found her so boring, she clearly favoured me—probably because I always got such good grades. “Yes, those exams are very important. As we all know, don’t we, Bird?”

  I glanced at Cleo, who rolled her chocolate-brown eyes at me and stuck her tongue out. Thank God for Cleo. I grinned at her quickly and then I said, “Yes, Mrs. Livermore,” as I was expected to.

  CHAPTER 4

  Wed 20 Oct

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

  I bet you get questions like this from girls all the time. My girlfriend wants us to have sex and you’d think I’d be happy about it. I do want to have sex. Thing is, I’m a virgin and like only 60% sure that she would be cool with that. I’m running out of excuses. I’m not gay but she might
think I am if we don’t have sex soon. And how do I know she’s the right girl?

  Adam99, 16

  Adam99 sounded great. I wished Griffin could be more like him.

  As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I regretted it. Griffin wasn’t pressuring me: what he wanted was normal. I paused before answering Adam99, pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write a list. Pros of having sex with Griffin:

  • First time is a big deal and it will be with someone I trust and know well.

  • I’m not shy with him.

  • He loves me.

  • It will be a good step for us as a couple.

  • He’s my best friend (apart from Cleo!).

  • I’ve known him forever. We’ll be friends forever—together forever.

  • We will be careful and safe.

  Cons of having sex with Griffin:

  • I am feeling pressured. Not sure why. Not sure I should have sex just because I feel pressured to. Maybe I’m feeling worried because it’s my first time. Will it hurt?

  • He’s my best friend. Okay, this is a pro too, but sometimes it seems like a con.

  • Although I’m not shy with him, maybe I will be if we’re not wearing clothes. Might be weird.

  • Is he the one? I know he is and we have a great future planned, but sometimes he’s just so … so him. I wish he could be more confident and more mysterious—maybe I just know him too well.

  • I keep thinking about Pete Loewen. The idea of being with him doesn’t make me feel anything except excited. Maybe this is a pro reason for having sex with G … Would it get me back in the right headspace?

  Seeing the words I’d written led me to doodle a frustrated series of angry lines and squares under the list. This was getting me nowhere. I scrumpled up the page and chucked it away, returning my attention to Adam99.

  Dear Adam99,

  I bet a lot of girls would love dating a guy like you: one who isn’t putting pressure on them. I get the feeling that you and your girlfriend don’t know each other that well—you don’t seem very sure about what she thinks of you.

  Tips to Take Back Control

  You should be more confident that lots of girls would be happy with a boyfriend like you.

  If she’s the right girl, you’ll feel comfortable with her. She should be honoured to be your first, not judging you. And she should respect your decision to wait if that’s what you want to do.

  Get to know her better, take a little time, and when she brings it up, tell her what you want.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  CLEO CAUGHT UP WITH ME BY THE LOCKERS ONE AFTERNOON AFTER the final bell.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s good.” Rain began to spatter against the opposite window. “I guess I’m stressed about school.”

  I thought back to when Cleo and I met. We were eleven and were attending a photography class that Mum got for me as a gift. I noticed Cleo right away. She had streaks of purple in her black hair. I’d never seen anyone my age with purple in their hair.

  She stood in the middle of the room, her fancy camera looped round her wrist on a pretty chain, and said to the teacher, “I don’t really like taking photos.”

  I envied her camera, I envied her purple streaks and I envied her for being cool. Pure hatred quickened in my blood. I decided that the way she’d spoken to the teacher was the rudest thing I’d ever heard, so I was furious when we were paired up to work together.

  The girl hooked her arm through mine as if we’d been friends forever and said, “So how are we going to make the time go faster?”

  “I like taking photographs. I want to be here,” I replied.

  She started laughing.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “You are. You’re so cross and stiff, like a cardboard cut-out. You need to relax.”

  “You need to realize you’re not the centre of the universe.”

  She laughed harder. “You’re hilarious,” she said. “I think I love you.”

  “I’m not being funny. Let go of my arm.” I put my hand up and said to the teacher, “Please can I be paired with someone else?”

  The teacher sighed. “Come on, girls. Let’s get on, shall we?”

  “But she doesn’t even want to be here.”

  Cleo said, “Because it’s a Saturday. Who wants to be on a course on a Saturday?”

  “Why did you come, then?” I spat.

  She shrugged. “My dad bought it for me as a Christmas present.”

  “My mum got it for me as a Christmas present and I’m happy about it. I want to learn about photography.”

  She smiled broadly, her braces showing fully in her mouth. “Okay, well, let’s learn about photography. At least I’ve got you as my partner. That should make things better. What’s your name?”

  Even though I didn’t like her, I couldn’t help but warm to her smile. She was what my dad would call a live wire. “Bird,” I said. “It’s my nickname. My real name’s Amy Finch.”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Bird.”

  “Can we just get on with this?”

  “You’ve forgiven me?”

  The rest of the day was great, but afterward I figured I’d never see her again. However, we started at the same new school in September of that year, and we both grinned like idiots when we recognized each other.

  Now Cleo said, “Uh, helllooo, Bird, I’m still here. Sure you’re all right?” She slung an arm over my shoulder. “Come on, ‘fess up. Is the idea of having sex freaking you out?”

  I turned away from the window. “How do you know what’s going on in my head?”

  “Your first time, it’s a big deal …”

  “But it’s me and Griffin, remember? It’s so obviously the next step for us.”

  “It’ll be over before you know it. Then you won’t have to worry.”

  “Yeah. I guess so. Can we talk about something else?”

  “You know, you don’t always have to be the one giving advice. I can listen too.”

  “I know, I know. Maybe you’re right and I should just get the whole sex thing over with. It’s just Griffin, right?” I said it again. “Right?”

  “Well, you know him better than anyone. He’s been kind of like your brother forever.”

  “Oh my God, that’s disgusting.”

  “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, you were best friends for so long that the thought of having sex with him might be weird.”

  I wondered if I should tell her about my crush on Pete—perhaps she could help me figure it out. I was just about to try to bring it up when she spoke.

  “So I tried to ask the hot guy out. Pete.”

  Jealousy flared through me. Pete Loewen was nothing to me, so I shouldn’t care. Oh God. I was going to have to watch Pete and Cleo together the whole time.

  “Huh. So, um, when are you seeing him?” I asked, trying not to sound like I felt.

  “Mr. Sleeps-Around turned me down. Me?” Her eyes widened. “I told him I’d heard he wasn’t the type to turn women down and he laughed. He’s going to have to do the running around when he realizes what he’s missing.” She pulled her music-playing phone out of her bag. “Oooh, gotta take this. It’s Joe—I think things might work out with him.”

  “Joe Friesen?”

  She nodded.

  “See you later,” I said. I leaned against my locker and took a breath. Thank God Pete had turned Cleo down, although I couldn’t understand why he’d done it. She had boys after her all the time. He was probably playing hard to get. I slammed my hand against the cool metal door. I hated that I was thinking about him again.

  I pushed off from my locker and jogged down the corridor, suddenly keen to get out of school, glad classes were over for the day. I shoved open the main door and stepped out, rain dampening my hair and clothes. I should have gone back, but instead I hurried out the front entrance, my shoes splashing up
water. Ruined. I was being an idiot. I stopped under a clump of trees in the small park opposite the school, feeling weirdly free. The rain eased off a little and I smoothed my hair behind my ears, wiping my face on my sleeve. The wet and the cold felt bracing, and my skin tingled. When a hand touched my upper arm I almost jumped out of my soaking clothes.

  I spun round and was practically in Pete Loewen’s arms. I could see dewy drops of rain on his cheeks and I could smell the cigarette he must have just smoked. I’d imagined being close to him more times than I cared to admit, but it was even better in real life. The rain slowed to a light drizzle.

  “So,” he said, his mouth easing into a smile.

  “I, uh, what, um.” Not cool.

  “I wondered if I’d be able to get anywhere near you,” he said.

  My heart was slamming, my skin on fire. I figured steam was probably rising from me, considering the heat generated between us. I should have stepped back but I couldn’t stop looking in his eyes. They were the colour of flint.

  As I stared at him, I figured something out. He wanted me. I could tell. No, I was being ridiculous. He could have his pick of any girl in the school—he’d just turned Cleo down. I was way too ordinary for a guy like him. A girl like Cleo was tall, slim, gorgeous, whereas I was just … just okay.

  “I, uh, should go,” I stammered. My body was humming. This close I could see a tiny scar cutting up from his top lip. Silvery. I wanted to touch it.

  “So, Amy,” he said. His voice was low and steady. “Finally we get to talk. It seems like you’ve been wanting to talk to me.”

  “I, um, I don’t know what you mean.” He knew my name!

  “I’ve seen you staring. You’re sweet when you blush.”

  The blush I’d been trying to stop seared my cheeks. I stood my ground. “I haven’t been, um, staring at you,” I said, my voice coming out way less confident than I wanted it to.

  “I saw you the first day I started at this school. You and your boyfriend.”

  “Huh. I, uh, hadn’t noticed.”