How to Convince a Boy to Kiss You Page 3

  ‘Sorry for the unsightly appearance.’ Hayden sounded embarrassed.

  ‘I’m the one who’s sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I feel terrible.’

  ‘I told you, it’s forgotten already,’ Hayden whispered back, squeezing my hand lightly. The expression in his eyes was soft. ‘What happened before the biting was pretty much worth what came afterwards.’

  ‘Only pretty much?’ I said in mock outrage.

  ‘Pain may have dimmed my memory slightly. The exact softness of your lips, for instance. You’ll have to remind me once I’ve healed up.’

  I blushed. Even with all that bruising he was still bowling me over.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Jeffrey’s shout shocked me out of my mild delirium. ‘She’s injured too!’

  He pointed at my hand, the one Hayden was holding. Or, more specifically, at the bandage on my wrist. The entire class craned their necks to look. I hurriedly pulled my hand from Hayden’s.

  ‘There’s more to this story!’ Travis waggled his eyebrows.

  Oh yes, there was, but I so didn’t want to relate the intricacies to my classmates. I forced myself to look down at Mr Bannerman’s photocopy, pretending to make a note next to one of the quotes. I’d just ignore the comments. Hopefully Jeffrey and Travis would leave me alone once they realised I wasn’t going to respond.

  Jeffrey let out an exaggerated gasp. ‘You punched him!’

  ‘What?!’ I yelped. ‘How can you even think that?’

  ‘Domestic violence — Australia says no!’ Travis yelled, punching the air with his fist.

  Jeffrey shook his head sadly. ‘Aurora, I thought you were a lady.’

  ‘People, please!’ Mr Bannerman waved his arms at the front of the classroom. ‘You may want to focus. Focus results in graduating from high school, and graduating from high school means a potential future. They don’t pay all that well at McDonald’s, you know.’

  No-one heeded his warning.

  ‘How did you come to that brilliant conclusion, man?’ Travis asked Jeffrey, staring at him in mock wonder. ‘I’m still trying to unravel it.’

  ‘Elementary, my dear Travis.’ Jeffrey pretended to smoke a pipe and put on a British accent. ‘Hayden is sporting a lip the size and colour of a small plum and Aurora has a bandaged wrist. She’s obviously taken a slug at him and injured her own hand.’

  ‘Jeffrey, seriously, you’re totally off base here. Why would Aurora hit me?’ Hayden was on the verge of cracking up with laughter.

  ‘It’s not even a question of why!’ I cried. ‘I wouldn’t slug anyone!’

  ‘He was making inappropriate advances, wasn’t he, Aurora?’ Jesse butted in.

  ‘I think it’s time you dropped this ill-mannered cad,’ Jeffrey said, continuing his Sherlock Holmes impersonation. ‘Let me take you out. I’ll advance on you only when you want me to.’ He waggled his eyebrows.

  ‘That wasn’t what happened, right?’ Scott asked, suddenly looking concerned as he studied Hayden’s lip again. He couldn’t seriously believe Jeffrey’s version of events, could he?

  Hayden let out a laugh. ‘No! Of course not!’

  ‘But you guys were at the hospital together?’ Scott said.

  ‘There are other ways of getting a split lip that involve two people,’ Hayden said. ‘Think about it.’

  I shot him a look. Yes, I wanted the rumour that I was an aspiring pugilist stamped out for good, but I hardly wanted the real story spelt out, even if Scott was Hayden’s best friend. Okay, I’d kind of told all of my best friends, but girls share in times of extreme distress.

  ‘I’ll never tell, don’t worry,’ Hayden said to me.

  ‘Oh my god!’ Jeffrey shrieked. ‘It wasn’t your left hook that dealt that blow, it was your lethal lips!’

  ‘There should be emotional leave available for students suffering severe humiliation,’ I said with a huge sigh as the girls and I headed into an accessories store. They had suggested after-school shopping in an attempt to cheer me up. ‘I can’t believe the entire school body is calling me Lethal Lips!’

  ‘Aurora, I really don’t think the term’s that widespread,’ Cassie reassured me.

  I gave her a look. ‘When we had to select teams for cricket, Sean Harper yelled, “Lethal Lips, you’re on our side! Get over here!”’

  ‘I did hear them yelling, “Run, Lethal Lips, run!” as you ran between the wickets,’ Lindsay admitted as she tried on a turquoise headband.

  ‘You see?’ I flung my arms out wide, almost upsetting a display of statement necklaces. ‘Why did Hayden have to publicly allude to last night’s events?’

  ‘I’m just amazed Jeffrey could be so insightful,’ Sara said.

  Cass nodded her head. ‘I know. He figured it out in seconds.’

  ‘Jeffrey’s got a radar for anything related to physical contact,’ Jelena said, pouting in one of the store’s mirrors and reapplying lip gloss. ‘I’m actually more amazed that Hayden was so silly.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the painkillers,’ Lindsay said. ‘Those things do make you a bit slow.’

  ‘Let’s just hope the nickname doesn’t cross school districts,’ Jelena said. ‘I really don’t want that association.’

  ‘Jelena!’ Cass gave her a look.

  ‘Don’t worry, Aurora, I’ll be the first to defend you,’ Jelena said. ‘Fervently if need be. I’d just prefer not to have to.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said wryly.

  Jelena shrugged. ‘Hey, I might tell it like it is at times, but I’ve got your back. Seriously, though, yes, the name’s being used, but you don’t have to acknowledge it. Rise above it like a queen.’

  ‘Jelena’s right, just hold your head high,’ Cassie said. ‘The Aurora I know always keeps her dignity in embarrassing circumstances. Remember that time you fell in a puddle after escaping Bradley Scott’s embrace? Or when you and Hayden were nearly crushed by the holy-water stand in front of the whole cast and crew of the play?’

  I cowered with embarrassment behind the rack of headbands as the sales assistant, hearing Cassie’s last remark, turned our way.

  ‘Exactly, you’re au fait with mortifying moments,’ Sara said. ‘Do you think these hoops are too big?’ She held up a pair of earrings the size of coffee saucers.

  ‘Too big? You look like you should name yourself Shawana or something,’ Jelena said. ‘Back away from the ghetto bling, girlfriend.’

  ‘I just feel like my personal life’s suddenly been made public,’ I said. ‘Not only does the whole school know Hayden and I have been kissing, but they also know I’m completely hopeless bordering on hazardous at it.’

  ‘Is it really so bad that people know you and Hayden are dating?’ Lindsay asked.

  ‘We’ve only had one date. I hadn’t even decided if I wanted to go public yet! I’ve been thrust into a high-profile relationship with no say in the matter.’

  Jelena raised an eyebrow. ‘Aurora, you’re hardly Kim Kardashian.’

  ‘Plus, it’s not like half the school hadn’t already labelled you a real-life Beatrice and Benedick,’ Sara said. She was referring to the roles that Hayden and I had played in our school’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. ‘The play hardly gave the impression you guys hated each other. Anyway, just for the record, if I was dating Hayden, I’d be parading it all over school.’

  ‘You are proud to be with him, right?’ Cassie asked.

  ‘Of course!’ I cried. ‘All I’m saying is that I wanted to ease into it. Get a bit more comfortable with us as a couple, then parade it around the school.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now,’ Sara said. ‘All you can do is carry on from here.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Jelena said, stepping up to the counter to buy a heavy-looking statement necklace in gold and emerald green. ‘So a large number of people think you’re accident-prone when it comes to mouth-to-mouth interactions — so what? You’re still dating the guy who came second in last year’s High School Hotties poll. Stop whingeing already.’

  She had
a point, I guessed. A week ago I was agonising over the possibility that I’d lost my chance with Hayden.

  ‘So what now?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, the great thing is that Hayden’s injured,’ Sara said triumphantly.

  We all stared at her.

  ‘And Hayden’s lip being hideously lacerated is good because …?’ I gestured for her to go on.

  ‘That baby’s going to take a while to heal,’ Sara said. ‘So think of it as extra time to get your technique up and running. Then, in a couple of weeks when Hayden’s lower lip’s hopefully back to its former state, you can make out with him and prove that kissing doesn’t have to end up in the emergency department.’

  ‘Study the ancient art of liplocking online,’ Jelena suggested. ‘Do you know how much advice there is on the net for unkissed losers?’

  I sighed. ‘Thanks, Jelena.’

  ‘How come you know that?’ Lindsay asked her.

  ‘Hey, I did my research years ago,’ Jelena said, matter-of-fact. She pointed to the engraving on her silver bracelet. ‘That’s part of the reason I am now Jefferson’s equivalent of Helen of Troy — “And where her glances fall, there cities burn”.’

  Sara shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe you wear that quote on your wrist.’

  ‘It’s by Euripides,’ Jelena said. ‘Maybe if you showed the same level of passion for history’s movers and shakers, you’d be doing better in ancient history tests.’

  ‘If I had the same level of ego —’

  I broke in before Sara could finish her obviously-not-so-nice retort. ‘So the internet is my answer?’

  ‘Expertise is but a Google search away,’ Jelena replied. ‘Call me if you have any questions. We want to take you from Lethal Lips to Legendary Lips.’

  CHAPTER 3

  The girls and I parted ways and I headed further uptown to meet my mother. She wanted to meet me in her favourite upmarket department store, as per usual. I nervously fussed with my new haircut as I got closer to our rendezvous point. I felt guilty admitting this, but I experienced a constant low level of uneasiness whenever I was with my mother. It was hard to forget that she’d traded in the NAD and me for the glitterati set in Ibiza. There was nothing like being a twelve-year-old on the border of puberty and watching your dad Google-map a location where he thought your mother might be after hearing her hurried voicemail from the international airport. Both the NAD and I had a rather negative relationship with electronic dance music for some time after her defection.

  After three months went by and we both realised that Mum wasn’t coming back from her impulsive vacation from her family, my normally unshakable dad broke down one night and threw our entire dance music collection off the back veranda. The next day he arrived home with his arms full of meditation CDs, heralding the arrival of New Age Dad (NAD). Unfortunately, many of our home furnishings also paid the price during the NAD’s transition phase, meaning that our home was now a shrine to stark minimalism.

  In the four years Mum was away, I kind of made peace with the fact that the beaches of the Mediterranean had claimed her forever. Mum was model-beautiful and I guessed that parent–teacher meetings and school recitals were no match for lounging by the pool with her boyfriend, Carlos, one of Ibiza’s most successful hotel and nightclub developers. She had her life, and I had mine. Besides, ninety per cent of fairytale heroines were motherless and most of them reached a happy ending. I was in good company.

  So when Mum and Carlos made the move to Australia three months ago, I honestly didn’t know how to feel, much as I was the type to work towards forgiveness. Four years was a long time to gain back, and when I was around her I seemed to go instinctually into protection mode. Even so, the past few weeks had delivered a fair few knocks to my armour. Having her miss my theatrical debut in Much Ado About Nothing hurt far more than I’d expected it to, but that had been totally eclipsed on the emotional distress scale when I found out she hadn’t even told Carlos that she had a daughter.

  I shook my head, pushing away my annoyance as I entered the store. Mum was trying — she’d come clean to Carlos about my existence just this week. So I supposed progress was being made.

  ‘Darling!’ Mum called from the Dior beauty counter. I gave her a wave as I headed over.

  She was wearing an ivory silk camisole and beautifully cut slimline pants. Her hair was immaculate. My mother was the type of blonde that Alfred Hitchcock loved to cast in his films — impossibly elegant and ice-queen cool. Meanwhile, I was the type of blonde who wound up with charred, Coke-scented locks. This was just one reason why navigating a mother–daughter relationship with her was difficult.

  ‘You’re looking well, darling.’ Mum put her arms around me and I was suddenly enveloped in the scent of her French perfume.

  I pulled away and tried not to look shocked. Mum was never a hugger, and was unfailingly tough when it came to her expectations of my appearance. I had been expecting a disappointed look at my out-of-date Pob.

  ‘Carlos and I want you to join us for dinner sometime soon,’ Mum said, picking up her Dior purchase and walking towards the store’s exit. ‘I can’t say he’s familiar with teenagers, but he’s willing to put in the effort. And I’m glad we’ve sorted out that nonsense from last week.’

  Great. I couldn’t wait to chat to Carlos about the ups and downs of the Ibiza party scene. Bring on the bonding! I tried not to feel insulted that my natural distress at being a nonentity to my mother’s partner of two years was considered ‘nonsense’.

  ‘Why are we leaving?’ I asked as we walked out of the store. Mum usually kept our catch-ups short, but this was pushing it.

  ‘There’s a boutique I want to take you to,’ she said, leading me across the road to a Victorian-style indoor arcade with lots of designer stores.

  ‘Okay.’ This was familiar territory. My mother’s way of showing her love generally revolved around ensuring that I was well dressed. She had prided herself on the fact that I was the only child in our neighbourhood whose baby clothes were imported from Europe.

  ‘I thought we could get you fitted,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’ I replied, slightly uneasy. This wasn’t another casting, was it? My mother was set on making me a model and had recently entered me into a Facebook modelling competition without my permission. I wouldn’t put it past her to sneakily surprise me with a designer ‘go see’.

  ‘Don’t make that face, darling.’ Mum pushed the button for the old-fashioned elevator. The door opened and she gave me a nudge inside. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, but I’m hoping you’ll be happy about it.’

  Not again. I opened my mouth to launch into my ‘I don’t want to be a model’ monologue, but when the elevator doors parted again I lost my words. We were on the bridal level.

  Mum swept out of the elevator. ‘I want to find the perfect gown for you.’

  Gown for me? I stared at the window displays. Crystal-beaded bodices and Swarovski hair pieces twinkled back at me. Why did I need a wedding gown?

  No — it couldn’t be.

  Mum was marrying me off to her idea of an eligible suitor — someone she and Carlos had met in one of their six-star hotels. Some international broker. Yes, I was only sixteen, but I could just see her spruiking the benefits of an eligible marriage made while I was in my prime.

  ‘We thought about announcing this together, but I felt it was better that I speak to you mother to daughter,’ she said.

  I turned to her, mouth still agape. This was just like in Titanic, when Rose’s mother insisted she had to marry the millionaire, Cal. I was going to have to come clean and tell Mum that I’d already found my Prince and wasn’t interested in one with a European lineage.

  I hadn’t told my mother about Hayden yet. Firstly, because the whole thing was so new, but also because she’d still think of him as our six-year-old next-door neighbour playing in the dirt with his Tonka trucks instead of the six-foot-three seventeen-year-old with the heart-stopping, hopefully-soon
-to-be-healed smile.

  ‘Obviously you might have some mixed feelings about what I’m about to tell you,’ she went on, ‘but I’m hoping you’ll view my decision as a positive for your life too. You’re almost seventeen now, and much more mature than when I first went away.’

  That didn’t mean I was ready for marriage!

  ‘Mum, listen —’

  ‘I’d like you to be happy for us, Aurora,’ Mum said firmly as she ushered me towards one of the boutiques.

  ‘Us?’ I stopped and stared at the elaborately pleated mermaid-style gown in the shop window. What was she talking about?

  ‘Carlos and me,’ Mum replied, sweeping me into the store.

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  I felt like I needed to sit down. Mum was getting married? The woman whose excuse for leaving her first marriage was that ‘being a wife and mother didn’t come naturally’ to her?

  ‘He proposed on Bellbird Island the weekend I missed your play. We’re getting married in six weeks. Bit of a whirlwind, but Carlos has got to be back in Ibiza for the European season.’

  Now I knew why she’d wanted to tell me alone. She didn’t want me making a scene — i.e. staring in horror at the man I had no relationship with who was going to be my stepfather in approximately forty-two days.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell your father too.’ Mum frowned as much as her Botoxed forehead would allow.

  ‘No,’ I managed to get out.

  I pictured the NAD’s face as he took my mother’s out-of-the-blue call. Obviously he’d moved on with his life in the past four years and no longer wanted Mum back, but the fact that she was re-entering what she had formerly referred to as a ‘prison’ (i.e. marriage) was totally going to throw him.

  Plus, he was still getting over his recent break-up with the fickle Ms DeForest, Jefferson High’s interpretive dance teacher, who had not only made my life miserable with her highly embarrassing classes and enthusiastic issuing of detentions, but who had also brutally dumped Dad last Sunday after a tarot-card reading. On Tuesday I’d caught him fighting back tears when we’d rewatched the first Twilight film together. My mother’s whirlwind nuptials were so not coming at a good time.