EX 1: ALISTAIR MORRISAKA The First LovePART ONE
St Jude’s Comprehensive School
The bike sheds
12.40pm
‘OI, FANNY ADAMS, ALISTAIR MORRIS SAYS YOU’RE PROPER FIT.’
I spit Apple Tango onto the tarmac, spinning around and landing in a sort of half squat. Usually the sound of my name – or that variant of my name used by most of Year Ten – is accompanied by someone kicking a football at my head. I have learned to duck.
Louise takes a step forward, assuming her role as my co-best friend and spokesperson. ‘YOU WOT?’ she screams back at 10PT’s Nick Wilde from inside her huge, metallicgrey puffer jacket. Lou fancies Nick because his mum – Mrs Wilde – is our drama teacher, and that’s her favourite lesson. She says she wants to marry Nick so she can do improv with Mrs Wilde every weekend.
Shelley joins in with enthusiasm. ‘YEAH, HEY, NICK WILDE?’ she shouts in her distinctive Aussie tang. ‘WOT YOU SAYIN’ ABOUT ESTHER?’
From the other side of the playground, Nick Wilde – surrounded by three or four spikey-haired lads from the football A-team – laughs like this is hysterical. Cupping his mouth he tries again.
‘I SAIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDD’ – exasperated emphasis on the D – ‘THAT ALISTAIR’ – brief pause to point at one of the group cowering at the back – ‘FANCIES FANNY ADAMS!’
My whole body flushes red. I rise up and out of my skin, looking down at my horribly awkward fifteen-year-old self in my market-stall-bought, knock-off Ellesse jacket. This is an unprecedented situation. We never attract this kind of attention. The three of us – me, Shelley and Louise – we’re always trying to be seen and always trying to be invisible.
Louise glances back at me, pure astonishment naked on her face. She has no neck in that coat, she is just a thumb-head, frozen with indecision.
‘Did you hear that?’ Shelley hisses through chewing gum. ‘Alistair Morris from the football team, Esther! From theA-team, Esther!’
This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me. It doesn’t happen to Shelley or Louise either. It just doesn’t. The three of ushave been joint best friends with each other since Year Seven, predominantly because no one else likes us. United by our outsider status, we spend most of our time down here near the bike sheds, perpetually pretending to smoke a single cigarette we stole from Lou’s older brother a month ago.
‘It must be a joke,’ I whisper, but I am shaking with some kind of unfamiliar feeling under my school uniform. Alistair Morris is so fit. He looks like Charlie Simpson from Busted.
Louise turns back to Nick, who is now distracted in a shove war with another of the football lads.
‘OI, NICK WILDE,’ she screams and he turns back. ‘ARE YOU MESSIN’?’
He laughs and mutters something to one of the other boys before replying. ‘NAH! FOR REAL, ALISTAIR WELL FANCIES YOUR MATE. TELL HER TO COME OVER HERE. HE WANTS TO, LIKE, ASK HER SOMETHING, YEAH?’
Louise and Shelley both stare at me and I stare back. We have no clue how to handle this. The closest thing to attention we’ve had before this was last term, when Jodie Matthews from 11BG heard my grandpa calling me Fanny Adams at drop-off. It’s just a stupid pet name he has for me because my middle name is Annie, but Jodie and Janey Thompson really ran with it. They looked it up online and it turns out the nickname actually comes from the murder of an eight-year-old girl in the 1800s. Fanny Adams was chopped up so bad that sailors later started referring to their meat stew as Sweet Fanny Adams. So then everyone started calling meFanny Adams, which is such a cute little nickname, I totally don’t mind at all. It’s fine.
‘Should we go over there?’ Shelley hisses again and I shrug a little maniacally.
‘I don’t know!’ My heart is racing. ‘Do you think it’s a prank? Are they going to pull our tops up or twang our bra straps if we go?’
We all glance down at the oversized, padded jackets we’re wearing. There is not much opportunity for access there.
‘I think we should do it,’ Lou nods, full of bravado, but I spot her bottom lip wavering. ‘If itisa prank, they can prank us any time, right? So we might as well get it over with? And’ – she moves closer so her hot breath is in my face – ‘what if it’s true? What if Alistair Morrisactuallyfancies you?’ We all look over again. The group of boys are laughing and kicking each other’s backpacks like footballs. Alistair stands slightly apart, nervously glancing in our direction and then away again, quickly.
‘OK.’ I breathe out and the three of us link arms with intent. Moving slowly and cautiously, like we’re going over the trenches and into battle, we make our way across the playground. A hundred interested eyes from our year watch and I feel myself growing fainter with every step. Only Lou on my right and Shelley on my left, both standing tall and strong, keep me moving. About twenty feet away from the boys, we stop, decisively throwing our bags on the ground like we just – y’know – decided on a whim to choose a new lunchtime spot today.
Nick turns to us. ‘Oi, Fanny Adams, do you fancy Alistair or wot?’
‘Shut UP, Nick!’ Alistair hisses at him and Nick scoffs. The boys start shoving Alistair until he is forced up front. He resists only minimally, going limp as he’s abandoned at my feet by laughing friends.
‘GO ON, MY SON,’ one of the boys yells and I resist every impulse inside screaming at me to run away. At my side, I can feel Louise shaking with fear, while Shelley quivers excitedly with the attention. The year watches; a playground silenced by Something Happening.
‘All right, Esther?’ Alistair Morris says in a low voice. ‘All right, Louise? All right, Shelley?’
‘Oh my god, Alistair Morris knows our names,’ Louise says at a volume that was probably meant to be under her breath.
‘Shut up, Lou,’ Shelley snaps, always the coolest under pressure.
