Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Guys Are Stronger.
A lot has happened since the day that Mum dropped me off at Bridget's house that fateful October day. I don't remember being uneasy or nervous but there was no real need at the time.
At least, I had an ordinary amount of discomfort in going to spend the day at the house of someone with whom I wasn't speaking. Bridget and I hadn't talked properly in a while. You may remember that.
Anyway, the uneasy part had nothing to do with Bridget because that came later...
"Have a great day!" calls my Mum from the car as I plod dolefully up the path that leads to Bridget's front door. It's a detached house, just like ours, but the houses on this road have wider spaces in between and thicker, fuller trellises up the front which are tidier than ours because our gardener hasn't got round to the front of the house yet. Bridget's family is quite well off, more so than mine or Izzie's anyway. She's got loads of stuff, not necessarily the 'latest' gadget but she always seems to have something new. Izzie once said that Bridget was spoilt but never spoiled which is absolutely right. Because Bridget would be just as happy with less stuff anyway.
I don't think I could be feeling more uncomfortable if I tried. I rang the door bell and wait silently.
The person who responds to the ring is Seb and I turn and wave to my Mum in the car as I know she won't leave until I'm inside.
"You all right?" Seb greets me. It's weird how saying that combines a greeting and inquiry, turning the 'how are you' part into something you don't really respond to. Maybe it's a mark of the fact I'm cooler than I was two weeks ago that I am noticing this stuff. Or maybe I'm an idiot.
"Yeah, you all right?" I say back, trying to mimic Seb's nonchalant tone. I sort of get it right.
I don't do it too wrong anyway because Seb grunts back at me and points to the stairs as he goes back down to the basement room where his band practices. "She's upstairs."
I don't hurry up the stairs at all. I pay close attention to the pictures and stuff on the walls. There aren't too many around of Bridget and Seb from when they were little but then they're probably insisted that those photos don't get put up. As cool as Seb is, I don't think he could pull off his image as well if Marcus and the others saw photos of his four year old self playing on the beach in tiny swimming trunks.
Bridget's bedroom door is open and I can see her lying on her bed flicking through a book but I knock all the same to be polite.
She looks up and says, "Come in," not overly enthusiastic.
"Do you want to watch a film?" I suggest quickly. A film is good because it means we wouldn't have to speak to each other a great deal.
Bridget swings her feet off the bed and looks at me straight in the face. "Look, I really think we need to sort things out between us. We've been off lately and I hate not talking to you. I'm not even really sure how this started."
If only I could do that. Say exactly what I really want rather than just thinking. I feel exactly the same. I know that if I'm friends with Bridget properly again then I'm going to have to be really careful about what I let her see of my eating habits because she's not stupid. But I miss her so much and have truly hated the last week. Utterly awful. It's probably possible that I'm crazy in making Bridget suffer at the same time, as well as myself.
"I had a weird dream last night," I interpose quickly, desperate to change the subject. "I was talking to a girl I didn't know and then in her face I could see myself - like a reflection - and my lower teeth were shaped like the New York sky line...you know, like on Sex And The City?"
I'd never watched Sex And The City properly. I'd seen one episode with my Mum but it had resulted in utter embarrassment on my behalf when one of them had had a lot of loud sex.
Why do TV people think it's OK to show that? I don't want to watch it with my mother! Anyway, we haven't since. Thank God!
"Ella, I don't want us to not be friends anymore," reiterates Bridget, getting to her feet. "This has gone beyond insane now."
"I started reading The Bell Jar," I bleat stupidly. "Only I don't understand what she means."
"Neither did she," replies Bridget, "That's why the book is how it is." She stops and then asks, "Where are you up to in it?"
"Just the beginning," I say, "When she's in New York but doesn't really know why. I don't get her though. If I'd won a scholarship, I'd be over the moon. She doesn't seem to appreciate it at all."
Bridget nods, like she's pressing this informative thought down with her chin and it's going into her head via her chest. "Sometimes people don't appreciate what they have."
I think she's talking about me but I can't be sure. This is why you shouldn't have friends who are smarter than you. Bridget is clever, Izzie is sort of sharp and then there's me who's just...nothing. Not even interesting. Am I harming myself just to fill the huge void in my personality? While I was at it, I should have bought a razor blade and a dodgy sideways haircut and just trampled all the way down into mediocrity. What a cliche I truly am.
"Mum bought us pizza," Bridget goes to the door and we both go down to the kitchen. She's clearly given up trying to talk to me properly and I can't say that I blame her. If I was Bridget, I wouldn't bother with me at all. But then, maybe that's why Bridget is Bridget and I am me. Because Bridget won't turn her back on me no matter how stupidly I behave. Even though it appears that Bridget may well have done that with Izzie.
Bridget tells me about this over our pizza which we have in the kitchen while the gardener mows the lawn outside. Just so you know, Bridget's gardener is female, late twenties and does not resemble the guy off Desperate Housewives. Although, you know, I never got the big deal about him...
"Izzie came up to me at school the other day," Bridget informs me, taking a huge bite of pizza. Apparently talking with your mouthful is not offensive at all in Bridget's books. Perhaps she's relaxed because it's just her and me. "And she was all 'we need to re-get to know each other' or some bullshit. Acting like the break up was my fault.' Like she wasn't the one who had sex in my bed and destroyed my mattress."
"What did your Mum say about it?" I ask, gingerly nibbling the pizza crust. Fighting every urge in my body. Just don't bite. Fight. Don't bite.
"Nothing. She has no idea. I make it my job to do all my own washing and bed making so she NEVER finds out the state that Izzie left it in. Izzie is so full of shit. Hanging around with those whining bullies - Becca and Robbie. Seriously, they are a piece of work those two."
"I know." I agree wholeheartedly and am glad not to be the only one of this opinion.
"I mean, sure, it's good that Izzie has recognised there's a problem between us," says Bridget fairly. "Even though you'd have to blind not to see it. But if she can't see she's in the wrong for shagging the guy in my bed then - "
"I had an argument with her the other day," I reveal, finally able to put the slice of pizza down. It is a relief not to have to touch it anymore.
Bridget wipes her mouth on her sleeve. "What about?"
"I don't think Andrew knows she's not sixteen yet and I said that people would call him a rapist if it got out."
Bridget raises her eyebrows. "I bet that didn't go down very well with Izzie."
I shake my head. "No. She stormed off. She was round my house and - "
And then I stop talking because Seb and Marcus walk into the kitchen at that moment and I know I've gone either gone bright red or all my colour has gone. Either way I'm both aware of my face but all of me is numb.
I'm aware of my face in a birds-eye-view way. Like I can see in my head how I look. The askew angle of my head, the awkward placing of my hands.
"Give us some pizza!" demands Marcus, reaching across and taking even as Bridget actively tries to shove him off.
"Get lost Marcus! This is ours!" shrieks Bridget. "Seb, tell him!"
"Whatever," grunts Seb, barely taking any notice of our predicament as he saunters over to the cupboards.
"How you doing babe?" Marcus is suddenly talking and looking at me. But before I can stutter a reply, he shouts at Seb, "Oi, Evans, have you found them yet?"
Seb shrugs. "Bridget, where does Mum keep the spare fuses?"
Bridget looks at him like he's an idiot for asking and also shrugs. It must be nice to have a sibling. "How am I supposed to know?"
"Thought you might need one to change your My Little Pony lamp," teases Marcus, his mouth full of pizza as he laughs. He's not very attractive at this moment in time I'll admit.
Bridget starts to hit him then and Marcus fights her off, swallowing his pizza rapidly as he fends off the blows to the side of his head. Well, slaps really. Bridget obviously doesn't really want to hurt him. She does karate though so she probably could if she wanted.
Although I reckon personally that guys are stronger even if you do do martial arts. Bridget always says it's not about strength but I'm not so sure.
In the end, Marcus just holds Bridget's wrists together with one hand - which I would have liked a lot more if he'd been doing it to me - and starts poking her with the other. Bridget is still trying to tread on his feet but Marcus keeps moving them out of her way.
What is it about Marcus that turns me on so much? His good looks? Cocky nature? The fact he's so big and strong? Well, tall and strong. Marcus has broad shoulders but he's not really big. Taller than me, of course. So is everyone. Guys should be taller.
"Marcus, come on, we need to finish the practice. Del's got to go to work in twenty minutes," says Seb gruffly, barging past the pair of them on his way out of the kitchen. Marcus finally releases Bridget from his grasp, ruffles her hair and then darts off after Seb.
Bridget comes back to the table, thoroughly exasperated and I'm left wondering whether now is a good time to explain about how much I like Marcus.
"God, he's such an IDIOT!"
...maybe not.
At least, I had an ordinary amount of discomfort in going to spend the day at the house of someone with whom I wasn't speaking. Bridget and I hadn't talked properly in a while. You may remember that.
Anyway, the uneasy part had nothing to do with Bridget because that came later...
"Have a great day!" calls my Mum from the car as I plod dolefully up the path that leads to Bridget's front door. It's a detached house, just like ours, but the houses on this road have wider spaces in between and thicker, fuller trellises up the front which are tidier than ours because our gardener hasn't got round to the front of the house yet. Bridget's family is quite well off, more so than mine or Izzie's anyway. She's got loads of stuff, not necessarily the 'latest' gadget but she always seems to have something new. Izzie once said that Bridget was spoilt but never spoiled which is absolutely right. Because Bridget would be just as happy with less stuff anyway.
I don't think I could be feeling more uncomfortable if I tried. I rang the door bell and wait silently.
The person who responds to the ring is Seb and I turn and wave to my Mum in the car as I know she won't leave until I'm inside.
"You all right?" Seb greets me. It's weird how saying that combines a greeting and inquiry, turning the 'how are you' part into something you don't really respond to. Maybe it's a mark of the fact I'm cooler than I was two weeks ago that I am noticing this stuff. Or maybe I'm an idiot.
"Yeah, you all right?" I say back, trying to mimic Seb's nonchalant tone. I sort of get it right.
I don't do it too wrong anyway because Seb grunts back at me and points to the stairs as he goes back down to the basement room where his band practices. "She's upstairs."
I don't hurry up the stairs at all. I pay close attention to the pictures and stuff on the walls. There aren't too many around of Bridget and Seb from when they were little but then they're probably insisted that those photos don't get put up. As cool as Seb is, I don't think he could pull off his image as well if Marcus and the others saw photos of his four year old self playing on the beach in tiny swimming trunks.
Bridget's bedroom door is open and I can see her lying on her bed flicking through a book but I knock all the same to be polite.
She looks up and says, "Come in," not overly enthusiastic.
"Do you want to watch a film?" I suggest quickly. A film is good because it means we wouldn't have to speak to each other a great deal.
Bridget swings her feet off the bed and looks at me straight in the face. "Look, I really think we need to sort things out between us. We've been off lately and I hate not talking to you. I'm not even really sure how this started."
If only I could do that. Say exactly what I really want rather than just thinking. I feel exactly the same. I know that if I'm friends with Bridget properly again then I'm going to have to be really careful about what I let her see of my eating habits because she's not stupid. But I miss her so much and have truly hated the last week. Utterly awful. It's probably possible that I'm crazy in making Bridget suffer at the same time, as well as myself.
"I had a weird dream last night," I interpose quickly, desperate to change the subject. "I was talking to a girl I didn't know and then in her face I could see myself - like a reflection - and my lower teeth were shaped like the New York sky line...you know, like on Sex And The City?"
I'd never watched Sex And The City properly. I'd seen one episode with my Mum but it had resulted in utter embarrassment on my behalf when one of them had had a lot of loud sex.
Why do TV people think it's OK to show that? I don't want to watch it with my mother! Anyway, we haven't since. Thank God!
"Ella, I don't want us to not be friends anymore," reiterates Bridget, getting to her feet. "This has gone beyond insane now."
"I started reading The Bell Jar," I bleat stupidly. "Only I don't understand what she means."
"Neither did she," replies Bridget, "That's why the book is how it is." She stops and then asks, "Where are you up to in it?"
"Just the beginning," I say, "When she's in New York but doesn't really know why. I don't get her though. If I'd won a scholarship, I'd be over the moon. She doesn't seem to appreciate it at all."
Bridget nods, like she's pressing this informative thought down with her chin and it's going into her head via her chest. "Sometimes people don't appreciate what they have."
I think she's talking about me but I can't be sure. This is why you shouldn't have friends who are smarter than you. Bridget is clever, Izzie is sort of sharp and then there's me who's just...nothing. Not even interesting. Am I harming myself just to fill the huge void in my personality? While I was at it, I should have bought a razor blade and a dodgy sideways haircut and just trampled all the way down into mediocrity. What a cliche I truly am.
"Mum bought us pizza," Bridget goes to the door and we both go down to the kitchen. She's clearly given up trying to talk to me properly and I can't say that I blame her. If I was Bridget, I wouldn't bother with me at all. But then, maybe that's why Bridget is Bridget and I am me. Because Bridget won't turn her back on me no matter how stupidly I behave. Even though it appears that Bridget may well have done that with Izzie.
Bridget tells me about this over our pizza which we have in the kitchen while the gardener mows the lawn outside. Just so you know, Bridget's gardener is female, late twenties and does not resemble the guy off Desperate Housewives. Although, you know, I never got the big deal about him...
"Izzie came up to me at school the other day," Bridget informs me, taking a huge bite of pizza. Apparently talking with your mouthful is not offensive at all in Bridget's books. Perhaps she's relaxed because it's just her and me. "And she was all 'we need to re-get to know each other' or some bullshit. Acting like the break up was my fault.' Like she wasn't the one who had sex in my bed and destroyed my mattress."
"What did your Mum say about it?" I ask, gingerly nibbling the pizza crust. Fighting every urge in my body. Just don't bite. Fight. Don't bite.
"Nothing. She has no idea. I make it my job to do all my own washing and bed making so she NEVER finds out the state that Izzie left it in. Izzie is so full of shit. Hanging around with those whining bullies - Becca and Robbie. Seriously, they are a piece of work those two."
"I know." I agree wholeheartedly and am glad not to be the only one of this opinion.
"I mean, sure, it's good that Izzie has recognised there's a problem between us," says Bridget fairly. "Even though you'd have to blind not to see it. But if she can't see she's in the wrong for shagging the guy in my bed then - "
"I had an argument with her the other day," I reveal, finally able to put the slice of pizza down. It is a relief not to have to touch it anymore.
Bridget wipes her mouth on her sleeve. "What about?"
"I don't think Andrew knows she's not sixteen yet and I said that people would call him a rapist if it got out."
Bridget raises her eyebrows. "I bet that didn't go down very well with Izzie."
I shake my head. "No. She stormed off. She was round my house and - "
And then I stop talking because Seb and Marcus walk into the kitchen at that moment and I know I've gone either gone bright red or all my colour has gone. Either way I'm both aware of my face but all of me is numb.
I'm aware of my face in a birds-eye-view way. Like I can see in my head how I look. The askew angle of my head, the awkward placing of my hands.
"Give us some pizza!" demands Marcus, reaching across and taking even as Bridget actively tries to shove him off.
"Get lost Marcus! This is ours!" shrieks Bridget. "Seb, tell him!"
"Whatever," grunts Seb, barely taking any notice of our predicament as he saunters over to the cupboards.
"How you doing babe?" Marcus is suddenly talking and looking at me. But before I can stutter a reply, he shouts at Seb, "Oi, Evans, have you found them yet?"
Seb shrugs. "Bridget, where does Mum keep the spare fuses?"
Bridget looks at him like he's an idiot for asking and also shrugs. It must be nice to have a sibling. "How am I supposed to know?"
"Thought you might need one to change your My Little Pony lamp," teases Marcus, his mouth full of pizza as he laughs. He's not very attractive at this moment in time I'll admit.
Bridget starts to hit him then and Marcus fights her off, swallowing his pizza rapidly as he fends off the blows to the side of his head. Well, slaps really. Bridget obviously doesn't really want to hurt him. She does karate though so she probably could if she wanted.
Although I reckon personally that guys are stronger even if you do do martial arts. Bridget always says it's not about strength but I'm not so sure.
In the end, Marcus just holds Bridget's wrists together with one hand - which I would have liked a lot more if he'd been doing it to me - and starts poking her with the other. Bridget is still trying to tread on his feet but Marcus keeps moving them out of her way.
What is it about Marcus that turns me on so much? His good looks? Cocky nature? The fact he's so big and strong? Well, tall and strong. Marcus has broad shoulders but he's not really big. Taller than me, of course. So is everyone. Guys should be taller.
"Marcus, come on, we need to finish the practice. Del's got to go to work in twenty minutes," says Seb gruffly, barging past the pair of them on his way out of the kitchen. Marcus finally releases Bridget from his grasp, ruffles her hair and then darts off after Seb.
Bridget comes back to the table, thoroughly exasperated and I'm left wondering whether now is a good time to explain about how much I like Marcus.
"God, he's such an IDIOT!"
...maybe not.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'll be updating this again more regularly now. Was moving into my new place and living it up at Reading Festival.