Kiss Read online

  I looked everywhere for a glass girl, but so far hadn't found one. I invented the Glassworld Chronicles instead. They started off as a fairy story about a boy and a girl cast out into such a wintry world t h a t they froze and t u r n e d into 26

  glass. We elaborated a n d expanded u n t i l together we'd invented an entire glass world and a cast of hundreds. My glass boy and girl became the King and Queen of Glassworld.

  They h a d family, friends and bitter enemies.

  There were a host of servants, some treasures, some treacherous. They h a d a menagerie of exotic pets: penguins and polar bears, a pair of hairy mammoths, and a stable of white unicorns with glass horns and hooves.

  They were all so real to me t h a t I actually shivered inside the hot little hut, living it all so vividly. Nowadays I was on tenterhooks with Carl, wondering if he'd play properly. I didn't know w h a t tenterhooks were, but whenever he made fun of me I felt little stabs in my stomach as if I'd been caught like a fish on a hook.

  'Sylvie, I'm not in the mood,' said Carl, his eyes closed.

  He was stretched out like a marble effigy on a tomb, not moving. I looked at his beautiful face, his long lashes, his slim nose, his soft lips. I wondered what would happen if I subverted the traditional fairy tale and woke Carl with a kiss.

  I giggled nervously. Carl opened one eye.

  'What?' he said. 'Just r u n away and play, little g i r l '

  'Don't you little girl me. I'm only two months younger t h a n you. And I don't w a n t to play. I'm here to pass on a party invitation.'

  'Oh God,' said Carl, closing his eye again.

  'Please don't make me go to Lucy's party.'

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  'It's not Lucy's party. It's Miranda Holbein's party.'

  'Who?' said Carl. 'Miranda? I don't know any Mirandas.'

  'Neither do I, not properly, b u t everyone knows about her. I told J a k e she'd asked us to her party and he was dead impressed, you could tell. I'm sure I've told you about her, Carl. She's j u s t amazing. She's the girl everyone wants to be but wouldn't dare. Goodness knows why she's invited us.'

  Carl lay still as a statue b u t both his eyes were open now.

  'I don't get this us bit,' he said.

  'Well, I was going on about you a bit in the girls' toilets. Miranda and the others thought I was making it up but Patty Price was there and she started on about you too.'

  'So I'm the chief topic of conversation in your girls' toilets?' said Carl.

  I was scared he might get cross. It was a huge relief when he started chuckling.

  'So t h e r e they all are, the fresh young damsels of Milstead High School, each locked in h e r lavatory cubicle, seated in splendour, calling to each other like demented doves: Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl!'

  I started giggling. I sat on the edge of the sofa, by his feet.

  'Scrunch up a bit, Carl. OK, Milstead Pin-Up Boy. W h a t shall I say to Miranda?'

  'When is this party of hers?'

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  'Like, tonight. She decided j u s t like that.' I snapped my fingers. 'Imagine us suddenly announcing to our mums, "Right, I'm having a party tonight. Provide all the food and drink a n d music and stuff a n d m a k e yourselves scarce." Do they have food at proper teenage parties? And will they have real drink, do you think – wine and beer and vodka or whatever?'

  'Well, we'll find out,' said Carl, sitting up.

  I stared at him. 'We're not really going to go are we? I mean, it's such short notice we could easily get out of it.'

  'Why don't we go if she's such an amazing girl?'

  'Well. Because . . . I'll feel so shy and stupid.'

  'I'll be there, silly.'

  'And I don't have the right sort of things to wear. I know they all wear the most incredible stuff out of school. Miranda looks at least eighteen.

  I wish I didn't look such a total baby.' I tugged at my plaits. 'Look at my hair, for God's sake!'

  'You can brush it out and wear it loose. It looks great like that,' Carl said encouragingly.

  'I could wear my black skirt and hitch it right up. Do you t h i n k t h a t would look . . . sexy?'

  'Not if it's all bunched up at the waist. You don't w a n t to look as if you've tried too hard.

  J u s t wear your j e a n s and a T-shirt and you'll look fine.' Carl gave my h a n d a quick squeeze. I clung to his fingers.

  Are you teasing me, Carl? Are we really going?'

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  'Yep, why not? Everyone's telling us to grow up and socialize and party like everyone else, so we'll try it out, eh? Don't worry. If it's a total bore or dead scary or whatever we'll just stay for one drink and then come straight home again.'

  'Carl . . . I hope you don't mind, but I kind of told Miranda you're my boyfriend.'

  'Well, I am, aren't I?' said Carl.

  His blond hair fell forward over his brow like the Glass Boy's on the shelf. He smiled at me, his brown eyes shining. All the dangling cryst a l s glittered in t h e late sunlight, casting rainbow reflections across the hut. I felt dazzled w i t h happiness.

  I ran home to try on all my clothes and experiment with hairstyles for the party. I met up with Miss Miles on the stairs. Miss Miles is our lodger. She's an old lady who will never wear purple like the poem. She has several beige knitted suits and cardigans, and thick beige stockings which always loop around her ankles, Nora Batty-style. She h a s h e r hair dyed a blondy beige colour and rubs beige foundation over her wrinkly face. Her spare beige bra and big knickers drip on the towel rail once a week, evidence that she is totally colour co-ordinated.

  'You look full of the joys of spring today, Sylvie,' she said.

  'I'm going to a p a r t y ' I said.

  'Ooh, lovely! I hope you get lots of ice cream and jelly and birthday cake.'

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  'Er – yes,' I said, dodging round her. She seems to t h i n k I'm about six years old.

  'What colour is your party frock?' she called after me.

  'I haven't really got one,' I said, going into my little bedroom.

  Mum used to sleep in Miss Miles's room when Dad was around. She's moved into the little bedroom now. I got the box room. It wasn't much bigger t h a n a cupboard. I h a d a mirror, but I h a d to s t a n d on my bed to see w h a t I looked like all over.

  I didn't think much of myself in any of my clothes. I was still experimenting when Mum came home from work.

  'What are you up to, Sylvie?' she said, putting her h e a d round the door. 'Hey, I hope you're not thinking of going out like t h a t – t h a t skirt's much too short.'

  'I know. And it bunches up at t h e waist, j u s t like Carl said. And I don't look sexy, I look stupid,' I said, pulling it off in despair.

  'I don't t h i n k I want you looking sexy,' said Mum.

  'Carl says j u s t wear j e a n s but you can't wear jeans to a party. It would be different if they were designer.'

  'Don't s t a r t . They're Tesco's finest –

  w h a t more could a girl wish for? And w h a t party? You haven't said a n y t h i n g about a p a r t y '

  'Because I've only j u s t got asked. It's tonight, 31

  at Miranda's. She this girl in Year Nine, the other class.'

  'What sort of party is it? And how are you going to get home? I'm knackered, Sylvie. I don't want to stay up late to come and pick you up. I j u s t w a n t to have a b a t h and go to bed straight after supper.'

  'Carl's going too, so his m u m or dad will pick us up, no problem,' I said.

  'Carl's going? What is this party, then? Why didn't you tell me about it earlier?'

  'I told you, I didn't know about it earlier. Oh, Mum, don't fuss. Look, you were the one who said it was time I grew up. Miranda and her friends are ever so grown up.'

  'Yes, that's w h a t I'm worried about. There's a happy medium. This party – Miranda's parents will be there, won't they?'

  'Of course.'

  'And there won't be any alcohol?'

  'As