Non Pratt - Trouble

Damn it, Dad, I gave you a chance.

“You’re a teacher,” I say, hoping a joke might be the way out. “You’re more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to making friends in the schoolyard.”

He tuts and frowns, deliberately not getting it. “You know what I mean.”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me? Just to be clear.” I can hear the edge creeping into my voice, that porcelain-sharp tone that can shatter any good feeling in a room. But Dad’s on a self-righteous rant and there’s no stopping him now.

“Hannah’s not the sort of girl you should be hanging out with.”

“Why?” I say, tightly.

“She’s got a reputation as a bit of a… bicycle.”

“So?” The smell of burning oil is catching in my throat.

“I don’t think my son should be seen with someone like that.”

“Your son?” My voice is the other side of angry. “That’s a bit of a telling statement, isn’t it? Now we’re in the same school I’m defined by who my father is?”

“That’s not what I said…”

“Er, yes it is.” I correct him.

“Still…”

“No, not ‘still’. It’s not for you to decide who I’ll be friends with.” I walk past him, trying not to stop in the doorway and say too much, but I can’t help myself. “I’m not perfect either, but it’s up to me to make my own mistakes.”

Dad stands with his back to me, the pan spitting furiously, smoke drifting up across the lights. I think he’s about to turn and tell me that he’s sacrificed enough already, that the least I can do is keep my head down and stay out of trouble and I wait, wanting to hear it.

Nothing happens. His shoulders sag and he reaches up to turn the extractor on.

“I don’t think your mum and I can handle any more mistakes,” he says, so quietly that I’m not sure he knows I’m listening.

There’s a saying that you should fight fire with fire. It’s a stupid saying, because everyone knows you should fight fire with water. But I’m sticking with the phrase, because that’s how I’m working it.

By lunchtime every girl in the school is talking about Fletch. His cock’s bent. He comes quicker than Monday morning. One nipple’s larger than the other. His mum caught him trying to give himself a blow job.

Last lesson is PSHE. It’s one of the few subjects I do without Katie — this and French — and I enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong, I like sitting with Katie all the time. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t, would I? But I spend a lot of time with her and sometimes it’s nice to take a break from being Hannah, Katie’s best friend. In PSHE I can just be me.

Of course, just being me means talking about boys and sex with the girls — and boy — on my table. Tilly and Rahni don’t really get out much — I never see them at the park. Tilly has a boyfriend, but their relationship brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “taking it slowly”. They’re practically taking it backwards. I’m not sure whether Rahni has even kissed a boy. It’s the same with Gideon, although I know he’d rather it wasn’t. Still, whatever our expertise, we’re all equally happy talking about it.

“Have you heard about Fletch?” Rahni asks as soon as I sit down and I see a meaningful glance pass between Gideon and Tilly. Rahni was off all last week when I gleefully gave the other two the dirt on my last hook up with Fletch. They don’t know that tonight I’ll be doing a lot better than that greasy little spunk stain.

“What about him?” I ask, as I take my books out. I wonder which rumour she’s heard? I hope it’s the nipple one, that’s my favourite.

“I heard someone say that one of the guys thought he saw Fletch having a” — she mouths the word wank — “in the school showers.”

Her eyes grow wide and I can’t stop myself from opening my mouth in a total OMG moment.

That rumour isn’t even one of mine. Operation Embarrass Fletch has officially gone viral.

My boobs hurt. They sometimes do around my period and I’ve checked that I’ve got some tampons in my bag, but I seriously hope it doesn’t turn up tonight.

“You look way good,” Katie says glancing not-so-subtly at my tits. I have broken the unwritten rule: Katie does boobs, I do bum.

“So do you.” I stare meaningfully at the hem of her skirt swishing up slightly as she walks. There isn’t much room for error in the swish.

“Easy access.” She shrugs and loops her arm in mine.

“Same here.”

Katie finds me funniest when I say something she would and she cracks up at this.

“Do you think Rex has broken up with that posh girlfriend he has?” she says, once she’s recovered.

“So that’s why you’re making such an effort!” I don’t know what to make of this. Katie used to be very rude about Rex, but lately I’ve caught her looking at him thoughtfully.

“No. I don’t dress for anyone but me.” Katie hands me her bottle as she gets out a cigarette and pauses, turning against the breeze to light it. My hand is cold and my knuckles are white as I grip the glass. Inside is some vodka mixed with a splash of coke. There’s another in my bag.

I can’t shift the feeling that my best mate is up to something.

“Hello? Calling occupants of Hannah’s brain?”

I hadn’t realized I’d zoned out. Katie’s offering her pack, with a filter beckoning me towards it.

Sod it. May as well.

I doubt anyone will notice that I’m wearing the same clothes I wore last Friday. I have different boxers on, but that fact is between whatever God there might be and me.

Rex waves me over to the tyre swings. The park is heaving tonight. Almost everyone from our year is here, even the ones I thought would be snubbed. I sit down on the soft rubber of one of the swings and put down a six-pack. There’s a chorus of appreciative grunts from the basketball lads and Tyrone slaps me on the back and tells me I’m not bad. Again.

I take one of my own cans and crack it open. Drinking is the fastest way to fit in without having to talk to anyone — and one beer won’t do any harm, especially not this piss water I’ve bought.

Conversations rise up around me and the group starts to unfurl as boys pair off with girls. I scan the rest of the crowd, looking for familiar faces, and I’m surprised to see Anjela Ojo standing with some of the girls from our Spanish class, including Nicole — one of Marcy’s friends. Since Anj is here, I look for Gideon, but he’s not around. Neither is Fletch. Not that I’m surprised. Best to sit tonight out whilst the gossip’s hot. I don’t for a second believe what I’ve heard about the school showers, but I don’t think anyone’s interested in the truth — gossip’s about the possibility of truth.

Note to self: stay the right side of Hannah Sheppard.

That’s when I notice that she and Katie have arrived.

We’ve been here all of five minutes when Katie sees Rex. I count to ten and before I’ve reached seven, she’s left me standing by the roundabout whilst she heads for the swings. Rex is there talking to Aaron Tyler. It’s weird how he’s hanging round with the basketball lot — I would’ve thought he’d be above all this clique shit.

Someone bumps into me as I’m staring off into space and half my drink splashes out of the bottle.

“Bollocks!” It’s Tyrone, jumping back from the fizz that sprays out over our shoes.

I stay where I am, but then, my shoes cost less than his. I’m not bothered about it to be honest, but it’s a good starting point.

“You gonna make up for that?” I say quietly, meeting his eyes. Big, dark eyes and beautiful lips. Lips that feel as beautiful as they look.

Tyrone must be thinking the same thing, judging by the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. I can tell he’s thinking about the things we did in my bedroom on Tuesday. So am I.

“Name a time and a place,” he murmurs.

I want him here and now, but…

“Tyrone!”

Marcy struts over, her supposedly perfect face set in a scowl. I’m going to enjoy this.

“Hey, sexy.” Tyrone turns away from me to try a low purr on his girlfriend, but she’s as deaf to this as I would be. Tyrone can charm when he wants to, but it’s usually with something more persuasive than his voice.

“I thought you were going to talk to Rex about that thing?”

Tyrone looks baffled. “You what?”

“Never mind.” Marcy shoots me a glare. “Hi, Spanner. Going for the Page Three look tonight?”

I glance down and realize my bra’s peeping out above my top. And my cleavage is popping out above my bra.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” I shrug. “Or flaunt it anyway, even if you haven’t — that’s your motto, isn’t it?”

But Marcy simply smiles. “People pay me to flaunt what I ‘haven’t got’. Let me know when you finally get paid for doing whatever it is you think people want you for.” She turns away, a perfect dismissal, and lays a hand on Tyrone’s arm, leading him away from me.

I hate how Marcy thinks she’s so much better than everyone else here. I hate that she thinks she’s better than me. But I take a deep breath and then I walk away, because, you know, I can. Because I have so shagged her boyfriend.