There was homework due but I hadn't done it. Saturday had been spent nursing a hangover and Sunday was spent lounging around watching crap films on the telly with mum. I came in late as usual and took my seat at the back. "Great party huh?" One of the boys sitting near me lent my way and whispered.
"The best," I smiled back. I remembered bits and pieces of that night, the main feeling I woke up with the next morning was guilt. Not because I fucked someone I shouldn't have. Not because I'd fucked anyone at all, in fact I was certain I hadn't even kissed anyone. I felt guilt because I'd drunk myself into near oblivion. Again. After the look mum had given me when I smashed her vase I'd promised myself not to touch it ever again. I thought I had a problem. My head was swimming with all the wrong kind of thoughts.
"No homework?" Sarah, my English Language teacher raised an eyebrow unimpressed. "Well it's your own problem Jessica. Just try not to make a habit out of it." I kept flicking the end of my pen impatiently, I needed a cigarette.
"You're quite a good dancer," a girl whose name I didn't know said, peering round the girl sat beside her. She always wore maroon shorts and tights. I didn't get it. "Don't you remember?" I shook my head slowly, clicking my pen.
"She was pretty drunk," her friend lent forward, inserting herself in the conversation. "I've never actually seen anyone drink as much as you in one go. How are you still alive?" I didn't know how to reply so just muttered under my breath and shrugged my shoulders loosely. For once it wasn't completely abysmal weather outside. The sun peered around various grey clouds, burning up the bitterness in the wind.
"You know that Dylan guy was following you around like a bad smell?" Maroon Shorts told me as if he really was some contagious disease I should be wary of. I liked him. Dylan the miasma. I flicked my pen once more. "He's a drug dealer. Knows some pretty horrible people. You don't want to be associated with a rat like him." And that was my official warning. I nodded but internally dismissed them. I'd make my own mistakes.
I lent against the wall that did little to shelter me from the blast of the winds, cigarette in one hand and my sunglasses sat large in front of my eyes. A pair of denim eyes paused my way. "Can I help?" I asked slowly, unbearably indifferent.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses when there's no sun?" The headmaster frowned suspiciously. A reel of possible accusations ran through my head but instead I simply smirked and shrugged. He said nothing either, just continued to stare until he had to say something. "That's a nice skirt you're wearing."
My mouth opened into a brilliant smile and I flicked ash onto the ground, my lips parting as I released a stream of smoke. "You like it?" I purred. He nodded almost eagerly. I found it interesting, he seemed kind of hooked. "Cool." Taking another quick drag I smirked, blowing a wave of smoke into his face, licking my lips as I dropped the cigarette, grinding it under my foot before walking away from him without a backward glance. Did the headmaster just hit on me?
"Hey," the hostess from the other night tapped my shoulder with a delicate finger. She'd painted strawberries on her nails. "Wanna skip next lesson? We're thinking about heading into town and I wondered if you wanted to come along too."
"Ok." We went to a park with a couple of carrier bags full of cider and crashed out on a bench getting drunk just after midday. The girl, I learned through extensive listening was called Clarissa. I couldn't help but think about what a baby Clarissa looked like. It seemed like such a grown up name. Like Paul. Baby Paul.
It was cold out in the middle of a park, exposed to the elements as we chattered until a local police officer started making toward us. I reacted slower than the others. "That's Rachel's dad," Clarissa whispered as she pulled me sharply to my feet. "Plus we're not allowed to drink in a public place...And like, some of us aren't eighteen but basically we're not meant to be here drinking." So I let her grasp my hand and giggling we sprinted in the opposite direction to the policeman. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that he'd stopped walking, evidently having made his point. Besides, his eyes were focused solely on the back of his daughter's head.
"Are you drunk?" Mum asked when I wobbled through the front door sometime after five. I shook my head, adamant that I was completely sober. "You better not be."
"Mum," I ignored her probes at my drunkenness as I sat down heavily on the bottom stair. She paused. "I think the headmaster flirted with me at lunch."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not," I had to fight to keep the slur from my voice. "He said he liked my skirt." Mum didn't get it, she laughed and walked away. If she'd been there, if she'd seen it then she would've agreed. "What's his name?" I continued as I headed after her, using the banister to pull myself up.
"I don't know, John I think. Or maybe David. I can't remember." She was in the lounge folding up ironing into two respective piles: mine and hers.
I sat on the floor with my legs crossed while popping bubblegum; my homework sprawled out around me. Mum and I stayed in the same room, companionably quiet as we went about our business. She had the telly on, some music channel that skipped to the adverts every five seconds. For someone that moaned about the amount of adverts in this world she didn't really help herself. I was midway through a shaky looking essay when my phone began vibrating beside me.
"Don't let yourself get distracted, Jessica," mum warned as if she knew I was slipping from the righteous path.
"I won't," I mumbled as I answered the phone. Clarissa was wondering if I was free tonight. Mum turned sharply and made scary eye contact with me. Pulling a face I was forced to decline. "There," I smiled horribly at my mother, "You've trapped me for another night." Mum tutted and stormed out of the room.
A week had passed by and things were really looking good for me...in a social sense. Academically things were probably not so great. Clarissa was fantastic. Her dad had friends 'high up' that sold him tickets to shows at an actual affordable price. Practically every other weekend Clarissa was off somewhere to some concert. Last weekend it had been Bonjovi.
"Oh God," Clarissa muttered in my ear as we sat in the cafeteria one lunch. "Look who it is. Keep your money close he'll try to charm it out of you." She was of course referring to Dylan who had just broken away from a small group of boys and was making a beeline toward us. I tucked some hair behind my ear and sat up a little straighter, refusing to break eye contact with him. I wasn't intimidated or afraid. He probably wouldn't sell anything to me regardless.
"Hello ladies," he greeted curtly, sitting down even though there was no space. We were forced to smash up into each other. "Now I hate to be a bother," he spoke without any of the shyness he'd first inhibited when we originally spoke. "But some of you owe me." His eyes directly fixed on Clarissa who was staring at her lap, hair pouring around her as a poor defence.
"Piss off Dylan," Rachel hissed like a goose, "We don't want you here."
"Not my fault some of you have a nasty habit."
"Dylan," my eyes were wide with horror. As I was sitting next to Clarissa I could feel her violently trembling. He was doing that. This was on him. He looked at me just as emotionlessly as he had at Rachel. I was nothing. "She hasn't got the money."
"That's alright," he smiled humorlessly; it made my stomach twist horribly. My skin crawled with a thousand tiny creatures. "I'll have to stop the supply though," He chuckled. "And plus each day you don't pay the price will go up. What? Why are you crying Clarissa?"
"Ok you made your point," I pushed up from the table and in the limited space I glowered at Dylan. Physically standing up to him apparently took him completely off guard and he stared stunned. "I don't care who you are you don't fuck with me or my friends."
Clarissa was sobbing into her hands, whimpering about 'what if' her parents found out. I gave her a quick glance, my eyebrows pulling down slightly, perhaps she was putting it on a bit. Dylan paid no attention, our eyes locked in steadfast. "You're just bitter 'cause I wouldn't sell you any." He spat and stood up, leaning across the table to get as much into Clarissa's face as possible, hissing that she had two days to get him the money before her "problems really began." She nodded in a juddering motion. He stormed out of the cafeteria with a lot of eyes following after him. I sat down, flicking some hair over my shoulder and squeezed Clarissa's arm.
I flopped face first onto the sofa, hugging a heavenly soft cushion to my chest. I didn't care that it was uncomfortable and difficult to breathe. "What's wrong?" Mum asked coming into the lounge. "Boy problems?" I snorted. Something like that!
Why couldn't I just be like in the old days? Why couldn't I have my modern day greasers in their fast cars? Why did my grandma have to die? Where were her pearls now? I went to my room and sat in front of my mirror fiddling around with various necklaces. I had a fake pearl necklace. If I wore it mum would freak out. I kind of wanted to wear it so that she would. Instead I lit up a cigarette, threw my window open wide and stuck a CD on. Every so often my eyes would flicker over to the massive Kate Moss poster on my wall by my bed. I struck a pose similar to hers before laughing at myself and taking a drag from my cigarette.
Stones. Not the Rolling Stones. Not the Stone Roses. Stones were being chucked at my window which was now closed. I rolled off my bed and with a frown opened the window to see Dylan looking up from the gloom. I forgot he knew where I lived. Psycho. "What?"
"You don't hate me do you?" He sounded genuinely concerned as if my opinion of him actually counted for something. A slow smirk spread across my lips as I left his question hanging tediously in the air. Was I some kind of Juliette with a drug dealer Romeo? How modern...
I shrugged, "Probably." I wondered idly if he'd let me put gel in his hair, if I could mould him into a modern day greaser. I'm not sure the look would suit him though.
"Don't hate me Jessica."
"I'll hate you if I like," I replied smoothly. "Just for the record, I'd never snog you sober." To my own astonishment a full on grin split across Dylan's face. Not wishing to show him my shock I shut the window and fell purposefully onto my bed, swallowing myself up in mellow haze, nail varnish fumes and David Bowie. Because he's a star man.
The homework due was done and completed on my part. When Sarah and then Richard collected it up they nodded impressed. I sat back in my seat smugly and pulled all my fizzy coated hair over one shoulder. I suppose the mistake I made was not telling Clarissa or the others about Dylan's evening visit. I kept it to myself like a personal photo in a locket.
Clarissa had tickets to a Foo Fighters' concert. We paid her and that Saturday night we joined the other excited people queuing up to get in. There was chewing gum plastered to the pavement and graffiti all over the walls. I was drunk before we even got in there, Clarissa's current boyfriend happened to be twenty so he was continuously bringing us polystyrene cups of beer. "This is brilliant!" I screamed above the band, Dave Grohl singing away in front of us.
Rachel and another friend, Afia, were videoing the show on their phones. My hands were too unsteady and my vision too wobbly for that kind of hand-eye coordination. Somewhere in front people were trying to create a mosh pit and up on the stage Dave was head banging in the guitar solo, flicking his dark hair backwards and forwards. I wanted to get closer, close enough to see him head bang the sweat off his body.
I was champing on gum that had long ago lost its minty flavour, it was sort of like beer but I mainly had it in to dull the cigarette craving. Clarissa clambered on her boyfriend, getting a piggyback so she could see better. How annoying for the people behind. I swished my head from side to side, dancing in my small space with my long ponytail flicking about dangerously. Some guy behind me grabbed my arse. I spun, drunk and astonished but I had no idea who he was. "Hey," I frowned, "Fuck off dickhead."
"Woah," he glanced at his friends who were smirking along with him, "Chill out. Sorry for taking an interest!"
I rolled my eyes, "I'm not an inanimate object to be touched at will! If I suddenly touched you would you be cool with that?" I was having trouble focusing on him and I didn't want to come across vulnerable. He shrugged, laughing with his friends. He told me he'd like it if I touched him. So I punched him in the face and gave him a nosebleed. Clarissa covered her mouth with her hand as she stifled laughter. The guy backed away while his mates made loud noises of shock and laughter.
I rolled my shoulders to loosen the tension and then returned to dancing. Clarissa fell sideways, still giggling kissed me on the cheek. I flinched in surprise. "I think you're honest to God my bestest best friend, Jess." She slurred before draping herself back over her boyfriend. If I was her best friend she might know I don't like being called Jess. I shrugged and carried on dancing, slurring along to the lyrics.