‘Go and die on your own bed,’ Ruprecht mutters, not looking up from his calculations.
‘That’s it, Blowjob, you’re out of my will,’ says Dennis’s corpse, then sits up abruptly as BETHani comes on the stereo. ‘Jesus Christ, Skip, are you playing that damn song again?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing was wrong with it, the first four hundred times.’
‘Don’t pay any attention to him, Skip,’ Geoff says. ‘He’s just jealous because he’s never been in love.’
‘I don’t mind anyone being in love,’ Dennis says. ‘I mind them endlessly going on about it when the whole thing’s totally imaginary.’
‘It’s not imaginary!’ Skippy rejoins pinkly.
‘Oh no, of course not, incredibly hot Frisbee Girl grabs you and pulls you out of the Hop and the two of you go running around in the dark and then she kisses you?’
‘That’s what happened!’
‘She? Kissed you? Like, come on, Skippy.’
‘But you saw us leave together! You were the one who pushed me into her, don’t you remember?’
‘No.’
‘We were talking to Mario – Mario, remember, you’d struck out with all those girls? They kept telling you they had to take their insulin and running away?’
‘Hmm, that does not sound like the kind of thing that would happen.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t dream it, Skippy?’
Arrrgh – Skippy’s been having this same conversation ever since he got back. At first he was sure Dennis was behind it – it has all the hallmarks of one of his practical jokes. But the thing is, it’s not just his friends who’re playing dumb. No one remembers him leaving with Lori; no one remembers even seeing them speaking together. Meanwhile, all trace of the event has been removed: the Sports Hall restored to its normal role (while smelling oddly of disinfectant), the Hallowe’en posters replaced by new ones advertising auditions for the Christmas concert. It’s as if the night never happened; and Skippy is left facing the horrific prospect that he did actually dream the entire thing.
‘Although if it’s a dream that you truly believe in your heart,’ Geoff attempts to console him, ‘then in a way, you know, it is real?’
‘It’s not a dream in my heart,’ Skippy scowls.
‘Whether you dreamed it or not –’ Mario emerges temporarily from his phone, which is new ‘– the key question is, did you get this bitch’s digits? This is the mark of success or failure in any romantic encounter.’
‘No,’ Skippy says miserably.
‘Did you say you’d meet her after the holidays?’ Geoff asks.
‘No.’ Skippy plonks abjectly down on the side of the bed.
‘Holy shit, Skip, you can’t even imagine stuff properly,’ Dennis says. ‘So what’s the plan now, stare at her out of that creepy telescope for the rest of your life?’
‘I don’t know,’ Skippy says glumly. ‘I suppose I could wait outside the gates after school until she comes out. Or call over to her house?’
‘No and no.’ Mario shoots these down straight away. ‘You have to keep your cool. You don’t want to come across like some crazy stalker.’
‘You know, as opposed to the guy who watches her all day through his telescope,’ Dennis says.
‘How about you become really, really good at something she likes?’ Geoff suggests. ‘Like, you know she likes frisbee, okay, so how about you train at frisbee until you’re one of the world’s top frisbee players, and then one day she sees you on TV and she remembers you and she writes you a letter, but you’re all like, See you later, bitch, I’m a professional frisbee player now, I’ve got chicks all over me. But then back in your lonely hotel room one night you start thinking about her, and you realize you still love her, so you write her a letter back, except you write it on a frisbee and you throw it from the top of the wall so it goes in her classroom window and then she comes out and sees you standing on top of the wall and then, you know, you get married?’
Skippy looks doubtful.
‘Get the digits,’ Mario repeats. ‘Then we’ll have something to work with.’
‘Lori Wakeham?’
‘Yeah, I was talking to her at the…’
‘Why would you want Lori Wakeham’s number?’
‘Well, you see, I was talking to her at the Hop, and I just wanted to give her a call and…’
‘You were talking to her?’
‘Yeah, I don’t know if you remember but actually you were the one who –’
‘Hey, Titch, good job on KellyAnn Doheny,’ Darren Boyce says, bouncing by.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Titch says expressionlessly.
‘No really, good job,’ Darren Boyce says, and laughs to himself as he walks off.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Titch shouts at his retreating form, then slamming his locker door he stamps off towards the exit. Skippy trots after him. He can appreciate he’s going out on a limb here and is prepared to abase himself as much as is required.
As they approach the pool table Jason Rycroft detaches himself from it and intercepts them. ‘All right, Titch?’
‘All right,’ Titch returns, a little defensively.
‘What are you doing with this bummer?’ Jason nods at Skippy.
‘Oh, he’s fucking driving me mad looking for some bird’s phone number.’
‘Juster? What’s he going to do with a bird, take her to the playground?’ Jason turns to Skippy. ‘Seriously, Juster, no offence or anything, but I mean have your balls even dropped yet?’
Titch laughs. ‘Yeah, Juster, stick to your Nintendo.’
Skippy goes red. In the playground in the rainy night-time park, her fingernail scratching hearts into the old black wood of the swing…
‘Oh, here, Titch, I have something for you.’ Jason Rycroft reaches into his bag, takes something out and puts it into Titch’s hand. ‘Thought you might need it.’ He bounces away, yukking. Titch and Skippy look at the object in Titch’s hand. It is a soother.
‘Fucking arsehole,’ Titch says, flicking it over his shoulder. They stand there a moment, staring after Jason Rycroft. Actually Skippy doesn’t know if Titch remembers he’s there. At last he says, ‘So…’
‘For fuck’s sake, Juster,’ Titch explodes, ‘don’t be a twat all your life, will you not.’ With that he storms off, carrying Lori’s number with him.
In English class they’re doing haiku: Ruprecht, your fat ass / I am going to kick it so hard / Your nuts fall off – ‘Ha ha, I think you’ll find a haiku is supposed to have seventeen syllables?’ While Kipper Slattery recites slender poems about wheat-sheaves and cherry trees at the top of the room, Skippy sinks deeper into gloom. From his bedroom in mid-term it had all seemed so simple. They had kissed, that was the important part, surely when you kiss someone everything else just falls into place! But when you get in close there’s a thousand tiny barriers in the way, like an army of microscopic terriers chewing at your ankles, too small to see but making it impossible to move…
‘Wakey-wakey, Skip! Class is over!’ Mario standing over his desk.‘Time to go, Skippy,’
Geoff addresses him in haiku form,‘Geography next, I like
Our sexy teacher.’
‘He is busy moping about his dream-girl,’ Mario says.
‘Well, then there’s no point us bothering him,’ Geoff says.
‘No, there is no point me bothering him with her phone number,’ Mario says.
‘Nope, I wouldn’t bother him with that.’
‘What?’ Skippy says, head jerking up.
‘What?’ says Mario.
‘What did you say about her number?’
‘What number? Oh, you mean this number?’ Mario is waving a strip of paper. He pulls it out of reach as Skippy makes a grab, then relents and hands it to him. Skippy gazes at it in astonishment. LORI, it says in Mario’s flamboyant scrawl, followed by a number – a crystalline shard of her, like a strand of DNA.