Naked

At thirteen years old, Tom had his first girlfriend. She was Stephanie Carlson, a girl with a slender face, thick black lashes and curly blond hair. She was the first girl in our year to start wearing make-up, so everyone thought she was a tart - including me. Tom didn’t though.

“She’s so cool, Lizzie,” Tom said for the fourth time whilst we sat in my living room, doing math homework.

“She’s…pretty,” I offered, my only attempt to even try to like his new fling. I wasn’t jealous; I saw Tom as more of a brother than someone I wanted to hold hands and make gooey-eyes with. I just didn’t like Stephanie.

“Pretty?” he cried, slamming his calculator down on the coffee table. Bailey, the old Yorkshire Terrier that lay in the corner, jumped. “She’s more than pretty. She’s beautiful, she’s terrific, she’s…perfect!”

I cocked an eyebrow at him, “I think you should have a word with yourself Thomas.”

“Oh, shush,” he waved me off, recovering his calculator and sucking the end of his pencil. “At least the person who I like, likes me back.”

Giving up on all attempts at my algebra, I demanded, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Tom rolled his eyes, brushing the curve of his fringe out of the way. As Tom got older, he lost the roundness of his cheeks, and had started growing his hair out around his face. He was a popular boy at school; had tons of friends, was always out biking or skating, and forever snapping photo’s. This was a hobby that we had both loved in the beginning, but only he had kept up.

I wasn’t so popular. Tom was the only person I really had.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed.

“It does!” I moaned, pouting. He was always unfair like this. It was like he was in on some secret that he refused to tell his best friend. “Tom, tell me.”

“God,” he growled, frustrated with me. “I’m talking about you fancying my brother!”

I swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “That’s just stupid,” I said, but even I didn’t believe my weak tone. It was very apparent that for some time I had formed some liking for Toms older brother. There was something about the older Sykes boy that intrigued me, pulled me in, but petrified me at the same time.

Just as Tom had changed as age took it’s toll, so had Oli. His hair, now even longer, covered the proportion of his pretty face. He’d grown taller, if that were possible. In doing so, his added height took away what little baby-fat he’d had in his face and around his stomach.

For his seventeenth birthday he’d had his bottom lip pierced twice, two big thick rings right in the corners. When I’d first seen him with them in, I didn’t know what to think. They made his face look different, and I’d liked the way it was before. For a while those silver hoops were all I could look at when we were in the same room, but I soon grew accustom to them. In time they just became part of his face. Part of something to adore.

“Come off it, Lizzie,” Tom said. I was sure I was red in the face. “It’s okay if you like him. I don’t mind.”

I started to clear away my pencils and calculator. “I don’t even know what you mean, Tom.”

That night when Tom left - now allowed to walk the ten minutes home instead of his mother insisting on picking him up - I had been cross with him. It wasn’t his fault, not at all. I knew that. But I couldn’t help but want to slam the door on his stupid boy face and scream that it was absurd to even suggest I “fancied” his brother.

“See you tomorrow?” He said, pulling me into his side for a hug; forcefully, in attempt to make amends. I let my arms fall limp to my sides, unresponsive. “Lizzie,” he muttered, squeezing me tighter. “Don’t be cross with me. I won’t tell anybody, I promise. Even if it isn’t true. I swear.”

Sluggishly, I coiled my arms over his back. “Alright. But not a soul, okay?”

“Not a living soul.” Tom left, hoisting his backpack over his shoulders and gave me a wave when he took one last glance over his shoulder at the end of the street. I closed and bolted the door before running to my room.

Over the past few years, my room had changed quite a bit. Having spent half of the last three years in the Sykes household, I’d been opened up to new things. Before I’d met Tom, my walls were lilac. I’d had matching purple duvet covers and curtains, and all the accessories had been pink or silver.

Now I’d insisted that my walls be painted white, just like Toms. I’d begun to cover the white in photo’s, tickets and posters, just like Oliver’s. I’d only seen his room once and it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.

Toms room was on the third floor, which meant you had to pull down a ladder to reach it. One night, when his brother had been at band practice, Tom suggested we go look for a new movie to watch. Out of Oliver’s collection. The very thought of snooping through his room whilst he was out had my throat run dry. I’d protested. Even suggested that we watch one of our old favourites, but Tom was having non of it. So he let the ladders down and he pulled me to the second floor.

It had been fleeting, sometimes even now I had to think really hard to remember it properly. Tom dashed in, leaving the sticker covered door wide open. I idled at the door-way, heart beating before curiosity got the better of me and I pushed myself inside. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be in there, and if caught…I didn’t even want to imagine the consequences.

The walls had been blue, but only visible in patches through large pictures of scary looking men, covered in tattoos and bits of metal, similar to occupant of the room. The carpet was beige, littered with pairs of his infamous tight jeans and black t-shirts. There were socks, magazines, Cds and school notebooks lying around everywhere. I spotted Tom amongst the mess, crouched down by a set of shelves.

“Lizzie,” he waved me over to kneel beside him. “What do you want to watch. Oli’s got all the good videos.”

We’d gotten so lost in quarrelling over whether to watch Jurassic Park or Power Rangers, that we almost didn’t hear the voice announce it’s arrival after the slam of the front door. Oliver’s footsteps approaching were a metronome to my racing heart. Tom pulled the ladders up behind us just in time, but I couldn’t relax for what felt like hours.

Soon, as I started to realise that the stuffed animals on my bed and the little fairy trinkets on my shelves were so girly and childish, I demanded that there be a change. With the white walls came a darker set of purple curtains and an aubergine duvet cover. The teddies were thrown into a bin bag and forgotten about in the attic, and the fairies were given to the young girl that lived next door. I was done with being little girly Lizzie.

I don’t really remember when I’d started liking different music; when I’d first started listening to the heavy guitars and rough voices it mostly sounded like a lot of hectic noise to me. But over time I grew to like it, love it and then it was just another part of my life. Who knew how much rock and hardcore could change your life?

The same month that my mother realised that my school trousers were a size too big was the same month she’d had to buy me a bra.

“Oh, Lizzie!” She’d cried when walking through Marks and Spencer’s on Bra Day. “You’ve changed so much. Look at you, all grown up now.”

“I’m not that different,” I muttered, walking three steps behind her, embarrassed of the set of 32A’s she had hanging over her arm as we went to pay.

This experience so far wasn’t all that traumatising. It had been a quick trip, a fitting by a woman with grey hair and large pink glasses, then I chose five of the best ones I liked, and then that was it. Bra Day turned into Bra Hour, and the closer the queue to pay got, the better I felt. I was off Scott-free, I couldn’t believe how easy this was!

“Courtney?”

“Carol!”

Oh no. No, no, God, no! Not only had Mrs Sykes bumped into us in the middle of a total zone out, resulting in me walking straight into her shopping trolley, but, ducking behind her shoulder to escape his own embarrassment, was Oliver, wearing more black than what seemed possible on one person. He looked great, of course.

“Oh, Lizzie!” Mrs Sykes cooed, looking down at me with her hazel eyes that were far too familiar. “Are you okay, Love? Did you hurt yourself?”

“N-no, I’m fine,” I squeaked, which was in fact more of a squawk, and instantly began tugging on my mothers sleeve. I wanted to go, now. Screw the bras.

“Lizzie, wait a second, we’ll pay in a moment. Doing the shopping again I see, Carol? Your boys, they never stop eating. Lizzie here doesn’t seem to eat a thing!” My mother was practically flapping the undergarments in Mrs Sykes face, which meant also in the line of sight of Oliver. I watched, wanting to die then and there, as he looked with alarmed eyes between the white bras and my face. Which was undoubtedly getting redder by the moment.

“Pigs,” Carol tutted, “The lot of them. If I didn’t padlock the cupboard Oli and Tom would clean the shelves in a day. It’s a wonder they’re so skinny, like they are.”

“Makes you jealous, doesn’t it? I remember the days when I had the metabolism of a fifteen year old…could eat anything I wanted and wouldn’t put on a pound.” Why couldn’t my mother just shut up? Why couldn’t we just make a run for it now?! There was no use anyway, Oliver had seen and now, past the shock, he seemed way too amused at my crimson cheeks.

“Bit of shopping, eh?” He snickered, sloping straight up in front of me, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

I thought my heart might actually crawl it’s way up and out of chest and I’d spew it all over Oliver’s shirt. Or at least burst through my sizzling face, leaving my skull in a tattered blood and gutsy mess.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Oliver whispered, out of ear shot of our nattering mothers. “I suppose all birds start out somewhere,” he took a quick glance at the bras that seemed even smaller now. My face was practically boiling over. “Guess you just started two years after the rest.”

“Go away, Oliver.” I gasped, wanting to take it back instantly. Oliver had poked fun at me before whilst I was at his house, but usually I just turned away and did my best not show how it had effected me. This was the first time I’d stood up to him.

He blinked at me in astonishment before his eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“…and now we’ve got to re-mortgage the house,” I heard his mother say in a tone of finality. “Well, we best be off. Come on, Oli, help me run this through the till. See you soon Courtney. No doubt I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow Lizzie.”

I mumbled a goodbye, and had tried to hide from Oli’s scorching eyes as he was dragged away by his mother.