"The roses are dead,
The violets are too,
Don't mention romance,
You'll make me spew."
Francesca Burton knows all there is to know about love and romance. She knows that love is for the naïve and romance is for the delusional. Her parents taught her...
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Do you ever find yourself staring at a couple on the train, or in a café, or walking their adorable French Bulldog in the park, and fantasise about their love story? You know – the one with the meet cute and the perfect first kiss and that beautiful moment when she just knew that he was 'The One'?
My friend Cassie does. Cass thinks about other people's love all the time. She lives for it.
"Look at them Frankie. See the way he's gazing into her eyes. How her body angles towards his. They look so cute together. I think they really do love each other. God, I wish someone would look at me like that."
"Cass, you need to lose those romance-coloured glasses. Travers Riordan wouldn't know love if it bit him on his rear end. The boy has the relationship attention span of a goldfish. And Bethany is lovely, but she isn't exactly a rocket scientist and everyone knows she's still hung up on Davey. Trav and Bethany have absolutely nothing in common, except for the fact that they just spent the summer working together at Pet Corner. You watch, they'll be over by the end of the month."
"Francesca Burton, you are such a downer." Cass glares at me. "I'm not listening to your cynical aromanticism. I still say it's true love."
What it is, is Thursday morning and the first day of the school year. The air is already sticky with early February heat. The sandstone archways and hallowed lawn of the St Mark's Grammar senior quadrangle are ripe with sweat and gossip about summer's unexpected hook-ups.
Bethany Cartwright and Davey Porter had been the mainstay couple of our year level since Year 10 camp. Year 11 ended with their spectacularly public breakup at a party on the coast. Rumour had it that Davey didn't want to be in a relationship over summer. His inability to remove his tongue from Lizzie Chan's mouth from December through January told a slightly different story.
It's not that I don't admire Cassie's unwavering belief that one true someone will one day love her always and forever. Her faith in love and romance is sort of inspiring. It's also naïve and misguided and based on fairy tales.
Unfortunately, life has taught me better.
When Cass looks at Bethany and Travers, all she sees are two people who only have eyes for each other. What I see, is the little looks that Bethany keeps casting over at Davey and Lizzie. The way she moves closer to Trav any time Davey glances in her direction. The way Trav frowns when Bethany laughs too loudly at something he says. The fact that both of them seem to spend more time checking their phones than they do actually talking to each other.
That, my friends, is not true love.
That, is playing games and putting on a show for the masses. I want no part of it.
The first bell rings. Most of us procrastinate with wilful intent, knowing that there are at least eight minutes until the second bell. Not Cassie. Cass scrapes her blonde hair into a businesslike ponytail, slams her locker shut and dashes off with barely a 'see you at lunch'. My best friend is as enthusiastic about school as she is about romance.
"Burton," a gruff male voice purrs in my ear as I wander vaguely in the direction of my homeroom. A slim, muscled arm is slung around my shoulders.
I know without looking that both belong to Felix.
Ahhhh, Felix Darver. Felix of the full lips and the messy black hair and the hooded eyes that always make him look like he is either stoned or half asleep.
(Felix, who quite possibly does spend a fair proportion of his week either stoned or half asleep).
Felix of the excellent kissing. Really, really excellent kissing. Last year, kissing Felix sort of became my party trick. Totally useless, but lots of fun.
"Where have you been Burton? I missed you over summer."
I roll my eyes at him. "Sure you did Darver."
Felix is almost impossible to take seriously. He isn't red roses, or shy glances or tying yourself up in knots waiting for someone to call. He's just kissing. Something fun to do at parties when I can't be bothered dancing and I'm not in the mood to talk to people. No expectations. No promises. No games. And, very definitely, no talk of love.
Just the way I like it.
"You going to Robbo's party on Saturday?" he asks me.
"Maybe."
"Cool, see you there?"
"Maybe."
"Awesome."
Felix is not deep and meaningful conversations. I am more than okay with that.
