An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy) (2 page)

              ‘Me? Where were
you
?’ I demanded, checking to make sure the teacher hadn’t heard my outburst. ‘You said you’d come and call on me, you were supposed to wake me up for the bus.’

              ‘I got a lift in, my mum didn’t go to work this morning, she drove me here.’

              I released an exasperated sigh, my face a picture of disgust. I glared at Max, telepathically forcing my anger and my questions into him. He turned back to his book, ignorant of my mind-tricks.

              ‘Why couldn’t you give me a lift?’ I asked, resorting to words.

              Max simply shrugged. ‘Never thought of it,’ he said genuinely.

              ‘You’re a dick,’ I told him.

              ‘Piss off,’ he spat back.

              ‘I hate you.’

              ‘I hate you too.’

              ‘I should never speak to you again.’

              ‘Fine by me.’

              ‘Fine!’

              I looked away sheepishly, the final
fine
had been too loud, and the teacher had stopped reading. I quickly buried my head in a nearby book and hid my face until she started again.             

              ‘Do you have anything to eat?’ I asked Max, licking the remnants of sugar from my lips. The sweet treat hadn’t sated my hunger, if anything it made it worse.

              ‘I thought you weren’t talking to me.’

              ‘Don’t be a dick.’

              Max sighed and lowered his attention from the book. He glanced at the teacher to make sure she wasn’t looking and then produced a bag of strawberry shoelaces and sneakily passed them across.

              ‘Anything else?’

              ‘Not for you, no.’

              ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

              ‘I have some chocolate,’ he whispered in an irritated voice, ‘but that’s for break-time, my mum didn’t give me any money today, we bought those on the drive to school.’

              ‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘
I
couldn't buy anything on the drive to school, you know why?’

              ‘They’ll do for now won’t they?’ he gestured to the shoelaces.

              ‘Gimme the chocolate and I’ll forget you ditched me this morning.’

              Max seemed to debilitate over this.

              ‘Come on,’ I pushed. ‘My parents are back tomorrow, I might be able to charm my way to some extra pocket money. I’ll give you everything back, and more.’

              ‘More?’

              ‘You’ll be swimming in sweets.’

              Max smiled at the thought of this, not only was he convenient as a best friend but his stupidity allowed me to get away with a lot.

              ‘Okay.’ He gave in and handed me a
Snickers
and a bag of
Minstrels
. I set the treats up on the desk in front of me and lowered my head, preparing for a morning of indulgence whilst the teachers’ eyes were buried in a book.

              ‘I feel sick.’

              Two hours into the lesson I felt a curious bubbling noise emanating from my stomach, coinciding with intermittent gurgling sounds.

              ‘You shouldn’t have eaten all those sweets,’ Max said, not looking as sympathetic as I had hoped.

              ‘Maybe
you
shouldn’t have
given
me all of those sweets,’ I retaliated, sticking out my tongue, which had been dyed blue from a tube of luminescent sherbet I had taken from another friend.

              I felt my stomach kick out in disgust, not liking the action. I held a hand to my mouth and swallowed a noiseless burp. ‘I think I’m going to be fine,’ I said without conviction.

              The sickness subsided partially and I felt relieved when the school bells chimed for break-time.

              Outside I embraced the fresh air like a prisoner on the steps of freedom. I tilted my head to the skies and took long, deep lungful’s. Each breath helped the sickness subside, pushing the bile and vomit down with every oxygen enriched mouthful.

              ‘What are you doing?’ I heard Max ask, his inquisitive voice breaking through the background noise of playful pupils still scattering themselves over the playground.

              ‘Breathing,’ I muttered softly.

              ‘But--’

              ‘Go away Max.’

              ‘Okay.’

              Feeling confident that I wasn’t going to unleash a breakfast of sugar onto the school steps I lowered my face with a contented, soothed smile. I expected to see Max still standing in front of me, but instead I found myself face to face with Kerry Newsome. I cursed under my breath at the sight of her, the memories of our proposed meeting rushing back to me.

              ‘What are you doing?’ Her arms were crossed over her chest. An unamused, questioning look in her eyes.

              ‘Waiting for you, I guess.’

              She nodded slowly, deciding if she was going to believe me or not. Then, without warning, she grabbed my hand, turned and set off, dragging me down the stairs at a brisk pace.

              She broke into a stride after a few paces and before long she was running, pulling me behind her.

              I felt my stomach groan as I bobbed along the coarse ground. It lifted and heaved with every step my weary feet made on the cold concrete.

              As we brushed past a group of startled pupils tossing stones onto a messy hopscotch board, I felt something rising inside me. It bubbled past my stomach and lurched through my throat. I closed my eyes and waited for my breakfast to make a quick getaway when a foul smelling gust of air trickled into my mouth and looked for an exit.

              I opened my mouth and let out the burp along with a
thank you
to the vomit gods for biding their time.

              Leaves and twigs pricked at my skin as Kerry wasted no time in dragging me down the thin passageway that led to the back of the bike-sheds. Three older boys were leaning against the sheds, smoking hurriedly in the spot where Kerry had kissed me earlier.

              ‘Oh, it looks like someone’s already here,’ I turned to leave; Kerry roughly grabbed the back of my collar.

              ‘Stay,’ she ordered.

              One of the boys grinned, another looked unsure, the third looked away. All were older than Kerry and I; they were in Year 6, three years above me and two above her.

              ‘I think we should leave,’ I whispered to Kerry, hoping she would pick this moment to finally obey something I said.

              ‘Just ignore them.’ Kerry put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back gently. ‘Now, I think you owe me something.’

              I looked at the boys and then at Kerry, my eyes swapping between four people who scared the shit out of me. ‘I don’t think--’

              ‘Get lost kids.’

              Much to my delight one of the boys interrupted us. I felt Kerry backing away from me and had an urge to shake the older boy’s hand.

              Kerry’s hands promptly went to her hips. She glared at the boy who had dared to try to intimidate her. ‘Aren’t you Adam Tickle?’ she asked.

              I giggled, unable to suppress it.

              ‘Something funny kid?’

             
Tickle,
I thought with a smile.
Hilarious.

              ‘No, no, not at all.’

              He stared at me momentarily and then turned to Kerry. ‘What’s it to you kid?’

              ‘Don’t you dare call me
kid
,’ she thrust a finger at him and I was sure I saw him flinch. His friends had seen it too; they had finished their cigarettes now and were watching him intently.

              ‘I’ll call you what I fucking like--’

              ‘Don’t you swear!’ Kerry was angry now.

              I felt my legs lift and back away of their own accord. As I was edging away from the confrontation, Kerry was edging closer.

              ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘I know your
dad
, I know your
mother
.’

             
Mr and Mrs Tickle,
I giggled again.

              Four pairs of eyes turned towards me. I looked away, coughed and began a sheepish whistle.

              I felt my stomach kick, an anxious lurch that released more noxious gas.

              ‘Leave us alone or I’ll tell them you’ve been smoking and swearing at little girls and boys,’ Kerry warned.

              The older boy looked defeated. He turned to his friends in vain hope, but none stepped forward. He turned back to Kerry, ready to fight back, but the malice in her eyes told him that not only was she telling the truth but if he tried anything else she would scratch his eyes out.

              He muttered something in annoyance and skulked away, motioning for his friends to follow him.

              ‘Bunch of cowards,’ I said when I was sure the last of the boys had disappeared from earshot.

              Kerry didn’t waste any time in getting what she wanted. Without saying another word she wrapped her arms around my neck and lowered her head until her forehead touched mine.

              I wet my lips nervously, closed my eyes and prepared.

              She locked onto my mouth with sloppy suction. I had time to prepare and I had the earlier kiss as a reference, so the sloppy embrace wasn’t as much of a shock as I expected, but just when I thought the kiss should be finishing, I felt something wet poke through. A slimy tongue tried to get in on the action.

              I tried to force my lips together but the slippery organ wormed through the gap and, after glancing off my teeth, forced its way into my mouth.

              I felt the tongue slide inside and I thought of the creatures from the film
Alien
, I had seen it less than a month ago and had only just stopped having nightmares. I tried to force that image out of my head and endure the kiss, but it wouldn’t budge.

              I saw their long tentacles, dripping with thick puss. Their thick, scaly skin rippled with the gleam of a million beads of slime. Their bulbous eyes--

              I managed to duck out of the kiss just as a wave of vomit was unleashed, but I didn’t have enough time or speed to move away from Kerry. The digestive rejections of a breakfast of sugar and additives hit her like a thick neon wave from a toxic waterfall.

              Kerry, caught in a split second of shock, merely closed her eyes and pinned her lips together as the wave washed over her. It soaked and clung to her hair. It dripped down her nose like droplets from a shower-head, running rivulets over her lips.

              I avoided her face for the second wave, but only succeeded in covering her shoes and legs with the orange coloured, sweet scented vomit. It splashed onto my own shoes as well, tiny speckles of orange, decorating the black leather like pixels on a broken screen.

              A thought of,
damn, my mum will go mad,
crossed my mind before the third wave scattered over the cigarette covered ground. Kerry managed to jump back to avoid it, she was clawing clumps of vomit from her face, scooping them and flicking them onto the floor with annoyed noises escaping her sticky lips.

              The third wave was the final wave. I could feel a rumbling of finality in my stomach. I actually felt better, and that put a smile on my face.

              Strands of sick hung from my mouth like spaghetti, I wiped them away with the back of my sleeve and lifted my head to look at Kerry. She was red with anger; under the glaze of the vomit she looked pearlescent.

              She wanted to say something, but nothing coherent escaped her mouth. A lot was said and I thought I picked up a few swear words, but there was nothing tangible.

              I lowered my head in shame and waited for her to finish, she did so with a flurry of expletives -- some of which I had never heard before and tried to remember for later -- and then, after a momentary silence, demanded, ‘Well? What do you have to say for yourself?’

              I shrugged, still looking at my shoes, trying to flick the spots of vomit from the top of one with the bottom of the other.

              ‘Don’t you have something to say to me?’ she demanded, her voice cracking as it rose above the hustle of the busy playground. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

              ‘I’m quite hungry,’ I said honestly.

              She ground her teeth together, her eyes flared at me with a flaming ferocity. ‘Is that all you have to say for yourself?’

              I shrugged again, then, sensing the lecture was over, I asked: ‘Can I have those sweets now?’

              Kerry glared at me. Her eyes darted back and forth. She opened her mouth, suppressed a scream and then slammed it shut again. Her jaw worked aggressively as she tried to pulverise her own teeth. Then, following another loud grunt, she threw up her arms exasperatedly and stormed off, mumbling curse words under her breath.

              The story of my sickly exploits was slowly passed around the school. The boys would gather in hordes, asking me to recall the tale as they listened with eager grins, interrupting with cheers at the end. The girls were equally fascinated, but weren’t interested in hearing about the story from Kerry. She had been coated in
“lergie”
, had dripped from head to toe in
“boy cooties”,
and before long she became a social pariah.             

              She lost her friends, became bitter and isolated, and whenever I saw her, whenever I said hello or passed by, there was nothing but hatred and revenge in her eyes.

              A few weeks after the incident I was desperate to reconcile with her, I felt bad for what had happened.

              During dinnertime, when all the pupils rushed out onto the playground, I found Kerry sitting hunched over on one of the benches in the cloakroom. I waited until the last of the stragglers left with their coats and playthings, and then I saddled over to her, sitting a few feet away and gliding my backside along the wooden surface until I was close enough for her to notice.