crush noun: a great fondness, often
short-lived; verb: to press between
hard surfaces so as to break
If I could have three wishes, I’d use the first one to win the Championships. Then I’d ask for Nick. He’s the sort of guy who sends the temperature soaring when it’s three degrees outside and your mum is mixing marshmallows into your Milo. When I first met him it made me smile to think we might talk. Think that I might tell a joke and that he might laugh. Know that we might touch. Kiss. Every time I see him I get this feeling on my arms and in my chest. It’s sugar mixed with heat.
He was wearing his sexy jeans and white t-shirt at the end-of-term party. I nearly had a heart attack. Those jeans do it for me every time. ‘Stop drooling, Faltrain,’ Jane said to me as I stared at him. ‘It’ll help if you close your mouth.’
I was nervous walking into that party, and that hardly ever happens. The hardest thing was deciding what to do for the first five minutes. They’re crucial. They set the tone for the rest of the night.
Over the past year Jane and I have been slowly moving up in the school world. Everyone knows that there are rules for who you hang out with, even if it’s not talked about. I tried to explain it to Dad at the beginning of the year. I figured if any adult was going to understand, it’d be him.
‘Dad, it’s like this. You’ve got your cool kid. Very popular. Looks good in whatever they wear. Gets by in school, people know they’re smart but they don’t know. If you know what I mean.’
‘Right. Okay,’ he said.
I thought he was with me. ‘Then you’ve got your sporty type. That’s me. I had to work hard last year to get in with the right crowd, and it’s all paying off. Then you’ve got your smart kids. People know it. They know it. They keep to themselves. Then you’ve got your loners.’
‘Who hangs out with them?’
‘Nobody, Dad. That’s why they’re the loners.’
‘That’s awful. Couldn’t you hang out with the loners?’
‘Dad, you don’t hang out with people you don’t like.’
‘You might like them. I bet I could name a loner at school who you would think was pretty cool.’
‘Name one then. Name just one.’
‘Me.’
‘Oh, Dad.’
I know what you’re thinking: Gracie Faltrain, that’s a harsh philosophy to live by. People are people and you can’t judge a book by its cover. Don’t be too hard on me. He’s an adult after all, and I’m just a kid.
But back to the party. I felt good in my black singlet top and hipster jeans. Casual. Cool. I checked my fly quietly. There’s nothing that’ll spoil the effect quicker than flashing your undies to the world.
I walked past Nick Johnson slowly. Slow enough for him to stop me if he wanted to have a chat. I was convinced he was going to ignore me when I felt a hand on my arm. Electric. Little hairs stood up all over my skin.
When Nick talks, it’s like you’re the only person in the room. Imagine a dark stage; his eyes are the spotlights. You can’t move. ‘More like an animal caught in the headlights,’ Jane always says to me, but I know she agrees.
‘Gracie Faltrain,’ he said slowly as his hand flicked hair back from his eyes. I swear he waited about ten full seconds here; he didn’t stop looking at me. ‘Hi.’ He leant on the word, his hips tilted forward. We were standing so close that his hair almost touched my face.
The problem is, Nick talks like this to everyone. The hard part that night was working out if he was just making a passing comment or if he really wanted to have a conversation. If he wanted me to keep talking, then we were having more than a hello. We were having a moment. If it was just a hello it would be okay, but then it was my own moment and that definitely wasn’t as good. The trick was to work out what he was thinking. I tried mental telepathy. I didn’t get anywhere. Step two: try to look at what he’s doing with his hands. I’d read somewhere once that body language can tell you how a person really feels. He was scratching his ear and eating a chip. They weren’t in the book. Step three: just keep talking and hope he’s not trying to think of a way to leave.
‘So, ah, what are you doing on the weekend?’ I asked.
‘Nothing much. Maybe seeing a movie.’
‘Which one?’
‘Haven’t decided,’ he answered slowly. ‘What are you doing? Maybe –’ And then Annabelle Orion bumped into him and spilt her drink down his t-shirt. Nick went to the bathroom. I went out of my mind. Maybe what? Maybe what?
‘Sorry, Gracie,’ Annabelle smiled. Her teeth reminded me of stories I’d read about people swimming outside the flags, coming face to face with dark shapes moving under the water.
‘You’re not sorry.’ I breathed hot anger over her. I knew from painful experience that nothing is an accident when it comes to Annabelle Orion.
‘Calm down, Faltrain.’ Jane passed me some chips. ‘The year is long.’
I don’t know about the year, but every moment of that night seemed to move by in slow motion. Every second that Nick spoke to Annabelle and Susan and not me was torture.
‘What’s up with you, Faltrain?’ Martin came up behind me, talking through a mouthful of food.
‘Mind your own business,’ I said, and got a whack on the back of my head as he walked off. Martin can be really annoying. He’s in Year 11, only a year ahead of me, but he thinks he’s so much older. He’s my captain too, so that means he can tell me what to do on the soccer field and that bugs me more than anything. He treats me like a kid sister and I’ve told him before, I do not need an older brother.
That night, though, I barely heard him. I kept looking at Nick, willing him to talk to me. I spent a lot of time looking at the back of his head.