Popping the Cherry by Aurelia B. Rowl Page A

stuttered. Crap, I’d only bitten my tongue, and not even that hard, so what was going on with the rest of my mouth? ‘C-could I b-borrow your phone p-p-please?’
    The lady nodded. Her knees cracked as she returned to standing and she passed through the open section of counter right beside me, then returned with a cordless phone in her outstretched arm, holding it at my eye level. Heat scorched my shoulder as I reached up to take it. I held onto it tightly, as if it were my only lifeline, and I stared at it, my mind alarmingly blank.
    One of the downsides of having a mobile phone was that I’d got lazy, no longer bothering to memorise phone numbers any more. They were just there, stored in my contacts. To be fair, I can’t remember the last time I had to physically dial a number—even the phone at home had a built-in phone book. Speaking of which, even my own home number was foggy, and I wasn’t usually that stupid, but it wouldn’t be any good to me anyway: Mum and Dad would still be at the Wheatsheaf, and they rarely got home before two o’clock in the morning on quiz night.
    The only other number I usually knew off by heart was Gemma’s home number, after years of calling it, which would have been great if I didn’t already know she was hanging out with Ben tonight. She talked about going to the late showing at the cinema, so I’d be amazed if she was home already, but I didn’t stand a chance of reaching anybody else. Trying had to be better than doing nothing, I supposed. I certainly couldn’t sit on the shop floor all night, so I punched in the number.
    At least that was the plan, but I misdialled a couple of times, thanks to my trembling fingers, and had to start over each time before I finally got it right and pressed the green button. The dial tone buzzed in my ear, closely followed by a series of bleeps and then a clunk as my call was connected. It rang at the other end; once, twice, three times …
Come on, pick up, please
. But by the fifth ring my heart was doing the drumming thing inside my ribcage again and I moved my finger to hover over the red button, ready to end the call.
    Now what do I do?
    ‘Hello?’ came a sleepy male voice.
    ‘Umm … h-hi,’ I don’t how I managed it, especially as I’d already pressed the button halfway down, but I moved my finger away and the line miraculously stayed connected. ‘Is G-gemma th-there p-p-please?’ I stammered, no idea who I was talking to.
    ‘No, who is this?’
    Ah, the voice belonged to Jake, Gemma’s brother; older than we were by a few years, but he was nice, and he hardly ever teased us. He was also the least likely to freak out, which was a huge bonus.
    ‘H-hi J-Jake.’ If my mouth didn’t start functioning properly soon, I was going to scream. ‘It’s L-l-Lena.’
    ‘Lena? You sound really weird. I didn’t even recognise you. Gemma isn’t back from Ben’s yet, but she’ll have her mobile on her. Or have you tried that already?’ Jake must have heard the catch in my throat because he didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘Lena, what’s wrong?’
    ‘I n-need her to p-pick me up.’
    ‘Will I do?’ Jake asked softly. ‘Where are you? I don’t recognise the number.’
    My lip wobbled and my eyes brimmed with tears. Even my elbow was shaking under the strain, and it dawned on me that I was clinging onto my self-control by only the thinnest of threads. A strange chattering sound distracted me from answering, I realised it was my teeth only when violent jerks and shudders seized control over my arms and legs. The handset slipped from my fingers, impossible to hold onto, and landed in my lap, where it bounced and jumped before scuttling to the floor.
    The nice Indian lady crouched down beside me and picked it up, putting it to her ear. ‘One second please,’ she said to Jake, before looking at the man and saying something in a language I didn’t understand. Everything was getting a bit disjointed, so she could have been saying the