Undone(74)
Three more days as one of Them.
Three more days as Lucas Mahoney’s girlfriend.
It doesn’t seem enough somehow. I think it’s time Lucas and I paid another visit to the stationery cupboard.
I get my wish on Wednesday. We do our thing and then head up to the canteen to get some lunch. The only person who seems to realize what we’ve been up to is Sasha. She gives me a knowing, supercilious sort of look and whispers, ‘God, you two can’t keep your hands off each other, can you? How was your visit to the Stationery Cupboard of Luuuuurvve?’ I knew he’d taken her there, and it pisses me off more than I can say. I hate knowing that everything I do with Lucas is something she’s already done – and even worse, maybe even something she taught him. I debate stabbing Sasha in the eye with my fork, but decide that might get me disinvited from the party. And I really need to be at that party. So Sasha’s pretty eyes remain intact.
Today, Lucas and I arrange to meet in the cupboard as soon as the bell goes for lunch. I get there in record time and loiter around until the corridor clears. There’s a bunch of Year 7s standing outside one of the geography classrooms gibbering about some test they’ve just had that was, like, sooooooo hard. Just my luck one of the girls is the one who saw me leaving the scene of the crime. She’s not doing any gibbering though – she’s on the edge of things, listening, looking like she wants to say something if only she could be sure she’d say the right thing. And if she can’t be absolutely sure, she’d rather keep her mouth shut just to be on the safe side.
She sees me watching and is quick to glance away. Then she looks again. The other girls wander off and she follows them, a couple of steps behind the main group. Always a couple of steps behind.
I’m not worried about her. Not really. She probably looked away because that’s what you do when you’re a tiny little first-year minnow and a sixth-former looks at you. She probably doesn’t even remember bumping into me. And even if she does remember, and even if she made the connection between me and the graffiti that everyone’s still talking about, who’s she going to tell? Besides, after the weekend it won’t matter either way.
I take one last look around to check the coast is clear and open the red door. My very favourite door in all the world.
The light’s on, which probably should have lessened my shock at hearing a distinctly UN-Lucaslike voice coming from the shelves to my left. I freeze in the doorway. A man’s voice, gruff with a slight speech impediment. It takes a moment to place it. Mr Bodley, the deputy head. Married to Mrs Bodley, who I had for English in Year 8. As close to a power couple as you can get in this place. I’ve only ever heard his voice at assemblies or shouting at kids to tuck their shirts in or screaming, ‘NO RUNNING IN THE CORRIDORS!’ so it’s sort of surprising to hear him saying (with some urgency), ‘That’s right, bad girl. Suck it.’
My hand flies to my mouth, which does nothing to stifle the laughter that escapes. It’s OK though, because Mr Bodley’s revolting groans are so very, very loud. I’m just about to reverse out of the room (and scrub the hideous mental picture from my mind by whatever means possible) when I hear, ‘Ohhhhhh, Donna …’
Mrs Bodley’s first name is not Donna. It’s Betty. Betty Bodley. One of the new teaching assistants, however, is called Donna. She has ginger hair and strange teeth. She is not attractive by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. Still, she’s a good thirty years younger than Mrs Bodley, and Mrs Bodley somehow doesn’t seem the type to go down in the comfort of her own home, let alone in the stationery cupboard of seediness. I’m tempted to try and get a photo of the action on my phone, even though I really have no desire to see Bodley with his trousers round his ankles.
My phone is in my hand before I realize …
No.
Lucas comes running down the corridor as I’m shutting the door. He’s out of breath. ‘Sorry! I couldn’t get away from Stu. Man, I really wish he’d stop moping about. It’s such a downer.’ He goes to open the door and I sidestep to block him.
‘Um … there’s someone in there.’
‘Shit. Really? Who?’
‘Mrs Bodley. And she didn’t seem too happy to see me either … said something about a phantom book thief? Crazy old bitch. Anyway, I’m kind of hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s just go to the canteen.’ I take his hand and pull him away from the red door.
‘But I thought you wanted to … ?’
‘I did. And now I don’t. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
The look on his face says it’s so not OK. But Lucas thinks he’s a gentleman so there really isn’t a lot he can say about the matter. ‘Of course. I am starving. Got to carb-load for the match this afternoon anyway.’
I barely say a word at lunch. Just sit and watch as Lucas shovels forkful after forkful of pasta into his mouth. I manage two or three bites, tops. He notices and says, ‘I thought you were hungry, Jem?’
I shrug and he turns his attention back to Bugs, who’s talking about some girl (fictional, no doubt) he met at the weekend. Apparently he can’t bring her to the party tomorrow because she already has plans. None of the others call him on the fact that he’s clearly making up an almost-girlfriend to make sure those nasty rumours about him stay dead and buried. Why is he even bothering? No one’s gossiping about him any more. Possible rapist beats possible gay boy any day.