Super Awkward (16 page)

But his eyes had a cheeky glint in them. And his dimples had reappeared. And his tiny scar was doing its excited wobbly thing.

UH and OH. DID HE MEAN PICKING UP WHERE WE LEFT OFF AT BLACK BAY?! Was he actually suggesting we attempt a non-interrupted snog? Had I really not ruined everything?!

He
was still smiling.

I looked for another bin to steady myself on, but in the absence of anything almost lent on a small child.

This. Was. Terrifying.

I'd spent so long figuring out how to make Zac not hate me that I hadn't given a second's thought to what if he actually liked me?! I wasn't mentally, physically or lipbalm-ily prepared to re-snog this wonder specimen.

MAJOR GULP ALERT.

What if I'd forgotten how to kiss? What if I couldn't manage anything more than a half-snog because he was so fit I exploded? What if he tried to do it in a scary-film bit when my eyes were closed and I headbutted him causing a second black eye?

I smiled back at Zac and tried to hide my sheer panic.

Forget
Count to Trois
, today was now
Count to Argh.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

As if spending the day pretending to be an older-better-funnier-better-at-geography-er me wasn't tricky enough, having the possibility of my first ever Zac full-snog hanging over my head made me totally lose the plot. How could something so brilliant in principle be so utterly terrifying in practice? Although I wish it
was
a practice. Just a casual five mins to get in the zone with a Zac lookalike.

I really hoped that ever since Zac had dropped the ‘do something else to take our minds off it' bombshell he hadn't noticed I'd become a worried mess, even tripping over a dog at one point. We'd spent the afternoon in the park, picking at a picnic, as my nerves (and over-elasticated mum tights under my jeans) made
me
completely unhungry. However, it
was
a highlight realizing I was hanging out with someone who could make eating a Scotch egg look sexy.

But after what felt like only a few minutes, the light began to fade. Damn the passing of time. If they could invent freeze-dried ice cream for space people, why couldn't they invent a time freezer for normal people?

I rubbed my arms to get a bit warmer. Zac noticed.

“Shall we head off? I'd forgotten you had the body temperature of a Cornetto.”

I shuddered at the thought of heading to the SOS. Scene of snog. The MOT. Moment of truth. I stood up, dusting the grass off my clothes, as he watched. Could I stall for time? I rummaged in my bag for inspo and spotted the perfect thing. My pride and joy. My camera. It might be cringe asking, but a photo of Zac AND time wasted was too good to not try for. I tried to sound as casual and college-studenty as I could.

“Before we go, while you, er –” DON'T SAY LOOK PARTICULARLY FIT – “have such, er, good light, could I grab a photo of us?”

I pulled it out of my bag before he could say no.

“Wow, that's some serious kit.”

I nodded proudly.

The one thing I owned that wasn't broken – or
borrowed
from Jo. I'd won it in a school comp last year and since then I'd taken it everywhere with me. The photos from it – of Mumbles, and feet in sand, and early morning sunrises on the playing field, and a really great sandwich I once made – were strung up all over my room (with spaces where the ones of Tegan and Rachel had been). Still, a pic of us could fill the space way better than their faces ever had done. Although, so could another sandwich.

Zac polite-coughed, reminding me I'd got distracted. Better hurry before he changes his mind. I fiddled with the F-stop, set the focus and in a move I'd practised to perfection, swivelled the camera round and stretched my arm out. Zac leaned in, but the shock of him putting his arm round me made my finger snap down, unprepared. We looked at the picture. Him grinning, me blinking. Lucky SD cards don't melt, because he looked all kinds of hot, whereas people like me are why cropping was invented. Hello, new phone background/pillow case/duvet set/ bedroom wallpaper.

Zac looked pleased. I felt like I'd just created a Picasso.

“Approve?” I could only nod back. The photo was so good it'd rendered me temporarily mute. Zac reached
out
towards my camera to get a closer look. In a panic I yanked it away from him. He looked a bit put out but one wrong left click and he'd get an eyeful of my earlier bum selfies, from when I was checking out today's outfit choice.

“Got any college work on there I could look at?”

“NO!” I didn't mean to shout. He looked scared. I looked happy my mute-ness wasn't permanent after all. “As in,
yes
I have. But
no
you can't see them. You know how it is? Creative control. Art. Want to edit them before I share.”

Truth was I couldn't swipe right either, as it was the photoshoot Rachel and I had done last month of our upside-down heads with faces drawn on our chins. And chin-face probably isn't the challenging new college art concept Zac has in mind.

“Wow, you take it seriously, don't you?” He seemed impressed. Had I finally carried off something vaguely cool? He took his phone out. “Your turn then.” My nostrils flared, like an inbuilt facial panic alarm. Taking photos, I love. Having a photo taken, I hate. I can never make my face look right. That's why selfies were invented, not you-lfies.

“Do you
have
to? I look like Mr Potato Head in photos. Well, Mrs. But only just.”

He
pointed to my camera.

“Fair's fair. I get something to remember today by too.”

I couldn't think of anything worse, but the fact that he wanted a memento made me feel a bit fuzzy inside, like someone was running a warm bath in my vital organs.

“Well, OK, but if I say delete, you delete.”

“OK, OK, diva! Next you'll be telling me you have a best side?!”

I do. It's my left side, but now I totally couldn't tell him that. I'd just have to manoeuvre it so it worked out that way. I took a sly glance at my reflection on the back of my phone. Great, I'd laugh-cried all my mascara off and I had at least twelve twigs lodged in my hair. Unless Zac had a thing for goth scarecrows, this photo was already doomed.

He held up his phone. Breathe in, Bella, shoulders back, smooth hair, tilt chin down, smile with your eyes. He pressed the button and . . . laughed.

He literally creased up with laughter.

“Zac, show it to me. What's so funny?!”

I grabbed at his phone, but he'd clutched it to his chest. Had he only just realized the true extent of my nostrils? They
are
exceptionally uneven.

He
fanned his face with his other hand like you do when your laughing overrides your breathing.

“Look whatever it is, you're deleting it, OK? You promised.”

“L-l-llll –” he was trying, and failing, to speak between laughs – “loo. . .” gasp, fan, bit of breath, “. . . oook!”

He held out the screen. There I was, standing awkwardly, my smiling eyes looking more like squinting. Sure, it wasn't my
best
photo, but was I really
that
gross? He jabbed his finger above my head. There was a weird black streak above it. I looked up at the tree – nothing there now. He zoomed in. What was it? All there was above me was just branches. Branches with birds on. . . Oh no, am I
really
this unlucky?

I put my hand on the back of my head. Affirmative. Wet and slimy. The one photo Lord Swooningham of Swoonshire owned of me and I was mid being bird-pooed on.

Zac was crying with laughter. I too was almost crying, but for totally different reasons.

“I'm sorry, Bells. But it's SO funny. You can actually see . . . see. . .” more laughing, “. . . you can see the poo!”

Mortifying. I stop fancying boys when I see them eating crisps in a funny way – how on earth was I going
to
get through this!? Should I style it out? Run off and cry? Should I hold a bird at ransom until it poos on Zac's head? Should I poo on a bird's head, so it could see how unfunny it was?

I tried to dab the evidence off, but this was no ordinary fly-by-pooing.

“OH MY GOD. IT MUST HAVE BEEN SOME SORT OF DINOSAUR. HELP ME, ZAC. HELP ME. IT'S GOING DOWN MY NECK!” I started running in tiny circles, flapping my arms as if moving would help me get further away from the thing on my head.

“CALM DOWN.” He tried to regain some composure. “A bit of poo never killed anyone. . . Well, other than millions through the spread of disease and bacteria.”

AND POTENTIALLY ME – I was at serious risk of dying of shame. I grabbed a handful of grass to scrape it off, but just gave myself bird poo lowlights.

“DELETE THAT PICTURE NOW.”

If only I'd been born before technology existed. Before being born existed.

Zac opened up his bag.

“Here, have my top – put the hood up. No one will ever know.”

“But I don't want to poo-up your hood.” When I'd
planned
what I was going to talk about with Zac, I can safely say this wasn't on my list of alluring phrases. Oh well.

I pulled on his top, ignoring my hair, which had now started to crust. It smelled amazing (his top, not the hardened poo). I stood patiently as it took another couple of minutes before Zac had stopped laughing enough to form whole sentences.

“Sorry. I think I'm OK now.” He took a deep breath in and said “Woooooo” as if breathing out the last of his laugh. “Bright side? We've definitely missed
Count to Trois
, so we can go sit in a dark, low-bird-poo-visibility room, and watch your choice of film instead.”

This
was
a glimmer of good news in all the crap. Literally. With my camera safely back in my bag, and the photos synced to my phone in case of mugging/ falling in river, we walk-jogged to the cinema. By the time we got there, the only film that had tickets left had just started. Zac bought the last two, grabbed my hand and marched us in. It was packed. As in, you'd think this was the X-Factor-final-featuring-a-naked-One-Direction-reunion-special packed. I pulled his hoodie up further to hide my face as he pulled me towards the only empty seats. The snog-repellent second row. Maybe I would be spared finding out if I could actually
kiss
any more? Although then I might never get to snog Zac ever again. Argh! Why was life so complicated? Why was snogging so terrifying? Surely it's just like chewing – but with another person attached?

As the film blared out I tried to relax and stop thinking about crusty poo hair, attempted snogging or lack of attempted snogging. The plot was so painfully unfunny the cinema was entirely silent, all except one person who explosively laughed like a horse every 2.5 minutes. And that one person was Zac. So much for loving foreign cinema.

“Oi,” Zac prodded me in the leg. I stared straight ahead, didn't want him thinking he was more important than the film, even though he was x one million.

“Bellllaaaaa,” He prodded again.

“Oh . . . yeah?” You said something? Why, I'd been so wrapped up in the
hilarious
scene with a cat having its hair crimped that I hadn't noticed.

“Just wanted to say thanks for today.”

Wow. My first genuine smile of the whole film. As they started to straighten the hair of a hamster, I felt something. Something on my actual knee. He'd only put his hand right there. On MY leg – like a COUPLE! Alert people!
Life-altering moment happening in seat 2F right now.
What should I do? Put my hand on his hand?
Put
a hand on his knee? Put my other knee on his hand?! Help! Why does no one teach you these things?!

He gently pulled my leg towards his. Uh-oh. Was I mistaken or was this going to be an SOS after all!? What could I do? I scanned left and right. BUMBALLS. I can't even dash off for a fake loo trip without tripping over at least ten people.
C'mon, Bella.
Just sit, breathe and pretend there aren't about two hundred people about to see you not able to deal with whatever is about to happen. But I didn't have much time to compose myself. Slowly, calmly, Zac leaned in. And he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy. It felt nice. Even nicer than hand on knee. Nice enough to decide that I didn't care what anyone else thought, or what anyone else saw. Here I was with the most amazing boy in the UK/probably world and we were kissing. He was kissing me!

Even though my lips felt dry on his, my head was swivelled round like some sort of human-owl and I was getting cramp in my right shoulder, this was, without doubt, the hottest moment of my life. Take that, rules of cinema dating – you thought snogging was all about the back row, well guess what? Bella and Zac are in town, and tonight it's all about row two.

My
stomach felt like it had been replaced with helium. Here I was watching a romantic comedy, and my actual real life was one billion times more happy-ending-y. We carried on half-film-watching/half-kissing until the overly loud exit music shook us back into the real world.

Zac switched on his phone. And as it came to life he shot out of his seat.

“Crap. I've got to run. Like
run
run. My train's in ten.”

Thank goodness I've already been initiated into the cinema fire-exit-exit. It's one of those rights of passage that once you know, makes everyone leaving the normal way less cool. Older people would argue it's pointless walking down dimly lit stairs and dark alleyways, but that's why they're wrong. And that's why they're old.

I dragged Zac double-speed along the row, out the door, and across the road to the station. We dashed up the stairs, getting to the platform just as his train pulled in. ‘Yay' for him not missing the train, ‘Aaaaaargghrubbish' for this being the end of the evening – and him noticing that I gave myself a hiccup trying to hold in my out-of-breath-puffing.