Sunburn

On Tuesday, I went to my period five lesson half an hour early on purpose.

It was Art and I wanted to talk to Jessica.

She was sitting, humming along to another song I’d never heard, drawing a moulding pepper.

“Very lovely. Very… decaying,” I said, taking out my own sketchbook and the jasmine flower I’d been drawing. My mother had kept it in a jar of water, and the petals were so thin as to be translucent.When the light shone through them, you could see even the tiniest of veins.

“Okay,” Jessica said in reply to my comment, sounding more than a little dubious.

“It’s a compliment,” I assured her, flipping open my sketchbook. “You’ve made mould look good.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she replied flatly.

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. It was easy to tell myself that I would apologise for bothering her, and then ask her why she had such a problem with everyone else in our year, and why (if she would pardon my saying so) they all seemed to have such a problem with her.

It was easy for me to imagine that conversation in my head as I walked to school, but now that it was time to actually say have it…

I couldn’t do it.

So I threw myself into my jasmine instead.

The song changed and, to my surprise, it was one I knew.

“You like Simon & Garfunkel?” I asked, my mouth moving without really consulting my brain.

“You know who the are?” she shot back, equally surprised.

“Well of course I do. I mean, my mum plays them a lot. Not liking Simon & Garfunkel would be like not liking my eyes. And I think I have quite nice eyes,” I said, mouth still running awry.

Jessica laughed a little, and I realised with a triumphant grin of my own that it was the first time something I’d said had made her laugh.

“So you’re a fan of the oldies then?” I asked when it began to get a little awkward.

“Some of them, yeah. My year two teacher would always teach us songs with his guitar. His favourites were Bright Eyes and Wonderwall,” she said, turning back to her work.

“Lucky for some. My year two teacher was dull as anything. Every bit of spare time our class got was allocated to silent reading. We hardly ever got golden time either.”

“That’s not cool,” she agreed lightly.

We lapsed back into silence, and another song started.

“Matthew, can I ask you a question?” Jessica asked suddenly, a fair few minutes later.

“Go ahead.”

“Why the flower? It’s been bugging me for a while now.”

I laughed. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Really? It fits my theme. Fragility.”

“Well yeah, but- well it’s very feminine. No offence or anything,” she explained, clearly uncomfortable.

“None taken, as it’s technically my mums. She keeps it on a window sill in our kitchen and the light shines through it like this-“ I held up the jar so she could see. “I thought it was really cool, how you can see every fine detail, so I borrowed it.”

She smiled. “That’s nice. Sweet.”

I smiled back and we returned to our work.



Ten minutes before the first period bell was rung, our peace was disturbed by none other than Jessica’s friends, the emo couple.

“Oh, hello Matthew!” the girl says, and it’s only then I realise that I don’t actually know her name.

“Hi,” I say in return with a small smile and a smaller wave. You know, one of those really awkward, purposeless waves that are almost inevitably followed by silence? Yeah, one of those.

Luckily for me, she was too busy asking her boyfriend to get her sketchbook for her while she got the paints to see my awkward manoeuvre.

“Good grief, Priestly, that’s disgusting,” the girl commented, seating herself down next to Jessica.

“I thought you’re meant to like this sort of thing. You know, symbolising that all things come to an end, and decay takes us all when it happens. Thought that was your area of expertise,” Jessica said, a hint of a smile on her face.

“Nah, I don’t dabble with that shit. That’s Dexter’s hobby, not mine, isn’t it babe?” she called to her boyfriend who glared balefully at her in return. “Son of a bitch. He’s pissed because I won’t go and see MCR with him this weekend. I told him I’m not putting myself through that again.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just do this one thing for me,” Dexter whined, slamming her book down in front of her.

“Because they’re shit! MCR are shit and a fucking pansy ass band. You might as well ask me to go and see the… the Jonas Brothers or One Direction or something because it’s all the fucking same to me!” the girl shouted back, her face going a very interesting shade of red. I’d never really paid much notice to her before, so I didn’t see just how scary she was. Her hair was cropped close to her skull, and she had a fair few piercings. That was all I’d ever really seen of her.

But, on closer inspection, she had pretty impressive muscles and a nasty snarl. A graze graced one cheek, and her fingers held heavy rings that looked like they’d do for knuckle dusters in a brawl.

She caught me looking and winked.

“They are not shit!” Dexter hissed. “ And they’re nothing like the Jonas Brothers! How can you even say that with a straight face?”

“Because it’s true! You know I don’t…”

I was drawn out of their argument by a movement to my left.

Jessica held her head in her hands, her fingers lightly massaging her temples.

I would have asked her what was wrong, but before the thought even formed in my head the warning bell had rung and she was out of her seat.

She made her way to the store cupboard and, a little while later, the music that had been playing was cut off.

She returned to her seat, and world wary expression on and her headphones in, and I took the hint.

Conversation was finished for the day.



“Did you talk to her love?” my mother asked the minute I walked through the door, handing me a steaming mug of tea.

“Yes. And no. Mum, how did you know I was going to be home just know? The timing is perfect,” I asked, taking a sip and burning my tongue every so slightly.

“Mothers’ intuition love. And what’s that supposed to mean, ‘yes and no’? Either you spoke to her or you didn’t.”

“Well, I spoke to her. But not about anything important. We just talked a little about music.”

I followed her into the living room and sank down into the armchair. My mum sat down on the sofa, where her own cup of tea was waiting.

“At least you spoke to her, eh?”

I leant back into my chair, and tried to think of it that way, instead of as a complete failure. The song Jessica had been playing earlier came on, The Only Living Boy In New York, and I smiled.

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m glad I did.”