That’s the big news of the day, Ms Hiller.
She’s been wanting to do it for ages. Todd’s popular and good-looking and he wears the right clothes. He’s friends with Sam Peterswalds from Grade 10, and for some reason that matters.
I’ve had to listen to Cleo talking about Todd for months, dissecting his every word and move and gesture.
And, finally, she kissed him. In the walkway between A Block and B Block. At morning break.
He was playing hackey sack with Sam, and Cleo was walking past, trying to look alluring, and Sam caught her by the arm and said, ‘Cammo wants to kiss you.’
Cleo turned to Todd and, slowly, taking the time to puff out her lips a bit and tuck her blonde hair behind her ear to make him wait, which she says drives ‘them’ crazy, said, ‘Is that true?’
And Todd said, ‘Yes.’ And so they kissed. Right in front of Sam and his girlfriend, Chenoa, and everybody else in the walkway.
‘Are you going out now?’ I asked her.
Cleo shrugged.
‘I don’t know. We’re hanging out on Friday night, but it’s a group thing. Sam and Chenoa are coming, and Brent, and I thought I might ask Chelsea-Grace to come, too.’
She must have noticed the look on my face, because she said, ‘Sorry, Clem. It’s just we thought it might be cool if Brent and Chels got together. It was Sam’s idea. He’s always teasing Brent about being a loser who doesn’t have a girlfriend. It’s hilarious. Anyway, it would be weird if you came too because it would be three couples and you. But I have an idea! On Friday I’ll ask the guys if they have any other friends we can set you up with! There are so many hot guys in that group, and I know some of them are single. Don’t worry, Clem. I’ll arrange it all. And, in the meantime, we can catch up Saturday, right? Have some 3CD time?’
3CD is us, Ms Hiller. Me, Chels and Cleo.
We’ve been best mates since Grade 7. When our home group teacher, Ms Newman, called the roll, we realised the three of us had the initials CD – Clementine Darcy, Chelsea-Grace Darvell and Cleo Diaz.
This was back when Cleo still had braces and frizzy brown hair and hadn’t yet discovered the modern miracle of tan-in-a-can. It was back when Chelsea-Grace was skinny and flat-chested, wearing glasses rather than contact lenses and dressing like she was still in primary school, in party dresses her mum picked out for her at Kmart. They didn’t mind that I was a bit on the plump side. I didn’t stand out, back then.
It feels wrong to admit it, but since Cleo dyed her hair blonde and had her braces taken off, and Chelsea-Grace grew curves, I don’t fit with them like I used to.
I know they wish I was like them, so I wouldn’t stick out, and they wouldn’t need to worry about what other people thought of me all the time.
I wish – sometimes – that I had other friends; friends who’d like me just as I am. But I’d miss Chels and Cleo. I’ve been part of 3CD for so long, I can’t imagine being out of it. I’d feel untethered. As if I was going to float away.
I wish that things could be like they were. Even a year ago, I was so certain we would be best friends until the end of time, but we seem so different now.
I can’t help wondering . . .
What will it be like when one of them gets a proper boyfriend?
Or has sex?
Will it be so easy for us to be friends then?
Something tells me that when one friend has sex and the rest don’t, things change. And when two friends have sex and one doesn’t, everything changes. I know I’ll be the last of 3CD to have sex. I’m not ready to do it yet. And it’s not because I’m insecure, and it’s not because I’m religious, or because I think it’s morally wrong to have sex at our age.
I know I’ll change my mind when I fall in love. I even wrote a poem about it. It’s called ‘When’. I’m putting it in here, but just for now. I’ll rip it out later . . .
They say you know
‘when’.
When it’s love.
When it’s right.
Your hand fits theirs
like puzzle pieces connecting –
two pieces of wide blue sky
with matching edges.
And everything that’s big and wide and
frightening
in the world is squeezed between
your hand and his,
into nothing.
When somebody feels that way about me, and when I feel that way about them, I know I won’t even have to think about it. It will feel right.
I haven’t even kissed a boy yet. I’d like to. I’d like a kiss, with a boy who sees me the way I am. And likes me.