Fic: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur - Chapter 9 (Part1/2)

[interpol_ice]

Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: T (naughty naught-T! not exactly T)
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]


CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)

CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without

CHAPTER 3 - Try Me On To See If I Fit

CHAPTER 4 - Lover Undercover

CHAPTER 5 - Pretty ODDyssey (X, Y & Z Units Away From Home)

CHAPTER 6 - Pretty ODDyssey (Here, You Can Be Anything)

CHAPTER 7 - Strange Bedfellows

CHAPTER 8 - StrangeR Bedfellows



Author's Notes: Okay, so let me get this off my tits (my chest) I’M
SUCH A LIAR. I never update on time and I want to beat myself silly for it
and I’m sorry! I was hospitalised over a month ago and I had to miss some
school. In turn, I had to make up for a lot of coursework when I came back
and I had to put this story on hold to pass the term. But now this chap’s
here so you guys don’t have to worry anymore. Teehee!

I’m already thanking you in advance for all the time it’s going to take to
read. Hopefully, it’s sticky enough to keep you glued, bbs ;)

EXPECT: The WATER PARK: At light and after dark. Hot fun in the sun
and be a loon under the moon! Say hello to the other James! (And a taste of
another brother you all miss.) TOWELS! Towels? Yeah, towels. Deal with it.
And then... More boys! Boys! BOYS! Testosterone is COOKing up trouble. The
gang sharing the secrets and the sweetness. The sorrows and scores. It’s
almost coming to an end, kids, but wait ‘til you witness this twist!

WARNING: The LONGEST CHAPTER YET! A MANDEH-JUST-HAD-A-GROWTH-SPURT-
SIZED CHAP! Can you handle the heat?! I’m serious, it’s pretty facking long
(15,000 WORDS!). You could do with some snacks and a personal masseuse
accompanying you on your read. Just, be ready for pee breaks and stuff.
ENJOY! ;)

Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 9: The Boys Are Back In Town

= = = *** = = =

*

= = = ** NAOMI ** = = =

*

A week after our visit to Aunt Elizabeth’s, Effy gets this outlandish idea
of taking all us girls to the water park just out of town. It was a tough
week at college with the teachers (Keiran included, apparently, ‘you are
fucking my mum’ isn’t a reason for me to be exempted from any of it) giving
us coursework and modules that I swear could last you a fucking lifetime.

We’re all freaking out at this point. Final exams are looming right round
the corner and everyone’s busy fucking off in hopes of getting decent
grades, trading in booze for books. In other words, believe it or not, me
and my gang of merry twats are busy revising.

Last Tuesday, Freddie (who I think was on something at the time)
accidentally rammed his skateboard into a row of parked bicycles (mine
included) because he was too engrossed in the task of reading his
flashcards. While Emily went off to check if Freddie was okay, I took it
upon myself to gather in all his flash cards that fell on the pavement like
life-sized confetti.

Picking them up, I took a look at the notes he made. Freddie listed some
sample questions down on the front. Stuff we’ve gone through in Politics, I
realised. But the interesting thing was that he had written lines of
continuous “I love her’s” on the margins and I wondered why I never went
through that drawing-arrows-through-hearts-and-initials phase.

‘Oh, Freddie,’ I thought. ‘That’s really fucking gay.’

Freddie chipped my reflector, though. I still have to talk to him about
that. I’m no handyman, so he’s got to fix that for me later. Hell, you don’t
fuck my ride and expect to be let off that easy.

The day after, I spotted Cook in the library with JJ.

Talk about a sur-fucking-prise.

I was passing by the study area when I caught Cook’s eye. Upon seeing me, he
sat straighter, broke into a ridiculous grin, pointed at JJ with his thumb,
mouthed a ‘boring’ and then proceeded to feign sleep all while JJ was busy
babbling about Maths. JJ’s pencil was making a trail of numbers and signs
that I’m positive were giving Cook a total mindfuck.

And much to our chagrin, (because the rest of us, save for Effy, were taking
Spanish) Pandora started using French 24/7. It was great with Thomas, who
answered her back fluently in under a second every single time. But with us,
who were like, French-incompetent, it was just fucking sad. The worst was
when Panda, talking about God knows what, asked Katie what her opinion on
the matter was.

Then Katie, sticking to the topic of ‘God knows what’ said:

“Excuse me, baboon. Please pass the blender, yeah?” (In really bad, mangled
French that wasn’t even really French)

Then Panda said:

“I said ‘monkey’, not ‘baboon’. You weren’t listening at all, silly.” (In
standard English)

I’d rather not tell you about what Katie did after the eye-rolling and the
locker-slamming and the bad-ass-mother-fucker-strutting. Because other than
that, nothing that exciting that had to be censored happened on Thursday.

Just yesterday, we spotted Katie and Effy on the college green, both holding
copies of A Clockwork Orange. Katie was discussing something heatedly (with
an animated lisp that I could almost hear from where me and Emily were) and
Effy looking on, nonplussed.

My friends and I are making an effort. Comes to show just how fucking
important our future is to us. Oh, we all give a fuck. We all want to move
under a new roof. We all want to get a decent job that pays the bills and
keeps us from the title of ‘useless bum’.

We’re all so fucking pressured right now because this is obviously a big
deal. Big in a way that aside from college or coursework, most of us didn’t
have the time of day to meet up and exchange the regular pleasantry.

And Effy, well, of course she would notice this rift in our little group’s
dynamic.

And you know her, when she thinks that it’s time to kick back and chillax,
it’s time to kick back and chillax.

After all, Effy’s right most of the time. Scratch that. All of the time.

Thus, this trip to the water park.

We all need the break. Fuck it.

= = = = = = = =

I live closest. Precisely why Effy’s picking me up first. Just me and her,
silent and tightlipped on fags as she rides her station wagon up the street.
We don’t need to talk because Effy’s like that. She gives you time to be
with your own thoughts.

Either that or she’s too busy lost in her own.

The windows are rolled down and Effy’s generous with her cigarettes. The
smoke and our hair, victims of the wind and I’m here just enjoying my
precious time sitting at shotgun. Once we pick the twins up, Katie’s going
to claim her throne.

= = = = = = = =

It’s getting old. Being with the quiet of my own thoughts. Because if
they’re not about Emily, they eventually lead to her anyway and it’s just
so, so fucking silly that even my subconscious has no sense of control
whatsoever when it comes to my girlfriend.

When Effy’s phone, placed rather precariously on the dash, starts buzzing,
it’s as if Effy and I have rediscovered the very useful ability of speech.

“You going to read that?” I ask her.

“No, you are. We practise responsible driving where I come from,” Effy says,
dead serious.

On contrary, on the very first day of college, I heard the story of Effy’s
dad ramming their car into one of the bollards surrounding the college
green. But of course, being a good mate, I’m sensitive enough to not mention
this to her.

I get the hint and reach for her mobile, fiddling around with the keypad for
a bit so it’d unlock and whoa... Is that Katie’s name in Effy’s inbox?

:: Ur comng olrdy?! Ds isnt wat we agreEd on lst nyt! I jst woke up! D:< ::

I read it aloud to Effy, unable to stop the urge to imitate Katie’s voice
while I’m at it. It surprises me that I make it through the whole message
with a straight face. But it isn’t long until the both of us are sniggering
like proper twats.

“You didn’t sound anything like her,” Effy says to me, trying to keep the
steering wheel steady.

“I know, I know! And thank God for that!”

Because it’d be impossible for anyone to ever take me seriously if I talked
the way Katie Fitch did. The girl’s fucking outrageous.

I have another go at it, saying, “Honey, you know that your closet and the
laundry basket are two completely different things, right?”

And Effy and I... we just lose it. Just fucking mental right about now.

“Fucking stop,” Effy says, struggling to get the words out in between
sniggers. “If you keep on doing that I’m fucking blaming you if I run over a
squirrel so you better fucking behave, Naomi.”

“Alright. Alright. Behaved. Right,” I promise.

Eventually catching my breath, I ask Effy, “You and Katie finally checked
out that new club up north?”

“No,” Effy says plainly. “Why?”

“Well, you and Katie and a Friday night... I mean, what else would you two
be doing?”

Effy is hesitant, is probably wondering if she should enlighten me or not.

“Actually, we were at my house. Revising.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Katie fucking Fitch and Effy fucking Stonem?

Okay. So they were together last night. Fucking. Oh shit, I mean, revising.
Revising at the Stonem’s. Right.

Why is that so hard to fathom?

Effy speaks up. “She wanted to brush up some things on History with Emily
but your girlfriend said she was going to be studying ‘Anatomy’ with you.”

“We don’t take Anatomy...” I start, but then Effy cuts in, bursting with a
stream of indelicate questions that makes me think that Cook did something
to her cerebral system.

“So how are Emsy’s tits? Nice, supple, grope-able? And that arse? ’Cause
Emily’s got an unbelievable bottom, you know? How does it feel when you
touch her there, you know, down under? Oh, fuck! She must taste really-”

“Effy!” I exclaim, jumping right out of my fucking seat.

“Fuck me if you two weren’t giving each other an in-depth Anatomy lesson
last night,” she says knowingly.

Great! Just great. Fuck double entendre.

“Okay, okay,” I admit guiltily. “We were studying Anatomy.”

Effy’s profile reveals the visible half of an annoyingly smug smile.
“Thought so.”

And I slide down my seat, feeling well ashamed, not knowing what to do with
myself or Effy’s mobile (which is still in my hand) anymore. I’m pretty sure
I want to chuck something out the window, though.

But I decide against that too.

“Ummm, so, should I text her back?”

It takes Effy a while to answer. “No need to. She’s up already. That’s all
we need to know. And we’re running late,” she says, honking impatiently at
the ‘historic vehicle’ dragging on in front of us.

“We are?” I ask, a bit confused because in my understanding, we’re twenty
minutes early.

Then Effy shocks me by making a sharp turn into the car park of a 24/7
convenience store. She pulls into a free parking space and kills the engine.
There’s the crank of the hand brake as Effy wrenches it up and she turns to
me with an impish grin.

“Yes, Naomi. We’re late. It’s a Saturday and the lines here can get pretty
long.”

= = = = = = = =

We’re out of the store, carrying deceptively heavy paper bags. We bought
popcorn, chips, sweets, lollies, soda, beer, cigarettes... the works. And I
don’t know what came over me but I got a jar of jelly beans for Emily.

Effy thinks it’s funny and ‘too much’.

I think she can go shove it up her arse.

Back in the car, Effy turns the radio on. Little Richard’s “Lucille”
thunders out the speakers. It’s loud and Effy keeps it that way. Like it’s
making up for all the noise Effy wasn’t making in this world.

Amidst the energetic drum beat and the racy singing-slash-moaning, I
couldn’t help but notice something being a bit off. That’s when I see that
Effy’s mobile lit up again. What I thought was a very out of tune saxophone
is actually her ringing tone.

“Frogs?” I say, unable to hide my judgment.

“Yes, frogs. Don’t judge.”

Sorry, Eff. Already did.

The croaking goes on and on. Like I’m in a blues gig set in a tropical
rainforest pond out there somewhere. Just ribbit ribbit and Lucille! taking
turns offending my sense of hearing.

Yeah, I’m well annoyed all right. You can fucking bet on it.

“You gonna answer that?” I catch myself asking again. It all feels a little
too déjà vu and I’m half expecting-half dreading to hear her answer the same
words she said to me earlier.

Not one to disappoint, Effy does exactly that.

“No, you are,” she says to me once more. She reaches for the volume knob on
the dash and turns it counter clockwise and Little Richard fucks off to take
a powder. This is Effy’s silent but effective way of saying, “Look, I’ve
made it quiet enough for you to answer the fucking mobile so answer it
already.”

Talking to Katie is the last thing I want to be doing right now, but it
seems that Effy’s playing this ‘responsible driver’ card down to a T. And
since she’s being extra careful with our safety and shit, I feel semi-
obligated to comply. I answer it and take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing...

“Hello?”

“Naomi?”

“Emily?”

“Hey,” she says brightly.

“Hey,” I manage, like Emily left just enough air in me to say it back at
her.

“Wait, this is Effy’s number, right?”

“Yes, Ems. You didn’t ring mine by accident again,” I say teasingly.

I hear Emily laugh at the other end and I high five myself in my head
because I can still get her to do that. “Well, fuck you for always being on
my mind,” she says, all cute and accusatory.

“Fuck you too, for always being on mine.”

Yeah, very original, Campbell. Where’s your dashing wit when you need it?

There’s a silence at the other end and I’d like to believe that I made Emily
a little lightheaded despite my lack of originality.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure I rang Effy’s number,” she says eventually.

“You did, babe. And congrats on that and everything but Effy can’t talk
right now. She and her steering wheel are in a committed relationship.”

“Oh, right... great. Well, could you please tell Effy that Katie says she’s
being a twat for not texting back? And Katie says she’s taking the front
seat.”

“But I’m sitting in front,” I answer back, stupid-ridden.

Emily tut-tuts. “I guess I’ll just have to sit next to Katie then, for the
entire ride.”

“NO!”

“That bothers you, eh?”

“Yes.”

“What’s rule number two to being a couple again?”

“Thou shalt always be within the utmost proximity to extremely lovely
girlfriend under any given circumstance,” I recite obediently.

I can see her from where she is. She’s in their room, sitting Indian style
on her bed. She’s just had a shower so her hair’s still wet. I can see her.
And I just know she’s smiling as she says, “You always have the best made-up
rules, babe.”

“Who says I made them up? You should know these rules came from fucking
Sinai. Moses almost shitted himself because he had to carry down another
tablet. Those things weigh a fuckload.”

Emily is laughing her head off by this point. “Awww, Naoms, babe, stop being
so fuckable.”

SCORE! And Campbell is back in the zone!

“Fine, fine. I’ll cease the awesome. Wouldn’t want Katie to cut you for
fucking up her phone bill. So... recap: Effy’s a twat? Katie gets front
seat?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Wait, I forgot something!” I add in a hurry.

“What?”

“And you love me so, so much, yeah?”

She pauses, and then...

“Yeah,” she says, laughing softly. “But you love me more. See you, twat.”

Emily hangs up and I feel strangely content and then, two seconds later,
needing to fucking see her already.

I turn to Effy. I’m about to open my mouth but it seems that she’s way, way
ahead of me.

“I’m a twat, Katie sits shotgun, you and Emily are still the gayest fucks on
the planet. Why, thank you so much for telling me things I already know,
Naomi.”

She says all that to me very sweetly... like a cherub. And without ever
taking her eyes off the road.

Effy Stonem is one talented (and annoyingly precise) motherfucker.

And suddenly, feeling all vengeful, I come up with the brilliant idea of
bugging her about her newly acquired relationship status with Katie. I mean,
I honestly want to get to the bottom of whatever it is between them.

I’m scrolling down Effy’s inbox and ‘Katie’ is a prevalent name. So’s
‘Panda’. Freddie’s name is spread every ten messages like maraschino
cherries found few and far between in Effy’s fruit salad of an inbox.

Katie’s, though... If Katie’s name was in that fruit salad, hers would be a
plentiful fruit. A pineapple or something.

“So what’s with you two? You act like a married couple.”

The uncalled for question makes Effy shift gears sooner than she should’ve,
making the car lurch forward awkwardly before it gets used to the higher
speed.

Like the car, Effy regains her cool, squares her shoulders and says, “Oh no,
you and Emily have got that married couple thing down already.”

“What? That right?”

She doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, totally.”

“Oh...” I trail, feeling embarrassed, and then...

“Eff?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stop trying to change the subject.”

But Effy just smiles her sneaky smile and Effy, cunning as a fox, suggests
that I open the fags we just bought.

And it’s so obvious that this is another one of her ploys to try and kill
the conversation. But I figure, fuck it. If she wants me to shut up for a
while, I’ll shut up. Free fags get me cooperating.

I’m easy like that.

= = = = = = = =

“So... You and Katie, huh?”

I don’t know about you, but I can be a relentless, narking piece of shite if
I want to. Whatever, Effy’s left me with no choice.

“Yeah, me and Katie. There a problem?” Puffs of smoke are coming out of her
nose semi-angrily and she strongly resembles a very stoned and provoked
dragon.

“That’s just it,” I break in. “There should be one, but to me it looks like
it’s not there anymore.”

“Well, she is a little hot-cold-hot-cold, mood-swinging cow sometimes. But
lately she’s all right.”

Effy takes her eyes off the road. She looks at me with these twinkly, happy
Effy Eyes and time stops for a second because Effy being this twinkly-happy-
looking is just ‘not-fucking-happening’.

Like... whoa.

“We’re sorted... And it’s nice,” she says. Slowly. Carefully. Like those
words are precious.

Twinkly. Happily.

One line from Effy is as informative as a thousand from JJ. So “we’re sorted
and it’s nice,” is good enough for me, mates.

Good enough.

= = = = = = = =

We’ve reached the Fitch residence already and it’s not long until Effy
notices that she was the only one who got out of the car.

Her head pops back inside through the driver’s window. Like those toy birds
that come out of cuckoo clocks when it’s time for you to get off your arse
and fucking do something.

“What’s wrong?” she says, bored.

I take a drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke at Effy’s face in an effort
to distract her (or blow her away, if reality permits it).

I even flash her an all’s-well-and-dandy smile for good measure.

Effy’s unmoved by my tricks. “You’re still in the car,” she tells me like
I’m not highly aware of it (which I am).

“Yeah. So?”

Effy’s eyes pan across the car’s interior, probably looking for things that
will give me away. Like, she suspects to find that I might have accidentally
super-glued my bum to her car seat or something insane like that. Then her
gaze settles on my seatbelt. I’m still wearing it. Effy shakes her head in
teasing disapproval and she points at my seatbelt and tells me, “Now, that’s
just weak.”

Okay, fine. I’m getting out.

I unfasten my seatbelt, open the door and get out of the car so escape-
artist-fast that Houdini would’ve been so proud.

Effy figures it clever to reward me with a mocking golf clap to which I
reward back with a scowl and a “do you like jazz?” flip off fest (pretending
to play a trumpet whilst emphatically sticking out my middle fingers at her
to an imaginary tune in my head).

Effy only laughs in return and I wonder why I even fucking bother with my
comebacks.

She saunters over to me in that infuriatingly smooth way of hers and she
slings an arm around my shoulders. “Care to tell Effy what it is that’s
getting you?” she says, giving me a quick squeeze before tilting her head to
the side in an expectant manner.

I draw in a deep breath because this is Effy and she’s probably had hypnosis
as a hobby since she was five and try as I might, I can never not answer her
questions.

“It’s just that... Every time I’m here I think their Mum’s going to come out
and give me a piece of her mind... that or castrate me.”

“Cutting off the balls she wishes you had?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh,” she just says. And she walks on anyway, unaffected by my confession.
It isn’t long until she turns around to find me on the same spot from five
seconds ago. “What the fuck? You just gonna stand there?”

YES, I want to say. YES, I stopped myself from saying. But Effy reads my
expression and that YES is as good as fucking said.

Effy rolls her eyes. “It’s going to be fine. Or did you get Emily pregnant
while I was away? Because then we’d have a problem.”

“Would you stop with the fucking hypothetical cock jokes?!”

“Naomi, they’re well funny. Stop being such a jokefucker, yeah?”

“But I’m not even that butch! I’d like, really appreciate it if you lot
would stop giving me a penis,” I argue heatedly. Because everyone was doing
it. Thomas, Cook, Katie... I mean, it’s not fair that Emily never gets to go
through this. Why don’t they give her a hypothetical penis?

I imagine Emily with a cock...

Then I immediately take back everything I just said.

And Effy has none of it, continuing on her quest to ridicule me. “But the
Dog Lord of Azerbaijan sees a sex change in your future!”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Look, we’re here already. You’re still alive. No fire-breathing monster Mum
has bitten off your head yet, has it?”

“No,” I admit weakly.

“Well, then... doorbell”, Effy says, and then she motions to me in a ‘you do
the honours’ kind of way.

I’ve walked all this way and now Effy expects me to ring the doorbell? What
if Rob answers it? What would I say? Would he be able to tell I haven’t been
working out that much? Oh, fuck, I should’ve gone to the gym with Keiran...
Oh, Christ, what if Jenna answers it? I’ll fucking die if Jenna opens the
door.

Ding-dong.

What the wanking fuck?

I don’t remembering ringing the door bell-fucking Effy!

As the door opens, Effy gracefully side-steps out of open view, leaving me
bare and defenseless against the Fitch who has opened the door.

The second before I come face to face with whoever that is, I mouth a quick
‘traitorous bitch’ at Effy who ironically gives me the peace sign (like that
alone can fucking cut it).

When I see James’ young, definitely-not-a-parent face, a choir of angels
take their golden trumpets out and start singing Hallelujah full-blast in my
head.

James realises that it’s me and his expression of indifference is wiped away
and replaced with pure, unadulterated, childish wonder. Like he expects me
to say, “Hugh Hefner sent me to you,” instead of the more appropriate “Is my
incredibly hot girlfriend around?”

Which I didn’t say either, of course.

“Why, hullo, Naomi!” he greets loudly. And I really wish he wouldn’t do
that. Jenna might be on the prowl.

“Umm. Hi, James,” I say.

“Emily didn’t say you were coming. If I’d known, I would’ve worn my number.”

“Your number?” I repeat, really confused.

Before Emily’s little brother could explain, Katie comes barging down the
stairs crying bloody murder. “James! James, you fuck, what did you do to my
dress?!” Every word louder for every step she descends.

Katie’s looking well angry by the time she reaches her brother at the door.
Like she’s really intent on cutting James’ head off. She has a towel wrapped
around her body and another wrapped around her head. A raging bull in fluffy
towels. If she wasn’t so menacing I would have done something stupid like...
I dunno... Laugh at her.

Then she’s all up on James’ face, grabbing at his ear viciously and just
like that, James is reduced to a whining mess. “Ow! Ow! Owww! Muuuum! Mum!
Katie’s hurting me!”

“Mum’s not here, loser.” And Katie is more than happy to twist it harder.

“Can you explain just what the fuck you did to this?” Katie demands, holding
up something. It’s a hanger. And hanging from that hanger is a tiny and
tight-looking dark dress with five inches of a different-patterned textile
that’s so out of place sewn onto it.

“I added a little length. It wouldn’t cover my thighs,” James huffs
indignantly, fists swinging at Katie even though her other hand is keeping
him at a safe distance by holding his head.

“Who the fuck is going to care if it covers your thighs or not?”

James points at me with his eyes and something tells me I’m in deep shit.

Katie sees it and her face scrunches up, showing her distaste all too well.
She’s turns to me and stares hard like she doesn’t believe it.

Why do I feel like I want to run back to my Mum... possibly in tears?

“Jesus Christ! He’s in love with you too?!” Katie says, too high-strung.

I shrug hopelessly at that. It’s not like I wanted for this to happen, for
fuck’s sake.

Katie shakes her head at me like I’ve disappointed her in some way. She
rounds on James again and she growls at him like we’re all in a crazy jungle
and Katie’s out for blood.

“Fine! You can fucking have your prissy little number!” Katie shouts with a
finality. She then hurls the dress at James and it wraps itself around his
head like a lemur. Or a sloth. Or those stupid monkey toys with the long
arms and velcro on their hands.

Katie goes off to “find something decent to wear”, leaving James rubbing his
ear consolingly, and angrily muttering “bitch” in Katie’s wake.

Effy and I watch as their little brother shakes it off and composes himself.
He turns to us politely and says, “Don’t mind her. She’s got premature
mental pause.”

Wait...

Did he just say mental pause?

Before I can even try to stop it, a snort escapes me. “Really?” I ask,
incredibly amused. Then Effy elbows me in the ribs. Probably for being
insensitive or something.

James scratches his head thoughtfully before saying, “That’s what she said.
I’m not sure, though. Lately she’s gone non-stop mental that I’m not quite
sure if she really has premature mental pause. Fucking dinocologist must’ve
made a mistake with the diagnosis, I guess...”

“JAMES!”

It’s Emily this time. She sounds angry too. She sounds angry from the
kitchen.

“What now?” he asks, annoyed.

“You haven’t done the dishes yet.”

James eyes widen in realisation. “Oh, shit,” he says before bolting back
into the house, abandoning me and Effy at their door.

So now we’re staring into the Fitch hallway, not quite sure what to make of
the information we just received.

“Dinocologist,” I say.

“Premature mental pause,” Effy replies.

Effy and I lock eyes.

“Oh-kaaaaay,” I draw out awkwardly.

Effy’s eyebrows are surprised, high up on her brow.

“That explains a lot.”

= = = = = = = =

When the twins walk out, all wonderful and eye-stealing. With the wind in
their hair, and the sun shining down on their pale faces like it missed
them, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining them naked.

Sorry, I’m gay and they’re fit. Reflex action.

They’re moving in slow motion. And I want to slap myself because... why the
fuck haven’t I gotten use to this yet?? Why? Why? Why? Because really, I
should’ve gotten used to this by now.

Emily glows when she sees me and she walks faster to close the distance and
in my head I hear myself saying, here she comes, here she comes.

“Hey,” Emily says brightly.

She’s close enough and I’m in real-time again.

“Hey,” I breathe out, feeling incredibly weak in the knees from the moment
she walked out that door.

I slide my arms around her waist and she throws hers around my neck. We’ve
done this countless times already and it’s always this wonderful.

We kiss and my eyes close. I see nothing and just...

Feel it all.

= = = = = = = =

Once Panda’s let loose she whirls around the place in a kind of tornado-on-
crack abandon. Like a mouse cursor hovering erratically over a random-scene-
of-nature desktop background.

But I get her excitement.

It’s nice here. Like, really nice. You can smell the trees in the wind. And
it’s quiet save for the birds. They’re singing songs in their own morse code
and I have to say that I find it pleasing to listen to. Peaceful.

Christ, I sound like a fucking hippie.

The water is murky. Sort of lazy looking. And it’s in this shade of blue
that just... calms you down. Just a cool, understated, off-beat blue that’s
climbing over the fence to be green. Not bright and sparkly like if you look
at it long enough, your eyes would start to hurt.

This place, it’s just so easy to take in. It’s the perfect fix for the pre-
exam tension.

And this is what I need at the moment. Something easy.

= = = = = = = =

Effy takes a picnic basket out of her car. A fucking perfect picnic basket
with extra food and grapes and shit. Not to mention bottles of wine and
champagne (with the respective glass and flute that all of us notice and go
“But, Eff, we never use those” at, silently in our heads). It’s even more
bizarre when Effy starts passing around sandwiches.

“Used to make these for my brother. They’re a pleasure to the palette,
according to him,” she says as everyone’s taking their first bite.

“Egg and cress!” Panda exclaims with a full mouth, bits of bread flying out
with every syllable. “Eff, you never said you could whippy up a super yumyum
sandwich! I’d like some for my birthday, if it’s okay?”

“Sure Panda,” Effy says before turning to Katie expectantly as if saying,
“Well...?”

Katie, chewing thoughtfully, looks back at Effy. Thoughtfully. “Considering
the fact I don’t even like cress, this is pretty good.” Katie takes another
bite, giving Effy a little wink afterwards. Now Effy has this silly grin on
her face and I like being not confused about them anymore.

Because Katie and Effy, they’re “sorted and it’s nice.” So I leave it at
that.

Emily purrs contentedly beside me. “Nice,” Emily says in a way that can only
mean that she’s bitten into ham and cheese. She confirms my theory in a
second by saying, “I got ham and cheese. Yours, babe?”

I haven’t tasted mine yet so I don’t know. I dig in and chew, figuring out
the flavours. It could be tuna or chicken. I’m baffled by the ambiguity. Or
maybe all the smoking is fucking up my taste buds.

“This is tuna,” I say, unsure of myself. But then I don’t notice a fishy
aftertaste (if there is such a thing as a fishy aftertaste, that is) so I
quickly strikethrough my first answer, settling with an “it’s chicken,”
instead.

Emily insists we swap sandwiches. And that’s how it is with us. We’re in
each other’s shoes any chance we can get. Like, she comes to rallies with me
now and I can’t tell you what kind of kick I get from hearing my
girlfriend’s husky voice amplified via megaphone.

Or like...

Emily sometimes mentions that she’s heard this song, she’s seen that movie
or she’s read that book. And it won’t be long before I’ve heard that song,
seen that movie or read that book too.

Her world. My world. Gradually settling their differences.

Emily opens up my sandwich and inspects the insides. She closes it up again,
still undecided, and has some. I like watching her eat, you know. She has
such a strong jaw and it never fails to turn me on when she moves it up and
down like that. When she talks. When she eats. When she trails a train of
kisses from my stomach up to my neck...

Reality Emily steals me away from Fantasy Emily (the one who just ravished
me in my thoughts) by shoving my chicken-possibly-tuna sandwich back in my
hands.

“I can’t fucking tell,” she says, her frustration shining through, equally
confused as I am.

“Chicken,” Effy confirms belatedly from where she is, bent over the picnic
basket. She straightens up, revealing a champagne bottle in her hold.

“All right. Who wants to pop this fucker?” she announces grandly,
auctioneer-style.

“I’ve always wanted to try that.”

All heads whip towards Emily. All those heads have a raised pair of eyebrows
to boot.

As expected, Effy’s the first to recover. “Okay, then Emily,” she says, not
missing a beat as she hands the bottle over to Emily. “Fire away.”

A slight fear takes over me when I watch Emily fumble with the foil. And
then it grows in intensity when she’s reached the wire cage.

“Wait!”

Emily almost drops the champagne bottle. “What?” she says, sounding
irritated.

“Is it chilled enough?”

And what was I going to do? Walk up to Emily and check if the thing has a
fucking fever?

“I brought a fucking ice bucket,” Effy says and somehow that’s all self-
explanatory.

“Great. Now I’m having second thoughts,” Emily says, looking at the bottle
like it’s a loaded gun.

“Don’t be a pussy, Ems. Open the bubbly already!” Katie says, tipping her
sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could peer over them at Emily
in an overbearing manner.

“She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to,” I say, jumping to Emily’s
defense and warding Katie off.

After that, Emily shoots me a dirty look that says don’t patronise me.

Shit, I think to myself. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“God, you’re all such wankers,” Emily says. And I have a bad feeling that
she’s gone to that place again. That place she goes to, you know, to try and
prove us wrong. Which means someone’s eye is going to have a run-in with a
flying cork sometime soon.

“Let Effy do it,” I plead, reaching to take the bottle away from her.

Emily slaps my hands away and it stings more than it should have. “Babe, I
can fucking do this, all right?”

I’m still itching to grab it from her but with a sigh, I drop my hands to my
sides. “Fine. But don’t pull the cork out. You have to twist the bottle,
Ems. Okay? Twist it until it pops. Don’t try and fucking pull the-”

POP!

My eyes shut instinctively. Because hey, cork bullet!

Each of us lets out a shriek and a curse or two before it all comes down to
an empty silence. The only thing you could hear is the soft fizzle coming
from what’s left of the champagne bottle. And I think that if I could
concentrate harder, I’d be able to hear Emily’s guilt.

I open my eyes. I planned on opening my mouth to yell at her too but what
stops me is the glorious sight of a wet, white tank top and the tits that
are like... protruding under it.

“Whizzer!”

That’s what Panda says.

“Holyfuck! MygirlfriendisSOFUCKINGHOT!”

That’s what I’d say.

If I could say anything, that is.

“Okay, is anyone hurt?” Emily asks, starting the headcount (and looking
mighty fine while she’s at it).

“No,” Effy says.

“Nice one, cow,” Katie says.

“Ohhh, champagne!” Panda just says in that oblivious way of hers, already
stealing the bottle from Emily.

And then all eyes are on me (but I don’t know that because...) I, on the
other hand, am still busy looking at a certain someone’s fucking chest.

I’m not hurt or anything severe... but I’d like to volunteer Emily to give
me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

It’s getting fucking hard to breathe again because of her.

Especially because of those perky, juicy, symmetrical...

“NAOMS?!”

“Whah?” I say. But TITS, I think.

“You hurt?” Emily asks, tipping my chin up with her fingers. She takes my
face in her hand and turns my head from side to side, surveying any possible
damage while I follow along limply.

She lets go and looks at me, worry etched on her adorable features.

I blink back at her dumbly. And then I say, rather mindlessly-or maybe this
is my vagina talking or whatever... But I say to her,

“Can you take your top off?”

= = = = = = = =

And that, my friends, is how you get laid.

= = = = = = = =

The sun isn’t as glaring but we all think it best to put on some sunscreen.
Me and Emily are happy to use this as another good excuse to touch each
other. This is the closest we’re ever going to get to oilzzz and stuff.

I’m rubbing her back. Touching her neck. And her body’s moving...

Okay.

I’m feeling really hot and bothered right now.

And I wish I could solely blame the sun for it.

= = = = = = = =

We’ve been lazing around for most of the afternoon. All of us spread across
a very wide picnic blanket of stereotypical red and white tartan. Five girls
in bikinis, soaking up sunshine and each other’s company, talking shit about
everything under the sun.

And when I mean anything under the sun, I mean anything under the sun. Like,
for example, Panda says that before college, her life’s goal was to invent
bacon perfume. Or this food stall I came upon on the way to the grocers last
week. It was called “Sanitary Tacos”. It’s no surprise that Effy and I spend
fifteen minutes going on and on about how they got their name and we all
decide it’s because reports of cockroaches found taking refuge in Mexican
food have seem to be running rampant lately and naming the stand, “Sanitary
Tacos” was just a desperate attempt to save the business. And we even touch
the subject of Kanye West’s shutter glasses. About how ridiculous they are
(coming from Emily). About how they’re so not (coming from Katie).

No one sides with Katie, if you’re asking. I mean, what are those things for
anyway? And don’t you dare say, “because our eyes are the windows of the
soul and they could do with some shutter-inspired accessorising” because
Katie already said that and even Panda rolled her eyes at her.

And this is Panda we’re talking about, people.

No one mentions the exams. Effy and I don’t bring up Katie’s ‘premature
mental pause’ either.

We can save all that for a rainy day.

= = = = = = = =

A quarter to four, Effy taps me on the shoulder. “C’mon, Naomi, ice cream.”

She drags me off to the sides, near the dirt path and the bushes and proceed
to be confounded. I don’t see any ice cream. Soon enough, Effy takes a fag-
pack out of her board shorts.

Smoking break. Right. Should’ve known.

“Katie can’t stand it, right?” I say, as I take the fresh fag Effy holds up
for me.

“Yep, she’s quite the saint,” Effy deadpans, lighting my cigarette expertly.

Effy’s wearing these round, purple tinted glasses. The kind you see on John
Lennon... only purple.

She’s watching Panda and the twins through her purple lenses. I follow suit.

Panda’s already by the lake. Her toes must have already tasted the water. As
for the twins... they’ve gotten up to fix the picnic blanket. Well Emily
fixes it, flaps it out to get it all nice and spread out and everything and
as per usual, Katie sits back to watch.

I focus on Emily as a breeze lifts her hair back.

God, she’s gorgeous.

And Katie gets up, makes an entrance into the scene. And I rethink.

God, they’re gorgeous.

From where I’m standing the resemblance is uncanny. They really are twins.
And they laugh, and they toss their heads back. It’s too fucking perfect and
I think it’s going to take a lot of work for me to look away from this.

Then I hear bells ringing. It’s a happy sound. And it gives me the extra
push to tear my eyes away from Emily and Katie.

I see the vendor in the distance. With his ice-cream cart and his cliché
straw boater hat. You know, like what Dick Van Dyke wore when he was dancing
with the cartoon penguins in Mary Poppins.

Just as he’s about to stop in front of us, Effy throws her fag out of sight.
She looks as innocent as fucking ever and I don’t want to look like some
demon next to her so I drop my fag and crush it under my sneaker. There it
shall stay until the ice cream is procured.

The environmentalist in me vows to pick it up later.

So this man, in his late twenties or whatever, parks his ice cream mobile in
front of me and Effy and offers us in the sunniest manner, “Fancy Italian
Gelato, girls? Easy on the ass and hips, a tasty wonder for your lips!”

He kisses the tips of his fingers explosively as visible punctuation and
that’s just... just so endearing.

“So what’ve we got, Mister?” Effy asks, trying to discern the label-less
lumps of frozen dessert.

“Crowd pleasers today, miss. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, and
pistacchio.”

Effy and I exchange glances. We silently agree that we like the way he says
Pistacchio.

Pee-STAHK-yoh.

So Italian of him.

I order two vanillas for the twins (apparently it’s possible for them to
agree on something) and after a little deliberation I settle on strawberry
for myself.

“What does Panda want?” I ask Effy who’s still eyeing the selections.

“Chocolate,” Effy says. “She has a thing for chocolate.”

“Does that thing have to do anything with Thomas?” I guess.

“Possibly. But I strongly believe it has to do with chocolate.”

Well, she has a point. Like she always does.

“I’m having Pistacchio, please,” Effys says, pronouncing it just like the
ice cream man did.

Pee-STAHK-yoh.

Effy makes it sound sexy and naughty... and Italian!

Is there anything this girl can’t bloody do?

“Thanks for the treat, Naomi. Cheers!”

Apparently, there is. She can’t fucking pay for ice cream she dragged me
along to buy.

“What the bollocking-” I start. Then the man hands out three ice cream cones
for me to take. And I take them and my hands are full and he has
successfully censored the rest of my profanity.

And now I can’t even reach for my notes.

“Cash in your right side-pocket, right?” Effy asks and I really want to
punch her right now.

For the nth time today, I sigh. “No, in the left,” I grumble.

Why do I feel like I’ve been mugged?

= = = = = = = =

Upon the exposure of ice cream, there’s this face a person makes that’s very
similar to a face you would make if you managed to catch a glimpse of the
world’s cutest baby dressed in a costume of your favourite animal for
Halloween (When I was two, Mum got me in an elephant getup to take me trick-
or-treating. She’s got fucking pictures as proof and let’s just say the look
on her face that night was nothing short of unadulterated bliss).

I assure you. Panda, Katie and Emily? They’re making those faces right now
and astonishingly, I have Effy to thank for this. For helping me land this
investment.

Panda devours her chocolate gelato like some sort of champion. Her ice cream
cone’s existence is short-lived and she’s been staring longingly at Katie’s
for a good while now. Katie senses the imminent threat from the girl and
casually gets the fuck away from her, finding an old log atop a thick layer
of gravel. She figures it might be a good spot to finish her ice cream and
this is where Emily and I soon join her to keep our cones safe from Panda
too.

It’s sort of mean of us and this obviously saddens Panda. So, dessertless
and bored, she goes ahead to start a wanking scene. “Hey, what’s wrong with
you lot? It’s a tip-toppy day and we haven’t gone for a dip yet!”

“You’re right, Panda,” Effy says, finishing off her Pistacchio gelato.
“These ladies don’t know what they’re missing.”

Effy kicks her shorts off and Panda does the same. When they’re down to
being half naked, the five of us do nothing but look back at each other,
waiting for the next move.

That ‘next move’ comes from Panda who begins stomping her feet impatiently
and then going, “Race you all! Last one in has to marry Cook!” And with
that, she promptly turns on her heel to start sprinting for the water,
screaming, “Woooo-fucking-hooo!” from the top of her lungs.

Effy has a big laugh at that and she tosses her John Lennon shades aside.
She looks at the twins and I, says to us challengingly, “Well, what will it
be, girls?”

And I’m sitting there, thinking, “I’d like to eat my fucking strawberry
gelato in peace, thanks.”

But then Emily sticks her ice cream cone straight into the gravel. Just
literally, sticks it in! And I can only watch in disbelief.

“Hey, I paid for that,” I point out to her in semi-not-quite-out-there
outrage.

There’s a dangerous gleam in her brown eyes. “No fucking way I’m letting you
marry Cook,” Emily says fiercely.

My heart stops... And I drop my cone accidentally but I sort of don’t care
about that anymore.

She grabs my hand and just like that, we’re off and flying across the grass.
Besides the hard pounding in my chest, behind us I could hear cheering,
howling and laughing. And I find out, a moment after, that I’m a big
contributor to the hysteria as well.

I feel so fucking...

I’m breathing heavy. My legs are burning, my heart’s racing...

Happy.

I’m so fucking happy. I can’t even...

Emily picks up the pace, tugs me a bit harder. My little red engine that
could, running up that hill with me. And she thinks I can do anything.

Anything. Fucking anything! As long as she’s here.

So I run, I run like it’s for my fucking life. I’m running for something
bigger than I can amount to by myself. I’m running for Emily-with Emily.
There’s no looking back.

There’s no going back.

This is it. This is real. This is my girl.

My Emily.

And I’ll never be the same again.

= = = = = = = =

Underwater, I’m cold all around. Except for my hand, it’s still in Emily’s.

It’s warm where our skins meet.

= = = = = = = =

“Who wants popcorn?” Effy asks, fairly dry by now.

Katie hasn’t gotten her hair wet as she was the last to go in and for her,
gone was the whole point of dipping in entirely. Emily, Panda and I are
still dripping though, suitably splashed. After all that excitement I think
it’s too soon for food.

“Oh, whizzer! Popcorn! I do! I do!” Panda says, getting up and waving her
arms around like an excited, wet chimpanzee.

And now the hard part...

“So how do we get it cooked?” Katie asks.

I turn to Effy expectantly. She looks back at me, confused. “What?” she says
at all of us.

“Did you bring a pot or what?” I ask.

Effy shakes her head, showing no sign of remorse.

Oh, Christ. I roll my eyes at Effy. “Why did you buy popcorn and not bring
something to cook it in?”

“Panda likes popcorn. So I got popcorn,” Effy says simply.

Panda smiles at that. “And you got a whacker-load of it, Eff.” She holds the
pack of kernels up thoughtfully. “Thanks so much!”

“That’s an awful lot,” Emily agrees. “Shame we can’t get it cooked.”

Then Panda bounces to her feet. “I’ve got an idea!” she says before she
disappears to get something from her bag.

She’s back with her cell phone. “I’ve been thinking... Our mobiles send out
electro-magnetic waves when somebody rings us, right?”

I dunno. It sounds wrong. But I think all of us are curious to hear the rest
of Panda’s theory so we don’t interrupt with fact-checks and just nod to
whatever she’s saying.

“And aren’t those the same you find in microwaves? Well, if we got people to
call us, we could generate enough electro-magnetic waves to get all this
popped and corned!” she lays out, shaking the bag of kernels in her fist
passionately.

“We’re not trying that.” I say, shooting the idea out of the sky. That’s
before I can realise I was being a total fucking killjoy.

“Come on, Naoms, it’d be fun,” Emily tries.

Katie gets up and grabs the bag of unpopped popcorn from Panda. “Fuck it, I
say it’s worth a try. How does this work again, Panda?” she says, playing
nice.

“We toss our mobiles together and sprinkle in the ‘pixie dust’ also known as
the ‘popcorn kernels’. It’s a simple enough principle.”

“Then what?”

“Have our boyfriends ring us,” Panda says with confidence.

The Fitch twins retort.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” they chorus.

“Naomi will do,” Effy says to Emily with a cheeky wink and I redden on the
fucking spot.

Great, I think. No getting popcorn kernels on my mobile. Safe.

“What about me?” Katie butts in.

Anyone who isn’t Katie Fitch says, “Cook,” like it’s the most obvious answer
in the world.

Katie, who doesn’t have enough fingers to flip everyone off, balls her fists
at her sides instead. “Fuck no! I’m not ringing Cook to have him ring me.”

Panda handles Katie. “I’m afraid you’re Mrs. Cook now, Katie. Last one in,
yeah?”

“Fuck you all,” Katie sighs, dialling Cook already.

We understand that we’re all under the temporary rule General Panda so we
follow her every order with a certain mock obedience. The most hilarious
thing she’s asked of us is to have me situated a hundred paces away from the
‘cooking site’ so Emily escorts me to where I am to be exiled.

“I still don’t get why I have to be far away,” I say when we get there.

Emily kisses my cheek chastely like she’s dropping me off for boarding
school or something devastating like that and she tells me, “Panda says that
if you’re too close, the electromagnetic waves might be strong enough to
burn the popcorn.”

Oh, Christ. Why do I put up with this shit?

“Don’t worry, babe. We’re only like, thirty metres away,” Emily says, trying
to rid me of my pout.

She takes my hand to place my phone in it. Then she looks at me all
coquettish, slowly backing away to join the others at the spot where they’ll
assemble their mobiles together. When Emily’s taken about ten steps away,
she makes a phone fist, her pinkie near her mouth and her thumb at her ear.

“Call me,” she mouths with a wink.

I resist the strong impulse to clutch my chest. It feels like someone shot
me through the heart.

Really, now. That girl’s too fucking cute.

= = = = = = = =

Thomas rings Panda, Freddie rings Effy, Cook rings Katie and I ring Emily.
After fifteen minutes of continuous ringing and ringing...

SHAZAM!

Nothing.

“What do we do now?” I ask after I’ve paced a hundred paces back to them.

Then Katie, really amiable and shit, welcomes me with, “Duh, Naomi. Don’t be
daft. We’re answering our phones and inviting the boys over. What else?”

See? This is exactly why I like Emily better.

Part 2 found here:

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