and lesson folder, and pretended not to see it.
“Sir!” Chelsea called out. “Sir, someone left something for you!”
He also pretended to be deaf.
“Sir,” Chelsea repeated, “I think someone left you a present.”
He looked down at his desk, at the very spot where the chocolate was, so we knew that he knew it was there. As much as he tried, he wasn’t very good at feigning surprise. His face was turning as red as his hair.
“Oh,” he exclaimed.
Poor guy. Perhaps teachers’ college hadn’t taught him what to do in this scenario. We could tell he was wishing for the chocolate to disappear. To acknowledge that it was there, and that it was intended for him, would be like, well . . . like taking candy from a minor.
We all started to laugh, which gave him an opportunity to try to be a teacher again. “All right, cut it out. That’s enough carrying on.”
“What are you going to do with it, Mr Sinclair?”
“Ooh, you have a secret admirer!”
“I wonder who it is!”
“Someone loves you, Sir!”
“Yes, very funny,” he said drily. “Now, where did we leave off last class? The American electoral system, I believe.”
You had to hand it to him – no one gave a toss about how the Americans elected their president, but he ploughed on regardless. The girls were too distracted by that little gold object on his desk, a symbol of their power over this awkward but endearingly attractive man.
I could look at them all, Linh, and tell myself how ridiculously these girls were carrying on, but during recess, sitting with Katie, who genuinely didn’t care about the art show visit or about getting presents, I felt a pang. As she talked, I started to fall into my usual reverie about the sort of year I might have had if I hadn’t changed schools. Maybe, if I had stayed at Christ Our Saviour, I might have had a boyfriend from St Andrew’s . . .
There’s a secret to getting a boyfriend at fifteen, and it is this: you have to have a group of friends. You’ll never get picked up alone unless by creeps, or unless you are extremely beautiful (and even then you’ll mostly get creeps), because alone you have no personality. It’s only when you’re with your friends that you start to shine.
Boys are the same. You see a boy around his mates, and you can pick whether he is the clown of the group, the quiet philosopher or the alpha male. Alone, you can’t tell because he’d act differently, and of course he can’t tell anything about your personality either. When alone with a member of the opposite sex, we feign indifference, even though we yearn to be exaggerated versions of ourselves, filled with extra bravado or extra niceness.
My problem this year was that I no longer had a group. I had lost you and Yvonne and Ivy. Even Tully had been worth tolerating. As much as I liked Katie, we weren’t really a group. We never did anything together outside of class or lunch break. We never called each other up in the evening. And our dynamic was that Katie talked and I listened.
In my first week, Katie had asked me, “What do you do during school holidays?” but before giving me a chance to reply, she said, “I usually spend them on my cousin’s place near the countryside, in Mallah. They have seven acres and four cows and some sheep. It’s only a hobby farm, though, because my uncle owns a small business in town. It’s beautiful and real peaceful there. My cousin Dick and I ride horses. You should come up with me next school holidays!”
Oh my god, Linh, this girl was straight out of a 1950s picture book! She had called her cousin Dick with no sense of irony whatsoever.
I wondered what it would be like to be admired or desired by a boy, and thought about how lucky Amber was. I guess Gina was thinking the same thing, because she came up to us at recess. “Did you hear what Amber called me when the Growler sent me back to school to wash my face off?”
“No,” Katie lied. “What did she call you,
“Sir!” Chelsea called out. “Sir, someone left something for you!”
He also pretended to be deaf.
“Sir,” Chelsea repeated, “I think someone left you a present.”
He looked down at his desk, at the very spot where the chocolate was, so we knew that he knew it was there. As much as he tried, he wasn’t very good at feigning surprise. His face was turning as red as his hair.
“Oh,” he exclaimed.
Poor guy. Perhaps teachers’ college hadn’t taught him what to do in this scenario. We could tell he was wishing for the chocolate to disappear. To acknowledge that it was there, and that it was intended for him, would be like, well . . . like taking candy from a minor.
We all started to laugh, which gave him an opportunity to try to be a teacher again. “All right, cut it out. That’s enough carrying on.”
“What are you going to do with it, Mr Sinclair?”
“Ooh, you have a secret admirer!”
“I wonder who it is!”
“Someone loves you, Sir!”
“Yes, very funny,” he said drily. “Now, where did we leave off last class? The American electoral system, I believe.”
You had to hand it to him – no one gave a toss about how the Americans elected their president, but he ploughed on regardless. The girls were too distracted by that little gold object on his desk, a symbol of their power over this awkward but endearingly attractive man.
I could look at them all, Linh, and tell myself how ridiculously these girls were carrying on, but during recess, sitting with Katie, who genuinely didn’t care about the art show visit or about getting presents, I felt a pang. As she talked, I started to fall into my usual reverie about the sort of year I might have had if I hadn’t changed schools. Maybe, if I had stayed at Christ Our Saviour, I might have had a boyfriend from St Andrew’s . . .
There’s a secret to getting a boyfriend at fifteen, and it is this: you have to have a group of friends. You’ll never get picked up alone unless by creeps, or unless you are extremely beautiful (and even then you’ll mostly get creeps), because alone you have no personality. It’s only when you’re with your friends that you start to shine.
Boys are the same. You see a boy around his mates, and you can pick whether he is the clown of the group, the quiet philosopher or the alpha male. Alone, you can’t tell because he’d act differently, and of course he can’t tell anything about your personality either. When alone with a member of the opposite sex, we feign indifference, even though we yearn to be exaggerated versions of ourselves, filled with extra bravado or extra niceness.
My problem this year was that I no longer had a group. I had lost you and Yvonne and Ivy. Even Tully had been worth tolerating. As much as I liked Katie, we weren’t really a group. We never did anything together outside of class or lunch break. We never called each other up in the evening. And our dynamic was that Katie talked and I listened.
In my first week, Katie had asked me, “What do you do during school holidays?” but before giving me a chance to reply, she said, “I usually spend them on my cousin’s place near the countryside, in Mallah. They have seven acres and four cows and some sheep. It’s only a hobby farm, though, because my uncle owns a small business in town. It’s beautiful and real peaceful there. My cousin Dick and I ride horses. You should come up with me next school holidays!”
Oh my god, Linh, this girl was straight out of a 1950s picture book! She had called her cousin Dick with no sense of irony whatsoever.
I wondered what it would be like to be admired or desired by a boy, and thought about how lucky Amber was. I guess Gina was thinking the same thing, because she came up to us at recess. “Did you hear what Amber called me when the Growler sent me back to school to wash my face off?”
“No,” Katie lied. “What did she call you,
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