Dangerously young

The winter, one year. I am dangerously young. 

My mums picking me up, I say as you walk in. I am reading Lolita. This really was the book I was reading, that is not poetic licence. You walk into the hall, and I’m sat on the stage.

Oi, Mrs. Go home.

My mum’s picking me up.

When?

Half five.

I can’t leave you and I’m not staying til half past bloody five. Get your coat on, where do you live?

At the end of Cranham Road, Sir.

I’ll walk you half way; it’s on the way to mine anyway. I stammer,

No, it’s okay, no problem, I’ll just walk.

Put your coat on.

We walk out of the hall and your snap off the hall lights.

I’ll probably get arrested you say, and not for the last time. Outside the school it is pitch black now that the big lights in the hall are off and it’s freezing. Our breath is visible and this is the most alone we’ve ever been. 

So, how are you? You ask. How am I? Walking home with the love of my life, I want to say. Fantasising about what our children will look like, Sir. I think hard. 

I’m alright, thanks Sir. I had a cold.  What about you? I watch your feet and you clomp across the gravel. 

I’m okay, Laura. It seems we’ve reached the end of our conversation now, with another ten minutes in front of us. I think about what it would be like to kiss you, and realise my breathing is now laboured, which is a bit of a problem when you can see it.  Oh God, I fancy you. I don’t fancy anyone else, I don’t fancy any of the boys I’m supposed to fancy, I don’t fancy the boys that know Victorias brother, or the boys we meet down the ice rink. I don’t fancy Leonardo DiCaprio or Michael Owen or any of the blokes on the posters in my bedroom with soft jaw lines and no stubble. I fancy you with your square shoulders and prickly face and long eyelashes. I fancy you with your green eyes and short legs. Everything about you is wonderful. You make me feel like the teenage girl I’m meant to feel like. I feel sick being in this close proximity to you. I’m swinging my arms as I walk and my hand accidently touches the cuff of your coat. I almost yelp in surprise at the jolt of electricity that suddenly goes through me. 

Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean that. But you don’t laugh or act as though I’m funny or silly or whatever it is you’re meant to do. You just pull your features tightly across the drum of your face and say you’re alright, love.

And that is the first time I realise that you might be feeling this too.