40 Things I Want to Tell You

  “If you say so.”

  He leaned closer, and even though his lips weren’t touching mine, I felt the warmth of his breath. His face was damp from the rain.

  He murmured, “You’re a terrible liar. I know you’ve been looking at me, because I’ve been looking at you.”

  My insides zipped all the way up and I sucked in a breath.

  “So what’s the deal with you and that guy?”

  “Griffin?”

  “Him.”

  “He’s my, uh, boyfriend.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I stood with my face upturned, his mouth a heartbeat away from mine. With a fierce jolt, I knew I wanted him to kiss me more than anything.

  “This is crazy,” I mumbled, mustering all my self-control, but wanting to cover the millimetres between us and taste his lips on mine.

  He murmured, “I’m not so bad, you know.” His expression was hard to read. He stepped back, leaving me with nothing but cold air on my mouth.

  “That’s not what everyone says,” I managed to whisper.

  His eyes narrowed and he gave the smallest of nods, like my words had just confirmed something he didn’t want to hear. Just as I was trying to understand what was going on in his head, he turned his back and sauntered across the street to school like nothing had happened.

  And nothing had happened. Technically.

  AFTER THE NON-INCIDENT (WHICH IS WHAT I WAS CALLING IT) WITH Pete in the park, I forced him from my mind and tried extra hard to be the perfect girlfriend. I kept my head down at school, ignoring Pete Loewen at all times, kept things light with Griffin and tried not to think about the night of my birthday.

  But November 3 rolled around faster than I could have imagined. The idea was to have supper first with Cleo, Griffin and my parents. Cleo knew all about the big sex plan, so she kept smirking at me.

  Mum ordered in Thai food from the place she always used when we had Thai, and the table in our cozy kitchen was laden with foil boxes full of spicy and steaming delicacies. Everything smelled delicious, but because I knew what was coming later, my gut was knotted like a rope. I wasn’t even sure I could eat. I found it hard to look at Griffin. I reassured myself that after this, everything would start to feel normal again.

  Dad came to join us at the table and everyone served themselves.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. A text from a number I didn’t recognize. It read:

  Bet Ur thinking about me.

  Pete? It had to be him.

  My heart leaped about like a fish in a net. I swallowed the feeling. “Could someone, uh, pass me the, um, green curry?” I had studiously avoided speaking to Pete since the moment together in the rain. The non-incident—so unimportant I hadn’t even told Cleo, so unimportant it was all I’d been thinking about—had been interfering with my concentration at school.

  Mum handed over a silver box of hot curry. I smiled quickly at her but she didn’t smile back. She looked even paler than usual, with dark blue circles under her eyes: I should probably have made time to ask her what was up.

  Dad chatted away. “I can’t believe you’re seventeen, my gorgeous birthday girl. I remember the day you were born. You had this little scrunched-up face and crossed eyes and a little upturned nose and you were the most beautiful baby in the whole world. You used to burp so loudly—”

  “Dad, stop.”

  “You were a darling. When you were about four, you came up to me and said, Can I marry you when I’m older, Dad?”

  “Gross, stop!” I cried, giggling. I was enjoying the banter with my dad, while secretly thrilling at the idea that Pete was waiting for me to reply.

  Dad said, “You wept when I explained you couldn’t ever marry me—”

  Mum cut in. “Anyone want any cashew chicken? I got an extra box because I know you like it, Griffin.”

  Griffin said, “Sure, thanks. Remember when we met, Bird? You were in a clump of bushes. You had a broken leg.”

  “Could we all stop with the nostalgia?” I begged.

  “Ah, so modest,” Dad said. “But it’s your birthday, so we’re supposed to talk about you.” He started coughing. “Gah, hot chili, sorry.”

  My phone vibrated again. I slid it out of my pocket to give it a glance.

  Am I right? Cos I’m thinking about you. X Pete

  Mum’s eyes sharpened. “Who’s that?”

  I hardly heard her. My whole head was full of Pete’s intense eyes, his hot, smoky mouth. “Um, someone, uh, wishing me happy birthday. I’ll deal with it later.” I shouldn’t be thinking about Pete with Griffin right here. I shouldn’t be thinking about Pete at all. I switched off my phone and shoved it deep into my pocket.

  Griffin said, “Did you get the history homework done?” He was wearing a white shirt and his hair looked like he’d just washed it—clean and shiny.

  “All done,” I said.

  Cleo elbowed me. “Of course she did, but do we have to talk about homework now? I’m trying to eat here.”

  Dad said, “None of that. Did I tell you, Griffin, about my plan for an extension at the back of the house? We’re going to use it for company offices.”

  Mum sighed heavily, and Dad hesitated, clenching his teeth. When she said nothing, he continued talking to Griffin. “The solar bricks are going to take off. You know, no one’s ever thought about this before, yet by my calculations they catch twenty-one percent more sunlight than solar panels. I just need some more start-up money and we’ll be—”

  Mum interrupted with “Okay, time for gifts.”

  I opened my presents. Here’s what I got:

  • Cleo—A silver necklace with a twisty pendant.

  • Mum and Dad—Money, and a memory card for my camera that can hold way more photos than my old one, and a subscription to a great photography magazine.

  • Auntie Mel—Money.

  • Uncle Robb—A postcard from some hostel in Tibet. At least he remembered!

  • Griffin—A playlist for my iPod. I flicked through the songs. There was the goofy Simon and Garfunkel song we’d kissed to the first time. There was the Minpins song we’d been listening to when he’d told me he loved me. There was the Lhasa album we had on in the background when we studied. And a load of my favourites plus a load of his.

  We finished supper. Cleo winked one of her big eyes at me— knowingly—and then she left. Mum and Dad started to bicker about something, so Griffin and I took the opportunity to slip out.

  Griffin took my hand. The plan was unfolding. The stones of his gravel path crunched underfoot. I shivered in the cool night air. As we went inside, I noticed how quiet the house seemed. His mum was out somewhere with a friend, like he’d told me she would be. She rarely went out, and without her there, the house felt lonely. The corridor was too narrow and the book-lined walls closed in. I remembered running in there when I was nine or ten with a cut knee. I was sobbing hysterically and Griffin’s mum took me in her arms. I wondered now why I didn’t go to my own mother.

  Griffin’s mum was so different since his dad died. She’d always been a bit … eccentric, I guess, but after the death, she wafted about like a ghost. I knew Griffin made her supper most nights, and once, from my window, I saw him supporting her as she stumbled along the corridor to her room. I pretended I hadn’t seen anything because it felt like that was what he wanted. Along with my crush on Pete, it was one more thing we didn’t talk about.

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs now and leaned forward to kiss me. I kissed him back, telling myself this was what I wanted.

  “I love you, Bird.” He kissed along my jaw toward my neck, which he knew I liked.

  “Mmm,” I murmured.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He tugged at my waistband and pulled me against him. I could feel through his jeans that he was hard. He slipped his hand up my top.

  I felt myself freeze, but to stop him noticing, I said, “Let’s go upstairs.” He was being confident and assertive, and I should have
been pleased. Instead, it just made me more uncomfortable.

  He pulled back, his eyes searching mine, and after a pause, he kissed me on the nose. “I love you.”

  I didn’t feel I could respond to him, but I followed anyway, my heart pounding like it was trying to break out of my body. I told myself I’d made him wait long enough. But everything felt so wrong.

  “Griffin,” I murmured to his back, “wait.”

  He didn’t hear me. He got to the top of the stairs and beckoned me up. I joined him and he wrapped me in a warm hug. He said, “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this.”

  When I even looked at Pete, my body responded like I was dissolving. A tiny voice called out from deep inside me: you’ve never felt anything like that with Griffin.

  Griffin pulled me along, kicking open his door, still holding on to me. We half fell into his room. He’d made the bed with new-smelling maroon sheets and covered the pillows with rose petals and paper cut-out hearts. He was such a … such a …

  “It’s, um, perfect,” I stammered, trying to be nice.

  “You okay?”

  I looked at the hearts lying on the pillows. Each one had writing on it. I stepped closer to see more clearly what the words said.

  FOR BIRD I LOVE YOU HAPPY BIRTHDAY

  “Um, cute,” I said. I wanted him to tell me that it was all one big goofy joke, that really we were going to go outside and ride our bikes and hang out like we used to when we were kids, laughing and racing each other from the top of the hill to the lake. When did we stop being kids? When did we stop being friends? He began to unbutton my top. Then, with some fiddling, he flipped the clasp of my bra.

  He said into my hair, “I have condoms.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  His cheek was warm against my ear. Embarrassed? Turned on? He lay back on the bed and pulled me closer. My hands wanted to cover every bit of me.

  “I love you, Bird.” His pupils widened. He really meant it. He wriggled out of his T-shirt and I kissed his chest. His hand was in my jeans; the buttons had come undone.

  He said, “Are you sure?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I nodded, keeping my gaze from his.

  He helped me get my jeans off and took off his own. Now both of us were nearly naked. I curled my legs up but he manoeuvred them straight with his thighs.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “It’s me.”

  He pulled at my underwear, which I had to kick to get free from my legs. One of his hands cupped my breast. My breath came out faster.

  He reached over to his bedside table and, from the drawer, pulled out a condom, tearing the package carefully with his teeth. “Can you put it on?” he murmured. He laid me back on the bed and smoothed my hair from my face.

  My hands were clammy, as if I had a fever.

  “You’re beautiful,” Griffin was saying.

  Just him telling me I was beautiful made me feel irritated with him—like, couldn’t he just stop talking?

  “Just relax,” he suggested.

  I twisted awkwardly below him. We were so close to … to actually doing it.

  I froze.

  “Bird, is something wrong?”

  It’s strange how your body can be one place and your brain somewhere else entirely. Lying there in Griffin’s arms, I thought of a third Top Tip for my website.

  TOP TIP 3: IT’S CALLED A COMFORT ZONE FOR A REASON

  “Griffin, I’m really sorry,” I muttered.

  He stopped and looked at me.

  I held his gaze. “I can’t do this,” I said. I jumped up off the bed, pulling the sheet with me to cover myself. “I’m sorry, I … I’m really sorry,” I stammered again. “I just …”

  He slumped back. “Oh, Bird.” He added, “I don’t get it.”

  Suddenly I wanted to be far away, climbing a tree or taking a photograph of an empty street. I found my knickers and slipped them on. I grabbed my bra and shirt. I still hadn’t answered him. I said, “I should go.”

  “What’s wrong?” he pleaded.

  “Um, Mum and Dad will be wondering where I am.”

  “We should talk. You’ve been trying to slow things down. This is my fault.” Concern spread like a blush across his face. “You know I love you, right?”

  Even though it was me causing all the drama, my skin prickled with annoyance that he wouldn’t just let me go. “Everything’s fine,” I said. I scrambled to get on my jeans. “I just have to go.”

  “Will you wait for me tomorrow to walk to school?” He sounded like he used to when he was a kid.

  I couldn’t be cruel to him. I bent forward and kissed him

  gently.

  “Of course,” I said. “Sure.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Thurs 4 Nov

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

  I did a stuuupid thing but I thought Id got away with it. I didnt tell anyone not even my closest friends but someone saw me … now everyone knows … Im in so much trouble.

  A Liar

  Dear A Liar,

  Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t know from your letter what you did, but my imagination is running wild!

  Tips to Take Back Control

  I could tell you all the things you’re probably telling yourself. You know that you should have come clean before you got found out, that you shouldn’t have done whatever it was that got you into all this trouble in the first place, etc. But what good would come from me telling you what you already know?

  Apologize.

  And face up to what’s happened. That’s all you can do. From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  After I was done answering A Liar, I wrote a to-do list:

  • Bring out winter clothes and pack away summer things—it’s definitely full-on winter: stop kidding yourself!

  • Review website stats—up or down this month?

  • Is there time for a job with schoolwork this year? Write list of pros and cons.

  • Get ahead with reading for English. Books next to bed.

  I’d start going through the list as soon as I got home. Right now, it was time to get on with the day.

  On my way out the house, I passed the kitchen and saw Mum leaning against the counter, her eyes shut. On the fridge to her right were all her lists for the week. She was dressed and ready for work in the black suit she always wore (she had four that were practically the same), but she seemed different somehow. I checked my watch—I didn’t have time to talk to her.

  I texted Griffin.

  Leaving right now. By any chance, u awake?

  He texted straight back.

  Slept in. Bad night. Can u wait?

  Pulling my front door closed behind me, I glanced over at his house. The curtains weren’t even open. I knew I should wait for him—I’d said I would—and I should deal with everything from the night before. My tummy clenched at the thought. I texted back.

  Will see you at school. Love u. Am sorry.

  I hoped he realized I was apologizing both for not waiting for him and for everything else. I shoved my phone in my pocket and hurried down the road, keeping my eyes glued to the ground.

  I WAS AT SCHOOL, DRINKING MY LATTE, PUTTING A BOOK AWAY IN MY locker, when Cleo cornered me and said, “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to scream.”

  “Cleo—”

  “How was it? You had sex for the first time and you haven’t called me. What? Am I, like, not your best friend or what?”

  “Come on, that’s not it.”

  “You did do it, didn’t you? You didn’t bail on him, did you, Bird?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  She interrupted, “How was he? What was it like? Was it better than I said it would be, or was it crap?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Kitty Moss, a skinny blonde who always wore too much makeup, came over. “Everyone can hear you guys,” she said.

  “Leave us alone,” Cleo said.

  “So you finally did it
with Griffin,” Kitty said. “About time. Poor guy was probably wondering what was wrong with you.”

  “Just go away,” Cleo said, turning her fiercest glare onto Kitty, whose slow eyebrow raise showed she wasn’t bothered at all.

  “I’ll bet Griffin was glad to be put out of his misery. God knows what he sees in you,” Kitty said to me.

  “Things are great with Griffin.”

  “Sure, that’s why he looks so puppy dog all the time,” Kitty said. “I bet you didn’t even do it, Miss Perfect.”

  “We did,” I lied, heat high on my cheeks.

  Cleo said, “Come on, Bird.” She pulled me away and into the girls’ toilets, slamming the door behind us. Then she said, “She’s such a bitch.”

  “She’s right. Griffin’s unhappy.”

  Cleo shook her head. “Of course he’s not. He loves you.”

  “Yeah.” I clambered up to sit on the table next to the sinks and swung my legs beneath me.

  She said, “You know that, right?”

  I picked at a split end in my hair. “Course. How are things going with Joe?”

  “Joe Friesen? Forget him. So tell me, you think I should ask out Mark? He seems pretty nice and I know you keep saying I should date guys who are nice.”

  “Did I say that? When?”

  “Well, you were right about Xavier. He was not a nice guy. Hot, though—shame so many other girls agree.” She grinned. “Anyway, that’s the end of that. So should I ask Mark to the party? Should I just ask him straight out or be more subtle? Oh, I have to email you the stuff about the caterers so you can help me chose.”

  Cleo was having a big party—she did it every November, figuring it made the worst month of the year bearable.

  “You, subtle? Ask him. He’d be crazy to turn you down. Just go for it. I love that you’re brave enough to ask a guy out—I would be too scared.”

  “Don’t guys like to take the lead? I read that somewhere. On your website, maybe, in one of your answers to someone?” She gushed, “Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life, tell me what to do!”

  “Um, remember to be casual. Be yourself. And don’t call me that here. It’s a secret, remember?”