28 August 2006
When you're in high school, the boys in the year above always seem impossibly attractive, and in every year, there are one or two who are the most sought after - the prize that every girl wants to win.
My friend S was one of those boys, and was made all the more attractive by the fact that he wasn't aware of it. C, however, was different.
He was good-looking and knew it. Cocky but charming - a dangerous combination. More than one girl had her teenage wings burned by getting too close to the heat of his particular sun. In short, he was so entirely out of my league that I didn't even waste any energy fancying him.
Eventually, he settled down (as much as any teenagers do), with a steady girlfriend - who actually wasn't all that steady - she would teeter around the shopping centre in her 6" stilettos, hair almost as big as her torso, seconds away from disaster at any point, but for all they looked like an odd couple, they stayed together for a long time (in teenage years) and it was just accepted that they were an item and he was now off-limits.
In school I was never even close to being part of that crowd, but by an accident of circumstance, I found myself on the edges of it through a friend who went to a different school, and got an invite to a secret party which was being held in the kiddie adventure playground of a local country park.
So there I was, with my "boyfriend" of the time (2nd and last time I met him - we'd met the weekend before, walked round the shopping centre three times before he kissed me and somehow, that made him my boyfriend), my friend and her boyfriend, and another friend and the wider crowd of friends of friends which included C and his girlfriend.
We sneaked into the park under cover of darkness, bottles of whatever alcohol we could get our (mostly) underage hands on in cheap plastic bags, and a party was had. Being the entirely rubbish rebel that I was, I took one sip of the litre bottle of Electric White Cider that was my party fuel for the evening, decided I didn't like the taste and ditched it, choosing instead to pretend that I was drunk rather than show myself up as the uncool kid I really was.
Had I actually been drunk, this story may well have had an entirely different ending, or I might not have remembered it at all, but at some point, for reasons I can't remember, lots of people decided to go try and climb up a nearby steep bank and I stayed behind, preferring to sit on the edge of one of the obstacles, swinging my legs off the side.
It was a nice night, and I was enjoying the feeling of being a rebel (I'd lied to my mum about where I was, and coupled with the alcohol and the company, I was feeling particularly dangerous) listening to the shouts and shrieks coming from the bank when C appeared in front of me.
I was fairly sure that he had no idea who I was, or that I even went to the same school as he did, being from the year below him and certainly well below his social strata, so I was surprised when he spoke to me.
That surprise didn't go away, and in fact, increased exponentially when he put his hands on my legs, stepped forward and told me he thought I was gorgeous.
You know that sound of a needle being scraped across a record that gets used to indicate shock or surprise? That's what was going on in my head. That, and looking round for the candid camera team.
Here I was, 15 and deeply uncool, and one of the hottest boys in school was stroking my legs and telling me I was gorgeous. Surreal doesn't even come close to describing it.
Of course, being sober and being me, I couldn't accept this, and logically pointed out that he was drunk and didn't mean it, and more to the point, he had a girlfriend and I had a boyfriend and it just wasn't right.
Bless him, but he argued with me - determined to have his way.
... and so it was that when he decided verbal persuasion wasn't effective enough and perhaps a demonstration of his superior technique would be more effective and leaned forward and took my face in his hands and tried to kiss me, I didn't give in, and turned my face and pushed him away, leaving him slack-jawed with surprise.
Confused, he tried again, and again I dodged his advances, all the while wondering what on earth I was doing - I mean, how dare I - the deeply uncool - reject one of the most wanted - was I mad?
Perhaps, but it still makes me smile a little - knowing that not only would nobody believe that he'd even made the advance, but that even fewer people would believe I turned it down.
Are your comments working yet?
All I can say is that I wish I had your will power ;o)
Sounds like his attitude can be summed up by misquoting Pink Floyd
'All in all you're just another notch on the bedpost'
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