40 Things I Want to Tell You

  Tips to Take Back Control

  I think you need to realize that if a guy like Jamie is friends with you, you probably have a lot to offer.

  Don’t betray Jamie again.

  Try to find confidence in yourself without taking what he has. Forget about the girl. Your friendship is worth more than that. From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  Pete appeared in my mind—I could feel his skin against mine, his lips on my mouth. Thinking about him made me wince. Lying to Griffin and to everyone about Pete had turned me into … into someone I didn’t recognize.

  At least now I knew it had meant nothing to him. A week had gone by but Pete hadn’t spoken to me or even looked in my direction; he hadn’t texted, hadn’t called. My secret played large in my head. Cleo had no idea, and I couldn’t figure out how to tell her—she was my best friend, but the thought of voicing what I’d done made me feel more guilty.

  Griffin met me at school every day and neither of us mentioned the sex thing, even though the whole issue stood between us like a giant. Or maybe the real issue was that I’d kissed someone else.

  I focused on being Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life as I flicked through the pages of my site. I landed on the Top Tips section and typed in:

  TOP TIP 7: SECRETS BREED LIES

  Mum came into the room and, automatically, I minimized the screen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Homework. You know.”

  She nodded but didn’t seem to be listening.

  “You should knock,” I said.

  “Yeah. And you should keep it clean in here.”

  She was distracted, not even looking at me. For weeks she’d been grumpy and unpredictable; hormones and menopause or whatever.

  Her pale eyes darted left and right, clearly surveying the mess. She snapped, “Bird, I mean it. Tidy up.”

  “Okay, relax.”

  “When did you get so slovenly? You’re as tidy as I am, normally.” She picked up a couple of books and put them next to me on the desk.

  “Mum, I’ll clean it up, all right? I’ve just got a lot on. I don’t know, it just got away from me. It’s like the first time ever. I promise it’ll be tidy by the end of the day.”

  She stopped and gave me a quizzical look, her fair eyebrows furrowing together. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “What?”

  My phone beeped on the desk. A text flashed up.

  Thinking about me? Pete

  Mum leaned forward, blatantly looking at the lit-up screen of my phone. “Who’s Pete?”

  I spun round in my chair. “God, Mum, don’t read my texts.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Anyway, he’s no one. Just someone who I’m doing a project with. Look, do you want something?” Pete’s text felt like a code for the fact he was thinking about me. Which made no sense—he hadn’t spoken to me all week.

  She blinked a couple of times. “You know, I spent so long wishing for another baby that I wonder if I did a good enough job of being your mum. Did I?”

  I concentrated on what she was saying. “What are you talking about?”

  She spoke softly. “You should have another quotation on your board: Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony. Mahatma Gandhi.”

  “Mum, what do you mean about the baby? What’s going on?”

  Her eyes moistened. She kissed me on the top of my head.

  “Don’t worry about it now, darling. Just get back to work. Perhaps when you’ve got some time, I could take some photos of you, like we used to.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  But she was already on her way out the room and she didn’t reply.

  IT WAS LIKE MY ROOM WAS A STATION THAT EVENING AND MY PARENTS had trains to catch. After Mum left, Dad wandered in.

  “Hey, Birdy,” he said.

  “What is this? Parents-Gone-Mad Day?”

  “Just seeing how my sweet Bird is.”

  “Uh, trying to do homework.”

  “Right. I’m going for a run.”

  I burst out laughing. “What sort of run?”

  “I want to do an Iron Man. It’s not funny.”

  Wow. He was being serious. I thought, Why don’t you try running to the end of the road first? But I didn’t say anything. He was so busy chatting about the distance he needed to complete that he wouldn’t have heard me anyway.

  “Sounds good, Dad. Look, is Mum all right?”

  He paced across the room and sat on the bed, resting his hands on his knees. “Ah, little Birdy, I don’t know.”

  “She was a bit—”

  “Don’t worry yourself. It’ll all fall into place. The solar bricks are such a good idea. I can just feel it.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll let you get back to work, then,” he said, standing abruptly.

  “Did you, you know, want something?”

  He jogged on the spot. “Got to get training,” he said, and puffed out the room like an elephant.

  It would have been funny if everything hadn’t felt so weird.

  Finally alone, I uploaded some photos onto my computer. I’d started work on a photography project on the theme of colour. I looked for groups of the same colour and photographed them—a white building against a milky sky; a purple flower in an oily puddle next to an indigo boot; a green umbrella resting on the grass. Then I uploaded some neat images of a discarded newspaper caught in a breeze, which I took on the afternoon of the snow day. The white-and-black pages against the white of the snow looked cool. Next were the photos of Cleo in her car. I emailed them to her. For a while, I’d been toying with the idea of getting a job at a photographer’s studio—extra money wouldn’t hurt and it would be interesting work. I wasn’t sure it would help with applying for Oxford, though—perhaps I should try to do something that might lead to a job later on. Temping in a lawyer’s office or something. Although I didn’t think I wanted to be a lawyer, it sounded good on paper.

  The photograph of Griffin standing in the snow came up on the screen. Automatically, I glanced out my window. He was sitting at his desk, probably playing a computer game. I watched him. I was just about to text him to look up when my phone rang. It was Pete.

  I answered, knowing I shouldn’t. “What do you want?”

  He said softly, “What do you want?”

  “Pete, stop. You’ve ignored me all week. I don’t want to play your games.”

  “You haven’t even looked at me all week,” he said. “I miss your little glances my way.”

  My tummy flipped. Griffin leaned back in his desk chair, saw me through the window and smiled.

  I said, far more firmly than I felt, “Don’t think you can just text me and call me whenever you want. I’ve got a boyfriend. Look, I’m sorry, but we should just forget it. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  He said, “Call me when you know that’s not true.”

  The silence on the end of the line told me he’d ended the call and the conversation. For the moment.

  CHAPTER 7

  Mon 15 Nov

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

  My friend is super angry with me becoz i keep buying the same clothes as her and copying what she says. she yelled at me that i need to get my own Life. Im scared everyone hates me … I hate my life … its ordinary and pathetic. My friend has an Awesome life and Awesome parents. Theyre so much better than mine … my dads an alcoholic and my mum tells me shes leaving him but never does … I want to be someone else … famous, rich and gorgeous … I read celebrity magazines all the time and dream. My life is terrible and i feel like crap from morning until when i go to sleep.

  Copycat, 14

  Dear Copycat,

  You know you need to stop copying your friend. You could tell her that you’re only trying to flatter her, but she knows you actually want to be her, and that totally creeps her out. And take a break from reading celeb mags
. They’re making you feel worse. (I know, totally addictive, but in your case BAD NEWS.)

  Tips to Take Back Control

  Tell your best friend what’s happening at home. You’re dealing with a load of stuff with your family, and your friend—if she’s any sort of friend—will probably be more understanding if she knows that. Your home life sounds like a nightmare and it’s maybe giving you low self-esteem.

  Remember, although I’m sure it’s hard, alcoholism is a disease. Your father isn’t doing this to hurt you; he just can’t stop himself. You might want to look at the support group for families of alcoholics I found for you: click here.

  From one teen to another …

  Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life

  Griffin texted just as I logged off.

  Up early—want to walk in together?

  I grabbed my bag and texted him on the way down the stairs.

  Meet u outside in 2 mins.

  The snow had vanished in the rain of the last week and the world outside looked only mildly wintery. Wrapping my arms around myself, I waited for Griffin to join me. I looked up at his window and he waved down. I gestured at my watch and he nodded, disappearing from the frame.

  He bounded along the path. “Wow, it’s pretty good getting up early.”

  I laughed. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

  “Mom woke me wanting something—she’s fine—but then I couldn’t get back to sleep.” He yawned, then leaned in to kiss me.

  I kissed him lightly, pulled back and said, “Let’s get to school.”

  We walked for a while, an awkward silence booming between us. We got to Coffee Grounds and I ordered my coffee. The bustle in the café eased the weird quiet between us, and Griffin said, “You excited about Cleo’s party?”

  “I haven’t done anything to help.”

  “She doesn’t need help. She always has everything sorted for these things. I don’t know how she gets it all together when she seems like the most disorganized person ever.”

  I put the lid on my coffee cup and we headed back outside, walking through the park to get ourselves to school. As we crossed the spot where I kissed Pete, I felt like I could see my past self in his embrace. Griffin was asking me a question but I didn’t hear what he said.

  “Are you even listening?” he interrupted.

  “Sorry, I’m just, you know, there’s a lot of— I guess I’m stressed about how much homework we have.”

  “You’ll be fine, Bird. You’ve got it all under control. So I was saying, we should plan something fun for the two of us—no schoolwork, no stress. Why don’t we go out somewhere?”

  “What about Cleo’s party? That’d be a good place for us to have fun. I, uh, don’t know if I should take any other nights off—with all the schoolwork we have, I mean.”

  He draped an arm around me. “Sounds good. But I actually meant a date where just the two of us do date stuff—we haven’t really ever been on a date. We could get milkshakes or something. A real American 1950s-style date.”

  I giggled. “I wouldn’t have any idea where we could get a milkshake,” I said. “But okay, you’re right. We should do that. It’d be good for us.”

  “Surely there’s a perfect date place somewhere nearby—I’ll figure something out.” He squeezed me against him.

  Suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I tucked my head under his chin and tried to get my emotions under control.

  I GOT A B IN MY ENGLISH ESSAY, AND I NORMALLY NEVER, EVER GOT lower than an A-minus. Then Mr. Hopkins yelled at me for not listening in class and Ms. Devlin criticized my lame attempt at a reply in spoken Spanish. Cleo was busy all day hanging out with Xavier—I saw them arguing in the corridor and then in deep discussion against the lockers. Things seemed to be back on with Xavier—yuck. I was just passing Cleo when Griffin came over. He tried to kiss me, but I ducked my head.

  Cleo pulled a face, grabbed Xavier’s hand and said, “We’re leaving you lovebirds to it.” They headed off.

  I caught sight of Pete. He was leaning against his locker and staring over at me and Griffin. He held my gaze, making my body quiver, then gave me a slow smile. I could tell he’d seen me avoiding kissing Griffin and I felt in that moment that he could see everything about me. It was a feeling I’d had with Pete before. It was a feeling I enjoyed. I liked how I seemed to Pete—a little wild, a little free. I bit my lip. He stared at me for a second too long, then turned and walked away.

  GRIFFIN HAD TO STAY AFTER SCHOOL FOR A GROUP PROJECT MEETING, so I walked home alone, my mind spinning with the image of Pete staring at me, of the way I shuddered when Griffin kissed me and of the way everything in my classes was suddenly going so wrong.

  I arrived home and I could hear Mum’s voice spiking the cool air as I opened the front door.

  “What do you expect? What do you honestly expect? We can’t go on like this.”

  “It’s only one more loan.” That was my father. “It’s brilliant. Support this, darling.”

  “Will you stop? Please? I just can’t—”

  “I’m only doing it for you and Bird.”

  “For me? For us?”

  “Yes, who the bloody hell else?”

  She yelled, “The bank called. You tried to get a mortgage on our house. My house. You wanted to put it up as collateral for your stupid—”

  “Oh, it’s stupid now, is it?”

  “For God’s sake.”

  There was a pause, then Dad said, “You weren’t supposed to know.”

  “My house,” she yelled. “My inheritance from my mother. The only stable thing in our lives. I can’t live with this. With what you’ve done.”

  “We’ll be rich, darling. This is going to work. I can feel it. Support me.”

  “Support you? How much more can I support you? You’re never going to change,” she cried. “I can’t believe how much of my life I’ve wasted. Can’t you see how miserable I am? I don’t want—”

  I couldn’t listen anymore. I headed back out again.

  I WALKED FOR A LONG TIME, THINKING ABOUT GRIFFIN, ABOUT MUM and Dad, about Pete, about my life, about what I wanted, whatever that was. The streets were slick with winter night. I was starting to feel like night was sinking all the way through me, that’s the sort of mood I was in, when I realized I’d walked nearly all the way back to school. I was at the edge of the little lake in the park opposite the front entrance of the school gates when I heard voices. Three or four guys were laughing, and from the whoops and the shattering of glass, it sounded like they were throwing bottles at trees. Early to be drunk, I thought. And then I felt a little scared: I was all by myself. That’s when one of them noticed me as I stood there like an idiot.

  “All right, darlin’?” he yelled, walking toward me.

  My breath caught. It was Pete.

  At exactly that moment, he said, “It’s you. Good.”

  His mouth curled in that smile that made me sick. Sick. With. Wanting. Him.

  I looked at his lips and thought about the way he tasted. Smoky and hot.

  His friends—none of whom I recognized from school—yelled out that they were leaving, one of them snickering loudly. But I hardly noticed. Pete stepped closer. My heart beat faster, taking on a rhythm all its own. In the orange glow of a streetlight, I could see through the opening in his jacket how his muscles looked under his T-shirt. Hard. Taut.

  “Do you want a drink?” He handed me a bottle of beer, the cap already off. I took it wordlessly. “You okay?”

  A sigh escaped me.

  “Come and sit down. Tell me about it.”

  He came closer and my body—stupid body—felt like it was melting.

  He lightly placed a hand on my arm and guided me to a bench, where we sat. I could feel where his hand had touched me even after he’d taken it away.

  I blurted out, “It might not have been a big deal to you, but I hate what I’ve done to Griffin.”

  He leaned his elbows on his knees. I tipped the bottl
e to my mouth and tasted the warm beer. I liked that he’d just been drinking from the same bottle.

  He said, “I don’t want to make things difficult for you. I really don’t. And it seems like you’ve got a good thing going with Griffin. I can’t make any promises, right?”

  I tensed.

  He turned and put his hand up to my face. Every pore of my skin opened.

  “Hey, Amy.”

  “Don’t …”

  “Come here.”

  I shifted away. “Really, I don’t want this. I don’t want something that doesn’t have any guarantees.”

  “I guess that’s what I like about you.”

  I couldn’t look at him. I leaned against the cool, hard bench. I said, “Okay, so we’re clear? We can just forget about what happened?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  I drank again. I said, “I don’t normally walk about in the park on my own late at night.” He let out a short laugh. “Good.”

  “I just had to get out the house.”

  He was quiet. He seemed to understand my need to get away from my family without me having to explain it.

  I said, wanting to explain anyway, “My parents were fighting. Again. They seem to be fighting all the time. I had to get out of there.” I continued, “Things seem, I dunno, they just seem to be going through something. If I think about it, they’ve been at each other for months. Mum is … God, I don’t know why I’m even telling you.”

  “My parents used to fight all the time. I was much younger but I remember standing upstairs, face pressed against the banister, desperate for them to stop yelling. I can still feel the wood of the banister. It was an old house. It was almost like I enjoyed the feel of that splintery wood against my face.”

  “I heard that your mum walked out.”

  His jaw clenched. “That’s the simple way of looking at it, I guess.”