Jones
film …
Who cares? I lost Vinny. Stella stole Vinny.
Ed Brubeck snores like a bear. Brubeck wouldn’t two-time his girlfriend. If he has one. Most boys in my year drop hints ’bout losing their virginity at a mate’s party, specially boys who haven’t, stroking their bum-fluff moustaches … Ed Brubeck doesn’t do any of that, which means probably he has done it. If it was with someone at our school, I’d’ve heard. Dunno, though. He keeps his mouth shut.
Mind you, he told me quite a bit yesterday.
His dad, his family, everything. Why me?
Watch his sleeping, pointy, half-man-half-boy’s face.
And the answer’s obvious: ’Cause
he fancies you, you prawn!
If he fancies me, why didn’t he make a pass at me?
He’s clever
, I realize.
First he makes you grateful
.
Right. Of course. I do believe it’s time I was off.
D ANDELIONS AND THISTLES grow along the cracked track and the hedges are taller than me. The early sun’s like laser beams. Dunno why I nicked Brubeck’s cap as I crept away, but I’m glad I did. He won’t mind, much. Should be able to cut across the fields to the main road to Rochester—six, seven miles away, I reckon. My blisters’ll take it. They’ll have to; I don’t have a first-aid box in my duffel bag. I feel a jab of hunger, but my stomach’ll just have to put up and shut up—I’ll find something to eat at Rochester. Perhaps I should’ve said bye and thanks to Brubeck but if he’d have answered, “No worries, Sykes, but are you sure I can’t give you a backie back to Gravesend?” all cheerful-like, I’d’ve found it too hard to say no.
Up ahead, I see the track ending at a farmyard.
I climb a gate and skirt round a field of cabbages.
Another gate. A hawk thing’s a speck in the sky.
Six days should do it. The police only get interested in missing teenagers once a week’s up. Six days’ll show Mam I
can
look after myself in the big bad world. I’ll be in a stronger, whatchercallit?, a stronger negotiating position. And I’ll do it on my own, without a Brubeck to get all boyfriendish on me. I’ll have to be careful to make my money last. Remember that time I tried my hand at shoplifting?
One Saturday last year a bunch of us went to Chatham Roller Disco for Ali Jessop’s birthday, but it was so lame that me and Stella and Amanda Kidd sneaked off to the high street. Amanda Kidd said, “Who wants to go fishing, then?” I didn’t want to but Stella said okay, so I acted all cool too and we went into Debenhams. I’d never nicked anything in my life and really I almost peed myself, but I watched Stella. She asked the shop assistant something pointless and a bit later, accidentally on purpose, dropped two lipsticks from the cosmetics stand. When she bent down to pick them up she put one of them in her boot. I did the same with some earrings I liked,and on my way out of the shop, I even asked the assistant what time they were open till. Once we were safe outside, the world felt different, like the rules had been changed. If you keep your nerve, you get what you want. Amanda Kidd had got a pair of sunglasses worth a tenner, Stella had some Estée Lauder lippy, and my fake diamond earrings sparkled like real ones. Next we went to the Sweet Factory, where me and Amanda Kidd stuffed sweets into our clothes while Stella told the Saturday boy she’d seen him here every week for ages, and even dreamt about him, and would he like to go for a walk with her somewhere private after work? Last we went to Woolworths. Stella and me drifted away to look at the Top 40 singles, innocent enough, but the next minute the manager and an assistant were walling us in, and this store-detective guy had Amanda Kidd—shaking and white as a sheet—by the arm and saying, “These are the two she came into the shop with.” The manager ordered us upstairs to his office. All my willpower and attitude withered away, but Stella snapped back, “By
whom
am I being addressed?” Her
film …
Who cares? I lost Vinny. Stella stole Vinny.
Ed Brubeck snores like a bear. Brubeck wouldn’t two-time his girlfriend. If he has one. Most boys in my year drop hints ’bout losing their virginity at a mate’s party, specially boys who haven’t, stroking their bum-fluff moustaches … Ed Brubeck doesn’t do any of that, which means probably he has done it. If it was with someone at our school, I’d’ve heard. Dunno, though. He keeps his mouth shut.
Mind you, he told me quite a bit yesterday.
His dad, his family, everything. Why me?
Watch his sleeping, pointy, half-man-half-boy’s face.
And the answer’s obvious: ’Cause
he fancies you, you prawn!
If he fancies me, why didn’t he make a pass at me?
He’s clever
, I realize.
First he makes you grateful
.
Right. Of course. I do believe it’s time I was off.
D ANDELIONS AND THISTLES grow along the cracked track and the hedges are taller than me. The early sun’s like laser beams. Dunno why I nicked Brubeck’s cap as I crept away, but I’m glad I did. He won’t mind, much. Should be able to cut across the fields to the main road to Rochester—six, seven miles away, I reckon. My blisters’ll take it. They’ll have to; I don’t have a first-aid box in my duffel bag. I feel a jab of hunger, but my stomach’ll just have to put up and shut up—I’ll find something to eat at Rochester. Perhaps I should’ve said bye and thanks to Brubeck but if he’d have answered, “No worries, Sykes, but are you sure I can’t give you a backie back to Gravesend?” all cheerful-like, I’d’ve found it too hard to say no.
Up ahead, I see the track ending at a farmyard.
I climb a gate and skirt round a field of cabbages.
Another gate. A hawk thing’s a speck in the sky.
Six days should do it. The police only get interested in missing teenagers once a week’s up. Six days’ll show Mam I
can
look after myself in the big bad world. I’ll be in a stronger, whatchercallit?, a stronger negotiating position. And I’ll do it on my own, without a Brubeck to get all boyfriendish on me. I’ll have to be careful to make my money last. Remember that time I tried my hand at shoplifting?
One Saturday last year a bunch of us went to Chatham Roller Disco for Ali Jessop’s birthday, but it was so lame that me and Stella and Amanda Kidd sneaked off to the high street. Amanda Kidd said, “Who wants to go fishing, then?” I didn’t want to but Stella said okay, so I acted all cool too and we went into Debenhams. I’d never nicked anything in my life and really I almost peed myself, but I watched Stella. She asked the shop assistant something pointless and a bit later, accidentally on purpose, dropped two lipsticks from the cosmetics stand. When she bent down to pick them up she put one of them in her boot. I did the same with some earrings I liked,and on my way out of the shop, I even asked the assistant what time they were open till. Once we were safe outside, the world felt different, like the rules had been changed. If you keep your nerve, you get what you want. Amanda Kidd had got a pair of sunglasses worth a tenner, Stella had some Estée Lauder lippy, and my fake diamond earrings sparkled like real ones. Next we went to the Sweet Factory, where me and Amanda Kidd stuffed sweets into our clothes while Stella told the Saturday boy she’d seen him here every week for ages, and even dreamt about him, and would he like to go for a walk with her somewhere private after work? Last we went to Woolworths. Stella and me drifted away to look at the Top 40 singles, innocent enough, but the next minute the manager and an assistant were walling us in, and this store-detective guy had Amanda Kidd—shaking and white as a sheet—by the arm and saying, “These are the two she came into the shop with.” The manager ordered us upstairs to his office. All my willpower and attitude withered away, but Stella snapped back, “By
whom
am I being addressed?” Her
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