out.
I kept walking. I stretched out my arm to where I thought you’d be. My fingers strained to touch you. I hoped that you’d fold your hand into mine. Just for that moment, I hoped that you’d love me enough not to mind that I was faulty.
I stood still.
I buried my toes into the wet sand to stop me moving further away from you.
I turned, but you weren’t there.
If I stay totally still,
if I stand right tall,
with me back against the school wall,
close to the science room’s window,
with me feet together,
pointing straight,
aiming forward,
if I make me hands into tight fists,
make me arms dead straight,
if I push me arms into me sides,
if I squeeze me thighs,
stop me wee,
if me belly doesn’t shake,
if me boobs don’t wobble,
if I close me eyes tight,
so tight that it makes me whole face scrunch,
if I push me lips into me mouth,
if I make me teeth bite me lips together,
if I hardly breathe,
if I don’t say a word.
Then,
I’ll magic meself invisible,
and them lasses will leave me alone.
You stand in front of the pre-agreed shop window. Your hands are in the pockets of your best coat, the coat you’ve only previously worn for family birthday meals in restaurants, when you’ve been driven there by your dad. This is the first time you’ve worn this coat without your parents being with you and that makes you feel like an adult, but it also makes you feel exposed. You feel exactly what you are: sixteen, dressed up in tights and a pretty skirt – hair that’s taken almost two hours to perfect (and it’s still not right) – cold, in the middle of town, and nervous, waiting for this boy to arrive.
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