where to begin.
Did you pull him?
she asks again. Patience was never her strong point
Who?
I type back.
Who? Jeremy! Why? Who else is there? Is there someone else? Tell me everything, bitch.
Winking emoticons are almost as annoying as the smiley face version I think to myself as I type –
No, I didn’t pull him. There is nobody else. Just this guy Tyler.
Tyler? Tyler who?
Reed.
I wait, rolling my eyes for the inevitable, wondering if I should have told her. She is Facebook trawling for his profile pic. Then it comes . . .
Ooooh, Rob Pattinson! Hottie.
He’s a total player. Seriously.
I would still go there.
You would go there with anyone with the right parts.
That’s so not true! OK . . . maybe it’s partly true.
I don’t know. I don’t know if I should pull anyone. I hate boys. I hate anyone with a Y chromosome right now.
Look, if you want my advice, which you do because I’m your best friend, snog all of them. You’re only 17 once.
Slutbag.
You’re in America. There are hot boys who want you and Will is
She stops typing. I sit up straighter and type
? Will is what?
Look, I think it’s best you hear this from me . . . Did you see his profile pic?
No. I unfriended him.
Don’t look.
You can’t tell me that and NOT expect me to look.
My fingers are already tapping his name into the search box. And then his profile picture appears. Except it’s not of him. It’s of him AND Bex. Kissing.
He never had a photograph of us on his Facebook page – kissing or otherwise. I stare at it before slowly clicking back a page. The funny thing is, I expect to feel really mad or at least
sad. But I don’t feel either. I feel mainly like laughing. Maybe my mum is right and distance is a healer. Not that I’m about to admit that to her.
Forget him
, writes Megan.
Go and have fun with your hot American boys and post pictures all over Facebook and Twitter. That’s what I would do. Upload a picture of you in your
bikini draped over Tyler whatsisface.
I ponder this. I’ve never been on the rebound before as Will was my first boyfriend and first break-up so I’m not too sure how to behave. But rebound sluttery doesn’t sound
like my thing. Even before Will I was never good at the casual snog. I’ve only kissed about five people in my whole life compared to Megan’s five hundred and fifty.
Listen, do you like Jeremy?
she asks now.
Yeah. He’s really nice.
Nice? Nice does not sound hot.
No, he’s hot too. I think I like him.
So what’s stopping you?
It’s a good question. What is stopping me? For a start he hasn’t tried to kiss me – but I don’t want to tell Megan this as she’d give me some unsolicited advice for
the next hour on exactly what I should wear, what I should say and how I should say it in order to have him kiss me or she’d just tell me to man up, grab hold of him and stick my tongue down
his throat. So I change the topic.
A girl got murdered
, I type.
WTF? When?
Last year. She was a nanny.
Shit.
Don’t tell my mum OK?
Did they catch the guy?
Nope.
I bet it’s the dad.
The who?
Your dad. Mike the newspaper guy.
Haha.
Srsly. Be afraid. Be very afraid. It’s always the dad.
And just then, as though he’s been standing over my shoulder reading this whole conversation for the last half-hour, Mike clears his throat behind me. I slam the lid of my computer closed
and do this comedy leap to my feet almost sending a glass of water flying across the desk.
‘Oh sorry, Ren, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Mike says, taking a step back.
‘No, no sorry. I was just um, busy, chatting to a friend.’
‘Just wanted to check in and see if you were doing OK,’ he says, eyeing the laptop.
‘Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.’ I glance at the door. I wonder if he can hear my heart trying to drill its way free of my ribcage.
‘You’re getting on with the kids OK?’ he asks.
‘Mmmm,’ I say.
‘Great, great.’ He inches back towards the door. ‘Well if you need
Did you pull him?
she asks again. Patience was never her strong point
Who?
I type back.
Who? Jeremy! Why? Who else is there? Is there someone else? Tell me everything, bitch.
Winking emoticons are almost as annoying as the smiley face version I think to myself as I type –
No, I didn’t pull him. There is nobody else. Just this guy Tyler.
Tyler? Tyler who?
Reed.
I wait, rolling my eyes for the inevitable, wondering if I should have told her. She is Facebook trawling for his profile pic. Then it comes . . .
Ooooh, Rob Pattinson! Hottie.
He’s a total player. Seriously.
I would still go there.
You would go there with anyone with the right parts.
That’s so not true! OK . . . maybe it’s partly true.
I don’t know. I don’t know if I should pull anyone. I hate boys. I hate anyone with a Y chromosome right now.
Look, if you want my advice, which you do because I’m your best friend, snog all of them. You’re only 17 once.
Slutbag.
You’re in America. There are hot boys who want you and Will is
She stops typing. I sit up straighter and type
? Will is what?
Look, I think it’s best you hear this from me . . . Did you see his profile pic?
No. I unfriended him.
Don’t look.
You can’t tell me that and NOT expect me to look.
My fingers are already tapping his name into the search box. And then his profile picture appears. Except it’s not of him. It’s of him AND Bex. Kissing.
He never had a photograph of us on his Facebook page – kissing or otherwise. I stare at it before slowly clicking back a page. The funny thing is, I expect to feel really mad or at least
sad. But I don’t feel either. I feel mainly like laughing. Maybe my mum is right and distance is a healer. Not that I’m about to admit that to her.
Forget him
, writes Megan.
Go and have fun with your hot American boys and post pictures all over Facebook and Twitter. That’s what I would do. Upload a picture of you in your
bikini draped over Tyler whatsisface.
I ponder this. I’ve never been on the rebound before as Will was my first boyfriend and first break-up so I’m not too sure how to behave. But rebound sluttery doesn’t sound
like my thing. Even before Will I was never good at the casual snog. I’ve only kissed about five people in my whole life compared to Megan’s five hundred and fifty.
Listen, do you like Jeremy?
she asks now.
Yeah. He’s really nice.
Nice? Nice does not sound hot.
No, he’s hot too. I think I like him.
So what’s stopping you?
It’s a good question. What is stopping me? For a start he hasn’t tried to kiss me – but I don’t want to tell Megan this as she’d give me some unsolicited advice for
the next hour on exactly what I should wear, what I should say and how I should say it in order to have him kiss me or she’d just tell me to man up, grab hold of him and stick my tongue down
his throat. So I change the topic.
A girl got murdered
, I type.
WTF? When?
Last year. She was a nanny.
Shit.
Don’t tell my mum OK?
Did they catch the guy?
Nope.
I bet it’s the dad.
The who?
Your dad. Mike the newspaper guy.
Haha.
Srsly. Be afraid. Be very afraid. It’s always the dad.
And just then, as though he’s been standing over my shoulder reading this whole conversation for the last half-hour, Mike clears his throat behind me. I slam the lid of my computer closed
and do this comedy leap to my feet almost sending a glass of water flying across the desk.
‘Oh sorry, Ren, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Mike says, taking a step back.
‘No, no sorry. I was just um, busy, chatting to a friend.’
‘Just wanted to check in and see if you were doing OK,’ he says, eyeing the laptop.
‘Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.’ I glance at the door. I wonder if he can hear my heart trying to drill its way free of my ribcage.
‘You’re getting on with the kids OK?’ he asks.
‘Mmmm,’ I say.
‘Great, great.’ He inches back towards the door. ‘Well if you need
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