Now, Maybe, Probably Read online

Now, Maybe, Probably…

  “Well done,” said Mum, making me jump out of my skin. “You deserve it.”

  The sudden compliment irritated me, if I’m honestly honest. I’d been doing a lot of this stuff ever since she “went back to work” when Dad left. That was over two years ago, at the start of Year 7. Mostly she scoured newspapers and went to job interviews and hung around the Co Op until they promised to tell her the next vacancy, which they actually never had bothered to do until last term, so I wonder how many other people they’d promised first. She did have a couple of cleaning jobs, the last of which she’d quit in the summer saying that the chemicals made her sneeze and itch. None of us have proper allergies, so either Dad’s genes were really strong, the cleaning products were really strong, or it was a load of rubbish.

  “Thanks,” I said, politely.

  Now, Maybe, Probably…

  Dillie Dorian

  Copyright 2007-2013 Dillie Dorian

  Oops! Did I Forget I Don’t Know You?

  Double Dates (& Single Raisins)

  A Bended Family

  While Shepherds Washed My Socks

  Sitting Down Star Jumps

  And many more…

  https://www.dilliedorian.co.uk

  Contents:

  #0 Preambling Note To Shells

  #1 You Are Cordially UN-Invited To My Party!

  #2 A Bit Of An Understatement

  #3 AimeeHarleyCharlie&Zak

  #4 Charlie & The Lyrical Witterings

  #5 Seaweed Boy

  #6 Smashing Sunday

  #7 Fountains Of Jordan

  #8 Now, Maybe, Probably…

  #9 Gunk! The Abusical

  #10 Bumble-GRR!!

  #11 All The Wanted Things

  #12 harly

  #13 Schism

  #14 No Doubt Started By Keisha

  #15 Soppy Conclusions

  #16 Unberelala

  #17 Hoodies & Goodies

  #18 The Scary Bikini & The 10ft Pool

  #19 Gravy Zebras

  #20 The Great Rethink

  #0 Preambling Note To Shells

  Dear Shelley + Assorted Prying Aussies

  I’m beginning to wonder if imagination’s something that’s only fun or acceptable if you’re little. Kinda like licking the salt off crisps, sucking the chocolate chips out of icecream, and slurping the bottom of your cup with a straw. I mean, how many adults do you see eating Cheese Strings upside down on the sofa in front of The Queen’s Nose? About as many as the amount of kids signing business contracts.

  But back to imagination – OK, it can be scary when it makes you ponder whether the whole universe secretly works like in The Sims, and some lazy kid up there’s found a brand new obsession and left us unattended. It makes you worry that maybe everything you ever did or said wasn’t real and didn’t really happen – that it’s all in your head. It panics you when you’re upset or nervous about something and makes you think of all the perfectly horrible things that could happen. If you’re Charlie or Zak, it might even convince you that ghosts and zombies are totally real and totally coming to get you.

  But right now, the problem is that nobody has it anymore. That’s particularly true this time of year: no matter how inventive they try to be with Valentine’s gifts, to the single and hopeless onlooker it’s still as embarrassing and corny as seeing your dad in a Santa suit.

  I don’t have that problem (not least since Dad isn’t around), but the Valentine’s thing! I know it to be true that no boy would give me a second look in a month of Mondays (and how dull would that be as a price to pay for a boyfriend??).*

  Speaking of boys, my brothers have barely put in an appearance all week. They’ve been up in their room for a good four days now, inserting pensioners’ teeth, scanning bananas through checkouts, and picking noses. Don’t worry! It’s ’cause their latest obsession is WarioWare on the new Nintendo Wii. (Yep, it finally materialised – and Charlie’s radiation phobia rapidly diminished upon its arrival.) But all this happened (mostly) before that…

  Omigod! I forgot to mention the latest newsflash! Gerry sent me a Valentine’s card. I mean, sure, it had a picture of a goldfish in a chunky “bling” necklace on the front, but the intention was there.

  RSVP (as in “répondez s’il vous plait”)

  Harley

  *How’s that Aussie boyfriend going, by the way? Yum, yum, sandy bum!

  #1 You Are Cordially UN-Invited To My Party!

  Asta was handing out invitations in Maths, weaving her way inbetween the desks and smirking at us every time she (deliberately) passed.

  It was first lesson, and to add to the general Thursday morning grumblies, she felt the need to taunt us Unpopulars with constant reminders about her super-cool pool party.

  We’d already been told that her dad was hiring a swanky hotel room for all her pals to sleep over, and that they’d have free run of the pool just like she wanted. As if any of us were going to get jealous and go begging for an invitation to that! (Mmm, OK, maybe a little…)

  Then a piece of paper flashed past my face. A candy-pink envelope, just like the popular clique’s. Could it be…?

  “Invited to Asta’s party?” asked Devon, confused. (We’d given in to calling her that after weeks of being corrected every time anyone said “Kay”.)

  “Looks like it,” I mumbled, registering Mr Smithson’s look of “shush” and settling down for the lesson.

  * * *

  “I wouldn’t go anyway!” Keisha snorted. “What if we caught whatever’s making her so snooty?”

  It was now a whole two lessons later, and breaktime. The setting? English Block girls’ loos, deserted as always.

  “Open it anyway!” said Danielle, excitably.

  I tore open the envelope, admittedly curious as to what could be inside. Glitter exploded from the paper, more and more of it when I pulled out the invitation, all over me and a bit over Devon.

  Still chuffed, I read aloud:

  “You are cordially …un-invited,” (uh-oh) “-to my pool party.”

  After the “pool party” bit and the full stop, it actually read: (Ugly skank.) – though I hadn’t wanted to read that out loud, everyone craned their necks to get a look and realised anyway.

  Devon grasped for the envelope and emptied the remaining glitter (still quite a lot – Asta must’ve spent a small fortune on not inviting me to her party) over her trailing frizzy hair, which today was done in two thin copycat plaits like mine. (Well, either mine, Pippi Longstocking’s, or Britney Spears’ in her “Hit Me” video – I was afraid to ask.)

  She was also dressed in a supposed “novelty” school uniform, which was getting a lot of attention for the wrong reasons. (Hey, maybe it was for Britney!) She had on an old-fashioned pleated skirt (many, many creases for glitter to get stuck in), punky, stripy, fluffy socks, and some very thick, sticky, pink lipgloss. It looked like she’d stolen the emo-tween look from Malice’s sister Ceri and tried to Japan it up – hence the unsavoury catcalls from boys, and string of detentions that was likely going to extend past two the very second we set foot in our third lesson of the day.

  “Eww, Kay!” Chantalle grimaced. “Your lipgloss looks disgusting. In fact, I think I can smell it!”

  “It’s Devon,” Devon reminded her, saying nothing of the insult.

  “Let me look at it,” sniped Keisha.

  Devon obliged.

  “Ugh! That’s the magazine crap from last week’s copy of-”

  “Omigod!” snickered Chantalle. “You’re SO right. The Valentine’s special. That’s so sad. Don’t you have any real makeup of your own?”

  “I like it,” said Devon, unbothered.

  “But it’s nastyyy…” pouted Keisha.


  “It’s all some people can afford,” I pointed out, although I didn’t reckon that applied to Kay – sorry – Dev.

  That was a mistake. Chantalle’s lip curled, and I knew I was in for a chavvy slagging. “Maybe for povvos like you, Harley, but most people can get hold of the real thing.”

  “That’s not nice,” said Rindi, her mouth contorted into a disgusted expression.

  “Your face isn’t nice,” said Keisha. “I bet you use that uggo facecake from last month’s issue.”

  Rindi looked at her, transparently unimpressed, but didn’t say anything else.

  She didn’t need to. Chantalle had already decided to wage a war against us poor unfortunates who couldn’t scrape together to the money for so much as one MAC eyeliner between us. “Y’know what, Keish? They’re not even worth our breath.”

  “Ugh, breath,” Keisha echoed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  And with that, they turned to leave.

  Chantalle span back round. “Dani!” she hissed. “You’re OK. Your mum buys the good stuff.”

  Danielle chewed her lip uncertainly, but followed them anyway like a timid little lamb in a Fred Perry raincoat.

  “God!” said Rachel, cattily. “I bet they’re only getting like this because of that ASDA’s stupid party. I’m not bothered – we’ve got my birthday to go to that Sunday!”

  Everyone cheered up at that. We all agreed that Rachel’s fourteenth was going to be so much more fun than anything Asta could put on, whether she realised our class bully wasn’t really named after the supermarket or not…

  #2 A Bit Of An Understatement

  By Friday afternoon, Asta had handed out all her invites (and all her un-invites too).

  It turned out the fun didn’t stop with me – just the opportunity to give them out during Maths. Rachel’s read “Sporty dyke”, Fern’s read “Mousy minge”, Rindi’s read “Paki bitch”, and Dev’s read “Dirty gyppo”. I felt more and more sick with each one of them, and started to think I’d got off lucky.

  I didn’t know about Keisha, Chantalle and Dani, who still hadn’t had a word to say to us (like “sorry”) since yesterday, but Rachel had volunteered that theirs must’ve said “Snotty cow”, “Ginger slut” and “Indecisive loser”. I will have to admit to giggling when she said that.

  To add to the fun with vocab, Mr Wordsworth had been trying to interest us in the joys of Shakespearean English – and ended up having to write up a glossary on the whiteboard. We were supposed to be doing Richard III for our English SAT in May, but even we in the top set couldn’t make head nor tail of ye olde play-e language.

  When he realised he’d come to the bottom of the board and still not finished, Mr W turned around to fetch some sugar paper (which would’ve been a better choice from the start for what would likely become a permanent installation on the hallway pinboard for years to come).

  The look on his phizog suddenly transformed from calm and contented, to withered and weary.

  “Yes, Charlie?”

  I twisted in my seat to catch a glimpse of my twin brother at the back of the classroom. Charlie had one hand in the air, and its identical-save-opposite brother over his face as if it was trying to stop his brain falling out of his nose, Ancient Egyptian style. That was disturbingly close to the truth. I watched the wave overflow his cupped fingers and the white embroidered wolf on his wristband turn crimson.

  “Sir…” he wavered. “I think I might have a bit of a nosebleed…”

  “Understatement, Charlie,” sighed Mr W. “I think you might have a bit of an understatement. In fact, could everyone write that in the glossary in the back of their books? ‘Understatement’.”

  * * *

  “I’ve decided to make Ben have a Valentine’s party at the café!” announced Devon, to our diminished breaktime group.

  “Isn’t that his choice, really?” said Rachel, probably worried about having her brilliant birthday party upstaged.

  My eyes darted across the canteen to where Chantalle and Keisha were nattering over in a corner by the window, Dani munching uncertainly on her sandwiches beside them. It was so nice not to have any self-centred interruptions, save for some friendly rivalry between Dev and Rachel.

  “I couldn’t really go,” I said, hastily, to make her rethink. Something about the way a group of Year 7 boys were squashing sandwich into another kid’s hair reminded me of a certain someone who is also picked on by his mates. A certain someone who wouldn’t want to relive the last bLIMEy party if you offered him a million quid. “I don’t think Charlie would come.”

  “Oh yeah,” scoffed Rach. “Because the party just wouldn’t be alive without Charlie. What a shame, guess that’s not happening then.”

  “Actually, Miss Howell, it wouldn’t,” said Dev, firmly. “What kind of teenage party do you think you’re plugging if you aren’t inviting boys?”

  “Oh, I’m inviting boys!” laughed Rachel. “Don’t you worry. I’ll even find a special college weirdo just for you!”

  “That’s it!” shrieked Devon, thrusting her lumpy handbag at me and starting towards Rachel.

  Rachel slipped a foot out – the oldest trick in the book – and sent Devon flying, right into my twin brother who I hadn’t noticed come up to the canteen balcony with an unseasonable icecream.

  “Hey, DevDev!” he yelped, as the pair of them fell to the floor in a sticky icecream mess. “You’re eager!”

  So there was a more obnoxious variation of her self-appointed nickname!

  “Why’re you two lovebirds sprawled on the floor together?” I teased, trying to keep up my good-natured person resolution even though I’d never got an email back.

  “We’re not- oh, well I s’pose we are, but we’re not lovebirds, I was just…”

  “Um, Dev, there’s, uh, blood all down your back…” I whispered.

  “But I’m not- argh! Charlie! You should’ve got it all off!”

  “I did. I think…”

  “I didn’t mean just your face!” she hissed.

  “Ah, the wristband…”

  “Eurgh! It’s saturated!” she groaned.

  “I’m sorry…” he whinged, sticking out his lip and opening his eyes really wide, and holding out his hand like it contained a charity box or something.

  “Other hand,” she groaned.

  He switched to the hand without the soggy, woollen thing. “OK, I’m sorry.”

  She took it. “You’re sorry, and…”

  “I’ll tell everyone it’s my blood, not yours?”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I’ll donate your school shirt to the hospital for a blood test to prove it’s mine?”

  “No, that’s stupid, and I’d have to walk home topless!”

  “Savour the thought…” he mumbled. “Uh, sorry, um… I’ll squeeze the wristband out over my own shirt and let Andy and Jordy laugh at me?”

  “Fine,” she agreed. “And all my mates can watch.”

  “Hi. Um, what’s going on?” asked Fern, who’d also just come upstairs and nearly become the second one of my mates to land on my brother today.

  “Erm, we were wondering if you’d like to see Charlie humiliate himself to get Devon’s forgiveness for covering her in-”

  “Blood? Yewwwww!”

  “I don’t think I could really watch them play with that, either,” said Rindi. “It would turn my stomach.”

  “OK, right, I’ll go now,” Charlie sighed, making off.

  Devon was not giving in. “No, no, you won’t DO it if we’re not with you!”

  It was up to me to end the bloody feud. “Charlie! Psst! You still like Elliott?”

  He looked all gluey in Dev’s direction. “As long as you still like JD.” He smiled.

  What dorks – united in their love of sitcom characters, who, as far as I could tell, weren’t written as attractive. Maybe they fancied each other as those people – God knew. But all I could say for it was: vain, vain, vain…

  #3 AimeeHarleyCharli
e&Zak

  Oh, God bless our shared account… So the username wasn’t ever allowed to be changed from “AimeeHarleyCharlie&Zak” in case it led to confusion? At least we had the internet.

  I found Jordy amongst the quite long list of MSN contacts, and decided that it would be fun to initiate a conversation.

  I typed: Hi, Jordy. What’re you doing?

  (Too formal? Oh help! He was typing!)

  He said: y do u care

  I said: Because you’re wonderful.

  He said: lil unusule comin frm uu ur usuley meen but wotevz

  I said: When have I ever been mean?

  He said: jus yday u sed ii wz sad fr lisning 2 james blunt

  I said: Eh??? I don’t remember that. You must have me confused.

  He said: imm cunfuzed dunnoo bwt uu

  I said: You’re so cute when you’re confused.

  (Wow, I was suddenly a master of flirting …online. Real life would still be a nightmare.)

  He said: yty

  I said: What’s yty?

  He said: whyy thx u

  I said: Aww.

  He said: ur been so nice today =]

  I said: I try to be.

  He said: no u dont ur horaball

  I said: Umm, when am I ever horrible? Who do you take me for?

  He said: charly hartly ofcorse

  (Duh!!)

  I said: Uh, ’course, bye…

  And signed off.

  And decided I was never going back on MSN ever again!

  #4 Charlie & The Lyrical Witterings

  A loud beeping sound woke me up at half-past five in the morning. A text. Now all I needed to do was track down the person I’d have to murder when I got to school on Monday.

  Aimee grumped at me from across the room. “You made me turn mine off at night you moo!”

  It was a fair point, and one which I’d never expected to come up in a zillion and one nights.

  I focused blearily on the screen: mi aunty sez i can av a pool party aswell!! wikid xox

  Rachel. Right, then. Now to activate “Silent”.

  I sent back: It’s 5:32 in the morn. I was busy dreaming of Jordy ta very much.

  She replied: yh well. got woke by my uncle he came in drunk @ 1/4pst4 n cheering the 24h sports channel all on iz own

  I said: Too bad. I’m going back to bed.

  I couldn’t sleep, though. I decided to go for a wander. At least Aimee had rolled over and gone back to zizz, instead of any midnight meetings with Ben. Kitty, also, was sleeping peacefully, save for the occasional beany thud each time she moved in her slumber and accidentally smacked one of her many toy cats.