The Budding Roses

Surfs up

Sunday 7th May

I'm lying on the sofa, sore and battered. Mother is tending to my immediate needs by bringing me tea and toast, but still she isn't speaking to me, oh except to screech,

'What were you thinking? You could have died! How could you do this to me?' Doesn't she think I realise this? The least she could do to ease my pounding head is to stop going on about it, and in such a shrill tone too.

At least Daddy offers sense and sympathy,

'We've all done silly things when we were young. I'm sure that you've learnt your lesson?'

Is he demented? Of course I've bloody well learned my lesson. In fact I'm reconsidering my application to the convent right now. Send me to the nuns!

Tuesday 11th May

Well the most unlikely of scenarios has just occurred, but can you believe that a boy from my English class has asked me out on a date, and the most shocking part is that I said yes?

That's right I, Simone Rose, have agreed to spend a civilised evening with a boy; an actual boy! Without being sick or crying about it or anything. I just said yes and got over it. Maybe my recent flirtation with death actually killed off the neurotic part of my brain, and now I'm able to respond in the manner of a normal human being, when faced with a proposition from a good looking boy? That's right; good looking!

I've never really noticed him before, what with being so busy getting lost up my own bum crack, so when he called my name and asked if he could talk to me during break, of course I just looked about the Common Room, uncertain that it was me he wanted. But it was true; he did indeed wish to speak with me.

'I've been meaning to ask you for a while now.' You have, really? Where have I been all my life, to have failed to noticed that an actual bona fide hunk, a tanned skinned romantic surfer, has been sitting just two rows away from me, for nine hours a week?

'Phwoar, he was nice, who was he, and what was he doing talking to you?'

'That was Zayn. He asked me to go out with him on Friday night.'

'Zayn! What sort of a name is that? Well, I guess you can't have everything in life, because he is incredibly sexy. He definitely doesn't look like a Zayn. So what did you tell him? I thought we were going out with Matt and Matty on Friday night?' Oh snap, I'd forgotten about them, again. How can I be so repeatedly rotten?

'Well I'm sure you wouldn't want to deny me the chance to snog someone as gorgeous as Zayn, now would you? Plus you always have so much to talk about with Matt and Matty; you don't want me getting in the way.'

Friday 14th May

I met Zayn outside McDonald's at 7pm, the ceaseless fine rain not helping to contain my already nervous composure or freshly ironed curls. But the fact that he greeted me with a grin reassured me that I must have at least maintained my outward appearance to a higher degree than the inward swirling of my stomach suggested.

Despite his strikingly gorgeous face and frame, of course I was feeling predictably regretful about having agreed to meet him so readily. I mean Zayn is clearly a very cool individual, and I felt more than a slither of intimidation in his presence, but the problem is I just can't help but wonder how long it's been since he last had a wash.

It's not like he was displaying any visible signs of dirt, it's just that there always seems to be this whiff about him, a subtle musty smell, sweet almost. I just can't figure it out, but it's definitely got the smell of smoke mixed in with it, just not quite the same as that omitting from the cigarette he was clutching.

'Do you like pool?' He asked.

'I guess,' I lied. Of course I bloody well don't like pool. Do I look like the sort of person who excels in hand-eye co-ordination based activities? What is it with boys insisting on engaging in physical pursuits all the time, why can't they just be satisfied with sitting down and having a nice conversation for once?

'I'm rubbish, I'm really sorry.' I had potted the white ball again.

'Look, it's your angles; you're not lining them up right.' Zayn aligned himself behind me, his arms wrapping firmly about my own. His right hand found the far end of the cue, whilst his left settled on top of mine. I choked at the thought of what he was about to do. He was aiming the cue of course, what did I think he was doing, about smother me across the mouth and drag me head first in to the bathroom?

Steadily he drew back both of our rights arms, and with a gentle tap of the cue knocked the white ball which glided slowly across the furry green table. There was no way it was going to reach its target; he'd not put enough steam behind it. Of course, what do I know about pool, because whaddya know, the white ball struck against the red ball, which in turn rolled gently in to the gaping pocket, as easy as that.

'Thanks,' my voice was trembling; still shocked by the unexpected proximity I had shared with this strange and mesmerising boy. 'Shit!' I ducked down, crouching hidden from view, behind the table.

'What's the matter?' Zayn quite rightly looked concerned.

'Don't worry; I'm not tripping or anything.' He probably thought I was having some sort of psychedelic episode, and was hallucinating that a big furry tiger was in the room. 'I mean I don't even do drugs, except maybe paracetamol when I've got a headache, which I guess is quite a lot.' Stop talking now! 'It's just that I saw some people that I really don't want to speak to.'

'What those two boys?' He pointed, 'the one with the dark curly hair, and the stiff?' What an accurate description, but seriously, how is it possible that Harry and Liam were frequenting the same bar as us? Don't they having anything better to do on a Friday night than hang out in a grotty bar playing pool?

'If you know them then why are you hiding instead of going over to say hello?' Not only was he gorgeous, but he was apparently emotionally functional too. Still, there was no way I was about to go talk to them, and how had they found me? Had they followed me, or do they just have an innate radar system which propels them in my direction?

'Simone, what are you doing here?' Great, so they can even find me hiding on the floor behind a pool table.

'Me? Well, that's a good question. I'm, you know...'

'No, we don't know.' Isn't it obvious; I'm looking for some precious object that I've lost amongst the fluff of this carpet.

'I'm here with Zayn,' I smiled, 'don't you know him?'

'No, we don't.' Had their voices merged together in a unison of disapproval?

'Well you should, because he's in our year. We're in the same English class.'

'Oh,' Harry's voice trailed, 'are you on a date?'

'Me, on a date? What a ridiculous suggestion.'

'Well what is it then?'

'Well I guess you could call it a date, if you're going to insist upon putting a label on it, but you know me and how I just detest all this unnecessary labelling of things; I'm a free spirit.'

'Oh,' Liam's voice also fell upon a flat note, 'well we better leave you to it then.'