Good Girls Don't (12 page)

Chapter Fifty

And now they’re engaged, they’re going to be married, she’s going to wear a white dress and walk up the aisle and say “I do”.

And I’m crying. I don’t know why. Is it because I’m happy for them? No. I care about them, but this – I’m not sure whether I’m happy about it or not.

The phone is ringing. I wonder if it’s Lucy again. Someone picks up. Dad calls, “Emily, it’s for you.”

Great. I sniff and rub at my eyes and pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Heya.” It’s Barry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Um. I think.”

“Lucy said she called you to tell you the news,” he continues.

“Ah, yes. Did she call you?”

“Yep.” He pauses. “So – what do you think?”

“I think they’re insane, personally, and either they’ll go through with it and end up divorced within a year, or else they’ll eventually come to their senses. Or else they’ll live happily ever after and have a perfect little happy romantic life and . . . wow, do I sound bitter?”

“Are you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“That’s what I love about you, Em, your decisiveness,” he teases.

“I want that,” I say in a little voice.

He’s confused. “Decisiveness?”

“No. The happily ever after part. I want that. I want what they have. I mean, they’re so happy together. They really love each other, you know? And I think it’s worse that it’s Lucy and that she’s, I don’t know, permanently off-limits now.”

“I thought you were over Lucy,” he says.

“I was. I am. I thought I was.” I don’t
know
anymore. I thought I got over her a long time ago. But her relationship with Andrew has never exactly stopped her from flirting with me – or anyone else for that matter – or going further than that.

I never had
closure
, I suppose.
Closure
is what Americans talk about the whole time, an idea that’s infiltrating into our minds too as we get used to all this trendy psychobabble. (This is something I picked up during my pretentious phase.) You need to say goodbye to a certain area of your life before you can move on and develop your full potential as a human being and get in touch with your inner child and all that nonsense.

And now closure has been forced upon me, in the form of one of my dearest friends and ex-crush signing her life away. I mean, what is she thinking? I thought I’d talked him out of this whole marriage thing. Apparently not.

“Maybe it’s just that this is sort of final,” Barry suggests.

“Yeah,” I say, “that’s probably it. What do you think about it?”

“I can’t see Lucy as the faithful wife type, somehow,” he says. “I don’t see Andrew loving married life either.”

“Really? He seems pretty keen on the idea.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’ll last. I think he’ll end up regretting getting himself into this situation after a while.”

“Ah, of course. What a typically male attitude,” I tease.

“Of course! We don’t want to commit. We’re designed to be as promiscuous as possible.”

“While the women stay at home and have the babies, right?”

“And do the cooking and the cleaning.”

“Ah, yes.”

“And the washing and the ironing.”

“Naturally. Remind me never to marry you.”

“Oh, Emily, you wound me.”

“You can take it.”

“True.”

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“Bye.”

Chapter Fifty-One

It’s only Wednesday and it feels like it should be the weekend. I’d be incredibly grateful if any higher power out there would make time move that little bit quicker so that it can be Friday night and I can curl up in bed and avoid the world for a few days.

Well, that’s a tad dramatic. I suppose it’s not that bad. All the same, I’d prefer to be at home than sitting in school thinking about Lucy-and-Andrew, Andrew-and-Lucy, and everything that comes with it.

I don’t know what’s going on here, and it’s all terribly confusing. I thought things were nice and simple. You know, being vaguely annoyed but amused about the Hugh situation, having tension with Declan, having a crush on Abi, and rolling my eyes at people going on about that ‘spark’.

And now all of a sudden Abi has faded into the background and while I still think she’s a perfectly lovely girl and I want to keep an eye on her in case she does anything stupid, I’m not fantasising about her in a romantic way.

Roisín said to me, when I first told her I liked Abi, that she thought it was a rebound thing, considering things had just ended between me and Hugh. It’s easy to see these things from a distance, I suppose – when it’s you, you think that you know what’s best and what’s real.

And I’m thinking about Lucy, who is part of my past, who is a dear friend but who is in no way a romantic figure in my life anymore, and it’s – it’s a mess.

My past is a list of experiences. Not mistakes – none of them were – but experiences, and if I had the chance to go back and change something, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be me otherwise, and I
like
me.

But I do wish that the past would just stay put and stop waving its hand at me saying, “I feel sort of unresolved. Here, go and question your feelings all over again, there’s a good girl.” It’s very inconsiderate of it.

I’ll probably be seeing Barry tonight. He cheered me up yesterday; he’ll help me sort things out in my head.

I really don’t know what I’d do without him.

And that then brings up another issue, namely the idea that everyone has been right all along and that we’re destined to end up together. I’m not sure if they are yet, but it’s looking like a maybe at the moment.

Although I mustn’t be thinking clearly at the moment, since everything seems so chaotic right now, so I won’t mention this to him. I don’t want to mess up our friendship. I can’t.

Chapter Fifty-Two

“I thought you might be interested in this,” Roisín says to me at lunch-time, handing me a thin brochure.

We’re alone in the classroom; everyone else is either outside or has gone home. I am curious as to what it is that I might be interested in.

Maybe Barry’s been talking to her and she’s brought me a leaflet on “How To Deal With Your First Lesbian Crush Getting Married” or something along those lines. Maybe it has handy tips on how to not start screaming during that “if anyone knows why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony” part of the wedding, and how to make a speech that isn’t bitter.

A speech. What if she wants me to be the maid of honour? She always said that I would be, at her wedding, even though neither of us thought she’d have to make a decision quite so soon.

The brochure does not, in fact, have anything to do with solving the chaos in my life. It’s about a summer course for “young film-makers”.

“I’m not a young film-maker,” I point out, looking at the cover.

“You don’t have to have experience,” she says. “You just have to be interested, and you are. It sounds like your sort of thing.”

“Yeah, but – ” I flip through it, but only half-heartedly. My mind’s still on Lucy and Barry and Declan. It does look sort of interesting, I suppose, but it’d mean I’d miss out on part of my summer. I wanted to spend this summer relaxing and not doing anything. Having to take part in something for several weeks doesn’t quite count as ‘doing nothing’.

So maybe I do want to make movies or be involved with them in some way when I’m older, but I hate the idea that you have to go to school for everything, rather than learn from your life experience. School doesn’t teach you about life. A summer course isn’t going to change my career prospects.

“But what?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say, and try to smile.

“Is something going on?”

I contemplate telling her everything, but I’m not sure where I’d begin. I’m grateful when the door swings open and a group of girls walk in, munching on popcorn. The decision has been made for me. I’m never sure how comfortable she is with me talking seriously about Lucy and girls in general, anyway.

“Not really,” I say, and then add, “I just can’t wait for it to be summer.” At least that much is true.

Chapter Fifty-Three

“So what are we watching tonight, oh wise one?” he asks.

“Depends. What are you in the mood for?”

“Porn,” he kids. Or perhaps he’s serious.

“I don’t have porn, Barry,” I remind him.

“Yeah, you do, that Spanish one with all the sex.”

“Mexican. And it’s
artistic.”

“Sure, sure.”

“It is!”

“Whatever you say,” he says innocently. He looks through the collection. “
Boys and Girls?
Isn’t that a bit too low-brow for you, Emily?”

“Are you forgetting I also own
Crossroads
? And anyway, it’s got two girls kissing in it, which makes up for a lot.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you had such a typical romantic comedy in here.”

“Are you implying that I couldn’t just own a typical romantic comedy because I liked it?” I tease.

He considers this. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, it’s a story about two really great friends who end up falling in love and living happily ever after. Not your sort of thing, is it?”

I stare at him for a moment. “Maybe it’s exactly my sort of thing,” I say.

“Oh, really?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Really,” I say, and we’re doing this thing where we’re inching towards each other, and then I laugh. “Barry, we have to stop doing this.”

“What? Flirting?”

“No, using a Freddie Prinze Jr movie as a not-so-subtle metaphor for whatever’s going on with us.”

He grins. “Hey, you’re the one who has it on DVD. There’s got to be a reason for that.”

“I told you, it’s the kiss.”

“That’s the only reason?” he smiles.

“Absolutely,” I nod. And now we’re inching again. I know where this is going. And, you know, I think I like it. Maybe it’s crazy and insane, but I like it, and my instincts are telling me that this is definitely the right thing to do.

Chapter Fifty-Four

“Guess what I did last night?” I sing-song to Roisín on Thursday morning.

“Declared your undying love for Barry?” she teases.

I shrug. “Close enough.”

The look on her face is priceless. I’ve been giggling to myself with delight all morning at the thought of seeing this look. It’s classic disbelief, tinged with a bit of shock and a healthy dose of I-told-you-so.

“Are you serious?” she sputters.

I nod. “Yep.”

“Emily!” she shrieks, causing a couple of other girls sitting in the classroom to look at us strangely. “I can’t believe it!”

I grin. I love having good news like this. “Yeah. He was over last night, we were just talking, and then – then . . . ”

“Then you propositioned him,” she smiles.

“Nope. I kissed him. Or he kissed me. There was a kiss, anyway. And then there was more kissing. And then we said goodnight. And we were all happy and smiley and stuff. Quite sickening, actually.”

“I can imagine. But – you kissed him? And that’s all? That seems terribly chaste for you, Em.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, but I know what she means.

“You just tend to move fast, that’s all,” she says. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but –”

“Nah, you’re right. But this is different. Me and Barry – aaagh! I can’t believe it.” I really can’t. It’s me and Barry. Me and Barry! And yet it seems to make so much sense, when you think about it. We’re like two halves of the same coin, coming together to form a perfect whole.

Oh, here we go again with the romantic babbling. It feels familiar. But this isn’t like it was with Hugh. This is completely different. I feel it.

Chapter Fifty-Five

At break-time Roisín, me, and a few others are sitting around chatting when she brings up the topic of Barry again.

“Barry, as in your friend Barry?” Christine asks.

“Yeah, him,” I say.

“Emily’s decided she’s madly in love with him,” Roisín adds.

I watch their reactions. They look surprised. More than that, they look disbelieving. They look as if they want to say, “Right, Emily, you’re not fooling us. We all know you’re a big mad dyke, so stop pretending.”

Maybe I’m overreacting. But their
looks
. . . And now we have the feigned interest.

“Is he good-looking?” Maria asks.

“Very,” I say, but I watch her. I watch the patronising smile. I watch the way they seem to act as though they’re playing parts in a play, pretending right along with me.

Truth be told, it’s been going on for a while now. The averted eyes (because eye contact could be interpreted as being
interested
, and that’d be a disaster of colossal proportions), the awkwardness whenever I’m the only other person in the room.

They’re right in one way, I guess. I’m pretending, but it’s not about pretending to be interested in guys, it’s about pretending that I don’t care.

And I find myself needing to leave. Right now. I know it’s going to look suspicious and probably just give them more to gossip about, but I can’t stand being around them anymore.

A couple of weeks ago, these girls were my friends. I mean, we weren’t close, not like me and Roisín or me and Barry or even me and Abi, but we were friends. And now everything’s different, and I don’t know whether I like it or not. I didn’t get a choice in the matter. In some ways I’m glad about this – taking the burden off my shoulders, I guess – but in other ways I resent it.

It’s my life. Not theirs. How dare they sit there and judge me and whisper about how they suspected all along how I wasn’t “normal”? Whisper about Abi when she walks in, whisper whenever I’m talking privately to another girl, whisper, whisper, whisper. I am sick of it, so incredibly sick and tired of it all.

I hide in the bathroom. Bathrooms are good for this sort of thing, this kind of emotional upheaval. I wonder how many girls have leaned against this cold tiled wall and tried not to cry.

“Emily? You in here?” Roisín calls.

I unlock the door and walk out, staring at myself in the mirror. Girl. Seventeen years old. Brunette, for the moment. Semi-attractive. Wearing school uniform. Upset. Angry. Scared.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

I want to say something profound and meaningful, explain the way I’m feeling. Instead I just burst into tears. I’m such a girl.

“I’d never make a good lesbian,” I sniffle.

Roisín looks at me, puzzled.

“I’m not butch enough,” I elaborate, with half a smile.

She giggles. “So you’re buying into the stereotypes now?”

I shrug. “Everyone else seems to be.”

“So what are you, then?”

“The resident bisexual slut, clearly,” I say.

“You sound bitter,” she says quietly.

“Oh, you think? I
hate
this school. I hate the way they make me
question
myself over and over and
think
about all this stuff and turn it into a big deal. I hate the way they look at me, and I hate the way they think they know everything about me. So, yeah, I’m bitter.” And the tears are starting up again.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, giving me a hug. “Ignore them, okay? They’re not important.”

“I hate them,” I sniffle.

“You never cared what they thought about you before,” she reminds me gently.

“That was different,” I say. That was before my personal life became a topic of classroom gossip. It’s easy to be indifferent when everything’s going okay.

Roisín pauses. “You’re still you,” she says eventually. “And the Emily I know does her own thing and doesn’t worry about what everyone else is going to say.”

I smile. I love her so much at this moment for that. And I start to dry my eyes.