Pretty Twisted (3 page)

‘What’s up?’ I heard Natasha ask.

The faces and forms around me were fuzzy now, and I knew I had to get outside. My stomach was churning and my legs were threatening to buckle. I fought my way to the door, muttering apologies. Outside, in the cold air, I took several deep breaths, then found myself on my knees. I realized people were standing round me. Someone – Natasha – was kneeling too, her hand on my arm.

‘Jonathan, are you all right?’

I wanted to say, ‘I’m fine,’ but instead my stomach spoke, pushing up beer, cider, Archers and everything I’d eaten, right in front of Natasha.

Everyone’s worst nightmare and it had to happen to me.

I don’t remember how I got home, but when I woke I was in bed. Not unsurprisingly, I had a pounding headache. When I picked up my mobile there was a message from Stuart.

BTW I laced ur cider with vodka, thought u needed it. Oh & u owe me 4 the taxi home.

It was almost lunchtime before I felt well enough to get up. I went into the kitchen and found my parents and the Morrisons from next door sitting round the table. I wished someone had warned me we had guests before I came down in my pyjamas.

‘Good night, was it?’ Dad called as I went to the fridge. I could tell from the expression on his face that he was trying not to laugh. In fact, they were all looking amused.

‘Fine,’ I muttered, taking a carton of juice.

‘Anything interesting happen?’ asked Mum. I grunted. ‘Would you like me to make you something to eat?’

I was hungry, but there was no way I was sticking around to be asked embarrassing questions. I grabbed a bread roll and was nearly out of the door when Dad said, ‘Jonathan?’

‘What?’

‘It’s not a good idea to mix your drinks.’

I slunk off to my room and spent the rest of the afternoon feeling stupid. College was going to be fun and games tomorrow if word spread about what I’d done. Being forgotten suddenly seemed an attractive prospect.

Mum tried to get me to come down to dinner but I didn’t fancy it, especially as the Morrisons were still there. But after a while the Sunday-evening quietness started to get to me. I wanted someone to talk to. I considered phoning Freya, but there was no way I was going to tell her I’d humiliated myself.

So on a whim I turned to my laptop, logged on to MyPlace and clicked on ‘Search for friends’. In the past I’d used the search tool to find and chat to people who liked the same bands as me; today I wasn’t bothered who I hooked up with. I didn’t bother filling in most of the details, except to limit the search to people in the UK who were online right now. I just wanted to tell someone how I was feeling, someone who I didn’t know and couldn’t think any less of me. Whether they replied or not didn’t matter.

The first name the search tossed up was someone called ‘Rozzledozzle’. I started typing.

I am a total loser. I wanted to make a good start at sixth form. Instead I got pissed and threw up over this girl.

I banged the enter key, expecting nothing to happen. I stared at my screen for a moment. Two words appeared.

so wot?

Rosalind

Sunday 31 August, 8.25 p.m.

The mild curiosity I’d felt when Squeebunny popped up on my screen disappeared the moment I saw his message. Brilliant, someone wanting to unload his crap on to me. I knew Squeebunny was a he because I’d looked at his profile: male, sixteen, Norfolk, United Kingdom. There was an arty photo of some guy playing a guitar, face turned away, and he’d written that his interests were rock music, computers and horror films, along with a lengthy list of what I guessed were bands he liked; in other words, we had nothing in common.

College is meant to be a new start and I’ve screwed it up,
came a second message.

I almost ignored him, but boredom got the better of me.
no u havent,
I told him.
& actually ur life isnt half as screwed up as mine.

Oh?

I didn’t reply immediately. The question mark behind the ‘oh’ made it seem a much bigger word.

my best friend is bein rubbish. shes suddenly bcome matey wiv this gang & wants me 2 hang out wiv them. yesterday we graffitied a wall – thats the kinda thing they think is fun.

You didn’t have to join in.

i no that tnx.

Did you want to fit in?

I frowned at the words, suddenly wondering if this conversation was going places I didn’t want it to.
hey i no my own mind,
I typed.

Wanting to fit in doesn’t mean you don’t.

i didnt do wot they did. they were writin stupid stuff, i was drawin a picture.

So you were fitting in up to a point, but also letting them know you’re an individual?

wot r u, some kinda shrink? i don’t even like these ppl.

Sounds like you still care though.

wot exactly is ur point?

Been there myself, that’s all. I’ve hung out with people I didn’t have anything in common with for the sake of company. I was kinda doing that last night – so maybe I know how you feel.

o yeah?

Yeah. I tell myself I don’t give a damn what they think, but I obviously do or I wouldn’t bother with them. I can only take so much being ignored. Sometimes I think wanting to be liked is what everyone wants most.

I read the response a couple of times before replying. Maybe Squeebunny wasn’t the irritating attention seeker I’d thought – I could see where he was coming from here.

im used 2 bein ignored.
I decided it couldn’t hurt to be honest. It wasn’t as though I was ever going to meet this guy.
it shouldnt hurt me any more. ppl have been makin assumptions bout me 4 years. i dont go round moanin, there4 they think ive nothin 2 complain about – no1 seems 2 realize i have the same feelings as they do.

I know what you mean. Because I wear glasses and get good grades and play computer games, people think I’m a swot and a geek.

yeah. i get labelled as ‘miss sensible’ and ppl always look 2 me when things need sorting out. i wish i wasn’t like that cos sometimes its not much fun.
I paused.
i guess ur right. id kinda like ppl 2 c me as i am.

Sometimes it only takes one person thinking you’re special to change the way you see things.

im no1s special person.

Sometimes I feel like that, but can I say something else?

Heck, this guy was really getting into the swing of agony uncle. I wondered if Squeebunny really was a sixteen-year-old guy – he definitely wasn’t like the ones I knew at school. Who was this person – and why was he talking to me? A little warily I typed,
ok.

I would just tell your friend she’s taking you for granted. She might not have realized. Nothing beats being honest.

Huh. I thought about typing,
bein honest is hard,
but instead, deciding I’d had enough of this weird guy, logged off.

Only then did I realize how weird it was that Squeebunny, who had messaged me to unload his problems, had ended up listening to mine.

Jonathan

9.10 p.m.

I kind of enjoyed speaking to Rozzledozzle, even if she hadn’t given me much of a chance to angst at her. No one had ever listened to my advice before – people at school didn’t pay me much attention, and Freya had everything sorted already.

And I decided to stop worrying. Mum had asked again and again why I always thought the worst rather than the best about things, why I beat myself up over every tiny mistake. When I saw Natasha at college I’d apologize and hope the story hadn’t spread – fat chance with Stuart’s big mouth – but that was all I could do.

I kind of wished Rozzledozzle hadn’t logged off. I clicked on her profile. It was colourful, with fancy fonts and graphics – she’d evidently spent time customizing it. There was even a folder containing portraits, mostly of people I half-recognized from films. One of these sketches – a glam-looking girl with long curly hair with a flower in it – had been uploaded as her profile picture. Her age wasn’t filled out – just a birthday, 11 July – and she hadn’t listed her hobbies or favourite bands and TV shows either. Maybe she just used the page to show off her art. Despite myself, I was interested – especially as she’d written that she was from London. I wondered if she lived anywhere near Freya.

Jonathan

Saturday 6 September, 12.15 p.m.

I got through the first week of college – more or less. I was determined to be cheerful when I phoned Freya on Saturday.

‘It’s got its cons,but it’s better than school,’ I said. ‘Missing you loads though.’

‘Likewise,’ said Freya. ‘Bumped into anyone interesting?’

‘Don’t really know yet. It’s weird meeting people by myself. I seemed to have so much more to say when you were around.’

‘No one really makes friends in the first week. Everyone’s too busy projecting an “I am normal” image to be themselves. Speaking of which, I hope you’re wearing the clothes I bought you.’

I laughed. ‘You mean the clothes
I
bought me when you appointed yourself my personal shopper? Yeah. My savings account is still complaining.’

‘Stuff that; you needed a new wardrobe. And it’s not my fault I’m programmed to spend other people’s money; I’m a Libra.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘So how are things going at your end?’

‘Great! You’d love it here, Jonny, not having to bother about stupid things like science or geography. The teachers at the conservatoire are really laid-back – a lot of the classes are one on one, and it makes you feel as though you matter. The guy who takes me for violin is called Mark and he’s just amazing – he plays with the London Symphony Orchestra.’

I glanced across at my guitar. I hadn’t felt like playing recently – I’d been very off form during my lesson this week. ‘Awesome.’

‘The other students are fun – we went to this cafe after the first day with our violins and guitars, and there was such a buzz. And last night we went to a fancy-dress party. You know what they got me wearing? A bunny-girl outfit. I’m lucky I didn’t get arrested for indecent exposure.’

‘What did your aunt say?’

‘Nothing. Auntie Phil’s not home most of the time. Apparently my parents told her I could be trusted and that’s good enough for her.’

‘Wow. Catch my aunts being that accepting.’ But then that was Freya all over – a complete pro at getting what she wanted. The last year at school I don’t think she did a single games lesson because she had the teacher eating out of her hand.

‘Shall I send you a photo of me in the bunny outfit? It might cheer you up.’

I gave another laugh – a rather half-hearted one. ‘Not sure I like the idea of other blokes seeing you like that.’