How to Keep a Boy from Kissing You

  Dedication

  For my grandmother Heather,

  fellow bibliophile and kindred spirit

  and my father, Peter,

  who had unfailing belief in the book

  from the day I began work on it.

  Your love and support has always

  been of a level immeasurable.

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Operation Stop Kiss

  Chapter 2: The Glide-By

  Chapter 3: Psychic Surgery

  Chapter 4: Finding Religion

  Chapter 5: The Get-Over-Him Party

  Chapter 6: He’s So Into You

  Chapter 7: Death, Dragons and Dating in the Medieval World

  Chapter 8: An Ill-Fated Audition

  Chapter 9: Taking the Lead

  Chapter 10: Crossing Paths

  Chapter 11: Undesirable Aura

  Chapter 12: The NAD’s Big Date

  Chapter 13: Lady Disdain

  Chapter 14: Cupid is Understaffed

  Chapter 15: Valentine’s Day

  Chapter 16: Stakeout

  Chapter 17: There is No Romance Between Us!

  Chapter 18: The Fraud of Men was Ever So

  Chapter 19: Seeing Stars …

  Chapter 20: The Depths of Despair

  Chapter 21: The Chain of Destiny

  Chapter 22: Fighting Fate

  Chapter 23: Friends?

  Chapter 24: Running Out of Options

  Chapter 25: The Big Moment

  Chapter 26: No-Show

  Chapter 27: It’s a Date

  Chapter 28: Revelations

  Chapter 29: Facebook Fiasco

  Chapter 30: I Don’t Exist to You

  Chapter 31: Rumours

  Chapter 32: The World’s Greatest Romance

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  Operation Stop Kiss

  How do you stop a guy kissing you?

  I know this sounds like a ridiculous question — obviously there’s a multitude of options available to the almost kissee — but Bradley Scott’s lips were twenty centimetres away from mine and I was seriously in search of an etiquette-appropriate response. Without, you know, resorting to physical shoves, screams or other emotionally scarring options.

  Normally I’m completely on my game when it comes to pre-emptive measures — that is, avoiding any situation that could lead to a guy going in for some lip action. Stargazing, firework-watching or even brief contemplation of a city nightscape has, in my opinion, a Stendhal-syndrome-like effect — only rather than fainting in response to the spectacular scene in front of them, boys seem to fall lips-first in my direction with slim to no warning. I can’t count the number of times a fireworks display has forced me to end a night early. The other key moment to steer clear of is the awkward goodnight ritual at the end of a date. Notions of ‘expected’ first moves confuse the male mind and, no matter how clear a stay-away-from-me vibe a girl tries to give out, the majority of the species will make an ill-judged lunge for the lips. I’ve learnt that the only way to avoid post-date fallout is to implement an effective avoidance tactic at the goodbye point. A person waiting at your front door (ideally giving a big friendly wave to your date as you arrive) works a treat, particularly if they’re a parental. No teenage boy is going to want to go for the clinch while under keen observation by your relative. My other failsafe is a phone call received just at the moment of romantic inclination, whether this be in your date’s car or on your doorstep.

  Unfortunately this failsafe option had fallen through for me tonight. I had sent a panicked text message at the usual spot — as Bradley Scott’s car passed the corner store (exactly five minutes from goodbye time) — to my best friend, Cassie Shields, reading: PUT OPERATION STOP KISS INTO ACTION! But the crucial time had come and my phone was completely silent. It was too late to employ Option Two: Evasive Manoeuvre (carrying a drink so you can take a sip as the lips approach), as I had no beverage available; and Option Three: Distraction, which involved asking a question (‘So, how about this election?’) or pointing out something important (‘There’s a spider on your shirt!’), was also useless. Nothing would distract Bradley now except a nuclear bomb. No, this was the end of playing it cool and collected. I could feel Bradley’s breath on my face, meaning I had approximately ten seconds before the torpedo hit the target.

  As Bradley’s arms moved to encircle me, I lunged for my seatbelt, frantically pushing at the release button. The belt slackened and I threw open the car door, tumbling out just as Bradley’s lips kissed the cool air where my lips had been precious seconds before.

  I felt an overwhelming sense of relief for a second — a wondrous second — before I landed with a tremendous splash in the ever-present puddle in our driveway that my father refers to as ‘Loch Ness’.

  The cold water must have shocked me because I sat there motionless as the brown water soaked through my clothes, watching Bradley react to the disappearance of his hoped-for make-out partner.

  He leapt out of his seat and raced around the front of the car. ‘Aurora! Are you alright?’

  I couldn’t speak for a moment. After all, it wasn’t every day I found myself taking a twilight bath in my frontyard.

  I pulled myself together as Bradley reached down to haul me out of the water. This beyond cringe-worthy situation had only come about because of his darn touchy-feelyness and I’d had just about enough of it for one evening. Pushing him out of the way (and leaving dirty handprints on his white shirt in the process), I wearily got to my feet, releasing the ten litres of puddle water that my used-to-be-white-before-this-epic-disaster dress had collected. The ringlets that I’d painstakingly created now lay flat and dripping down my back. I was close to tears.

  ‘Bradley, thank you for an interesting evening.’ I pushed past him.

  ‘Aurora, wait! Let me unlock your door, or find you a towel or something!’

  He followed me, right on my dripping heels. I summoned as much dignity as someone with gravel-encrusted knees possibly could and turned to face him. His misty blue eyes were showing complete confusion. Obviously this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill end to a date.

  I forced a smile onto my face. ‘Really, Bradley, I’m fine.’

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ he said, taking in my increasing resemblance to a swamp creature.

  My date was now repelled by my physical appearance. Could this night get any worse?

  ‘Uh, yeah, happens to me all the time.’

  Was that really the best I could muster up?

  ‘For real?’ Bradley was staring at his mud-splattered shirt. ‘I know Leos can be clumsy.’

  Oh no. Now he was back to his favourite topic: astrology. I’d already heard an in-depth analysis of my star sign and his star sign and various planetary influences all through our meal at La Bella Donna, an Italian restaurant in town. I’d barely been able to appreciate the tiramisu amongst Bradley’s insights about my moon sign and its apparent ability to make me an impatient and often selfish lover.

  ‘Look, I think the stars have indicated that we should end our date here,’ I said as convincingly as I could.

  ‘My horoscope did say there would be a strong presence of water today,’ he mused.

  You’d think that amongst all of his other insights into our future, he could have shared that one with me.

  ‘Don’t worry, Aurora.’ He grabbed my hands reassuringly. ‘For our next date, I’ll make sure that Venus is in a favourable position!’

  I pulled my hands away. ‘Great … next time. Call me, okay?’

  Bradley w
andered back to his car, looking dreamily up at the heavens. I breathed a sigh of relief and hobbled up our too-long driveway. My mother had insisted on its length to give our place ‘atmosphere’ (i.e. it made it look impressive).

  What a night. So much for my aim to exude an Audrey Hepburn-like elegance. And why hadn’t Cassie called me? I couldn’t believe she’d failed me.

  ‘Another successful date, hmm?’

  Hayden Paris, my neighbour, former childhood playmate and ever-reliable bane of my life, stood grinning on his side of the not-high-enough fence that separated our properties. His hazel eyes danced with amusement as he spun a basketball between his hands.

  Was Hayden to be witness to every embarrassment of my dating life? Just three weeks ago, he’d seen Daniel Benis get stabbed in the eye when I’d employed Option Two: Evasive Manoeuvre as he tried to kiss me on my doorstep — unfortunately forgetting that my drink had a second straw sticking out the other side.

  ‘At least it was you that got injured, not your date this time, so he can’t press charges.’

  Please. Daniel had been such a baby about it. He’d worn an eye patch for, like, six days afterwards. Bravery was now one of the crucial characteristics I was looking for in a date. At least Daniel had been so embarrassed about the cause of his temporary blindness that he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Funny, somehow I knew I could rely on Mr Zero Compassion to humiliate me even further.’

  ‘Come on, Princess,’ he drummed the basketball against the ground, wearing his constant smirk, ‘you have to admit it was funny. Bradley kissing the passenger seat while his date tumbles into the water? His ill-judged attempt at chivalry resulting in a mud-covered shirt and a girl scrambling away from him? Priceless! Best bit of all? His face when he realised that your white dress was see-through when wet —’

  ‘What?’ I screamed, looking down at my dress. The outline of my lacy white bra was plainly visible.

  Hayden tossed me his jacket to cover up. ‘Mr Bradley-yes-I’m-a-sensitive-Sagittarius may say he focuses purely on the spiritual things in life, but I’d swear on my unblemished academic record that his mind was very much on physical things at that moment. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘Enough!’ I yelled. ‘Listen here, Hayden Paris. This unnatural interest in my dating life? There’s a word for it — spying.’ I knew I must be turning red. I hated the way Hayden wound me up. It was like every time he opened his mouth, I completely lost it. ‘How would you like it if I made it my special interest to offer a running commentary on your dates?’

  Hayden raised an eyebrow. ‘I have a basketball hoop here, remember?’ As if to prove his point, he sent the ball straight through the net. ‘How can I help it if I’m out here sinking a few baskets and accidentally witness your dramatics, using tonight as an example, exactly five metres away?’

  ‘Accidentally? Who plays basketball at 10 pm? You can’t even see out here!’

  ‘Your logic’s a little off tonight, Princess.’ Hayden sank another basket. ‘One minute you’re accusing me of spying on you; the next, you’re claiming it’s too dark out here to be witness to anything, accidentally or on purpose.’ He grinned, his impossibly perfect teeth showing.

  ‘Well, all I know, Paris, is next time you have a date, I’ll be sitting out here on the excuse of catching some rays at 10 pm, okay?’

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t have much opportunity,’ Hayden said. ‘I’m not dating at the moment. You could say I’m hyperaware of the dangers involved, both emotional and physical.’ He mimicked Daniel clutching his eye in pain.

  I refused to respond to his mockery of my maimed date. ‘Well, the female populace is safe for now. Excuse me while I spread the good news.’ I gave him a little wave and turned and walked away with dignity. Well, as much dignity as I could manage with squelching shoes.

  I was almost at my front door when he called after me. ‘Hey, by the way, Aurora? Your mascara’s not waterproof. Just thought I’d let you know.’

  ‘Arrgghh!’

  I slammed the front door. I’d never get the last word with Hayden Paris.

  Once inside, I stopped and did the covert listening thing, praying the NAD (New Age Dad) wasn’t home. As of right now, only three people had witnessed my date-turned-nightmare and I wanted to keep it that way. Luckily there was no sign of him.

  My dad’s been going through a midlife crisis thing that involves (as he puts it) ‘a critical examination of my core values and the societal construction of my self-identity’. He told me this when I caught him destroying his interior-designed bedroom and office. He called it ‘freeing himself from baggage’, which seemed to involve tossing out a large number of personal belongings, including several Ralph Lauren jackets and some Tiffany & Co cufflinks. Thankfully I’ve been able to keep him away from the rest of the house. I mean, the minimalist look can be stylish, but the NAD’s taking it way too far. Since he stripped his office of all its furnishings, he’s been forced to do any after-hours work sitting cross-legged on a hemp cushion with his laptop perched awkwardly on his knees. Personally, I consider the laptop to be a complete contradiction to his new philosophy, but when I asked him about it, he muttered something along the lines of ‘the unavoidability of conformity in the modern world’ while his new CD played soothing whale sounds in the background. Conformity must be the reason he’s still wearing his Armani suits to work at the advertising agency, where he’s a creative director. I’m keeping my fingers crossed the changes are just a NADF (New Age Dad Fad) and everything will return to normal, including the décor.

  Seeing the NAD was out, I could dash straight to the bathroom. As I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror, I let out an involuntary shriek. Without Hayden’s jacket, my dress was undeniably see-through, my modesty barely conserved by the sporadic sprinkling of the small pebbles and blades of grass I’d picked up in the puddle. The look was topped off by massive black rings around my eyes. I looked like a waterlogged panda.

  When I stepped out of the shower, it was like I’d been on one of those makeover shows. Except it was the old me — sans mud and dishevelment — staring out from the mirror.

  I generally try not to think too much about my appearance — okay, that’s a bit of a lie. I am a teenage girl (sixteen and six months to be exact) so a fair amount of my time is spent on grooming and choosing outfits. But I like to focus on my inner self and improve what really matters — mind, heart and soul. What’s the point of a fifty-dollar haircut on a fifty-cent head, right? I want to know who Aurora Skye really is.

  That’s my full name, and it totally sounds like the NAD was responsible for it, but it was my mother who named me. She likes herself (her name is Avery) and anyone associated with her to stand out from the crowd. Despite the schoolyard teasing that inevitably comes with standing out from the crowd, I like my name. It means ‘dawn sky’, which sounds very poetical and inspiring. It’s also a great name for an author, which I plan to be. Lately, I’ve been thinking of penning a self-help book for teenage girls, since — as you can see from my sad example — our lives are fraught with peril, and the answers to our most important questions about love, life and meaning don’t get taught in school.

  As I made my way up our thickly carpeted stairs to my bedroom, my presence was met with two meows.

  ‘Hello, my precious pumpkins!’

  I picked up Snookums, my marmalade tomcat, and his purr motor started on cue. Bebe, my Birman, wrapped herself round my legs.

  ‘How are you guys doing? Has the day brought you entertainment?’

  I worry that my cats, due to being left alone all day, may feel deprived of mental stimulation. I recently saw this great ad for a DVD with over three continuous hours of fish and bird scenes to engage the feline mind. I think it would fast-track Snookums’s and Bebe’s synaptic development, but I haven’t worked up the nerve to ask the NAD for something new at a time when he seems to be parting with just about all unn
ecessary (in his opinion) material possessions. I don’t want to interfere if he’s at the crux of self-realisation. Therefore, I’ve taken it upon myself to offer the cats some intellectual stimulation: i.e. talking to them as if they’re people. Last night I read them excerpts from a book about Einstein. It’s the least I can do to repay them because they’re just about better than anyone at the unconditional love thing.

  Snookums (obviously not named by my mother) has been my pal since I was six. One morning I found this tiny bundle of orange fluff meowing his hardest at our front door. We were only supposed to keep him till he could be relocated (as my mum called it) but I wasn’t letting my furry friend go anywhere and begged until my mum agreed he could stay, ‘but only as an outside cat’. Snookums now sleeps in a satin-lined basket in my bedroom. Dad bought me Bebe when he and Mum split up. That was four years ago. One Sunday, Dad and I came home from bonding time at the mall and Mum wasn’t there. I figured she was at Yogilates or the beauty salon or something, but as we found out from our answering machine, she was actually in London. She said she needed to breathe.

  It sounds weird, but the first thing to come out of my mouth was, ‘Couldn’t she just have gone down to the park for some fresh air?’

  My dad got the strangest look on his face before he let out an odd, choke-like laugh.

  The answering machine message was followed by a series of postcards from various points across the globe, with hastily scribbled explanations such as I felt stifled or Being a wife or a mother never came naturally to me. None of those statements — totally at odds with the cheery scenes depicted on the postcards’ fronts (Greetings from Ibiza!) — made my dad or me feel any better or any less confused, but perhaps they helped Mum to heal. For ages after she left, I had this weird fear that one day I’d come home and my dad would be gone too.

  Anyway, a month after the Answering Machine Incident (as it became known), Dad came into my room holding Bebe, a purebred Seal Point Birman (a beautiful longhaired cat with chocolate tips and white paws). She was frightfully expensive — a fluffy guilt gift, I guess — but taking care of her resplendent-bordering-on-excessive hair and making sure she was happy (she’s a very fussy cat) was an effective distraction. I slowly stopped feeling so sad. After all, my mum had never been very maternal. Most of the time she’d been preoccupied with new home furnishings.