The Worst of Me (5 page)

‘Maybe it’s just different for girls.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Jonah said. ‘But it’s harder if it’s not actually your dad telling you what to do, just someone else.’

‘He’s such a phoney,’ I said. ‘He tells me people will “call me names” if I stay out late with boys. I just find it creepy.’

‘It’s like he’s too interested in your sex life.’

Yes, that was how I felt, but as I didn’t really have one of those, I blushed and carried on.

‘He’s got strong ideas about how people are going to see me, morally. He’s really into telling me how I’ll be seen by boys, but he as good as lives with my mum now – he’s got his own flat, but he’s never there – and they’re not married. What a hypocrite.’

‘Is he some kind of God-botherer?’ Jonah said.

I hadn’t heard the term before. ‘You mean a Christian?’

‘Yeah. Any religion, really.’

‘Yes, I think so. You’re not, then?’

‘No, we’re not big on religion.’

‘Your family?’ I asked.

‘No, everyone you met at the pictures. Me, Dom, Steve. Lewis. It’s been a bit of a culture shock, in fact, coming to your school because people tended to be more of our mind back at Malton Road.’

‘Why?’

‘You know everyone in the sixth has to do general studies at A-level here?’ he asked, and I nodded. ‘We’ve started off with something called “study of contemporary British society” and a lot of people have been getting a bit
eager
in the debates about religion.’

‘
Really?
’

Jonah shrugged. ‘They set up a talkboard about it on your school intranet, you should take a look.’

‘Who set it up?’

‘Well, it’s part of the course, so the teacher, oh, what’s his name, not Bailey . . .’

‘Mr Billingsley?’

‘That’s it, Billingsley, he set it up. We’re all supposed to keep throwing ideas about, carrying on the discussion between the classes. We realised pretty early on that it was very easy to offend some people, and what
with us being the new boys, we took the discussion somewhere else. We set up a Facebook group called We’re All A Bit Afraid Of The Sam Bond Nutjobs, but they found out about it so we took it down.’

‘Was this all pretty serious?’

‘Well, that group wasn’t. But yes, people have been quite seriously pissed off.’

‘Maybe it’s just people want to argue with you because there’s that thing of our guys needing to be convinced about you lot. Like you said, they can be a bit chippy?’

‘It’s not that,’ Jonah said. He picked some brownie crumbs off the table, where they’d been freckling a little Japanese rabbit superhero, by pressing them with his fingertips. ‘I think my mates and I do feel quite strongly about this as well, to be quite honest. If you think about it, so many of the world’s problems are caused by religion, religious intolerance, hatred of one religious group by another religious group – look at Palestine, Iraq, look at 9/11.’

I didn’t really know much about any of these things, but I understood enough of them to agree. ‘Even our own country and the Northern Ireland situation,’ I said, keeping it vague because I didn’t really know what that was all about.

‘Exactly!’ Jonah said, and I was glad the bluff worked, but felt that familiar lurch in my stomach – fear that I
was trying too hard to be the person someone wanted me to be, and doing it too well.

‘Are you okay?’ I said suddenly. ‘Are you having trouble with our guys? It’s come up a couple of times now.’

‘They’re your friends,’ Jonah said. ‘I’d have to be some kind of idiot to start slagging people off in front of you.’

‘They’re not
all
my friends,’ I said. ‘Did you get on with everyone at your school?’

‘True,’ he said.

‘But it’s okay? You don’t want to leave? You’re not being . . .’

‘What, bullied?’ Jonah smiled. ‘Would you hang around and stand up for me?’

‘I don’t mean . . .’ I was afraid of having called him a wimp.

‘I’m just teasing. It’s all okay. It’s good. And no, I don’t want to leave. Quite the opposite. If anything, I’ve recently found a reason to want to be around the place even more.’

‘What’s that?’ I said.

Jonah rolled his eyes. ‘Come on.’

‘Oh, really?’ I felt my face go red. ‘
Really?
’ I became aware of the people around us, as if the volume of their conversation had been suddenly turned up. Jonah reached across the table and held my fingertips. We
both leaned forward at the same time and kissed. It happened slowly, just our lips touching, tugging, but it was intense and passionate. And when I opened my eyes, a guy at the next table said, ‘Aaahhh,’ and sniggered, and his girlfriend shushed him. But instead of feeling self-conscious, I felt giggly and proud.

‘The thing is, Cassidy, you have to respect yourself or no one is going to respect you.’

‘Sorry, what’s the problem here,
Paul
?’

I’d walked in the door at a little past half past ten, which was bound to be by miles the earliest of everyone I knew that night. I’d been okay about this. It had felt embarrassingly early when explaining it to Jonah, especially as all summer long the six-year-olds next door had been playing out in the street till about the same time. But I’d agreed with my mum to be home then because I was going out alone with a boy she didn’t know – something I might not, incidentally, have even
told
her. I knew people who would have just said they were out with their usual mates. If I’d gone to the party and had been sure of a lift home, I would have been allowed out till midnight, like everyone else. She was
always fine with someone else’s parents making sure I was safe. I’d called at ten to say I was on my way home and everything was fine.
So just run this by me one more time, Paul: what is the lecture about?

‘There’s no problem,’ Paul said, and he seemed to make a point of relaxing his voice. ‘I just think the nice thing for this boy to do would be to stick around and say hello when you came in the door.’

I blushed, imagining this situation. ‘Well, I said it was best for him to go. He saw me home, right to the door. I think it’s a bit early for him to meet the . . . uh . . .
parents
. I don’t think I’m
that
serious about him yet.’

‘All I’m
saying
is, and your mum is too afraid of upsetting you to say this, this is a very difficult age and it’s best to do things properly.’

‘Really, Mum, are you too afraid of upsetting me?’ I could hear the way I sounded: furious, sarcastic. But while my friends were out doing the things that most teenagers got up to on Friday nights, I was getting some kind of random lesson in etiquette even after I’d followed the rules.

‘All I’m saying is, if you want boys to respect you, you have to insist on doing things properly.’

‘Mum,’ I said again. ‘Why do I seem to be in trouble? With
him
?’

‘You’re not in trouble, and don’t call Paul
him
,’ my mum said, finally joining the conversation – to defend
Paul
. ‘What you don’t really understand, and there’s no way you could, you’re just a kid, is how Paul and I have sat at home worrying about you all evening and thinking about the things we ought to tell you, the things you ought to know, and now seemed as good a time as any. We just want you to be safe.’

‘I
always
keep myself safe,’ I said.

‘Of course you always have,’ Paul said. ‘But it’s fair to say that we know more about the stage you’re going through now than you do.’ Ugh,
the stage I’m going through
. I didn’t even want to think about what he meant by that. ‘And this boy is older than you, you said. While we were all here and you were in what I thought would be a good mood, I —’

‘I
was
in a good mood . . .’

‘Cass,’ my mum said. ‘Stop being rude to Paul. How do you think he feels?’

‘I’m sorry, this is just too weird. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to bed. At ten forty-five. Wow, what a rebellious teenager I am. I can see why
Paul
is so worried.’

My mum followed me upstairs and closed my bedroom door behind her.

‘I don’t understand why you’re being so rude to Paul,’ she said, almost whispering. ‘He genuinely cares about you.’ She looked pink, and I couldn’t tell if she was angry or upset or just hot.

‘If you have a problem, Mum, then talk to me. Don’t get Paul to talk to me.’

‘I didn’t
get
Paul to talk to you.’

‘Then don’t
let
Paul talk to me. It’s just so . . .
wrong
, I can’t tell you! Look, you made the rules, I stuck to them, why are we even fighting?’

‘We weren’t!’ she hissed. ‘Until for some reason you went mad at Paul calmly asking you why this boy didn’t come in and meet us – and okay, I realise it isn’t very cool to ask him to do that, but Paul is old-fashioned. That’s one of the reasons he’s good for me.’

I breathed out loudly. ‘Well . . . good for you, Mum.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, thanks, Cassidy, it’s nice that you’re being as miserable as you can be about me trying to be happy again.’

Too much. Guilt overload. Please exit the room before it explodes with the stuff. I didn’t say a word, I just looked down at my feet until eventually she left.

I checked my phone and there were two texts from Jonah. I felt myself unwinding as I read them. Just funny things about the people he’d seen walking home, and how he thought this had to be a perfect arrangement: having a girlfriend who sent him back home in time for
Match of the Day
.

Girlfriend. Which meant I had a new boyfriend. My first – slightly wrong – thought was,
Great, now I can talk to Ian again without him thinking I’m still not over
him.
My second – slightly wronger – thought was,
I wonder if this will make Ian jealous.
My third – probably sensible – thought was,
Ohmygod, I hope Jonah doesn’t think I’m ignoring his texts.
I sent one back and didn’t try too hard to be clever and funny, because those are the ones I always regret in the morning.

Getting over someone doesn’t start when they dump you. That’s when you go fast and hard in the other direction, convincing yourself that they were even more perfect than you realised and your life will never be the same again. It starts for real when you find things to be happy about that, okay, often involve them, showing them what they’re missing, or that you can do fine without them. And sure, it’s not good that they’re still in focus, less good that the feelings are about revenge and hoping they care. But those little thrills tell you that your life has started again and fun is out there, not inside your bedroom, listening to his favourite song. You’re driving this thing again. After that, you get swept up in what you’re doing and never look back.

The truth is I was well swept up already, floating on a wave of adrenalin. Some of my thoughts might have been about Ian, but that was two or three thoughts out of two or three million. I lay on my bed, buzzing about my evening with Jonah, fizzing with anger about Paul and my mum. Sometimes I sighed and smiled and
hugged myself, then all the happiness would crumple under doubts and panic about what was going to happen, and my face knotted into a frown. I seemed to have outgrown uncomplicated happiness. My life was too difficult for that now.

In the morning, my mum and Paul left early to go shopping, and I came downstairs to a gorgeously peaceful house. I spent some leisurely time on the computer, reading the papers for celebrity news, then sent emails to all my girls who’d gone to Josette’s party, casually mentioning that I’d been out with Jonah. I also emailed Dee about going to the pictures, telling her I wasn’t sure if I could go yet, but just on the offchance that I could, would it be okay if I brought a boy? Her reply came back first, saying of course I could bring a boy, and issuing a demand for more details. Then a trickle of emails came from my other friends that all focused on the same thing: our shyest friend, Kimmy, had pulled. There was surprise that I’d been on a date, and pretend-anger that I’d kept it a secret until now. I think it came as a relief to them that I hadn’t spent the evening feeling left out. I emailed everyone back, reread every email I’d received and sent that day, took a deep breath and emailed Jonah.

Morning. Had fun yesterday. One of my friends – Dee, she’s ace – is going to the pictures tonight and asked me along – might be quite a few people, so understand
if you’d rather not. Maybe you know her brother Nashriq, he’s in the sixth to, and lovely.

As soon as I’d sent it I wondered if it was too early to be asking him out. Then I read over the mail, saw that I’d spelled ‘too’ the wrong way (with just one ‘o’), groaned and slapped my hand on my forehead. Now he’d know I was an idiot. I thought about sending another email just to correct my spelling in the one before, but knew that would be worse. If only I’d texted, ’cause then bad spelling is part of the language.

Jonah didn’t reply for nearly two hours. When he did it was to say no. But not big no.

Sorry, already told lads I’d see them tonight, no chance of making pictures with your friends. But come along with us if that doesn’t sound too much like punishment. We haven’t really made any plans, but we usually fall into doing something decent on Saturdays. If you don’t mind the blokey imbalance, I’d love you to come.

I waited until the clock had ticked on a respectable eleven minutes.

Sounds fun, but if this is more of a lads night out, don’t want to cramp your style by asking stupid questions about offside rule and rating football players in terms of cuteness.

Jonah:
But would you like to come? Let that be the guide.

Me:
Yes! If it’s really okay?

Jonah:
Hmm, tough choice. Night out with my best mates, or night out with my best mates and a brainy sex kitten . . .

Even though I was on my own I hid behind my hands and peeked at that email again. I wanted to write back something self-critical but I stopped myself. What had first attracted Jonah was me being cool and collected; I had to remember not to blow it too early by falling into being girly and hopeless. I wrote back:
You make it hard to say no.