Read 40 Things I Want to Tell You Online
Authors: Alice Kuipers
Dad (said with a look of disgust):
Griffin’s not the father?
Cleo:
I don’t want to hear it.
Griffin:
Pete?
Pete:
Why didn’t you just tell me?
Mum (yelling at me down the landline):
You can’t tell your father something like that and not expect me to find out.
Kitty:
Slag.
Mr. Bennetts:
Perhaps you should think about taking some time off school.
Dad:
You’ve never even mentioned a Pete.
Griffin:
It hurts so much, Bird.
Mum:
You have to talk to me. I’m your mother.
Dad:
And to think I was so angry with Griffin—it took every
ounce of strength I had for me not to go over and kill him when I found out.
Kitty:
Whore.
Cleo:
I don’t want to talk to you.
Pete:
It’s really my baby?
Griffin:
Why
him?
Mum:
We can’t go on like this.
Dad:
I’m so … so disappointed.
Cleo:
Just leave it for a while, Bird.
Pete:
Don’t walk away from me when I have the right to …
Griffin:
I don’t ever want to see you again.
Kitty:
Slut.
Thurs 19 May
Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,
Hi. I just turned 15 and I’m worried about my friend. We’ve been best mates for ages but recently hes started hanging out with a different group of friends and ignoring and making fun of me when he does. They have a reputation for smoking a lot of dope and I think my mate has started … to fit in. I dont know if he is doing anything else but he seems all different. I dont really have any other friends and dont know what to do—perhaps I should try and b more like his new friends. He says such horrible things about me, I don’t know if we’re even friends anymore.
Ben
Dear Ben,
You and your friend seem to have gone in different directions
recently. You say you don’t really have any other friends, but perhaps if you turn your attention away from this friend, you might see there are other people who are more fun to hang out with. Are there things you enjoy doing outside of school where you can make new friends? You might feel shy but I bet there are loads of other people who would like to get to know you. As for your best mate … well, it sounds like he’s trying out stuff that is making him change.
Tips to Take Back Control
Talk to your friend about your concerns.
But don’t try to be like his new crowd of friends—trying drugs to please someone else makes no sense.
If talking to your friend doesn’t change anything, and it might not, let him be for a while.
Try to meet new people and find your own path by doing things that interest you.
From one teen to another …
Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life
THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS OF MAY WERE THE WORST WEEKS OF MY
life. I hadn’t realized just how much Cleo had been there for me through all this. She was the only real friend I had left and now I’d screwed things up with her. I felt like crying all the time, but instead I kept my eyes down and got on with things in my classes.
My days were strange and quiet, my evenings quieter. No one called me or chatted with me online. I remembered a time when I was friends, or at least friendly, with everyone in my year. No one
spoke to me anymore. It was like I was the woman in that book we’d had to do for English in September,
The Scarlet Letter.
What was her name? Hester? The one who wore the red letter
A
around her neck so people knew what she’d done and could judge her. My baby belly was my own scarlet letter.
When I woke up one gloomy morning at the end of May, Dad was standing at the door telling me it was time to go to school. Most of the time he hardly spoke to me, so I was surprised to see him. I half sat up, pulling the cover around me.
“Dad?”
He was quiet and frayed around the edges, like a worn piece of fabric ready to be thrown out. He told me one more time to get out of bed and then paused as if he had more to say. I thought about how we were so far from where we had been as a family six months ago. There was me, moving like I was swimming, pregnant, self-absorbed, hating school, hardly the daughter of his dreams. And then there was the absence of Mum: there was almost a Mum-shaped hole next to him where she should have been. She’d made him louder and larger than life. Without her he was like an unplugged TV. He pressed his lips together.
I asked, “Are you going to work on your solar-brick business today?”
“I sold the business.”
“When? Why?”
“I’ve been kidding myself for years. No wonder your mother left me.”
“That’s not true, Dad.” As I spoke, I felt as if a tiny pebble had dislodged from my throat and was tumbling down.
“It was too much for me. I need to have smaller dreams.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “You need to get up,” he said.
“What are you doing instead?” I asked.
“Bird, you’re late.” He left.
I hauled myself out of bed and stared at my blank corkboard. I knew with a sickening certainty that I really
was
going to give up the baby. It was the right decision. It was the only way to get my life back in my control. The only way. I wanted to go to Oxford University, right? I wanted to take photographs of ancient spires and cobbled streets, or people boating down the river. I wanted to sit in seminars and listen to professors talking about intellectual things.
The plan had been to go to Oxford
with Griffin.
That was when the two of us had been in love. Then the realization punched me in the gut: Griffin and I had
never
been in love. We just went from being friends and neighbours to dating … but along the way I forgot to fall in love with him. I wanted to call Griffin and chat like we used to. More than that, I wanted to go and see Pete. He’d tried to talk to me when he found out about the baby, but I’d shut him out. Perhaps that was a mistake—perhaps he would understand; perhaps he would be someone who could listen to me through all this. I rested my hand on my swollen baby bump. The baby kicked. I fingered my phone. I was about to dial Pete’s number when I stopped myself.
Instead, I switched on my computer and stared at the empty screen. I wanted to write a letter to the baby, a letter that explained why I was giving him away, a letter that gave him some hint of who I was and of how I wanted him to live.
Not a single word came to mind.
Mon 6 June
Dear MissTC,
I usd to hang with a group of 3 girls and we were best friends but they made all these plans for the summer to go on holiday with one of their families and my parents wont let me go so now things are weird and we dont hang out together … well … we do but they’re always talking about the summer and Im left out.
How can I make new friends … Im shy with new people but my old friendshps are sooooo over.
Lonely, 14
I missed Cleo so badly, tears stung my eyes. I wiped them away. I could try to help Lonely at least. She didn’t need to know I was the loneliest girl in the world right now.
Dear Lonely,
Huh, when I read your question, I got the feeling your friendship
with these three girls isn’t so obviously over. It seems to me that if you’re all still hanging out like normal
maybe
the feeling of being left out is coming from you. It totally sucks that you can’t go on this holiday with them, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hear about it and share in some of the buildup.
Tips to Take Back Control
Find something your parents will let you do this summer—go to the pool or do an activity that sounds fun so you have something of your own to look forward to.
Try to meet some new people—when you feel shy, be interested and ask questions (people love talking about themselves). Be open and be yourself. And remember, the new person might be just as shy as you.
From one teen to another …
Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life
BY EARLY JUNE, OUR SCHOOL HAD SHIFTED INTO EXAM MODE. BECAUSE
we were in the sixth form, we didn’t have to keep normal hours, and it seemed the teachers were pretty pleased I wasn’t regularly in school anymore. They’d been trying to persuade me to stay home for a while. Study leave, they called it. It made my life even lonelier than before.
One afternoon I was walking home from my Spanish Literature exam. I headed down the hill and was turning onto my tree-lined road, listening to the birds tweet and various dogs bark. It was completely empty of people. I wished I had my camera to photograph it. The line of the empty street leading
off into the distance looked like a road map to a certain future.
I reminded myself that once I gave the baby away, everything would go back to normal.
I pushed open the front door of my house and stepped into the cool corridor. It felt even emptier than the street. I went through to the kitchen. It was dim in there because of the shade provided by the bushy trees out back. I ran my hands over the recipe books stacked haphazardly on the small bookshelf, and then I pulled out an old, tattered book. It was one my granny had left in the house—one I remembered her using.
I decided not to study for once. Forget the exams, I felt like cooking.
⅔ cup sugar
4 eggs
2 (3 oz.) packages cream cheese, room temperature
1 (14 oz.) can sweetened condensed milk
1¾ cups milk
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Boil a kettleful of water. Heat sugar in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until melted, clear and light brown.
The kitchen was quiet apart from the gentle hissing of the sugar. I turned on the oven and filled the kettle to let it boil.
I put on the radio, but I didn’t like the song, so I turned it off again. The quiet came back louder.
Stir occasionally so that sugar will melt evenly.
I stirred the sugar until it was brown and clear. I remembered Mum used to make this dessert. Dad and I would hover around her, trying to dip our fingers in the hot saucepan. She’d beat us off with the wooden spoon, telling us we’d burn our fingers. I was amazed that hard white granules of sugar could turn into such seductive golden liquid. It was so easy for everything to change.
Spoon syrup over bottom and around sides of a 1½ quart glass baking dish. Set aside to cool.
The evening turned the sky pinker, and a gorgeous summery light fell into the garden. Last year on a night like this, Cleo and I would have been out somewhere, perhaps having coffee together, sitting at an outside table of a café, or perhaps we’d have been getting ready to go to a party. Or Griffin and I would have been lying around, looking at the sky, comfortable together. Friends.
Combine eggs and cream cheese in a blender; blend until smooth.
The sound of the blender shattered my thoughts. I watched the eggs and cream cheese mixing together.
Add remaining ingredients; blend just until combined. Pour into prepared baking dish.
I wondered what it would have been like to have a brother or sister. I imagined how Mum must have felt losing those babies. I laced my fingers, resting my hands on my belly.
Place in a larger pan; add boiling water to come halfway up outer sides of dish.
I’d taken everything for granted. My friends, my family, my life.
Bake 1 hour, until knife inserted in flan comes out clean. Flan may still quiver in centre.
The whoosh of the baby’s gymnastics made me lean against the counter. I switched on the oven light and watched the flan bake. It was funny how time didn’t seem to matter anymore. I knew I should be studying or dealing with my website, but I just wanted to stand with my hand on my big bump and do nothing. Very Zen, or whatever. Just letting life go on around me without trying to make it perfect. It felt good.
Remove from water; cool on rack. Cover and refrigerate. To serve, invert onto a platter.
When the flan was done, I flipped it onto a plate and watched the syrup drip down the sides.
Makes 8 servings.
Dad came in. He said, “That looks delicious.”
“I felt like cooking. My exam didn’t go well.”
“How did we get to this?” he said suddenly.
Tears glossed my vision. “Would you like some?”
He opened the cutlery drawer. “After you,” he said, giving me a spoon.
The flan was creamy and sweet. He watched me eat, cleared his throat and said, “I thought I might clean out the spare room. Set it up as an office for you to use once you’ve, you know, given the baby away. When you need to study. Get you ready for Oxford. Give you your own space. I don’t know.”
“That would be great. I mean, thank you.” I rested my hip against the warm oven. “I wish I wasn’t, um, putting you through all this.” I added, “You know I’m sorry, right?”
He studied his thumb, picking at a hangnail. “What’s happening with the baby’s father?”
“Nothing. We’re not really talking.”
“And the, um, social worker. Your adoption lady? Don’t I need to be involved somehow? I’m your father.”
“I don’t have to sign anything until six weeks after the baby’s born. I haven’t— They want me to think about some details, lots of stuff … have another meeting, a family meeting maybe … go to counselling, but I’ve just been sort of waiting. I dunno …” I moved my weight from foot to foot.
He frowned a little, his expression unreadable.
I said, “Do you want me to help you turn the spare room into an office?” I passed him the flan.
He took it. “We’ll get through this,” he said.
“I’ve been so stupid. I got so many things wrong with you and Mum. With Cleo. With Griffin. Mainly with Pete.”
“I don’t understand how you got mixed up … involved with this other boy.”
“I’m not sure. I was following the
plan
with Griffin … and I just …”
“I know my dreams and crazy ideas might have made you want to be the opposite, but you’re too young for a plan.”
I wanted to tell him that I loved his dreams and crazy plans, but he was still talking.
“Your mother’s more restrained. Controlled. Now. But she was a free spirit when we met, full of crazy hopes herself. I think I took all the air. And then we lost the babies. Things went downhill from there. Grief can be relentless, but it wasn’t grief alone that destroyed us. It just exposed how unhappy your mother really had become …”
He dropped his gaze and scuffed the floor with his heel. His feet were bare. I remembered being little and looking up to my giant of a dad. Everything seemed so easy then, like he had all the answers.
“I am really sorry, Dad. This”—I gestured at my tummy—”hasn’t helped any.”
“It’s not what I hoped for you.”
“I know you want me to go to Oxford University. Conquer the world.”
He rested his hand on my forearm. It was the first time he’d touched me in months. “I don’t care if you go to Oxford, silly girl. I just want you to be happy.”
“I will be happy there,” I said.
“Being happy doesn’t mean everything is perfect
,
”
he said.
“Sure it does.”
“It’s a quotation I read on the Internet, so it must be true.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Hmm, I should probably clean up there. I have no idea how your mother managed to keep this house running so smoothly. So”—he squeezed my arm—”the rest of the quotation goes something like,
Being happy means you’ve decided to accept the imperfections and get on with it anyway.
Oh, I can’t remember it exactly and I can’t remember who said it. Anon, I think. Clever guy,” he joked. “I do have one more quotation—”
“Since when do you like other people’s quotations?”
“Since you took them down off your corkboard. I missed them. Here it is:
Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Abraham Lincoln said that. I like it.” He passed the flan back to me and I took a big, wobbly mouthful and licked the spoon clean.
“It’s good, huh?” Dad said.
I nodded.
He patted me on the shoulder. “I’m job-hunting for the rest of the day. Maybe later you can help me with my application.”
I reached up to kiss him on the cheek, and he smelled of his spicy aftershave. He put his arms around me, and just like that we were hugging.
He pulled away first and said, “Okay, Birdy, I’ve got things to do.”
“Dad, you know what you said, what Abraham Lincoln said, about making up your mind to be happy? You’re right.” I pulled out my phone.
As he wandered out he said, “Of course I’m right. I’m your father.”
I flicked through to Pete’s number and, before I could stop myself, keyed it in.
He picked up on the first ring. “Amy?” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
He was quiet, waiting.
“Pete, I need to see you.”
“I’ve been wanting you to say that for months,” he said.
My heart jumped. It wasn’t too late. I felt like I was flying.
He said, “I can meet you at the park in, like, fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen. Okay.”
I ARRIVED IN THE PARK AND PERCHED ON THE BENCH OVERLOOKING
the small lake. The water reflected the blue sky, and it was so still the trees opposite were perfectly mirrored. Pete came sauntering across within a couple of minutes. He wore a black T-shirt and he had a tan, making his sandy hair look blonder. It suited him.
He lifted one hand to wave. I felt a blush through my cheeks on seeing him. He smiled and said, “How you doing?”
I patted the space next to me. He sat and I instantly felt the heat of his presence.
“How did the exam go for you today?” I said.
“Hard. I was kidding myself this would be a new start. I’m just not that sort of guy.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was supposed to be, you know, a new school, new family, everything. Anyway, what did you want? I thought we weren’t speaking,” he said, turning to me. His eyes were open and honest.
I realized how little I knew about him. I realized how much I’d based on rumours and reputation. What an idiot I was. I could smell the cigarette he’d just smoked and I longed to kiss him.
I said, “I wanted to see you. We need to talk. First, I wanted to say that I should have told you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I screwed up so badly, Pete.”
He stared off at the lake.
“I wanted to be in love with Griffin.”
“Yeah.” He spoke to the water in front of us. “I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him. You know, with respect.”
My insides twisted up. “I should have told you about the baby. I never—” My voice cracked. “I never slept with Griffin. Only you.”
He studied me seriously. “What do you want me to do?”
This close, I could make out that small, silvery scar above his lip. I said, “Nothing.”
“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he said. “I can, you know, be responsible. I know I didn’t exactly show you that … I got things wrong with you, Amy.”
“I was so angry with you. Why did you tell everyone I was pregnant? When I got back from Spain, everyone knew. You told
everyone.
”
“It wasn’t like that. I was upset. I talked to Kitty when you told me at first. I was angry and it came out. I told her not to tell anyone.”
“It was on
Facebook.
I’ve been so … so
mad
at you.”
“You never trusted me. Or us. I’m not that bad, you know.”
I stammered, “I just figured Griffin was the perfect guy.”
He leaned closer. “Not for you,” he said.
A breeze came between us, light and summery. “I know.”
He put his hand on mine. “What can I do to help? You know, with the baby?”
“I’m—” I choked up. “I’m giving him away.”
His jaw tightened. “Do I get a say?”
“What do you want?”
He pulled his hand from mine and leaned his head back to look up at the blue sky. It framed his face. “I don’t know. I’m too young for all this, I know that, but I should be helping you decide this stuff.”
“I’ve already spoken to the adoption worker. She’ll want to speak to you too.”
“Sure. Okay. If that’s what you want.”
“I feel so out of control, Pete. I hate all this.”
He half stood and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “I got you something for Christmas.” He presented me with a
small, flat box. “A while ago now. You never wanted it before, you know.”
I tore off the paper. Inside lay a silver chain with a teardrop-shaped silver pendant.
His lips curled up in his lazy smile. He said, “It reminded me of you.”
“God, Pete, I …”
He sat back on the bench and I leaned forward. I was going to kiss him—it felt right and I was going to follow my heart. I was just about to place my lips on his when he held up a hand so his finger rested on my mouth.
“Amy,” he said softly.
“What? What’s wrong?” I murmured into his warm finger.
“It’s too late. I’m back with Kitty Moss. She’s, you know, not so bad … well, apart from the Facebook thing. I’m not the guy I used to be. I’m not going to mess her around.”
I pulled back, stung. “She’s so mean to me. God, anyone else would be better.”
“Yeah. She doesn’t like you very much,” he said, looking down at the ground. “I feel bad about that. If I’d ever thought you’d come around, I wouldn’t have started it with her. I wouldn’t. But you made it so clear I wasn’t good enough for you. She never made me feel like that.”
“What’s this, then?” I gestured at the necklace angrily.
“I’m still the baby’s dad. I—”
I said, “No, I’m being stupid. Of course you don’t want to be with me. Look at me. I get it.”
He raised his voice. “No, you
don’t
get it. You never did get it. You always thought you knew what was going on in
my head. You always assumed you knew who I was. But you never did.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “You’re right. I just wish I hadn’t waited so long.”
He slumped back. “Yeah,” he said, “me too.”
I said, “Can we at least be friends?”
He considered my offer. “You could do with a friend,” he said. “Seems like no one’s talking to you.”
I laughed. It was the first time I’d laughed in ages. “Yeah, well, I’m not Miss Perfect anymore.”
He said, “I like you better this way.”
“I thought you liked me before.” I raised an eyebrow.
He smiled.
I tugged my camera from my bag. “I want to take a photo of you.”
“Sure.”
“You look great against the sky.” I angled myself and snapped a photo. Outlined by the blue he looked even more handsome than usual. “It might not be easy for me to be friends with you,” I said from behind the camera.
“Why’s that?”
“I mixed up being friends and being a couple when I was with Griffin. I never had the right sort of feelings for him. Now
it’s the other way round. Being friends with you when I have, you know, feelings …”
“Yeah. Happens to girls around me,” he joked. “They can’t control themselves.”