Love Sick

He smelt like a bizarre mixture of leaves and cigarettes, and I’d told him so the first time I’d met him.

It had taken him almost a minute or so to respond; instead spending some time looking me up and down with raised eyebrows and listening to his newly-made friends snicker in the background.

“Leave me alone,” was his tight response, before he’d abruptly turned back around and had pointedly ignored me once more.

“Oh I get it,” I’d giggled, chewing on the end of my nail. “Leaf me alone. That was great. Puntastic. Specpunular.”

His back had grown stiff as he craned his head to look at me, an incredulous expression on his face. “Who are you?” he’d asked roughly, lips curled into a frown as he eyed me mildly. “You look like Pippi Longstockings.”

His friends had laughed and I’d tugged at my braids self-consciously, nibbling on my lower lip as I rocked myself forward on my toes. “Mabel,” I’d introduced, holding my hand out with a slight blush. “And may I say that you look like a delightful combination of Robert Di Nero and Jesse McCartney.”

It was silent for a few moments before his friends started to laugh, and his face immediately began to redden; his jaw clenching tightly as he pointedly looked away from my hand. “Travis,” he’d mumbled, ears still glowing with heat as he forcedly began to ignore me again.

Slightly bothered, I let out a sigh and turned away, heading back over to the tree under which I always sat by myself at lunch time, my hands feeling heavy as they hung idly by my sides.

I knew what they’d be telling him. I was unstable Mabel; Mabel who thought she could smell when someone was sick, Mabel who always wore her hair in plaits and who always tucked her top into her skirt. I’d been a social pariah for years — someone to stay away from, and though it didn’t bother me often it sometimes hurt that I wasn’t allowed to have a single friend.

I knew that I was different. “You’re special,” Grandma would tell me every morning as she set out my breakfast, eyeing me from behind her glasses. “Fuck anyone who says otherwise. I’ll give ‘em something to talk about.”

Then again… Grandma wasn’t exactly normal either; what with her multiple tattoos, her nose piercing and her exceptionally dirty mouth. That point had been glaringly obvious when I’d arrived home after school and told her about my day, and she’d looked me up and down with a haughty stare. “’Course he won’t pay you any attention, Mabel,” she’d said abruptly, narrowing her eyes at me slightly. “You look like you’ve come from a nunnery, for Christ’s sake.”

I’d tugged at my braids mindlessly, biting down on my lower lip. “Doesn’t mean he’s not fucking awful for saying that to you,” she’d assured me, before she gestured towards me. “’Course, it would help if he knew you had a little something something going on in the chest area… don’t know how many times I have to tell you to flaunt those knockers, Mabel.”

Nonetheless, the next day at school I’d turned up with my shirt tucked into skirt as usual, sucking on the straw in my juice box and tugging on the end of my plaits restlessly with my spare hand.

My first class was Sociology, and so I headed straight up the stairs toward the classroom I needed to be at. I was nearly at the door when someone shoved me out of the way, and I went head-first into the wall beside the door.

“Watch yourself, Mabel,” came a giggle from behind me, before two girls walked past me and into the classroom. Sighing, I decided against telling her that she smelt like peanut butter and dirt (a common combination for Laura Holmes) and instead straightened my shirt, nibbling on the end of one of my plaits with my teeth and shyly entering the room.

There was only one seat left, and it was right in front of Travis. I met his eye briefly and sent him an enthusiastic wave, only to watch him blush and look pointedly away. Slightly disheartened, I walked over to the chair and sat myself down, immediately organising my pen and paper in perfect order.

It was about halfway through the lesson when I felt someone lean forward so that their mouth was against my neck. “You smell like snails and daisies,” he whispered against my ear.

“Wrong,” I responded quietly, craning my neck to look at him. “But still a good guess.”

He grinned then, lazily shrugging with one shoulder before leaning back into his seat.

At lunch time I found myself sitting alone under the tree, nibbling at my sandwich and picking at the grass with my fingers.

All at once I felt something grab me by the wrist and tug me off the ground, and I let out a startled yelp. “C’mon, Longstockings,” said a voice, and I glanced up to see Travis staring at me mildly. “We’re ditching.”

I opened my mouth to protest but he was tugging me along by the wrist towards the front of the school, and I dumbly found myself following along behind him. “We can’t,” I said hastily, slightly perplexed by the fact that he was talking to me. “I have to get my homework.”

He barked out a laugh, letting go of my wrist to give me a playful look. With his brown hair flopping in front of his hazel eyes and the beginnings of a dimple in his cheek, he looked utterly different to the boy that I had introduced myself to the day before, and it was making my tummy flip with giddiness.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never done anything even slightly rebellious in your life?” he asked me humorously, giving me a grin before grabbing my hand again and continuing to tug me along behind him.

“I have so!” I protested after him, tugging at the end of my plait with my spare hand.

“Right,” he said simply, not glancing back at me.

My stomach was in my throat as we passed the school gates, my palms sweating in anxiety as I hastily glanced around to check for any teachers. Once we were a few metres down the road I let out a giddy laugh, pressing my fingers against my lips as my stomach bubbled. “We did it!”

He glanced back at me amusedly, his lips curled into half smile and his eyes sparkling. “Not going to fight me on it anymore then, Longstockings?” he asked mildly, squeezing at my wrist before turning away.

I enthusiastically shook my head, and he smiled slightly before dropping my hand.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked eventually, nervously playing with my plaits.

He glanced back at me, his expression slightly startled before his lips curled into a smile. “Dunno,” he said mildly, digging his hands into his pockets. “You looked like you needed some fun.”

I smiled at the ground, trying not to look too grateful at his words.

“They made you sound like a right nutter though, unstable Mabel.” I flushed and stiffened a little, but when he turned back to grin at me I allowed myself to relax. “Can you really smell if someone’s sick?”

My cheeks were bright red as I hastened my pace to catch up with him, nibbling down on my lower lip nervously. “Julia Symmonds had lice in the third grade and it smelt like raspberries and spice,” I told him, staring at the ground.

He laughed, eyeing me amusedly from the corner of his eyes as we continued to walk. “Any other success stories?” he asked, reaching up to brush the hair away from his eyes as he grinned at me. “Surely you’ve got to have more than one if you’ve got this reputation.”

I bit down on my lip. “My mum had cancer,” I said before I could stop myself, and his body stiffened slightly from beside me. “It smelt like flowers. I always thought it was odd.”

It was silent for a few moments before he met my eye, his lips pressed together and a frown creasing his brow. “Did she… did she get any better?” he asked quietly, his shoulders stiff as he shot me a look.

“Nah,” I said in response, tugging at the end of my braid.

“I’m sorry,” he said in response, looking like he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him, giving him a smile. “My Grandma’s great. ‘Course, she always smells like cigarettes, so it’s hard to tell if she’s sick or not.”

He laughed, lips curling into a quiet smile. “Your grandma smokes?”

I sent him a large smile. “Sure does. She always tries to offer me one, too. Says I need to live a little.”

Travis barked out a laugh, turning his head to grin at me. “Sounds like we’d get along well; me and your Grandma.”

Eventually we made it to a park and he grabbed me by the wrist again, tugging me over to the wooden seat. We sat down on top of it and he turned to face me, holding a finger up to my face as he dug around in his pocket.

“’Ere we go,” he said eventually, grinning cheekily as he revealed a box of cigarettes. I immediately shook my head at him, pushing myself backwards with wide eyes.

“No way,” I protested, shaking my head at him furiously. “Skipping school is one thing, but there’s no way I’m doing that.”

His lips tugged into a larger smile, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head at me. “C’mon, Longstockings,” he goaded, opening the box and pulling out a cigarette. “Do it once and I’ll leave you alone.”

I was tempted to tell him that that sounded like all the more reason to not smoke the cigarette, but he was giving me a look that I’d never been on the receiving end of and it was making my stomach tight with butterflies. “Fine,” I said lowly, snatching the cigarette out of his hand. “Only once, though,” I added curtly, narrowing my eyes at him.

Chuckling, his lips twitched slightly but he kept his face level, nodding his head at me in acceptance before flicking his lighter on. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Longstockings,” he said with a grin, before leaning forward and lighting the tip of the cigarette.

A few moments passed. “You’ve gotta breathe, you know,” he said mildly, his voice full of laughter. “There’s not a lot of point if you just sit there with it dangling from your mouth.”

Blushing, I nervously breathed in deeply before pulling it away from my lips.

It tasted horrible, and immediately I was spluttering a coughing, my face bright red as I struggled for breath. Travis was laughing, reaching out to clap his hand against my back as he reminded me to breathe.

Eventually I calmed down, my face bright red and my throat sore as I shoved the cigarette back into his fingers. “There,” I said croakily, slapping at my chest with my hands and coughing again. “Never again.”

He grinned, dropping the cigarette onto the ground and stamping it out with his foot. He glanced at me then and slowly leaned in forward, reaching out to grab my plait in his fingers. “You’re different,” he said softly, his eyes gentle as his lips quirked into a smile. I flushed as he gently tugged on my braid with his fingers, my chest feeling tight and my stomach fluttering as I reminded myself to breathe.

Up close I was sure that he could see everything wrong with me. Every freckle, every blemish and every flaw, and I felt more vulnerable than I ever had — more scared than I’d ever felt in my life.

“You smell like smoke,” I said instead, my cheeks bright red as I embarrassedly looked at the ground.

He leaned closer, still smiling, and gently brushed his lips against mine. “You taste like it,” he teased, lips quirking into a half smile.

My stomach was in my throat and my lips were tingling, and when he pulled away I numbly pressed my fingers against my mouth. “You just met me,” I said quietly, hands shaking as I glanced at him nervously.

He smiled, reaching forward and grabbing my hand, and gently intertwining our fingers. “Maybe I’m love sick,” he said mildly, his lips twitching into a smile. “Maybe I felt love sick when you told me that I smelt like grass.”

I turned an even brighter red, my heart racing as I eyed him shyly. His fingers were warm and stark in mine — undeniably real and there, and he was looking at me softly, his eyes amused as he waited for my response.

“Never smelt that before,” I said, smiling shyly as I met his eye.

He walked me home almost an hour later, holding my hand in his until we were in front of my house. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked quietly, squeezing my hand before letting it go.

I smiled and nodded, and blushed when he leaned forward and kissed me again.

It was hard to watch him walk away. I knew that he wouldn’t acknowledge me the next day — that this was all a once off and out of the blue. I didn’t know how he could possibly like me; not after knowing me for that amount of time and certainly not after hearing all that he did about me.

Boys like him and girls like me didn’t work. I didn’t need to be spectacular to figure that much out.

I tried not to feel too upset as I pushed open the door, nibbling on my fingernail as I entered the house.

“What smells like smoke?” Grandma said immediately, eyeing me from behind her mug of coffee. “Bloody hell,” she cackled, pushing the mug away from her. “D’you finally do something worth doing?”

——————————————————

The next day I was nervous walking into school, my fingers tugging on the bottom of my skirt as I walked through the front gates. People stared as they always did; some of them laughed behind their fingers and leered, and some of them ignored me altogether. It had never really bothered me before — being unstable Mabel, but today my chest felt heavy and my hands were shaking as I headed towards the front steps.

“Longstockings!” came a shout, and before I knew it he was jogging towards me with a large smile on his face. My heart was pounding as he stopped in front of me, reaching out to tug at the end of my braid with a soft smile before taking a step closer to me and pressing his lips gently against mine.

When he pulled away he was grinning, and he reached out to entwine his fingers with mine. “You smell like ginger,” he said softly, his lips quirking into a crooked smile as he squeezed my hand.

“Closer,” I told him, a smile forming on my face. “Definitely closer.”