Chrysalis (2 page)

"What do you think of 'Kristabelle'?" Chelsea says to change the subject, waddling over to the sofa.  I help her sit. "Spelt with a K."

I make a mumbled noise, and Charles yells "No!" from the kitchen. Chelsea tries to throw a cushion at him, but it bounces off the half-closed door.

She pouts. "He thinks all my names are crap."

"I'm not having my niece named Cristobel, however you spell it. What's wrong with a proper girls' name?"

"Cristobel is a proper girls' name," Thibby points out from the computer, because he knows it will piss Charles off. I notice he's not making any suggestions, though, and I get the feeling this is a conversation they've had a good few times before.

"He wants to call her Jane," Chelsea says, turning to me with a look of horror. "Or Ann.
Ann
!"

"You can spell it with an E if you like," Charles shouts back, shutting the kitchen door to stop the smoke.

"She's a special baby and she's having a special name." Chelsea starts to tear up a bit and I make soothing noises. "Something after a jewel, maybe."

"Ruby?" I suggest, trying to strike a happy medium between names Chelsea likes and names that actually exist. The overlap seems to be depressingly small.

"I thought Sapphire, but with two Fs."

"To match her school grades," Charles calls from the kitchen, accompanied by a clang of kitchenware.

"Amber?" I try, raising my voice above the noise. "Or maybe Jewel. Jewel is technically a name. Or … um … Topaz?"

"Topaz!" Chelsea looks at me in horror. This has evidently gone beyond the pale. "I can't call my child 'Topaz'!"

"What's wrong with Mary … ?" Charles tries hopelessly from the kitchen.

*~*~*

We sit down for dinner, Chelsea, Thibby and me on the sofa, while Charles eats at the table. He's weird in that way, like how he insists his name is Charles rather than anything else. He doesn't do nicknames, whereas Thibby will kill anyone who dares to call him
Thibault
.

Halfway through dinner, my phone goes off. I pull it out and make the "sorry, sorry" hand gesture at Chelsea. It's a number that I don't recognise, but I know the voice as soon as I hear it, even over the phone.

"Luke?"

"Yo," I manage to croak out, shivering slightly, because all I can think is
how the hell did you get my number, you crazy, perverted, rugby shirt-wearing freak
?

"Um … about our date yesterday … " I can't say anything, so I make a noise in the phone and he thankfully continues. "You … well … you seemed a little tense during it. Like something was up. I just wanted to see if you were okay?"

"I'm good," I manage. Chelsea is looking a little confused and Charles is smirking as if he knows exactly what's going on. Or maybe he just likes seeing me all nerved up.

"Yeah … well … seeing as you weren't, like, all there that day … I mean, um. Did you want to try again?"

His words are fracturing. He sounds really nervous for some reason, but not half as nervous as I'm feeling. "Again?" I manage to squeak, as though someone grabbed my balls halfway through the word.

"Well … I mean. If you want. It's just the ice-skating rink has a deal on this Thursday and I wondered if you'd like to come along." He really is a cheap date.

"Umm … " Once again, I start channelling Emmy:  "Um, can I get back to you … ?"

"Yeah, sure." He sounds a little resigned and I feel like the world's shittiest date again.

"It's just … I'm with my friend right now and she's pregnant." For some reason, it seems like an excuse rather than an explanation. I don't know why. I don't know why I just didn't stop talking.

"Oh, right!" Josh sounds relieved, but also slightly nervous for some reason. "I see." Although what the hell he thinks I've explained, I have no idea. "Yeah, that's fine. Okay, hear from you later!"

I put the phone down with shaking hands. "That was Josh. He wants another date!"

"A second date?" Thibby shakes his head, glancing up at Charles. "Getting serious, huh? Looks like someone fancies you. "

Chelsea gives a panicked look, shaking her head violently. "Give him ten minutes, then text back:  'no way, it's over'. Trust me. Best way. Then switch the phone off for the next few days. He'll get the idea."

Charles says, "You really are a bastard."

*~*~*

I head home about an hour later, creeping in softly because Emmy has some girl-friends over and I don't want to be dragged in to watch Hugh Grant jump into a lake or whatever. I go to my room and sit cross-legged with the lights out, staring at my phone.

I think better with the lights out. It also keeps Emmy from knowing I'm back, yet. I try to think, so I can get everything I want to say in my head sorted out before I phone. Trouble is, I don't really know what to say.

I can't ice-skate. I don't know how. I did a bit of roller-skating when I was younger, but only with knee pads and when the basketball court was deserted. The idea of ice-skating kind of worries me—and of course, the idea of Josh being there worries me, too; although it might be quite nice to have a large surface area to land on. Or cling to, if I were the clingy type.

On the other hand? It's been a long time since I had a proper date. The one last night barely counts, seeing as I was spending the whole time trying to get out of it. I had a boyfriend before, at school, but we sort of drifted apart when we hit uni. I miss him a little, although mostly I just miss being able to kiss and cuddle with someone, more than actually missing, you know,
him
. But Josh? He's so much bigger than me, so much more built, and what the hell would we have to talk about?

I catch a fleeting whisper from my brain: 
You wouldn't have to talk … not if you spend the time with your mouth keeping his shut.

Or maybe that's not my brain. I'm not sure what part of me it is. I know I don't want to go out with him, or at least I think I don't, but then why am I making this phone call?

It seems very long since I've had a boyfriend.

 I take a deep breath and pick up the phone. I find Josh's number and save it first, before calling. He must have saved mine, too, because as soon as he picks it up, he asks, "Luke?"

"Um, yeah … " Silence for a bit while I get my nerve back, and then I continue, "I, uh, I can make Thursday."

"Do you want to come skating, then?" He sounds excited and I can almost imagine his smile down the other end of the phone.

"Sure." My heart is hammering wildly; I swear he can hear it over the phone. "I'm not very good at skating, though." I'm not good at any sports. We have practically nothing in common.

Josh laughs and I scowl at the phone, wishing I could reach down and kick him for it. Why does he get to be so happy when I'm so nervous? "Hey, that's fine. You don't need to worry, there's gonna be plenty of the guys there, anyway. We can always go for a meal afterward or something?"

"Sure," I reply, because it was either that or screaming. Plenty of the guys? What the hell? I don't know any of his friends and I don't want to fall over in a skating rink with them watching. I also feel slightly cheated. What guy goes on a date with a load of his friends? Maybe this isn't a date, after all. My heart starts beating even crazier and I unconsciously smooth the hair down over the left side of my face. I feel really nervous for some reason.

"Great. See you there." Josh hangs up and I stare at my mobile in the dark, wondering why I'm putting myself through all of this.

Wondering why a small part of me feels pleased that even after the first train wreck, Josh still wanted to ask me on a second date.

I don't dress quite so insanely this time, mainly going for warmth. I'm still shivering when I reach the rink, although that's mostly from fear and nervous excitement. I almost pass out when I see Josh coming, though, because he has two of his mates with him, and while one of them just looks bored, the other is smirking as if he's just about to do me in or something.

"Hey." Josh nods at me, looking all confident and cocky, and I mumble something back and hope I'm not blushing or some shit. The guy next to Josh laughs, and for a brief moment, Josh looks embarrassed. I wonder whether he's regretting bringing his friends; maybe they're starting to make him feel as awkward as they make me. "Well … ready?"

I nod. My voice has gone again, but I know it will return just in time for me to shoot my mouth off about something stupid. I pick up the skates with a sense of trepidation. The blades look very … bladelike. The word 'blade' gets stuck in my head a little, especially with the way Josh's friend is looking at me.

I pull on the skates and clomp toward the entrance to the rink, keeping behind them all. I'm thinking about not following them, or pretending to sprain my ankle or something, when Josh turns back to look at me. I realise I'm probably screwing up his date again, so I hobble onto the ice and promptly fall over.

I can hear laughter and the sound of someone behind me getting all irate about me blocking up the entrance. Josh hauls me upright and out the way, and bloody hell is he strong. He almost wrenches my arm off helping me up, and it doesn't help that my feet are all going in different directions and making me seriously worried I'm going to accidently rip myself in half or something.

"Can you skate at all?" Josh helps me to the railing and I cling onto it like a lifeline.

"No. I said I couldn't."

"You said you weren't very good; I thought you could stand up at least." He sounds a bit pissed off, as though I'm deliberately bad at skating. I reach my hand up to pat my hair down over my left eye, worried it might have flipped up when I fell, but thank God and hair gel, it's still in place. My ass is really hurting, now that I've gotten over the shock of falling, and his words aren't helping. I know I should be glad that he's getting pissed at me, so that this will all be over soon and he'll bugger off, but instead I just feel totally pathetic.

"Sorry," I whisper. Grabbing hold of the rail, I start to stumble away from him, heading for the exit. All I want to do is just run away, and then curl up and die somewhere, with no friends, no chance of love, some crappy music in the background, etc. etc.

"Don't worry about it." Josh gives me a quick smile. "Here, I'll show you." HeJosh grabs my arm again and it's a slightly disconcerting feeling, because he actually is about fifty times stronger than me. If he tried, he could probably pull me anywhere he wanted.

Also, he's skating me further away from the railing, and the chance of me getting back on my own unharmed is somewhere on the far side of negative. So I'm kind of stuck with him now. He's skating backward,
backward,
and occasionally giving me instructions about how to go forward while I sort of stumble around, trying to stop my legs from heading out boldly in opposite directions and further destroy my mother's already fairly ravaged chances of grandchildren.

We keep this up for about half an hour, with Josh occasionally laughing and joking, while I just grin back faintly manically and try to concentrate the small amount of steering influence I have on keeping us away from his crap friend, who keeps zooming up and trying to knock me off course. I have no idea if he's doing it on purpose, but I've already decided to blame him for the whole fiasco that is me trying to skate, so I just glare at him every time he comes near, which makes him laugh.

Eventually, we hobble out and give the skates back. I don't do much exercise, I know, so I was expecting it to be a little hard, but I wasn't expecting my muscles to be actually on fire. My legs are just aching—I'm pretty sure they were tensed up the whole time.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Josh asks, putting a hand on my shoulder and making me jump. I nod, feeling relieved when his friends troop off, leaving us alone. He looks down at me, smiling a little. "Did you enjoy that?" Another nod and I manage a positive noise. "We should try again some time. You'll get better." 

"Yeah … " I knew it. Second date and I feel like he's already trying to turn me into someone like him, someone with whom he can do sporty things.

"You don't sound so sure." He looks a little concerned and slightly baffled, as well, as if he's not certain why anyone would be unhappy after spending thirty minutes with their legs skidding around all over the place, hanging onto him for dear life. "You know, we don't have to if you don't want to."

"I didn't know your friends would be there," I mumble, because as I said, I've already decided to blame his friend for it. Also, I'm not quite up to telling him the very idea of skating again makes my stomach twist in knots, since he's so bloody good at it.

"Oh." He gives this big, wide grin that makes my stomach tie into even more knots. "Oh, right!"

I swear I want to punch him right then. He's wearing this massive, goofy grin and keeps glancing at me, which makes me feel even more stupid. We stop outside a pub and he kind of leads me in. I'm not really used to pubs, but I'm so hungry that I'm not about to argue.

I get a burger, so he won't start thinking I'm vegetarian. Before, I would have done anything to get him to dislike me, but now it just seems petty and unnecessary.  There's silence for a bit as we just kind of sit there, trying to think of something to say.