The Celeb Next Door (14 page)

‘I’m really into manga,’ he says, before I can decide.

‘Oh yeah? Great. Me too.’ I’m not totally sure what manga is. I’m guessing it’s probably like sushi. I don’t like sushi.

He grins at me, mischievously. ‘Rufus thought you’d definitely want to see the chick flick – the one with the stupid trailer that’s on TV all the time. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he even bet me a tenner you would.’ He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crisp ten pound note. ‘Good thing you didn’t,’ he says, looking pleased with himself. ‘I told him I knew you had better taste than that. He was seriously impressed. We can spend it on sweets and drinks if you want.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, feeling like a fraud. Funny, I think, that Rufus seems to know me better than Max does.

The weird Japanese film with subtitles turns out to be a weird Japanese romance with subtitles. That’ll teach me not to read the small print. And guess what? Japanese snogging isn’t all that much different from American or English snogging, it’s just that the people doing it are Japanese. Plus, you need to read the words on the screen to understand what they’re saying before and after they start making squelching noises. And guess what again?
Even Japanese snogging with subtitles gives Max
ideas
.

Worse, because the film is a bit weird and confusing, and reading the subtitles is hard work, and there’s hardly anyone else in that screen, he seems very keen to put these ideas into action very quickly. Fifteen minutes in, and I can feel his arm creeping around the back of my chair and finding its way across my shoulders. He leaves his hand dangling just above my chest, then leans in towards me, resting his head on my shoulder. I drop my popcorn in alarm, scattering half of it across the floor.

‘Oops, sorry!’ I exclaim. Leaning away from his embrace, I force him to take back his hand so I can bend forward in my seat to retrieve my popcorn. But once I’m sitting up straight again, the popcorn safely balanced on my lap, he tries again. I feel his hand wandering around my back, his fingers brushing across the nape of my neck. I can sense that he has turned his body towards mine, in anticipation that I’ll do the same, so I sit dead straight towards the screen, pretending I’m concentrating hard. His hand begins to stroke the back of my hair. It tickles. Then I feel his breath, very close to my ear. It tickles even more, and I want to giggle. At the last second, I duck away from him and he pulls back. Even in the dim light, I can see he looks hurt. Maybe, I think, I should just let him kiss me, and get it over with. He might be a good kisser – I might even enjoy it, despite myself. But I can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right. I guess I’m still not ready. ‘Um, Max, I don’t
really like PDAs,’ I whisper, by way of an apology. ‘I get a bit self-conscious in front of other people. Sorry.’

Max nods, as though he understands, but he still looks crestfallen, so I try to make up for it.‘Would you like some popcorn?’ I ask, holding out the packet. Not really much consolation, I know. He shakes his head. Feeling guilty, I let him hold my hand for a few minutes, until he gets cramp in his elbow from supporting his arm on the rest in between us.

‘Are you enjoying this?’ he whispers.‘The film, I mean?’

I turn to him and shake my head.‘Not really.’ That’s an understatement. I have no clue what’s going on.

‘Wanna go somewhere else?’

‘OK.’

We creep out as quietly as we can, trying not to disturb the other people in our row. Someone tuts. It annoys me because I’m doing my best to be polite, so I tut back. Max laughs at me and grabs my arm to steer me out of the way.

It’s still light outside, which is somehow always a surprise when you come out of the cinema. We stop at the entrance and screw up our eyes in discomfort.

‘I’ve got a question for you,’ says Max. ‘What the hell was that man doing to the tree?’

‘God knows.’

And why were all those girls dressed in sheets running all the time?’

‘Honestly? I have no clue.’

‘But, Rosie, I thought you said you really wanted to see this film.’

‘Um. I thought it was something else,’ I say. ‘I made a mistake. Sorry.’ I pause.‘Do you think Rufus will want his popcorn money back?’

He laughs.‘Nah, you’re safe. Anyway, he doesn’t need to know. So, want to watch a DVD at mine instead?’

‘OK.’

Thankfully, nobody’s in when we get home, so I don’t have to attempt to discuss Japanese art movies with Rufus. Max leads me into the front room and tells me to make myself comfortable while he sorts out the film.

‘There’s a whole library of DVDs here,’ he says, digging around in a cupboard next to the televison. ‘How about
Batman?
Or would you rather watch
Fieldstar on Tour? Fieldstar in Concert? Fieldstar Live at the Palladium?’

‘Batman’s
fine,’ I say. ‘Your choice this time.’

He laughs. ‘Probably wise.’

After putting on the DVD, he dims the lights and then he comes and sits down next to me on the sofa. It isn’t long before his arm has snaked behind my back and over my shoulders again. We watch the film quietly for a while, and then he takes a long, deep breath.‘I’d really like to kiss you, Rosie,’ he says, eventually. ‘No one can see us here, I promise. It’s totally private.’

I can tell it’s taken a lot for him to say it. I feel my cheeks burning. No boy has ever been quite so direct with
me before, and I don’t know how to respond. My first instinct is to lie. I want to say, ‘The thing is, this is really embarrassing, but I’m getting that tingle, the one that says you’re about to have a cold sore.’ But I don’t want to hurt him again. And anyway, he’s living next door, so how will I explain it when the cold sore never materialises?

‘I know you do, Max. I’m just shy,’ I tell him. I am
so
not shy. Vix and Sky would laugh their heads off if they heard that, but they’re not here, and, fortunately, Max has never seen how I behave with other boys.

‘Ah,’ he says, stroking my back. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re so sweet, Rosie.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I whisper, but I don’t think he hears. The irony is, suddenly I really do feel shy. Shy and self-conscious and gawky, like I’ve never kissed anyone before.

‘No pressure. Just give me a kiss on the cheek, then, if you prefer,’ he says.

‘OK,’ I say, relieved.

He leans towards me and points to the centre of his cheek with his finger. I pucker up my lips, ready to plant a kiss on target when, without warning, he turns his face ninety degrees to the right. There’s an awkward clash of lips and noses.

‘Sorry,’ he says, not sounding at all sorry. ‘I couldn’t help myself. Do it again. I promise this time I’ll keep my head perfectly still.’

‘OK,’ I say, puckering up again. I move my face towards
his, more cautiously this time, ready to pull back if he tries his trick again. I should have known – just as my lips are about to make contact with his cheek, he pulls exactly the same stunt. I duck my face away, but I can’t help laughing. ‘Max! You’re so cheeky!’ I cry.

He’s laughing too. ‘Sorry, I promise I won’t do that again. You have my word. Maybe.’

‘OK. But I don’t really believe you.’ All this head bobbing is making me dizzy. If he wants to kiss me this much, I think, perhaps I should let him. And so, on my third attempt, when he tries the same sneaky move, I don’t duck away from him. I keep my face still and let him press his mouth on to mine. He seems surprised for a second, and then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me properly. He’s not a bad kisser. He has soft, full lips and a firm but gentle technique. I feel …

I feel …

I feel …absolutely nothing. Zilch. Zero. Nada. I might as well be chewing a piece of gum that’s lost its flavour. The kiss seems to be going on for ever. I had no idea kissing could be so boring. What’s that black thing on the wallpaper? Is it a squashed fly? Oh God, what have I started?

‘Thank you,’ he says, eventually, drawing away. His face is flushed and his eyes have taken on a dreamy, glassy look. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.’ He strokes my hair.

‘Me too,’ I say, because to say anything else would be cruel.

‘You’re so beautiful, Rosie,’ he says.

‘You too,’ I say, because my mind has now gone completely blank.‘I mean, thank you.’

I tell him it’s time for me to go and he insists on walking me to my garden gate, even though I say it isn’t necessary.

‘I’m so happy,’ he says, kissing me again, when he’s sure my parents can’t see us through the window. ‘See you tomorrow.’

I wave goodbye and let myself into the house, hoping that Mum and Dad won’t grill me about the date. I’m surprised to find everyone, including Charlie – who should be in bed – in the living room, watching TV.

‘Where’s Rosie been?’ asks Charlie.

‘Rosie’s been to the cinema with her new boyfriend,’ says Dad, grinning at me. ‘They’ve been on a
date
.’

‘Eughhh,’ says Charlie, who is at the stage when little boys think that little girls are disgusting. He can’t imagine why a boy and a girl would want to talk to each other, let alone kiss.

‘Yeah,’ I say, under my breath. ‘I know how you feel.’

W
hen I first learned to ride a bike, I was hopeless at it. Dad would take off my stabilisers and I’d manage to cycle for about a metre before I’d tip over to one side or the other and collapse. He’d pick me up, rub my bruises better, put me back on the bike and hold on to me while I tried again. And again. And again. And then one day, he let go and I didn’t realise I was cycling on my own until I’d reached the end of the garden. After that, it was plain, er, cycling.

So maybe it’s the same with kissing. With some people, it just comes naturally. You move towards them, they move towards you and your mouths fit together like magnets,
even if your eyes are closed. With others, it takes practice (but, just to be clear, not my dad’s help. Ewww). Perhaps the more I do it with Max, the easier and better it will get until, one day, I’ll forget I have to try at all and I’ll find myself enjoying it. In the meantime, there are loads of things I can do to make it less of a chore. The night after our first kiss, when Max came round, I closed my eyes and imagined I was kissing Adam Grigson (without the fangs), and it helped a lot. And so that’s what I’ve been doing, for the last week or so, to get through it. The trouble is, it doesn’t seem to be working as well, any more.

I wish I could talk about this with Sky, but she’s in Goa now, and I guess it’s a bit difficult to use your phone while you’re sitting in the lotus position, chanting mantras. She’s promised to message me as soon as she can find an internet café. I can’t talk about it with Vix, obviously, even though we are at least speaking again. She loved the dress and told me I didn’t need to give her presents to say sorry and that, of course, we’d always be best friends. But something feels different. There’s a great big Max-shaped block in between us. When we talk, we try to talk about everything
except
him, which is crazy, as there’s not that much else going on for me right now, and so there are tons of weird silences. And whenever, inevitably, the subject of Max does come up, she sounds like she doesn’t really want to hear about what’s happening with him. So, I feel like I have to lie to her. I’ve told her that I’ve realised I was wrong and that
now I’m one hundred per cent sure I really do fancy Max, after all, and that I’m really happy being his girlfriend. Saying it made me feel a bit sick. She hasn’t said it outright, but I can tell she’s thinking, ‘Who are you really trying to convince here?’

I am not going to worry about any of that right now because today it’s the G Festival in Regent’s Park and I’m on the guest list as Max’s ‘plus one’. Mum and Dad didn’t take much persuading in the end. Once they realised the festival was only up the road, and that I wouldn’t be staying in a tent with boys, or getting trench foot, they were perfectly happy to let me come. Max promised them he’d look after me too.

I have no idea what the ‘G’ in G festival stands for. Nor, it turns out, does anyone else. Max said it’s probably ‘G’ for guitar, or G-string (as in the musical note, not the underwear, I hope), as all the bands playing are guitar bands, like Fieldstar. Isabella said it’s ‘G’ for Green because it’s in the park. Rufus laughed and said it must be ‘G’ for G-spot. I think I’ve heard of it, but I’m not completely sure what it is. Isabella slapped Rufus, so I thought better of checking.