NerD rash

If it seems totally tragic that I’m spending massive long chunks of my Friday night sitting alone in my bedroom and writing stuff on my computer, I should just explain that most of the time I have a very hectic social life. Last week, I went with Gareth to three sixteenth birthday parties in one evening and I also hung out at Goose’s house for two whole days so that we could watch the entire first series of Glee on her new flat-screen 10-inch television. My school was closed for staff training so it’s not as if we had anything else to do – apart from our science, maths and geography coursework, I suppose. We got as far as episode twenty but then my vision started going fuzzy and I had to go home. And even though I’m sitting typing all this stuff right now, I haven’t been for long. I only got home an hour ago. To be honest, I’d expected some grief for being late without having cleared things with my mum first4 but when I got back the house was all in darkness. I checked my phone and saw that my mum had actually sent me a text. It said:

I was a bit shocked when I saw this. Texts of this nature are totally out of character for my mum because her life mostly revolves around catching criminals and watching television. In fact, she’s a workaholic couch potato. My dad walked out when I was nine and I don’t think she’s ever fully recovered. To be fair though, it’s not easy juggling a decent social life with a career in the police force. A lot of normal people find it hard to relax in the company of the long arm of the law. I’m one of them. Even so, I’m glad she’s found some friends to go out with and I wish she wouldn’t wait until it’s practically Christmas Day before she lets herself lighten up.

On the subject of Christmas, one of my favourite things about it – apart from presents, school holidays and those skinny chocolate mints in their own individual envelopes – is that, all through December, the shops in the city stay open until late almost every night of the week. Even though I am seriously strapped for cash, I love riding in on the bus with Goose to look at the Christmas lights and to check out the latest clothes in the high street. And, luckily, Goose loves riding into town on the bus with me. Just recently, she’s had enough money to buy bus tickets for both of us because she’s got a new weekend job as an usherette in the Ponty-Carlo Picture House close to where I live. So we’ve been going into the city quite often and I massively prefer it to going home to an empty house and my mum’s manky shepherd’s pie.

And that’s what we did after school today. We weren’t the only ones. It seemed like half of my school was wedged on to the number 24 bus to the city centre. For a moment, I thought we’d have to stand up the whole way, but then Beca Bowen – who’s in the same registration group as me – called us over and let us squeeze in next to her on the big long back seat. I was quite relieved because I’m not very good at balancing on buses. I think it’s because I’m seriously short for my age and I can’t actually reach the handrails, which are supposed to prevent you from pitching headfirst into someone’s lap. So I gratefully sat down, wedged tightly between Goose and a skinny bloke I’ve seen in the sixth-form whose glasses had steamed over, and I felt all warm and happy and excited. There were so many people to look at and conversations to listen to that I almost didn’t know what to focus on first.

And then I heard Goose ask, ‘You going into town?’

I turned and looked at her confused. I think I’d been daydreaming for a second. ‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘You just bought me a ticket, remember!’

In a slightly irritated voice, Goose said, ‘Sorry, Lotts, but I wasn’t actually talking to you. I was talking to Tim.’

My confusion deepened. Next to me, the skinny sixth-former with the steamed-up glasses sat forward, cleared his throat and said, ‘Yes, yes. It’s time to confront that age-old dilemma of December – the conundrum that is the Christmas shopping.’ He coughed nervously and looked down at his shoes. I did too. I was quite surprised by what I saw. Unlike everybody else on the bus whose feet were planted in trainers or soggy UGG boots, he was wearing actual proper shoes. And paisley-patterned socks pulled up very high over the ends of his beige cord trouser legs. He gave Goose a shy smile and added, ‘My timing is regrettable though. I’m . . . er . . . feeling conspicuously old on here.’ And then he made a funny little harrumphing noise which I think was supposed to be a laugh but sounded more like the noise a giraffe might make if it had a fly buzzing in its face.

To be honest, it’s a wonder I can even remember anything that he said. My eyes were so amazed by some of his Type C styling decisions that my ears had stopped paying proper attention to what was coming out of his mouth.

Goose harrumphed back at him and said, ‘I know. Helluva many kids on this bus. Most of this lot are only in Year 10.’ And then she shook her head in utter disgust – as if being in Year 10 was the worst thing in the entire world. Even though we’ve only been in Year 11 since September.

Carefully, so that the square sixth-former couldn’t see, I elbowed Goose in the ribs and pulled a face at her but she deliberately refused to look anywhere in my general direction. It’s a pity because I think my face was doing something like this.

The bus rumbled on. Goose said, ‘Are you working this weekend, Tim?’

Geeky Guy fiddled with a button on his duffel coat and said, ‘Yes, yes. I’ll be in the projection room in . . . um . . . precisely three hours from now. So . . . er . . . I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me.’ And then he made that giraffe noise again.

Goose, who had gone so red in the face that I thought she might be turning into a strawberry Starburst, said, ‘Maybe we can talk about film noir again. It helps to pass the time, doesn’t it?’

The way that Goose’s voice got a bit louder at a certain point during that last sentence made me think that, just possibly, she had started to show off.

Square Boy frowned and then he said, ‘Yes, yes.’ And then, with another harrumph, he stood up and pressed the bell for the bus to stop.

Goose said, ‘Oh! Are you going? I thought you were on your way to town?’

Freaky Bloke said, ‘Yes, yes, but . . . er . . . um . . . first, there’s a wonderful second-hand bookshop that I want to have a rummage around in.’ And with one last final harrumph, he picked up his bag (a battered old leather briefcase), flashed Goose a twitchy smile and then lurched awkwardly down the aisle of the bus towards the stairwell.

As soon as he was out of sight, I grabbed Goose’s arm and was just on the brink of demanding WHO ON EARTH he was when Beca Bowen – who has always had a bigger mouth than me – butted in first and said, ‘HOLY COW CAKES! WHO IN DAME SHIRLEY BASSEY’S NAME WAS THAT???’ And then Beca Bowen and I both started laughing our bras off.

Goose looked a bit fed up. ‘He’s just someone I work with.’

Beca Bowen said, ‘No way! Does he bring you out in a nerd rash?’ And she and I both cracked up laughing again. Thinking back on it now, I admit that there’s a high probability that we were both acting like a couple of brainless bra-less numpties.

Whoops.

To be fair though, Beca Bowen was worse than me.

Goose’s eyes flashed. ‘He’s not a nerd. He’s just a bit different.’ And then her cheeks flushed even redder than a blood-soaked strawberry Starburst wrapped up in a Chinese flag, and she added, ‘Honestly, grow up! You two are being helluva childish.’

The driver made a sharp turn past the flickering fairy lights on the castle wall and everyone on the top deck sprang up from their seats. Goose and I pushed our way down the stairs and, once the bus had finally come to a halt, spilt out into the dark and drizzle. I shouted bye to Beca and waved as she crossed the street to join her friends in the burger bar on the corner. Goose didn’t shout goodbye or wave. In fact, she’d already begun marching off in the direction of Maxi Style⁵ with her hands firmly in her pockets and a look of blatant aggravation fixed on her face.

I hurried after her. ‘You’re not seriously narked off because we were laughing at that Tim bloke, are you?’

‘No,’ said Goose.

‘Doesn’t seem like it,’ I said.

Goose’s eyes narrowed and so did her lips. Then she said, ‘I just think you and Beca were being totally tight, that’s all.’ After another narrow-lipped pause, she added, ‘And you of all people should know that it’s not nice to laugh at someone just for being a bit different.’

The second that she said this, my face went boiling hot. I think my lips and eyes went a bit narrow as well. Anyone walking towards us would have seen this:

For a moment, I was annoyed with Goose because she had deliberately referred to something that I don’t think should ever be casually referred to. Namely, how a few months ago, I got into really bad trouble with the police over some stolen shoes and then went so completely bananas that I had to see a doctor at the hospital. It was a very difficult time for me. When I was eventually well enough to go back to school, one or two people were quite horrible about it and called me names like nut-nut and schizo. One or two of them still do.

We walked on in silence for a bit and I started biting my thumbnail and thinking about how I’d laughed my bra off at the idea that Goose might come out in a nerd rash through working with somebody like that Tim bloke. To be honest, it didn’t seem half as funny now that I didn’t have Beca Bowen to laugh about it with me. Actually, it didn’t seem funny at all.

‘Point taken,’ I muttered.

Goose shrugged. And then she smiled ever so slightly and said, ‘It’s OK. To be fair, I thought he was a bit nerdy too when I first met him. Honestly, Lottie, some of the jumpers he wears are horrendous. But he’s all right, you know. I actually really like him.’

I stopped dead and stared at her. Before I could put my words through a Stupid Filter, I said, ‘Oh my God, Goose! You fancy him?’

Goose stopped walking too and looked furious. ‘YUCK! SHUT UP! I don’t mean I like him like that! GET REAL!’ And then she pulled a face something like the one I’d pulled on the bus and said, ‘YOU ARE SO TOTALLY RIDONKULOUS SOMETIMES!’

‘Ridonkulous?’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ said Goose. ‘TOTALLY AND UTTERLY RIDICULOUSLY RIDONKULOUS!’ And then, to show me just how ridiculously ridonkulous I’d been, she pretended to chuck up into an invisible bucket. And when she’d finally finished blowing those air chunks, we both burst out laughing and hurried on towards Maxi Style to check out their wet-look shiny leggings.