Geekhood (20 page)

“What? Why?”

“I’ve been married, Archie,” Mum says a bit sadly, but still managing to supply me with a cup of the Holy Brew. “I don’t need to do it again. I think it was marriage that finished off my relationship with your dad.”

When I actually come round to understanding that statement, I’m sure I’ll have to concede that I’ve become an adult.

“Oh. How’s Tony?”

“He’s fine.”

“Really? He’s not upset?” Despite the fact that I was dreading an impending marriage, part of me is morally
outraged that Tony could take this rejection so casually.

“Go and see for yourself.”

I lumber into the lounge on autopilot, as I struggle to try and make sense of all this: no one seems that bothered. It’s not that I want to kick up a hornets’ nest or anything, but everyone seems to be handling this so … positively.

“All right, Tony?”

“Yes, mate.” He doesn’t even bother to put down the paper he’s reading.

“I heard about … you know … the ring thing.”

“Oh, yeah!” Another sofa-bound chuckle from behind
The Times
.

“Are you… Are you OK?”

The paper goes down at this, with all the majesty of a drawbridge being lowered.

“Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Well … she said no…”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that bad?”

More chuckling, which, quite frankly, is starting to get on my nerves. If there’s some secret at the heart of all this, somebody’d better tell me soon.

“Let me tell you something, Arch…” (I hate it when grown-ups talk like this) “…it wasn’t that she said ‘no’, it’s
why
she said it.” He knows that this statement
demands qualification and I know that I’m going to have to ask for it.

“OK. Why?”

“She said she was happy enough and she doesn’t need a ring to make her any happier. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“Oh. Right. OK.”

Either I’ve been party to an incredibly Zen-like approach to relationships or somebody’s been spiking the tea. If he could just leave it there, I might have some respect for him, but Tony being Tony and, therefore, a Tosser, can’t.

“And how’s it going with your little lady?”

“I don’t need to borrow the ring yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A final round of chuckling from Tony’s crisp-packet lungs sends me up to my Lair. I flip open my laptop and head straight for Facebook. Matt still doesn’t exist and Ravi’s uploaded a picture of a figure he’s just completed, possibly trying to get my attention. Beggsy, however, is still trumpeting the news of my tussle with Jason Humphries as loudly as possible. His status reads: “
GUESS WHO GOT THEIR ASS KICKED BY ARCHIE?
” There are a few guesses from friends, including “
Miley Cyrus
”, which makes me smile. But at the end, he can’t help himself and puts Jason’s name, with an unnecessary
number of exclamation marks. Not the best idea he’s ever had, especially given how Jason found out where I live. I’m just about to message him when I see that Dad’s been trying to get in touch; there are a number of unanswered chat attempts.

ru u there
No question mark.

where r u
Same.

need to talk 2 u
Numbers for words: meh.

call me plse
Fail.

But even these don’t pop the bubble of serenity that seems to have formed around me. I check out Sarah’s page: her list of friends is growing rapidly and her status reads “
Peaceful
”.

I know what she means.

EIGHTEEN

The rest of the week is spent getting to grips with my Psychic Self, courtesy of Dr Hughes. The only hassle is that I’m having to stay up late to keep up with my homework, but Mum thinks I’m tired because I’m on Teenage Time.

This whole positivity thing is a bit like learning to fly; I’m learning to distance myself from my problems and look at them from a higher perspective. But flying tends to be a solitary pursuit, and when Sarah’s not around for lunch or break, I’m alone. Matt, Ravi and Beggsy aren’t avoiding me as such, but they’re keeping out of my way; maybe they think she’s my girlfriend. Maybe I ought to apologize, but to be honest, when Sarah’s around I kind of forget about them. I kind of forget about everything. I haven’t even replied to my dad’s frantic Facebooking yet.

PS:
You are spreading your wings and leaving your old life behind!

There’s a lot of truth in that. Even the new Next catalogue that arrived has remained unthumbed, thanks to my recently discovered purity. The weird thing is that I can’t even begin to think of Sarah in a sexy way. I think I’ve reached greater heights of spiritual development.
But I’m realizing there’s a lot of work to do and I’m trying to work through the book from the top. “Give everything the weight it deserves,” as Sarah said.

Humphries is biding his time. He occasionally surfaces on the horizon like the fin of a Great White Shark, only to disappear silently into the crowds. But he’s letting me know that he’s still there. Even though I’ve stopped wearing the pink hanky, he seems to be able to sense where I am. Maybe
he’s
got psychic powers.

Friday arrives like a breath of fresh air and at three-fifteen, I find myself waiting at the school gates once more. Sarah arrives, saying goodbye to her growing throng of friends/admirers/palmistry clients.

“Hey, you! How’s things?”

I love it when she calls me that. Strangely, for such a generic term, it sounds incredibly personal coming out of her mouth. Especially when she’s a little breathless, like she is right now.

“Hey, yourself! They’re fine!” I’ve got this down pat.

“What about your mum and Tony? The dreaded proposal. I didn’t know whether to say anything before.”

“False alarm.”

“Told you!” she teases. “Your friends still working on that project?”

“Yeah. Still at it.” This “project” is going to be the
longest project in school history. “What’s the goss?”

“Chris and Caitlyn split up. She’s been crying all afternoon.”

“But they’ve only been going out two days! What happened? I mean, I’ve heard of speed-dating…”

“Well, I spoke to him and he fancies someone else.”

I can see this one coming a mile off, but I brace myself just the same.

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Me! He told me he was only pretending to like her so he could get closer to me! Can you believe it?” The outrage in her voice gives me more than a little hope.

“So what did you say?”

“I told him to get lost!”

And relax. But not too much.

“How come? Every girl in the school wants to go out with him.”

“Well, I don’t! He’s not my type.”

“No?”

“No. I like my men with a bit more depth. Besides, I’m off men at the moment. Apart from you, of course.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Does that mean she wouldn’t go out with anyone except me – or that I’m“safe” because we’re friends? I ask the Universe for some guidance, but the Universe is busy answering other calls.

We lapse into comfortable conversation about nothing in particular, with Sarah showing no signs of having said anything that I ought to be concerned about. Should I just throw caution to the wind and ask her out? Even the thought of it causes a flipping sensation in my stomach and a faint blush. But the American in my head won’t entertain cowardice. It’s just not an option.

PS:
You can achieve anything through the powers of positive thinking!

Maybe I can. Maybe I should.

PS:
Step forward or step back. There is no middle ground
.

I think I’ve heard that before somewhere. But it makes sense; the longer I fluff about in Maybe Land, the less chance I’ve got of getting anywhere. Should I do it? My stomach flips again. Once for yes, twice for no. I count about six in as many seconds.

PS:
Lean into the wind! It is Now or Never!

As the idea threatens to become a reality, my body kicks into fight or flight mode.

“Archie? Are you OK? You look a bit pale!”

I silently and not very positively damn my treacherous skin.

“No, I’m fine. Can I ask you something?”

PS:
Spread your wings and FLY!

This is all very well, but I think I’ve just discovered I’m scared of heights.

“Sure. Is everything all right?” The concern on her face just seems to be making this all the more difficult.

“Yeah… I … yeah… Sarah, would you…?”

“Archie!”

Bloody Tony pulls up in the Beemer and shouts out of the window.

“Fancy a lift?”

Sarah looks at me expectantly. But my courage withers and dies.

“Uh… Yeah, thanks, Tony.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

My eyelids drop like stones. I want the world to swallow me up, take me deep into its core and never, ever let me see the light of day again. Ever. Only Sarah’s giggling pulls me out of my horror.

“Sorry,” I grin through my burning shame. “Sorry. D’you want a lift?” I don’t know why I’m asking; she’s nearly home. My face hurts. I think it’s the stress on my muscles as they try and keep a smile in place.

“Don’t worry,” she demurs. “No, thanks, Tony!” She gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and walks off, taking all my hopes and dreams with her.

I get into the car, seething in silence.

“All right, Arch?”

“No,” I manage, through gritted teeth.

Nobody says anything for a bit.

“Have I screwed up?” Tony asks, as we pull into the drive.

All I can do is sigh.

It’s Friday night and I sit, dejected and depressed, alone and with no game to look forward to or friends to see, at my painting desk, surveying my room: the bed, the books, my miniature collection. It suddenly looks different.

My Lair was my sanctuary, the place where I could escape from reality and walk upright. But now that I’m finding my feet in the real world, it looks like what it is: a safety net. I’ve never really faced up to anything in this room, it’s all been fantasy, imagination and cowardice. It looks childish.

There’s a knock at the door and Tony sticks his head in.

“All right, Arch?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. Sorry about the ‘girlfriend’ thing.”

I can smell Mum’s hand in this. I think this is the first time I’ve ever had an apology from Tony. But there’s no point dragging it out. There’s no real harm done; I can
deny everything at a later date and then ask her out in my own good time.

“It’s OK. I guess I just overreacted.”

“What you doing? Painting?”

“No, actually,” I reply, standing. “I was just thinking of getting rid of a few things.”

“What about going to a boot sale tomorrow?”

“Hey, yeah…” I mutter to myself. “A boot sale…”

“Get some cash for your trash…”

“No. It’s not about the money.” But I think Tony’s provided me with the answer I was looking for. Dr Hughes is always saying that I should “ask and the Universe will answer”. Perhaps the Universe has finally got off the phone.

“Well, we’ve got a load of stuff we should’ve got rid of before the move. How about it?”

“A boot sale?”

“Yeah. We’ll leave your mum in bed and go and flog some stuff. A boys’ day out.”

This is another one of those bonding attempts, but right now, it suits my needs.

“OK.”

“Nice one.”

Tony thunders downstairs, no doubt to report to Mum just what great mates we are now. I’ll give him his moment of glory.

As I start to clear my desk, putting miniatures in bubble wrap and snapping lids on my paints for the final time, I feel like I’m doing the right thing. I’m going to be brutal in the cull of my personal belongings – I can’t afford to hang on to the past if I’m going to fulfil my inner potential. Miniatures, books – they’re all going.

I’m just raking through my books when I notice a Facebook message window popping up. My stomach does a quick backflip in the hope that it’s Sarah. But it’s Dad.

Doesn’t even bother with punctuation, full stop.

I stare at the screen for a while, wondering what to put. I ought to see him, I know, but right now I can’t be bothered to sort it out.

PS:
Do it in your own time. It’s his decision to leave. Not yours
.

It takes me a moment, but I uncheck the “Available to chat” option. No other messages come through and I finally turn the laptop off.

PS:
That wasn’t so hard
.

I like this feeling. I like feeling worth something. Fuelled by making my own decisions, I plough back into the task at hand and pretty soon I’m staring at a pile of
boxes that are ready to go. My room looks strange and unfamiliar, but I’m not frightened by it. The new Archie embraces change; this is just a blank canvas for me to start a new picture on. If I play my cards right, I might be able to paint a Sexy Fairy into it.

Mum knocks at the door with a cup of tea, her face full of surprise as she sees what’s left of my Lair.

“Are you sure about this? That’s a lot of stuff to get rid of. And what about your paints and your models? I thought you loved doing that.”

“Yeah … it’s just time for a change. I can’t sit in my room for ever, can I?”

“I suppose.” Mum looks wistful.

PS:
There’s probably a montage of her little boy’s greatest moments playing in her head. She’ll get over it. Her little boy’s turning into a man
.

After me ’n’Mum have packed the last of what I’m going to sell into more boxes, Tony – ever the creative chef – orders pizzas and a couple of films. Ordinarily, I’d do my best to avoid sitting through his accompanying narrative, but I want to see one of the films. Of course, he can’t help himself and within fifteen minutes there are a succession of “Uh-oh”s, “Behind you”s and
“Shouldn’t have done that”s being barked at the screen.

PS:
You don’t have to put up with this
.

I lean forward in my chair and chuck a look over at the sofa where Tony’s sitting with Mum.

“Tony.”

“Yes, mate.”

“D’you mind?” I gesture at the TV. Tony responds like someone who’s just understood Einstein’s Theory of Relativity for the first time.

“Oh. Yeah.” He does a big stage whisper on the last word: “Sorry.” Mum, sensing a disturbance in the Force, cuddles up to him. But it can’t last – and it doesn’t. Within about half an hour, he’s resumed his role as Commentator-in-Chief. But this time, Mum gives
him
a warning pat on the shoulder and makes a gentle, “Shhh,” which acts like a dummy on a baby.

Until my newfound psychic revelations, I would have felt guilty about putting Mum in the position of peacemaker.