The Kissing Game

“My dog is certainly a symbol of that,” said Harmony.

I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Did she mean what I thought she meant?

“He farts,” said Harmony; and she made this loud trumpeting noise down the phone and laughed this shrill laugh. “My dad says he’s like a wind machine!”

I was a bit gobsmacked, actually. It’s quite embarrassing when a girl uses a word like that. It’s not what you expect. I mean, I know my sister uses words like that. She uses them all the time. But my sister’s a very crude person. Mum’s always telling her to wash her mouth out. I wouldn’t expect that sort of language from someone that’s a library assistant. Specially not Harmony Hynde.

“Where did you get my number from, anyway?” I said, sternly.

Harmony laughed her raucous laugh – she has this really loud, pealing sort of laugh – and told me that I wasn’t exactly hard to find.

“There’s only one d’Amato in the book!”

I hadn’t thought of that. I would have done, if she hadn’t gone and confused me. It’s just my brain wasn’t functioning properly. I found this distinctly annoying. So I grunted in a Neanderthal way and told her that as a matter of fact I was in the middle of my tea, and I think the message must have got through as she was off the phone pronto (as my dad would say).

When I went back to the kitchen Mum was all agog (or is it just gog? It is a very strange word) wanting to know who had rung me. Mum is full of insatiable curiosity. I said, “It was a library assistant explaining my metaphor.”

There was a silence. Mum blinked, Dad shot me a glance over his glasses. He’s probably never heard of metaphors. I don’t imagine you’d need them, for being a dentist. Then my sister gave this mad cackle and said, “So that’s what you get up to in the library! I might have known it was something disgusting!”

Are all girls like this? Rude and foul-mouthed? It is a sobering thought. It shows once again how little I know about them.

Anyway. That was yesterday. Today is Saturday and I went swimming in the morning with Bones. All night long – well, for quite a large part of it – I lay awake having this fantasy of Lucy being there, in a bikini, and of me having to dive in and rescue her from drowning. Instead of which, guess what? Harmony Hynde comes prancing up (in a one-piece bathing suit that makes her look scrawnier than ever. No cup size at all).

“Salvatore!” she goes. At least she doesn’t call me Sal. I suppose that is a point in her favour. But I do hope she is not going to start dogging my footsteps! I mean, what was she doing at the baths? She’s never been there before.

“Do you come here often?” she trills.

“Every Saturday,” says Bones, before I can stop him.

What a thicko!

“I’ve only just started,” gushes Harmony. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Fortunately she can’t swim very well so we were able to junk her. We left her messing about in the shallow end. Even then she grabbed us on the way out. She seemed to want to be friendly, but I swiftly discouraged it. I explained that me and Bones had things to do.

As we walked away Bones said, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like her?”

It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s that she doesn’t do anything for my hormones, and they have to be my priority if I am ever going to catch up with Dad.

It’s nine o’clock now and my sister has gone to a party. Well, she says it’s a rave but I don’t really see how you can rave on Coca-Cola, which is all she’s allowed to drink. She went off looking like a Christmas tree, all hung about with bits and pieces. She’s always going to parties. I can’t understand how she gets all these invitations. People surely can’t like her? She is quite reasonable-looking, I suppose, but Mum’s Match friend didn’t say anything about her being a charmer. Well, you hardly could, the way she carries on. She has this extremely vicious temper. She threatened to gouge my eyes out the other day all because she caught me eyeing her bra on the washing line. I was only trying to find out what cup size she was! About A minus, I should think. A at the most. But I didn’t get a chance to look properly.

It is a mystery to me how some people have a social life and others don’t. I don’t have any at all. I just sit in my room dreaming of Lucy. I think I shall resume work on my novel. I have decided what it is going to be about. It is about a cockroach – a low, unlovely form of life, shunned by all and sundry. This is how it is going to start:

I am a cockroach.

Mr Mounsey told us in English that it is very important to have a good snappy start to a book.

I think that is definitely snappy. I should think anyone would want to read a book that started like that.

I have thought of another figure of speech: it’s coming down in buckets.

E is for eyeful

When Lucy walks by.

“Get a load of that!”

The lads all cry.

I have become a sex fiend! My mind is like a sewer. I cannot stop thinking about boobs and bras and cup sizes.

I have got to kiss someone soon!

I have got to kiss Lucy …

I am practising, for when she lets me. I have discovered that if you make a fist and kiss the finger and thumb bit, it feels like lips. Well, sort of. I mean, you have to use your imagination. But I feel it is essential to get some experience before I do it with Lucy. Stuart Sprague says it is very easy to miss, especially if you close your eyes, which he says a lot of people automatically do.

Then instead of pressing lips to lips you find you’re pressing lips to eyebrows or lips to nose. So now, every night, I am making a fist and pretending it is Lucy. I am even doing the tongue bit! Though Stuart Sprague says that this is a very advanced form of kissing and should not be attempted on your first go.

“Best get to know ’em,” he says, “before you try that.”

I think probably Stuart knows what he is talking about. He has kissed more than twenty girls!!!

Bones wanted me to ask him what a bosom felt like, so I did, but he rolled his eyes and said, “Man, I can’t tell you! I don’t have the words. A bosom has to be experienced to be believed.”

I would like to experience a bosom. I think I am becoming obsessed.

Today on the way home I had this mad urge to climb up the statue of Queen Victoria in the High Street and touch her tits. This is scary!

Suppose I go mad and lose control of myself? I could be locked up!

On Tuesday, in PSHE, we did role playing. Mothers and fathers! Kelvin Clegg had to be sent out. I really hoped I’d get Lucy for a partner, but Carrie Pringle grabbed me instead. She got in just ahead of Harmony Hynde, who I could see was making for me.

My first thought was that if I couldn’t have Lucy I’d sooner have Carrie than be stuck with Harmony, who is acting rather too bold for my liking. But now I am not so sure. Carrie is almost as bad-tempered as my sister. I think she may be a man-hater. Bones said, “She’s scary, that one!”

Bones is right. She’s a terrible person! Mrs Petty gave all the boys a bean bag to hold. A bean bag with a nappy. She said, “This is your new-born baby. I want you to look after it.”

Kelvin Clegg immediately chucked his baby at the wall bars (we were doing it in the gym). That was when he was sent out. I think he was under the impression he was being funny, but lots of the girls sucked their breath in and old Carrie, she makes this angry hissing noise in my ear. Harmony says, “He could get life for that,” and Carrie goes, “Yeah! Dead right!”

Mrs Petty said that we would address the issue of male violence another day, and told us to get on with looking after our offspring.

Carrie started in on me straight away.

“You idiot! Don’t hold it like that! It’s a baby, not a bean bag … well, support its head, for goodness’ sake! A new-born baby can’t be expected to support itself, can it? Don’t you know anything? You’d better watch me making a bottle for it. Are you watching? There, I’ve made it. Now I’m going to give it to you to give to the baby. Well, go on! Give it to him! Now you can burp him. I said, burp him! Don’t you even know how to burp him? Honestly, you’re pathetic! Give him back and I’ll show you … there! He’s done it. Now I’m going to go shopping and leave you alone with him. This is a test, to see if you can manage.”

When she got back from shopping she claimed she could hear the baby crying. She said, “Are you deaf, or what? Poor little thing! It needs its nappy changed.”

I said, “How do you know?”

“Because I can smell it!” she snapped.

While I was changing the bean bag’s nappy, Mrs Petty came over. She nodded approvingly and said, “Well done, Salvatore!” But Carrie huffed and puffed and said, “Some father you’d make! Don’t know the first thing!”

Actually, I think I did quite well. Bones dropped his one, and Stuart Sprague put his one on the floor and then went and trod on it. I said, “Squashed baby!” Carrie didn’t even smile. She said, “Men!”

I’m really glad it’s Lucy that I fancy and not Carrie. Bones reckons she’s a Lesbian.

F is for flob

Meaning cob from the gob.

It’s also for fart

Called by Cockneys jam tart.

This is a rather childish sort of rhyme but I think I have to be allowed to express the carefree side of my nature now and again. My life has suddenly become deadly serious. My whole future is at stake. I’m not joking! If my love life is not sorted by the time I reach Z, I shall know for sure there is something wrong with me.

Today is Saturday. An important day in the letters of my alphabet. I went out with Lucy!!! Well, when I say out … it wasn’t a date, exactly. What happened was, I sort of bumped into her, accidentally by chance, in the shopping centre. Well, when I say chance … it wasn’t entirely chance. I have to be honest. I knew she was going to be there. I heard her talking to Sharleen Oates in the bus queue on Friday.

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