“But you’ll look like a whore!”
She gently put her
hand on his arm. His stiff frame vibrated as he tried to restrain his
desperation, tears streaming down his face.
“I’ve got to go now.”
Kate edged away from George slowly, and set off at an increasing pace,
now late for class registration. The last fifteen minutes had sent her
mind spinning. George had known about this lunchtime cabaret performance
for weeks. Why hadn’t he said something sooner?
As the
register was being read out, Kate was staring down at her desk, numb,
trying to process her boyfriend’s latest outburst, netting those sharp
words ricocheting in the rafters, trying to rid the objects of their
echoes. In three hours time she was due on stage, with Becca, Lucy and
Naomi; to dance and mime to C’est La Vie by B*witched. But
what now? Should she do it? She didn’t want to upset George, but she
had been working on this routine with her friends for the last four
weeks.
A year before, the school auditorium was packed
out for a similar lunchtime show. On this occasion, Kate was in the
audience, sat with her friends in the middle rows. George was also sat
with his friends, in another section, on the left-hand side. Kate and
George did not know one another yet, except for the limited interactions
they shared when they were in the same lesson. There were no testing
looks yet, or raised heartbeats when they saw one another.
The Houselights went down, and a wash rose to show the stage. Lizzie,
Laura, Vicky, Sarah and Tasha each strutted out confidently one-by-one
into position; each girl, in a line, striking a firm, held pose. The
familiar lalala-ing of Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls
started, and the group jumped into action, mouthing the words and
matching their dance-moves. Though there were five girls on stage,
George only saw Laura.
Over the weeks and months before, he
would seek every possible minute in Laura’s presence, and at every
opportunity, he would try, in his timid way, to make her smile. He was
so attracted to her confidence, and loved how flirtatious she was with
all the boys, including him. At 15 years of age, George thought he was
in love, but he was discovering sex, too scared to use words he had only
heard in the crude honking of the boisterous lads.
Whilst watching, he made sure to look at the other
girls dancing every so often, worried that his infatuation would be
noticed by those around him. His shame lied to him that others cared. He
would pretend he was paying such careful attention for other reasons,
supporting his peers, perhaps, that is a noble behaviour, right? - but
his eyes kept drifting back to her, and dreams of her moving that way
next to him. A pyramid of gold was not a worthy exchange for what he was
feeling.
Kate was watching too, her posture outwardly
polite. As she watched Lizzie, Laura, Vicky, Sarah and Tasha reach the
crescendo of their performance, a figure of twists and angles appeared
on her left shoulder. She turned to see this puck pointing a rigid digit
at the wannabes on stage, scoffing loudly at them. As Kate watched this
curious display, she caught herself beginning to grin. Before she was
able to find comfort in the feeling, the faintest trace of another girl
appeared on her other shoulder. Her grey-face was alternating between
looking at her belly, pinching her stomach, and looking at the quintet
bowing to loud applause, boys wooping. After a moment, she turned to
look at Kate, despondent, and whispered,
“I wish I looked liked these girls. Particularly Laura. All the boys fancy her.”
- c.h., 9th September 2021
