Heartache High (6 page)

This just isn’t
me
!

Why am I acting
like this?

Why can’t I
control the way I’m acting?

Even in my
dreams, shouldn’t I be able to say, No, that’s enough!

Calm down
Steph!

Don’t do
this!

*

Once I’ve
finished my primer, I have to make copies of it to ensure it’s
circulated.

Normally, of
course, that would mean running off a few extra copies on the
computer printer. Or making a few by scanning it in.

Nothing’s that
simple at Heartache High, where technology has yet to find its way
here.

There’s a
printing room, where all the type has to be set by hand. That means
each individual letter has to be fixed into a block. All back to
front too, so that when it prints, it’s the right way
round.

Then I have to
mix the ink, making sure it’s the right consistency; not so thin
that it runs, not so thick that it makes the type block stick to
the paper.

Using a large
roller, I apply the ink to the block of type.

Or rather, that
should be
blocks
of type, as I’ve had to make one up for
each page.

The machine I
use to press the blocks against the paper is like something out of
a western movie. It has this huge lever I have to throw all my
weight against to bring the block down hard enough on the paper to
create a clean image.

After I’ve got
half way through printing the pages, my arms ache. My back feels
like it’s never, ever going to be straight again.

When I see the
primer printed out, I realise I’ve made countless mistakes in the
way I’ve set out the type.

I move things
around, put new letters in, remove ones that are in the wrong
place.

I have to do
this six times before everything’s as it should be.

‘Hey, that was
pretty quick,’ the guy in charge of the printing room
says.

I almost tear
his head off when he says this, mistakenly thinking that he’s being
sarcastic.

Thankfully, he
notices that I’m so cranky because I’m worn out.

He promises me
that he’ll round up some other students to help me print off the
five hundred copies I’ll need for the first circulation.

They’ll also
help with binding it.

If I’d known
creating this primer was going to be so torturous, I would never
have started it.

When I circulate
the first copies to the classes I’ve been attending, however,
everyone’s impressed.

‘This is great
Steph,’ Billy says. ‘Who knows, if I’d had this to read earlier,
maybe I wouldn’t be here.’

I
smile.

I feel such a
fraud.

*

‘I love you
Steph.’

How long have I
wanted to hear Iain say that?

Now, when he
finally says it, it hurts.

It hurts because
it isn’t
me
he loves.

It’s this
other
girl in my dreams, who isn’t me at all.

Look, I know
this is really crazy, getting upset about it in this
way.

He’s only said
it, after all, in my dreams, right?

He hasn’t
really
said it to me.

But, as I’ve
said, they no longer feel like dreams.

They feel
real.

See, these
aren’t like the dreams I used to have, where it’s bit like watching
myself in a TV show; you know, where I’m watching myself and Iain
as if I’m somebody creepy nearby making a video of it
all.

I’m seeing Iain
through my
eyes
, as if I’m really there.

When we touch,
when we kiss; it’s as if I’m right there, inside my
body.

Yet, of course,
it’s
not
my body.

It’s not even my
mouth; because, when I finally get to hear Iain’s long-awaited
declaration of love, do you know what I do?

I
laugh.

I say, ‘Jeez
Iain;
love
? How
pathetic
!’

At school, our
positions have been perfectly reversed.

Iain’s lacking
in confidence, fumbling.

Everyone laughs
at him, the way he comes running after me as soon as I call
him.

I
laugh
at him, whenever he’s not around. Letting everyone else know how
pathetic I think he is.

(Sure, my dreams
have so taken over my life at Heartache High that they don’t even
have to involve Iain anymore for me to become completely absorbed
in them.)

Even Cherry and
Mary are shocked by the way I treat him. They no longer hang around
with me.

Huh, like
I
care!

But the thing
is, I
do
care!

It’s this girl
who isn’t really me who doesn’t care.

I’ve gone from
being shy and innocent to easily being the most outrageous girl in
school, if not the entire district.

If there’s any
guy around, I flirt with him.

Even if Iain’s
there.

Particularly
if Iain’s there.

If they end up
in a fight over me, that’s all the better.

Usually, Iain
wins.

Sometimes,
though, he loses.

Not that I ever
go off with the other guy.

I sneer at
him.

Let him know how
pathetic I think he is, thinking he can win me by showing how macho
he is.

Iain, he’s
covered in bruises.

He’s hardly ever
without a swollen black eye.

After a fight,
he’s always angry with me.

But I hear
myself whispering things to him, things I never thought I’d hear
myself saying.

‘Hah, he always
comes crawling back,’ I boast to my new and ever growing group of
admiring friends afterwards.

*

‘Maybe it’s a
way of getting back at him for all the suffering he’s caused
you.’

Dave, as ever,
makes an effort to understand what I’m going through.

‘Well, he didn’t
really
cause it to be honest,’ I say to Dave. ‘That’s what
some of my primer deals with; how, really, we’re the ones
responsible for our suffering. Because we’re not prepared to let go
of even the most hopeless cause.’

‘True, when you
sit down and reason it all out,’ Jassy says. ‘But when it comes to
love, we rarely let reason get in the way, do we?’

‘More’s the
pity,’ Dave sighs.

‘I’m torturing
myself even now,’ I admit. ‘These dreams; they’ve become the worst
form of self-torture I’ve ever put myself through.’

‘There’s
probably some Greek myth that deals with something like this, but I
can’t think of one,’ Jassy says, her eyes raised as she tries to
recall anything she regards as relevant information from the vast
library of her mind. ‘Morpheus; he was the god of dreams. That’s
where we get the word morphine from, by the way. Then there’s the
incubi of course, but they hardly apply in your case.’

‘Incubi?’

‘An incubus was
a demon who appeared in your dreams as a beautiful man, as a way of
drawing off your spiritual energy, or even your blood. But in your
case – although I’m sure Iain
is
a beautiful man – he’s
hardly the one in control here.’

‘Plus, of
course,’ Dave says light-heartedly, ‘there’s the problem that
incubi don’t actually exist; they’re just a myth.’

‘Whereas
Heartache High is something that all our well known scientists had
stipulated must exist somewhere in the universe.’

‘Touché!’ Dave
says.

I
chuckle.

‘Thanks Jassy,
but I don’t think I’m going to find any answer to my problem in
Greek myth!’

‘Babylonian
then? Aztec?’

She
laughs.

‘Sure Steph;
only joking. I know what you mean!’

‘Excuse me. Are
you Stephanie Johnson?’

It’s the girl
I’d seen wandering around the school when I’d first checked the
list of classes pinned up in the porch.

She still
refuses to become involved in the school’s activities.

She’s an even
worse case than I am.

She’s holding a
copy of my primer.

‘You’re the one
who wrote this, yes?’

‘Yes; I, er,
hope you think it was okay.’

She gives me an
agonised, hopeful smile.

‘You say we can
leave here? That we can leave Heartache High, as long as we do all
this?’

‘I would hope
so,’ I admit. ‘I would hope that if we come to terms with what
we’re going through, there might be a chance of
leaving.’

‘Thank you!
Thank you so much!’

She leans
forward, kisses me on the cheek warmly.

Then she heads
out across the lawns, heading towards the school rooms.

‘You believe
that do you?’ Dave eyes me curiously. ‘That we can leave if we only
manage to bring our emotions under control?’

I shake my
head.

‘I think that
once you’ve enrolled here, it’s too late.’

*

 ‘
Why do you treat me like this Steph? You know how much I love
you! I don’t deserve to be treated like this!’

Iain is pleading
with me.

I sneer at
him.

‘Don’t you
Iain?’

‘I deserve to
suffer because I love you?’

‘The way you
made me suffer when I loved you!’

Iain looks
surprised.

‘I made
you
suffer? How did I ever make
you
suffer?’

‘You just did,
that’s all.’

‘Steph, believe
me; I would
never
make you suffer. How could I, when I love
you so much?’

‘Hah,
now
you love me! But how do you think it used to be for me when you
used to ignore me?’

‘Ignore
you?’ He laughs, bewildered. ‘How could I ignore someone like
you
? Only if I thought I was out of your league!’

‘Of course
you’re out of my league! But I put up with you anyway.’

Why am I saying
these things?

It’s
my
dream; at last he’s saying all the things I always wanted him to
say.

So why I can’t I
just simply say all the things
I’ve
always wanted to
say?

Wouldn’t that
make more sense that acting like I’m the sort of girl even I can’t
stand?

I mean, if I’m
treating him like this, why’s he’s staying with me?

Oh yeah, because
it’s a dream, right?

It’s
not
real, is it?

I’ve got to keep
on telling myself that.

‘You know,
you’re not the girl I’d always imagined you to be
Steph.’

‘Oh; just what
sort of girl
did
you imagine me to be then Iain?’

‘Well, I’d
always thought you’d be, well…you know. Kinder, for a
start.’

‘Kinder?’ I
laugh. ‘But if I were kinder, Iain, I wouldn’t be the girl I am,
would I? I wouldn’t be the girl you’re madly, deeply in love with,
would I?’

‘You know what,
Steph? I don’t think that’s right; I’d think I’d love you even
more!’

‘Ah, but see;
you just admitted it anyway, didn’t you? You love me anyway,
despite what I’m like.’

‘Yes, I love
you; I can’t resist you. But I just wish I could change you back to
who you were.’

‘Oh dear dear
dear! You poor poor dear!’

I stretch out a
hand, caress his cheek and neck like he’s some poorly
pet.

‘Here you are,
with the most fabulous woman you’ve ever known, and you’re
still
not satisfied. Are you ill, do you think? Is that it?
I mean, how many other boys would be glad to be seen–’

‘Stop it Steph!
I’ve had it with all this! You don’t miss an opportunity to make a
fool of me in front of the other guys! Yes, they fancy you, fancy
you big time; I get that! What I don’t get is why you think you’ve
got to keep on proving it!’

‘Why?’ I put on
a lost little girl voice. ‘Why, because, deep down Iain, I’m this
poor, pathetic insecure little mouse you always thought I
was.’

‘Insecure?
You
? Hah!’

I laugh. I reach
out the pitying hand once more.

‘I think it’s
you
that’s insecure, isn’t it darling?’