helium balloons for the social and bombed my Maths quiz (I was facing a B , a letter I was totally unfamiliar with). It was a total write-off of a day. Of a week, really. Stupid PEZZ imist.
The only good part of the day was lunchtime swimming practice, where I beat my personal freestyle record. But my good mood was short-lived â I spent too long in the pool and didnât have time for a shower before class.
When the bell rang at the end of a somewhat chlorine-scented final period, I inwardly groaned with relief for probably the first time in my life. I felt as if I were in one of those â80s High-School-Sucks teen films and would spill out the front door in a wild joyful rush with the rest of the student body.
Instead I traipsed to the train station.
It was one of those afternoons that seemed warm and sunny, but where the wind was so icy it chilled your bones. I shuffled from foot to foot on the platform and wished Iâd worn a thicker jumper. A voice sounded over the PA, announcing that city-bound trains were delayed approximately fifteen minutes, due to a fallen tree on the tracks. This was hardly a promising way to begin my weekend.
I trudged up the platform against the wind, and queued at the coffee cart, hoping that the warmth of the cup on my hands and the liquid in my mouth would override the disappointment of what I was sure would be a decidedly average cup of coffee. The guy in front of me ordered a skinny mochacino with whipped cream and extra chocolate sprinkles, and I wanted to smack him in the head. Had he no sense of culture?
The coffee-cart woman handed his coffee to him with a sneer (you know youâve ordered the wrong thing when you get attitude from someone wearing a magenta-and-lime floral apron), and as he turned away I felt a jolt of recognition. I watched him shuffle away.
âYes, love?â Floral Apron was staring at me in a bored sort of way.
âFlat white, please,â I said, still watching the guy. âExtra strong.â
He went to my school. He was short and pudgy, with metal-rimmed glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He was wearing grey slacks (slacks!) and a white collared shirt with a black knitted vest. I remembered Shaun Daviesâ horrible brown jumper, and considered starting a new internet meme called Hipster or Geek. This boy was definitely Geek. He had rather dirty earbuds in, and was clutching a thick fantasy novel in one hand and his disgusting creamy sugary beverage in the other. His face looked as if it had been cobbled together from leftover bits â he had heavy eyebrows and a wide jaw, but a small, freckled nose and quite feminine blue eyes. His cheeks were mottled red from the cold wind, and he bobbed his head up and down a little to his music, which made him resemble one of those bobblehead dolls.
Why hadnât I interviewed him? I studied the guy more carefully and realised he was in the year above me. But he did look very young. Maybe he skipped a year.
It was a long shot. It probably wouldnât lead anywhere.
But what was the harm? It wasnât as if I was going anywhere in the next ten minutes. Itâd take my mind off the sour, watery burnt-milk taste that this alleged coffee beverage was coating my tastebuds with.
SUBJECT UNKNOWN
Eye contact: None.
Overt signs of love-shyness: LOTS.
ME: Hey, um, excuse me?
HIM: (NO RESPONSE)
ME: Hey! Thereâs a couple of things I want to ask you.
(SUBJECT REMOVES EARBUDS WITH A DEGREE OF TREPIDATION.)
ME: Thanks. Hi, Iâm Penny. I go to East Glendale too. Youâre in Year Eleven, right?
HIM: (NODS. FROWNS.)
ME: Whatâs your name?
HIM: (MUMBLES)
ME: Speak up.
HIM: Hamish Berry. What do you want?
ME: Hamish, do you have a girlfriend?
(SUBJECT SHAKES HEAD AND GOES A FUNNY COLOUR.)
ME: Have you ever kissed a girl?
HAMISH: Screw you.
(SUBJECT RETREATS TO THE OTHER END OF THE PLATFORM.)
ME: Wait! I wasnât finished.
(INTERVIEWER CATCHES UP.)
ME: Do
The only good part of the day was lunchtime swimming practice, where I beat my personal freestyle record. But my good mood was short-lived â I spent too long in the pool and didnât have time for a shower before class.
When the bell rang at the end of a somewhat chlorine-scented final period, I inwardly groaned with relief for probably the first time in my life. I felt as if I were in one of those â80s High-School-Sucks teen films and would spill out the front door in a wild joyful rush with the rest of the student body.
Instead I traipsed to the train station.
It was one of those afternoons that seemed warm and sunny, but where the wind was so icy it chilled your bones. I shuffled from foot to foot on the platform and wished Iâd worn a thicker jumper. A voice sounded over the PA, announcing that city-bound trains were delayed approximately fifteen minutes, due to a fallen tree on the tracks. This was hardly a promising way to begin my weekend.
I trudged up the platform against the wind, and queued at the coffee cart, hoping that the warmth of the cup on my hands and the liquid in my mouth would override the disappointment of what I was sure would be a decidedly average cup of coffee. The guy in front of me ordered a skinny mochacino with whipped cream and extra chocolate sprinkles, and I wanted to smack him in the head. Had he no sense of culture?
The coffee-cart woman handed his coffee to him with a sneer (you know youâve ordered the wrong thing when you get attitude from someone wearing a magenta-and-lime floral apron), and as he turned away I felt a jolt of recognition. I watched him shuffle away.
âYes, love?â Floral Apron was staring at me in a bored sort of way.
âFlat white, please,â I said, still watching the guy. âExtra strong.â
He went to my school. He was short and pudgy, with metal-rimmed glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He was wearing grey slacks (slacks!) and a white collared shirt with a black knitted vest. I remembered Shaun Daviesâ horrible brown jumper, and considered starting a new internet meme called Hipster or Geek. This boy was definitely Geek. He had rather dirty earbuds in, and was clutching a thick fantasy novel in one hand and his disgusting creamy sugary beverage in the other. His face looked as if it had been cobbled together from leftover bits â he had heavy eyebrows and a wide jaw, but a small, freckled nose and quite feminine blue eyes. His cheeks were mottled red from the cold wind, and he bobbed his head up and down a little to his music, which made him resemble one of those bobblehead dolls.
Why hadnât I interviewed him? I studied the guy more carefully and realised he was in the year above me. But he did look very young. Maybe he skipped a year.
It was a long shot. It probably wouldnât lead anywhere.
But what was the harm? It wasnât as if I was going anywhere in the next ten minutes. Itâd take my mind off the sour, watery burnt-milk taste that this alleged coffee beverage was coating my tastebuds with.
SUBJECT UNKNOWN
Eye contact: None.
Overt signs of love-shyness: LOTS.
ME: Hey, um, excuse me?
HIM: (NO RESPONSE)
ME: Hey! Thereâs a couple of things I want to ask you.
(SUBJECT REMOVES EARBUDS WITH A DEGREE OF TREPIDATION.)
ME: Thanks. Hi, Iâm Penny. I go to East Glendale too. Youâre in Year Eleven, right?
HIM: (NODS. FROWNS.)
ME: Whatâs your name?
HIM: (MUMBLES)
ME: Speak up.
HIM: Hamish Berry. What do you want?
ME: Hamish, do you have a girlfriend?
(SUBJECT SHAKES HEAD AND GOES A FUNNY COLOUR.)
ME: Have you ever kissed a girl?
HAMISH: Screw you.
(SUBJECT RETREATS TO THE OTHER END OF THE PLATFORM.)
ME: Wait! I wasnât finished.
(INTERVIEWER CATCHES UP.)
ME: Do
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