sounding encouraging.
I stood in the middle of his room, peering around. It wasn’t at all like the Glass Hut. It was like seeing lots of Carls reflecting right back to when he was a baby. There was his wooden Noah’s Ark still sailing across the windowsill. An elderly plush giraffe grazed on the faded rug.
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
and
Where the Wild Things Are
and
Frog and Toad Are Friends
were tucked at one end of hisbookshelf. String puppets dangled down from the ceiling. The walls were papered with his art – nursery school blue dogs and red horses, primary school ancient Romans lounging at the baths, Egyptian mummies glittering with gold paint.
There were his current possessions, of course – his computer, his glass reference books, his second-hand Penguin Modern Classics, his antique and collectors’ fair magazines, neatly stacked.
His whole bedroom was always neat. There were never any clothes strewn across the floor, smelly socks screwed up under the bed, plates of food left mouldering on the carpet, all the usual boy things. There were no pin-ups either, no baby-faced girls with big breasts. I knew Carl wouldn’t go for a Beyoncé or a Britney.
‘Who do you fancy, Carl?’ I asked.
He lifted his head, blinking at me. ‘What?’
‘You know, pin-ups. Women.’
‘Oh. You sound like the guys at school. They’re always on about that stuff.’
‘
So
, who do you like the most?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not interested. I don’t know any of these women so why should I get turned on by photos of them?’
‘And the winner of the Male Political Correctness Award is Mr Carl Johnson,’ I declared, pretending to hand him an imaginary trophy.
He didn’t play along with me, still staring atthe ceiling, not moving a muscle. If his eyes hadn’t been wide open I’d have sworn he was asleep.
‘You’re always lying prone now, Carl. You want to watch it. You’ll get so used to horizontal life you’ll keel over when you eventually stand up.’ I paused. ‘So who do you fancy out of the girls you know?’
Carl sighed. ‘I don’t know any girls.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know heaps. Like …’ I paused again, digging my nails into my palms. I decided to go for an easy option, though I felt mean. ‘Lucy?’
‘Oh yeah, I fancy Lucy like crazy,’ said Carl. ‘
Not
.’
I felt mean using Lucy like this, even if she was totally unaware of it. But maybe I didn’t have to be loyal to her any more.
She’d phoned up at five, asking what on earth had happened to me. When I told her I’d bunked off with Miranda she’d been appalled. She came over all righteous and goody-goody, going really over the top, saying I was jeopardizing my entire school career. I think she was mainly put out because I’d gone off with Miranda and not her. I let her lecture me for ten minutes. She went on and on about Miranda being a totally bad influence. She wasn’t saying anything that was basically untrue, but I got so bored I said, ‘Do shut up, Lucy. Miranda’s my friend.’
Lucy put the phone down on me. It didn’t lookas if
Lucy
was my friend any more. Still, did it really matter now I had Miranda?
‘What about Miranda?’ I said.
I’d paused too long. Carl had lost the thread of our conversation.
‘What about her?’ he said.
I swallowed. ‘Do you fancy her?’
‘No,’ said Carl.
‘Not one bit? She’s ever so lively and attractive and dynamic. She’s the sort of girl you can’t help looking at.’
‘I told you, I don’t fancy her at all. She’s not my type.’
I paced up and down his bedroom, trying to summon up the courage. I said it over and over in my head.
Am I your type?
Do you fancy me?
I couldn’t quite manage it. I reverted to Miranda.
‘She’s not really a
type
. She’s unique. I haven’t ever met anyone else quite like her. I don’t just mean the way she dresses, but the way she relates to people, and all the different things she knows. She can seem really
I stood in the middle of his room, peering around. It wasn’t at all like the Glass Hut. It was like seeing lots of Carls reflecting right back to when he was a baby. There was his wooden Noah’s Ark still sailing across the windowsill. An elderly plush giraffe grazed on the faded rug.
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
and
Where the Wild Things Are
and
Frog and Toad Are Friends
were tucked at one end of hisbookshelf. String puppets dangled down from the ceiling. The walls were papered with his art – nursery school blue dogs and red horses, primary school ancient Romans lounging at the baths, Egyptian mummies glittering with gold paint.
There were his current possessions, of course – his computer, his glass reference books, his second-hand Penguin Modern Classics, his antique and collectors’ fair magazines, neatly stacked.
His whole bedroom was always neat. There were never any clothes strewn across the floor, smelly socks screwed up under the bed, plates of food left mouldering on the carpet, all the usual boy things. There were no pin-ups either, no baby-faced girls with big breasts. I knew Carl wouldn’t go for a Beyoncé or a Britney.
‘Who do you fancy, Carl?’ I asked.
He lifted his head, blinking at me. ‘What?’
‘You know, pin-ups. Women.’
‘Oh. You sound like the guys at school. They’re always on about that stuff.’
‘
So
, who do you like the most?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not interested. I don’t know any of these women so why should I get turned on by photos of them?’
‘And the winner of the Male Political Correctness Award is Mr Carl Johnson,’ I declared, pretending to hand him an imaginary trophy.
He didn’t play along with me, still staring atthe ceiling, not moving a muscle. If his eyes hadn’t been wide open I’d have sworn he was asleep.
‘You’re always lying prone now, Carl. You want to watch it. You’ll get so used to horizontal life you’ll keel over when you eventually stand up.’ I paused. ‘So who do you fancy out of the girls you know?’
Carl sighed. ‘I don’t know any girls.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know heaps. Like …’ I paused again, digging my nails into my palms. I decided to go for an easy option, though I felt mean. ‘Lucy?’
‘Oh yeah, I fancy Lucy like crazy,’ said Carl. ‘
Not
.’
I felt mean using Lucy like this, even if she was totally unaware of it. But maybe I didn’t have to be loyal to her any more.
She’d phoned up at five, asking what on earth had happened to me. When I told her I’d bunked off with Miranda she’d been appalled. She came over all righteous and goody-goody, going really over the top, saying I was jeopardizing my entire school career. I think she was mainly put out because I’d gone off with Miranda and not her. I let her lecture me for ten minutes. She went on and on about Miranda being a totally bad influence. She wasn’t saying anything that was basically untrue, but I got so bored I said, ‘Do shut up, Lucy. Miranda’s my friend.’
Lucy put the phone down on me. It didn’t lookas if
Lucy
was my friend any more. Still, did it really matter now I had Miranda?
‘What about Miranda?’ I said.
I’d paused too long. Carl had lost the thread of our conversation.
‘What about her?’ he said.
I swallowed. ‘Do you fancy her?’
‘No,’ said Carl.
‘Not one bit? She’s ever so lively and attractive and dynamic. She’s the sort of girl you can’t help looking at.’
‘I told you, I don’t fancy her at all. She’s not my type.’
I paced up and down his bedroom, trying to summon up the courage. I said it over and over in my head.
Am I your type?
Do you fancy me?
I couldn’t quite manage it. I reverted to Miranda.
‘She’s not really a
type
. She’s unique. I haven’t ever met anyone else quite like her. I don’t just mean the way she dresses, but the way she relates to people, and all the different things she knows. She can seem really
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