My first week draws to a close. Finn and Havelock have locked horns a few times. Nothing major. Seems to me Finn’s just the chatty type. With a slight timekeeping issue. Mostly Havelock ignores him. Maybe he’s given up on him. But I think he just plain likes him. Maybe Finn has won him over.
It must be kind of empowering to get one up on a teacher. We’re sixteen and seventeen after all. Sixteen is almost fully fledged, one-hundred-per-cent adult. We’re able to make our own decisions and do whatever we want. Get Bs instead of As. Score sixty-five percent rather than seventy-five.
Not me. I pile so much pressure on myself to achieve. I always have.
I envy Finn. He seems free. I’d like to be assertive like him.
By Thursday, I’m accepted into the seventy-five-per-cent-or-more club, with Lauren and Sienna, a small urban family of three. Actually they are pretty interesting. Lauren is down-to-earth and intelligent. Sienna is really driven. I like them a lot.
But I keep thinking I want something more. I feel drawn to Finn and his crowd like Juliet to Romeo, spaghetti to meatballs. Here I am, ready to make potentially lifelong friends, vocal talents permitting. I bloody well want to be cool for once. Not uber-popular, just stylish, interesting … not afraid to be myself… Only, I’m not quite sure who “myself” is.
At lunch on Friday, Lauren invites me to watch the hockey game that evening. Hockey is big at Thorncroft and there’s a match against Chainey Lane, another school in the borough. I’m chuffed to be asked. I feel there’s a real possibility of a friendship lasting longer than six months. Bonus. But while I’m glad to be making friends, something twists in me when we arrive together pitch-side. Doubt creeps around my middle and tightens. I feel terrible. Lauren is just the sort of mate I ought to be making, but…
Finn’s crowd stands on the sidelines, watching Greg thrash his hockey stick about on the AstroTurf. Violet drapes an arm around Finn’s shoulder. He’s more interested in the game. And me, apparently. I catch him glancing my way more than once.
I don’t know why I’m getting this attention. I’m not complaining, quite the opposite, but it puts me on edge. I’m torn between two worlds. Lauren could be a great friend, so why do I want to jump ship and swim as fast as I can to Finn’s island? It’s more than a physical attraction, it’s his confidence, knowing that people accept and respect you…
Greg expertly weaves the ball through the opposing players. There are some violent tackles.
Lauren’s phone rings. She answers it, then wanders away from the pitch in order to hear better.
I open my sketchbook and begin to draw. I work quickly, doing loads of rough drawings, trying to capture the sense of movement. Then I start sketching Finn. His long legs, his T-shirt clinging tightly to his torso, the scratches on his arms. I notice another graze on the side of his high cheekbone.
“What are you drawing?”
Lauren leans in to see what I’m doing and I instantly snap the book shut.
“Nothing.” She shoots me an “if you say so” look. “Honestly, it’s nothing. Just the hockey players.”
Greg rushes past us, as if on skates.
“He’s really fast,” I say. The other players can’t match his pace. It’s easy to see why he’s captain. I open my book again and continue sketching, filling in shadows, totally engrossed.
“Carla.” Lauren nudges me on the arm.
“What?” I look up.
“When I said you could draw me any time, I wasn’t serious,” Finn says, a twinkle in his eye. He taps the page. “This is really good.”
I’m mute, crushed with embarrassment. I open and close my mouth like a gormless fish. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.
“See you on Monday,” says Finn, turning to wave as he jogs off, probably back to some glorious mansion.
“Smooth,” Lauren says sarcastically.
I can’t speak. The horror of Finn catching me drawing him is too much.
Greg passes the ball to another attacker, who pelts it between a defender’s legs and back to Greg, who’s run into the circle, near the goal. The angle seems too tight but Greg whacks it to the back of the net. Unstoppable. The goalie doesn’t have a chance.
I wish I was like that, invincible, right on target, heading for a new life. Instead, I’m a mentalist stalker who secretly draws people she’s just met.
I’m never going to get over this, ever.
HE CAUGHT ME DRAWING HIM. OHMYGOD, I’M SUCH A LOSER.
By Monday morning, after beating myself up all weekend over it, I still can’t get the sketching incident out of my head. Walking to school, watching my feet, I’m desperate to disappear, or for school to disappear so I don’t have to face Finn. Cyclists zoom past. As one clips my arm, I realize I’ve strayed into the road and jerk back onto the pavement, cursing the bike as it speeds off.
And then I see them, Finn and his brother, standing among waist-high bushes between two buildings. Are they trying to hide, or get caught, or signal danger to the next tribe? UNDER-AGE SMOKERS HERE. Neon lights.
Finn leans against the brick wall of the doctors’ surgery, eyes closed as he sucks a rollie like milkshake through a straw. He looks so good. His blue T-shirt, pushed back by the wind, accentuates his skinny but toned torso. I see a new set of scratches on his forearms. Maybe the Masterson household is a cat household. An evil, scratchy cat household.
Then I get why they’re standing like that. They’re there for us normal people to admire as we shuffle past, trying not to miss the bell.
I hope to whatever deity is up there that he doesn’t see me.
“Hey! Hey, Carla!” Finn calls. Busted. Why would he possibly want to talk to me after Friday?
1. I’m about as interesting as a pot plant.
2. Lest we forget, I fucking drew him.
3. He caught me doing it.
Then I think about it. Maybe it’s time to become self-assured, like him. Is this my chance? Start anew as Carla Mark II? Tomorrow’s another day and all that? I take a deep breath.
“Hey, tiger!” Finn yells.
I stop, turn, and head straight for him. Nearing the bushes, I take in his baby-face features, long eyelashes and hairless chin. Impossibly handsome. My stomach feels like it’s been teleported out of my body onto the roof. Somehow, I walk steadily over, keeping eye contact, like I’m being pulled on a thread. Not tripping up like I’m Ugly fucking Betty. Without my jeans spontaneously falling down. Without, like, accidentally serenading him. It’s a freaking miracle.
“Hey,” I squeak. This is it, Carla. Get a grip. “You like Chemistry.” I manage to exhale a lame statement. Great.
Finn doesn’t seem to notice. Am I red? I feel like I’m totally tomatoed.
“You wanna twos me?” he asks.
“I don’t smoke,” I say. But confidence rises from nowhere and I take the rollie, hold it for a second, then take a drag. Boldness jolts me upright. Something awakens inside me. Like I’ve taken a teeny step from uncool kid to something better. I like it. I feel a bit sick, but I like it. I don’t cough.
My rebel gene is kicking in.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks. “Looks like you do.”
I shrug, not knowing what to say, and hand the rollie back.
Finn takes a pack of tobacco from his back pocket, flicks it open and pulls out a clump, along with a paper and a filter, which his fingers magically transform into a rollie. I go to take it, but he pulls his hand away. Cocking an eyebrow, he slips the rollie behind my ear, pushing back my hair.
“Since you don’t smoke and all, maybe you could not smoke this one later,” he says.
“Oh, this is Isaac,” Finn says, playfully punching him in the ribs.
“Hey,” Isaac says.
“Hey,” I say. “Seen you around school.”
“Upper sixth,” he mumbles. Wow, he really is the strong, silent type. Finn scowls at him. “Young Finlay’s my baby brother,” Isaac adds.
“Shut up!” Finn thumps him hard in the stomach. “Yeah, we’re brothers. Fortunately, I’m the looker of the pair. Who wouldn’t fall for this cheeky grin?” He flashes a smile. His deep brown eyes hold a kind of wisdom. Though younger and leaner than his rougher-looking brother, Finn seems to call the shots.
He nudges Isaac and whispers something.
“You’ll have to excuse me. Later, tiger,” Finn says. “See you in Art. Maybe you can get me from another angle.”
They disappear before I can get a word out. As they saunter toward the PE block, I can’t help watching Finn. All stride and glide and no problems. I step forwards to where he was standing and lean against the wall. I breathe in deeply, trying to capture some of his easy nature simply by being in the space he occupied.