How to Keep a Boy from Kissing You Read online

  ‘Thanks to the invention of the microscope we can now observe these organisms.’

  Ah, yes. One of my favourite pastimes is observing bacteria of all kinds. Not.

  ‘Microscopes have played a huge part in demystifying many scientific questions over the past century …’

  That’s what I’ve got against biology: the demystification element. I enjoy the world as it is. I don’t feel the need to rip off the natural world’s layers. For me, it’s like having a magician tell you how he creates his illusions. I have much more respect for people like Wordsworth, who just appreciated nature’s beauty instead of feeling the need to shove the daffodils under a microscope. Plus, some of the evolutionary theories are really depressing. I don’t want to have to consider that I may be descended from a sea squirt (another of Mr Blacklock’s pet subjects). I’m having a hard enough time defining who I am without that notion flying around in my brain.

  After biology, I bumped into Jelena in the hall.

  ‘Hey, Aurora, where are you headed?’

  ‘Bathroom.’

  ‘I’ll come too.’

  Guys always wonder why girls go to the bathroom in groups. The truth is, all the interesting stuff happens there. It’s where you discuss what’s going on outside the bathroom, help others out by lending them some blush or listening to their horror stories, and prepare yourself to go back into battle. You never know what you might find out in a bathroom.

  Today was no exception. As we walked in, we found Lindsay clutching the sink desperately and sobbing her eyes out.

  ‘Tylererabrokubbbmeeee!’ she wailed.

  We rushed forward, grabbed her by the arms and sat her down on the bench by the wall. Her sobs grew heavier and she collapsed like a rag doll.

  ‘What happened?’ Jelena gasped.

  Lindsay’s normally bronzed face was pale and her dark eyes had a hollow look to them.

  ‘Did your heel break or something?’ Jelena asked.

  I frowned at her. Did she really think a broken heel was worthy of semi-hysteria?

  ‘No-one died, did they?’ I asked, frightened.

  Lindsay just cried harder.

  ‘Lindsay, please tell us what’s wrong so we can help you,’ Jelena begged.

  ‘T-t-t-t-t,’ Lindsay stuttered, taking choking breaths.

  ‘Breathe, Lindsay. Try to think of each word before you say it.’ I stroked her hair reassuringly.

  ‘Tyler.’ Breath. ‘Broke.’ Breath and sob. ‘Up.’ Choke. ‘With meeeeee!’

  ‘What?’

  This was unbelievable. Tyler and Lindsay had been going out for three years.

  ‘When?’ Jelena cried.

  ‘This mor-ning. At br-eak,’ Lindsay said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Jelena ran to get toilet paper.

  ‘Why?’ Jelena and I both asked, hardly able to wait for a reply.

  Lindsay’s eyes widened with pain. ‘He said he needed some freedom so he could spread his wings and fly like an eagle.’

  ‘What?’ I said again. This wasn’t a typical break-up line.

  ‘He won’t be doing any flying once I get my hands on him.’ Jelena was squeezing the toilet paper roll so tightly that it was nearly flat.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve spent all day in here by yourself, Lindsay?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up.’

  Damn Mr Blacklock. He has this rule that if he hears a mobile, he takes permanent possession of it. I always make sure to leave mine in my locker, just in case one day I might not shut it off properly.

  ‘I couldn’t leave!’ Lindsay put her head in her hands. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to cope on my own! I’m hopeless!’

  ‘Linds, you are not hopeless!’ But I could tell that she wasn’t listening. She was in shock.

  I was in shock myself. To see something as strong and solid as TylerandLindsay crumble sent my faith reeling. If they couldn’t make it, who could?

  I snapped out of my quickly darkening thoughts. It was time to take action.

  ‘Jelena, take Lindsay to the school nurse and demand that she be allowed to go home,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a free period this afternoon, so both of you jump in a taxi and head to my place. Here’s my key.’ I handed it over. ‘There’s no-one home at the moment. Run Lindsay a bath, okay?’

  Jelena nodded.

  ‘I’m going to organise a Get-Over-Him Party. I have a mother–daughter meeting this afternoon, but I’ll pick up supplies afterwards. I’ll aim to be home at six, but I’ll get everyone else round earlier to assist with moral support.’

  Jelena and I lifted Lindsay to her feet.

  ‘I can’t face everybody,’ Lindsay wailed, but Jelena had her out the door and halfway down the hall before she could protest any further.

  Still reeling from the news, I headed towards my locker. On the way, I happened to glance up at the noticeboard. In amongst the notices about lost calculators and dress-code regulations was one that grabbed me straight away.

  Sigh no more, ladies (and gentlemen!). Sigh no more, for the auditions for Shakespeare’s most lively comedy, Much Ado About Nothing, are to be held on Tuesday 4 February! Aspiring actors, costume designers and backstage crew are all invited to be a part of this year’s biggest and best production!

  The notice went on to give the exact time and place of the auditions and backstage sign-on. My eyes skimmed over it excitedly. Here was something to take Lindsay’s mind off her break-up. Our whole group could get involved!

  Excited by the prospect of our new group project, I was full of energy when I arrived in the city centre to meet my mother at 3.30 pm. As I reached the David Jones perfume department (our usual meeting spot), I saw her approaching from a distance.

  Everyone always tells me how much I resemble my mother, but if you look beyond a few short glances, you’ll see we’re actually very different. We both have fair hair, but my mother’s is the type of blonde that you see on really young children: pure spun gold. Her eyes are emerald and her features are finer than mine. Today she wore a Carla Zampatti cream suit that fitted her in an impossibly perfect way. Everyone took notice as she walked past.

  I have to admit that my mum, like those scarily popular girls in teen movies, intimidates me. Even when I was three, I think she somehow expected me to talk to her like an adult. Thirteen years and an extended period of absence later, I was still on my best behaviour.

  ‘Hello, Aurora,’ she said, giving me an air kiss so as not to mess up her lipstick. ‘How was school today?’

  We started walking towards the women’s fashion area.

  ‘We’ve got an assignment to write our own poem!’ I said. ‘Isn’t that cool?’

  My mother didn’t answer. She was trying on a pale lavender hat.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Wonderful, darling,’ she said, examining her reflection from all angles.

  When my mum first came back from overseas, I didn’t want to see her. Then I read a book about the fundamental importance of the mother–daughter relationship; apparently it can permanently affect a woman’s sense of self. I’m now making an effort to be friends with my mother, but sometimes I feel like all the things that we can’t talk about have formed a big, gaping hole between us. A crevasse that I’m always trying to skirt around or leap over with my eyes shut.

  But I’m not one to give up. I’m going to fill in that hole.

  I decided to talk about things that interested my mother. I ran through the list in my head: Carlos, the new Spanish boyfriend (we were not going to discuss that); designer brands; home furnishings; relationships. I decided to go with the last one.

  ‘Mum, guess who broke up?’

  Her eyes flickered with interest. We had a sign of life.

  ‘Tyler and Lindsay.’

  Yes! I’d managed it as three separate words.

  ‘Lindsay …’ Mum mused. ‘Is she the pretty blonde who likes to wear denim?’

  ‘
No. That’s Cassie. My lifelong best friend?’

  I couldn’t help being a bit sarcastic. Cassie and I had practically grown up at each other’s houses. She must have registered on my mum’s radar once or twice in eleven years.

  ‘Darling, you can’t expect me to remember every tiny detail of your life.’ Mum raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘So who broke up?’

  I decided not to make a scene in a heavily populated department store. ‘Lindsay and her boyfriend. Lindsay’s mum is chairwoman of the Museum of Contemporary Arts board. You’ve met her.’

  ‘The exotic-looking girl? Well, she’s gorgeous. She’ll have no trouble finding a new boyfriend.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early to have her jumping into a rebound relationship?’ I asked as we stopped at women’s shoes.

  I didn’t really want to hear her answer. My mum seems to believe that a woman’s life is incomplete without a man. The independent woman in me always gets furious at the idea. I looked at a pair of nude heels distractedly. My mother was examining a pair of Terry Bivianos.

  ‘Aurora, try those on,’ she insisted. ‘Last time I saw you, you were wearing sneakers with a mini. A nice pair of heels is a much more sophisticated look.’

  I kept talking as I tried on the shoes. ‘I think Lindsay needs to find herself again. Oh, and guess what, Mum?’ I added excitedly. ‘They’re holding auditions for Much Ado About Nothing at school.’

  ‘Now, that is great news.’ Mum took both pairs of shoes up to the counter. ‘Who’s the female lead in that play?’

  Mum wants me to be in show business. I’ve told her that writing is part of the arts, but she never really listens. The cashier took her credit card and rang up the purchases.

  ‘Beatrice —’ I started to answer.

  ‘Beatrice.’ My mother took her credit card and the purchases and headed towards women’s clothing. ‘She’s that argumentative character, isn’t she?’ She frowned. ‘Why don’t you go for the part of Hero? I’m sure she’d get a gorgeous costume.’

  ‘I don’t want to act. I want to help out backstage.’

  ‘Why on earth would you want to do that? Someone like you should be out front and centre.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘Promise me you’ll audition, Aurora. Then I can come and watch my daughter onstage.’

  The idea of my mum taking an interest in any non-fashion-related aspect of my life was intoxicating. I could try out for a small part and still help out backstage, couldn’t I?

  ‘Sure, Mum,’ I found myself replying.

  My mother beamed at me. ‘Wonderful!’

  She grabbed my hands and danced me past women’s underwear. There’s something exhilarating about my mother when she’s happy. Suddenly she stopped dancing and looked at her watch.

  ‘Oh no. Aurora, I’ve got to go. Carlos and I are hosting a dinner party tonight.’

  She became Avery again: elegant and unattached.

  ‘Next Wednesday, yes?’ She didn’t wait for my answer as she breezed out of the store.

  I’ve never been to my mother’s new house. She holds a dinner party just about every second Friday. Sometimes I hold my breath hoping she’ll extend an invitation to me. She never has.

  I felt a twinge of sadness before I realised that it was almost time to meet the girls for our Get-Over-Him Party. Tonight was about Lindsay’s pain, not mine. I grabbed Get-Over-Him supplies — nail polish, face masks, a funny DVD (no romances), a blank diary.

  As I walked into the supermarket in search of cookie dough, I almost ran straight into Hayden Paris’s mother, Jennifer.

  She gave me a big hug. ‘Hey, hon. We’re just shopping for a weekend away.’ She gestured towards Mr Paris, who had a bottle of champagne in his arms.

  I always love seeing Mr and Mrs Paris together. They’ve been married for nearly twenty years and still hold hands any chance they can.

  ‘Keep an eye on the house for us, won’t you?’ she asked. ‘Hayden’s staying with friends for the weekend.’

  No Hayden Paris for two days? Things were looking up!

  CHAPTER 5

  The Get-Over-Him Party

  By 7 pm the Get-Over-Him Party was in full swing. Upbeat music was pumping on the lounge stereo system and Lindsay, Jelena, Cassie, Sara and I were stretched out on the floor, giving ourselves pedicures. Lindsay was applying Lamborghini Red to her toes and looking more together.

  ‘Hey,’ Jelena looked up from her long, elegant feet, ‘I’ve got a joke. How do you stop a man biting his nails?’

  ‘Buy him some of that polish that tastes awful?’ Cassie suggested. You can’t take the problem-solver out of her.

  Sara shrugged. ‘Why does it matter? I mean, it’s not as if men’s hands are under observation all the time like female hands are. The pressure on women to conform to society’s expectations of beauty is —’

  Jelena cut in before Sara could get on a roll. ‘Make him wear shoes!’

  ‘Ew!’ we screeched collectively.

  Every Get-Over-Him Party begins with making fun of the male sex. If you can put a smile on the dumpee’s face, then you’re helping her take her first shaky step towards recovery.

  ‘Okay, I’ve got one!’ I stroked Baby Pink onto my pinkie toe. ‘Have you ever noticed that all women’s problems start with men?’

  ‘Have I ever,’ Sara muttered. Sara’s both a lover and a hater of the male species.

  ‘MEN-tal illness! MEN-opause! MEN-strual pain!’ I recited.

  ‘Not to mention all the other words men have loaded their names onto. Talk about ego problems!’ Sara admired her perfect polish job. ‘I mean, HIS-tory? What about HER-story? And MAN-kind? Give me a break. I think it’s time, ladies,’ she raised her nail-polish bottle to the sky, ‘to start using more appropriate terms. Such as MEN-ace. And MEN-ial.’

  ‘MEN-agerie!’ Lindsay said, getting into the spirit. ‘A collection of wild animals!’

  ‘Just you wait, Lindsay!’ Sara cried. ‘Tyler will soon be MEN-dicant!’

  We all looked at her blankly.

  ‘It means begging.’

  We let out a collective cheer.

  I don’t want you to think we’re a bunch of man-haters. This was just part of the Get-Over-Him Party spirit, which could border on rambunctious at times.

  I heard a noise outside and got up to go to the front door. The balls of toilet paper separating my freshly painted toes slowed me down a bit, so I was able to catch more antimale quips on the way.

  ‘Men are like —’

  ‘Mascara!’ Cassie cut in. ‘They usually run at the first sign of emotion!’

  ‘Lava lamps,’ Sara said. ‘Fun to look at but not all that bright.’

  That one received a massive cheer.

  I opened the door, half-expecting to find a representative of the male sex up in arms over our remarks. What I hadn’t expected to see was the NAD struggling under the weight of a massive Buddha statue. I ran forward to help him.

  ‘Honey! Look what I’ve found! A Buddha!’ he announced proudly, as if there was a possibility of my not spotting it. ‘It’s just the thing to make my office a Sacred Space.’

  As we headed up the stairs, the Buddha slipped slightly from my grip and almost head-butted the wall.

  ‘Careful, honey!’ The NAD grimaced. ‘This guy wasn’t cheap.’

  Question: is the amount you spend on your Buddha an indication of your spiritual dedication? As the Buddhist faith is centred on anti-materialism, then it shouldn’t matter if you buy a cheap Buddha. But is it okay to go to a discount store for something you use in devotional practice? The idea of a cut-price, low-cost Buddha is rather unnerving.

  We made it safely into Dad’s office, where Snookums was slinking around the desk. He took one look at the Buddha and pounced.

  ‘Down, Snookums, down!’

  The NAD and I lifted the enormous weight higher to avoid his claws. Sometimes I think Snookums has a desire to be a dog, much as that’s highly trait
orous to his kind. He loves to leap up on visitors, and even likes to go for walks on a leash. I think everyone in this house is suffering from a bit of an identity crisis.

  Luckily Snookums was distracted by loud yells from downstairs.

  ‘Entertaining, honey?’ the NAD said as we placed the Buddha on top of a tall cabinet, out of Snookums’s reach.

  ‘The girls are over. We’re offering moral support to Lindsay, who’s just been cruelly dumped.’

  ‘TylerandLindsay broke up?’ Dad looked shocked.

  I loved him for that. He knows my life inside out.

  ‘Yeah. Major carnage. It’s going to take some time.’

  The NAD gave me a hug. ‘Well, if there’s one person who can make her feel better, it’s you. I’m heading off to my yoga class. Let the girls know they’re welcome to stay as long as they like. Just don’t take any male-related anger out on the house, okay?’

  That would be easy to manage, considering the lack of furniture.

  As the NAD and I headed downstairs, more screams erupted from the kitchen.

  The NAD laughed. ‘You’d better go see what that’s about, honey.’

  As I dashed into the kitchen, a blob of cookie dough hit me on the forehead. ‘Hey!’ I complained.

  ‘Sorry, Aurora. We decided that a cookie man looked like Tyler and had to be destroyed,’ Jelena said sheepishly.

  ‘Take that!’ yelled Lindsay, stomping on the remains of cookie Tyler.

  ‘I think Dad would appreciate it if you didn’t grind dough into the floor,’ I joked.

  ‘Oh.’ Lindsay’s face crumpled.

  ‘Linds, I’m not serious. Feel free to pound Tyler further into the tiles.’ I gave a hearty stamp to the dough myself.

  ‘How can I?’ Tears appeared in her chocolate-coloured eyes. ‘He was the best thing that ever happened to me!’

  ‘He was not the best thing to happen to you!’ Sara said, putting her arm around Lindsay. ‘It just seems that way at the moment. You’ll see.’

  Lindsay just cried some more.

  ‘Okay,’ Cassie said softly. ‘What was so great about Tyler? Let’s make a list.’

  Appropriate mourning of your ex is a vital part of a Get-Over-Him Party. Cass got a pad of paper and a pen from the kitchen drawer and sat Lindsay down at the black marble bench.