Complicated

chapter eight

It was time for the school’s Christmas disco, and I’d finally recovered (fully, now) from my horrible cold.

“Have fun kids,” Mum waved goodbye from the car. I pivoted on the spot, and motioned for her to go. In her mirror, Mum rolled her eyes nonchalantly. She whirred the engine into life and reversed the car out of the car park.

      “You look lovely,” whispered Connor in my ear. “Really lovely.”

      I stared down at what I was wearing. It was a short, black dress that puffs outwards elaborately at the waist to form a neat ballerina prom dress. I simply adored it, but I was quite certain that it would look better on someone else. Someone thinner. And prettier.

      “You look better,” I contradicted. We were walking side by side. I rested my head against his shoulder, which I did often because it was comforting. Connor was wearing a casual white top with tan jeans, and somehow pulled off the casual look as formal. His hair was untamed and messy. I loved it that way.

      “Trust me, I don’t. You look much . . .” he started, but never finished. He was staring past me, at the English block. I turned to see what he was looking at, and immediately felt an unrecognisable pain twist into existence in the pit of my stomach.

      Aaron was leaning casually against the wall, eating sweets. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and blue jeans, and when he saw me, he smiled calmly.

      “I don’t like him,” decided Connor. I watched as his face writhed into a familiar expression – half envy, half hate. His eye twitched maliciously, and he went even paler than usual.

      “Why not?” I demanded. Connor didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to tug me towards the hall by my arm, decidedly ignoring Aaron. A thought entered my head. “Are you . . . are you jealous of him?”

      “What?” exclaimed Connor. He stopped tugging my arm and turned to face me full on. “What did you say?”

      “Are you jealous of him? Because I fancied him first?”

      “I’m not jealous,” he contradicted, though his face spoke a different story. He put one arm around my waist, and smiled confidently, a twinkle returning to his dark blue eyes. “I’ve got you.”

It was about half way through the disco, and my boyfriend had disappeared. Not that I cared much, ‘cause it wasn’t much fun really. In fact the disco was rubbish; the music was seriously old (it was almost classical) and the DJ kept making us play stupid games like we were three year olds. I couldn’t see Connor anywhere. I wondered if he was looking for me . . . I hoped he was.

      “Hey,”

      Taffy appeared beside me, as if by magic. He smiled nervously and sat down next to me on the table. I remembered that he fancied me, and suddenly wanted Connor to find me right now. I had to concentrate on my boyfriend, and not get distracted by Taffy. I tried to distract myself, instead, by looking at his clothes; he was wearing a dark blue shirt with a white top underneath and light blue jeans.

      “Hi,” I replied, still concentrating on his shirt. Taffy’s shirt was so dark it was looked nearly black in the light. His hair was neatly combed, but the end of his fringe flicked out. He looked so cute; devilishly cute.

      “It’s a good disco,” commented Taffy. He paused, realising that this statement wasn’t entirely truthful. He searched for something to say. “Do you . . . would you like to dance?”