: Distractions

Now, it was not a serious crush. Let's get that straight. It wasn't like I sat at home daydreaming of Antal kissing me, or something (well, okay, I did do that, but that's besides the point). I never befriended Bianka, and I certainly didn't seek him out in school just to talk to him. I would speak to him in Spanish, and that was about it. Basically, it was not the sort of crush I thought was going anywhere. It wasn't the type of thing I was going to take any further.

But, you know, it was a distraction. A distraction from none other than – you guessed it – Billie Winters.

He was so annoying. I think you might have already gathered that, from my perspective at least, he was highly irritating and thoroughly dislikeable. But honestly, he was. Over the first days of Year 10, he was always there, constantly. He seemed to search me out at break and dinner to just pester me. It was like he didn't want me to forget my hitting him in France, or later, the fact I vomited on the coach home. What made things worse, was that his little gang would join in.

His "little gang" weren't very little at all. There were quite a few of them, and also they were mostly tall, muscly basketball players. In fact, nearly all of them – minus Billie himself, Eric Fellows, Michael Morrison, Nathan Bishop and Callum Graham – went to my primary school and, at one point or another, I probably played hide and seek or tag in the playground with them, and I could also probably recall them doing something stupid, like eating a crayon, if I really tried hard enough. There was Joe West, who was actually kind of geeky and not a sports player of any kind but included with them nonetheless, Liam Wace, who I knew for a fact most girls in my year loved just about as much as they loved Antal Kiss, Timothy Donald, who was tiny and looked like an elf and made people laugh, Tyler Haines, who was a bit of a troublemaker, and then there were two Joshua – Joshua Lodwick, known as Joshua, and Joshua Mayberry, known as Josh. Apart from Joe, that group of boys was basically the school's Year 11 basketball team.

Siân loved it. Siân has a thing for anything that has a pulse – or a penis, but it's entirely possible she's bisexual. Naturally, having Billie Winters and his friends – the most lusted-after boys in the whole school – constantly hovering around you at breaks was something that delighted Siân, even if they weren't hovering for her. Honestly, though – two weeks after starting back at school, I was getting a bit sick of Billie's jibes and Siân's slightly insane sounding laugh. So developing a crush on the highly delectable Antal Kiss was a welcome distraction, and I suppose, not just from Billie, but also from Glyn Newell. Honestly: if Billie and his mates weren't pestering me, then Glyn was.

It was like, every single day that he'd ask me if I wanted to do something after school or at weekend. I became quite good at turning down his requests – I had homework to do after school on weekdays (I pretended not to hear his offers to do the homework with me), and I simply just wasn't available at weekends. Plus, it became quite clear that he loathed Billie and all the attention Billie gave me, despite that attention being quite annoying from my point of view. Whenever I was alone with Glyn – which seemed to be quite often, as no one else had the patience to put up with him – he would bleat on incessantly about how annoying Billie was. Part of me was agreeing with Glyn, of course, but even him complaining about Billie started to grate on my nerves.

But then Billie began to notice Glyn's attentions. And then, the teasing seemed to get worse – and not just towards me, but towards Glyn as well. Billie would look out for Glyn at breaks and dinnertimes as well.

"Watch out for Freckles, Newell," he'd exclaim loudly, clapping Glyn's shoulder, "She might just hit you if you don't back off soon!" Glyn would just glower, and I would just pinch the bridge of my nose and try hard not to hit him. And then his friends would laugh.

I'd complain to Siân, or to John or Beth or Ann. I had varying responses from all four of them. Siân would snort and say, "Hey, Nerys, where there's a Billie Winters, there's a Liam Wace. I don't care about the attention, sweetheart." John would just tell me that I was overreacting. Beth would sigh and tell me that being showered with attention by two boys was what most girls would kill for. Not even pointing out exactly who those boys could dissuade Beth from her notion. And Ann – well, she just gazed at me, shrugged, and said, "It's not my place to get involved." You know, like I was asking her to challenge them to a duel or something. Anyway.

A few weeks into term – right near the end of September – the teachers chose the prefects from Year 11, and those prefects all nominated a Head Boy and Girl as well as their Deputies. The Deputy Head Boy was Joe West, and the Deputy Head Girl was a girl named Leann Smyth. Head Girl was, naturally, Gwen's cousin Mari Kneath. And, fairly obviously, the idiots of the Year 11 prefects decided to nominate Billie Winters to be Head Boy.

Why? God only knows. I have no idea: he is the last person I'd imagine to be Head Boy. Now, Joe West – he practically personifies the idea of Head Boy. Billie? Not so much. I mean, sure, he was well liked and everything, and most teachers loved the guy. But to students younger than him, he was...well, how can I put this? He was a dick. That's the only way to put it. And I knew that making him Head Boy was the worst thing they could have done because it only inflated his ego that little bit more.

The main thing was, though, that it was so obvious that he was going to abuse his position as Head Boy by using it to let his friends get away with stuff and to lord it over the younger pupils. And me, of course.

You see, one of the English teachers – Mr. Trow – had begun a debating club on Wednesday and Friday dinnertimes. It was aimed at Key Stage 3 pupils, but particular Key Stage 4 pupils had been asked to come along to help. Those pupils were basically myself, Ann, Beth, Siân, Gwen, Sharon and Elisha. John wasn't invited (he messes around too much), which at first made me reluctant to go, but I have this thing for debating. I can be absolutely silent sometimes but certain subjects really get me going and I can argue about them for hours. At debating club, I was somewhat in my element.

And then Billie was made Head Boy.

For the first few weeks at school, we'd been able to make our way quietly up to Mr. Trow's room without meeting any resistance. A lack of prefects meant that there wasn't anyone, really, to tell you to get the hell outside into the bitter cold and rain or whatever.

So we got used to just wandering freely about the school without being questioned – or worse, forced out of the school building and out onto the yard. Imagine our surprise, then, when we ran into Billie Winters and co on the stairwell on the science corridor. It was that stairwell that led straight up into the English department, and all of them were there, sprawled across the stairs (apart from Joe, who was sat on the top step with his reading glasses on, reading a hardback novel).

We hovered in the double doorway. Elisha was peering around the door, eyeing the group of Year 11s distastefully.

"You go, Nerys," Gwen ordered. "You're Billie's friend; he'll let you go."

"What the hell!" I exclaimed, glaring at Gwen. "I'm not his friend. And there's no way he'll let me go. I think Elisha should; she plays basketball –"

Elisha held her hands up in the air. "No way," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, sure, I've trained with them a few times, but –"

"Nerys," Ann sighed. "Just go through the door."

By this time, the prefects appeared to have realised that we were there (I suppose it wasn't so hard, we weren't exactly keeping our voices down), and one half of Elisha's body was sticking out of the door.

"Are you going to hang around the doorway all day?" Tyler Haines demanded, "Or are you going actually to go outside? You know, where you should be?"

Siân gave me a slight push into the boys' line of vision. They all glanced at me (apart from Joe) and then Billie began to grin, face cracking in two with the size of his devious smile.

"Freckles!" Billie then exclaimed, rising to his feet, "What a pleasant surprise!"

I groaned.

"Careful, Bill," Liam said, grinning as well, "She might hit you if you really annoy her..." I fixed my scowl upon him.

"So, where're you planning on going, Freckles?" Billie asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Mr. Trow's classroom," I forced out through gritted teeth. I already knew that this was a no-go: we'd be better off heading towards another stairwell where, you know, the prefects didn't have a kind of personal vendetta against me.

"Oh? What for?" Billie cocked his head to one side, eyes leaving mine as my friends slowly edge through the door into a corridor. "All of you want Mr. Trow? What the hell for? Look, ladies, if you think I'm letting you all go upstairs and get up to no good, then you've got another thing coming."

All his friends snorted (apart from Joe) and my friends and myself all shared incredulous looks (apart from Siân). Us, getting up to no good in Mr. Trow's classroom - In other words, some of the best-behaved pupils in the school (okay, so thumping the Head Boy and other misdemeanors aside) in the classroom of the teacher who thought that the sun shined out of our bottoms? What trouble could we possibly get into?

"Look," I sighed, exasperated already, "We're not –"

"Sorry," Billie interrupted, "But I'm Head Boy. It's not allowed. If I let you go up, then I'll have to let everyone go up. And it's not gonna happen."

"You're just awkward," I growled.

"No, I'm just doing the job the head teacher told me to," Billie said smugly. "No pupils, unless they have written permission, are allowed up the stairwell into the classrooms...

That threw me. Written permission – of course, I knew what he meant, he meant a permission slip or pass, but I didn't recall...

"...So, sorry, girls, but you'll just have to go outside and enjoy the nice weather." Nice weather? It was raining outside. I scowled at him and opened my mouth to deliver an angry retort when two things happened at once.

Firstly, Louis Jensen and co (i.e., the coolest boys in Year 10 – Billie Winter's and co's younger equivalent) swaggered into the corridor through the outside door that led onto the quad, chattering loudly, hair plastered to their skulls. Clearly, they had been caught in the downpour and had made a sneaky escape into the school building, where they obviously expected to be able to skulk around in the science labs until the bell went.

But then their eyes fell on Billie, his mates, and then all of us, and they went still. Adam Lougher – their 'leader,' I suppose – raised an eyebrow and muttered something to Louis, who stood next to him.

The second thing was that Ann – quiet, albeit sarcastic, Ann, pushed past me with a roll of her eyes.

"Can we please go upstairs now?" she demanded, brow furrowed. Billie looked down at her disdainfully – not by much, of course, as Ann's about five seven barefooted, and Billie's only a few inches taller. Anyway. So he's looking at her, all disdainful, and then he challenges her.

"I can't," he repeated, "let you wreak havoc in the school buildings, doing God only knows what –" By the smirk on his face, everyone knew that he knew we were not going to do anything of the sort – he's just awkward, to try and annoy me. Wanker.

But then Ann interrupted his flow, sighing heavily. "Looks like he caught us," she said, in a mock-woeful voice. "Naturally, Billie, we were off upstairs to have a lesbian orgy before the ritualistic slaughter of a goat tethered in Mr. Trow's room; following that we were planning on snorting crack or, maybe, shooting heroin. It's such a pity that you found us out before we got the chance..."

Billie blushed – blushed – and Louis, Adam and all their friends all started laughing, and eventually, Billie's mates joined in too.

Ann reached into the pocket of her blazer and slipped out a square of orange card with writing on it, which I dimly remembered Mr. Trow giving out at the beginning of the year so we could get to his classroom unhindered. I realized, with a sinking feeling, that mine lay under a pile of books next to my bed at home.

"We're helping out at the Key Stage 3 debating club," Ann continued. "Here's the written permission." She showed him the pass and then pocketed it. "So now, if you don't mind, we'll be on our way." And she walked around him, beginning to make her way up the stairs. They all scrambled out of her way; clearly concerned that Ann would try and stomp on them or something. All my other friends dashed up after her, overtaking me in their effort to get away.

I moved forward to follow them, but Billie barred my way once more. "I don't see your pass, Freckles," he said smugly, and I glared up at him.

"You let all of them go!" I accused, jabbing my finger up the stairwell. From the next set of stairs, Siân, Sharon, Ann, Elisha, Gwen and Beth all watched, leaning over the rail. Billie's friends began to settle down on the stairs once more, while Adam Lougher, Louis, and friends just watched with mild interest. Some of those friends had wandered off somewhere. Adam, I noticed, looked slightly perturbed, and part of me wondered why.

Billie glanced upwards. "So?" he said, flicking a strand of curly black hair out of his eyes. "That's them; this is you. Two completely different things."

My nostrils flared, and I stepped towards him. "Stop being such a prick," I growled, "And just let me go up the stairs –"

"You've no written permission."

"It's at home," I bit out."

"That's not my problem, and it's not my fault," he pointed out. "It's my duty, as Head Boy –"

"Oh, cut the Head Boy crap," I snapped, "I'm really not interested in your duties as Head Boy, I just want to get to the debating club!"

(Honestly, I'm much calmer and civilized in debates.)

He held his hands up. "Calm down, Freckles!"

"Watch yourself, Bill, or she might just lash out with her fists," Tyler smirked. I looked past Billie and glared at him.

"That joke," I said sourly, "Is so old. You say it all the time. Can't you come up with anything better?"

"Well," Tyler said, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "I could go for the Newell angle, but –"

"Oh yeah!" Billie looked delighted. "Maybe that's why you want to go to debating club so that you can join lover boy!"

My face flushed. "I do hate you, sometimes," I snarled. Billie's eyes flashed. "Can't you just leave me alone? You're always there, pestering and prodding and just being a prick in general, and I'm sick of it!"

Billie opened his mouth to retort when we heard one of the doors swish upstairs and Mr. Trow himself peered over the rail, joining Siân and Beth (everyone else had vanished).

"Miss Ann told me you were having some trouble with the Head Boy, Miss Powell!" Mr. Trow boomed with his thick Mancunian accent. "Come on, Mr. William, let her go, I'm in dire need of a first-class debater at the moment."

Billie glanced upwards and reluctantly moved aside. Mr. Trow began to move away, but I hopped up the stairs before any of them could try and stop me. Unfortunately, none of Billie's mates decided it was a good idea to move out of my way (apart from Joe), so I ended up clambering over the legs of eleven male prefects in quite a clumsy, fumbling manner.

Why, oh why, I asked myself, had I decided to wear a skirt?

My worst fears were imagined when, as I reached the top of that flight of stairs to join Siân, Billie called up: "Nice underwear, Freckles. I always liked boy shorts."

I clapped a hand over my bottom, flattening my skirt against the back of my thighs, and felt my face heat up. Below me, I could hear his friends howling with laughter, and even some of Adam's friends were chuckling. Adam himself, however, remained fairly straight-faced. Billie grinned at me and winked, before rounding on Adam and company – I presume, to throw them outside.

I practically ran up the stairs, keeping my skirt flattened as I ran.

"I think Billie might fancy you," Beth muttered to me as I strode down the English department corridor. I glared at her fiercely.

"Don't make me be sick," I snapped. "That's just wrong, Beth. Wrong."

She sighed at me. "You're an idiot sometimes, Nerys, I swear," she told me. "What I'd give to have a boy like that pay me as much attention as he does you..."

"You, Little Miss Romantic, are looking for attention in the form of cuddles and handholding, surprise presents and gentlemen holding the door open for you," I reminded her, jabbing my finger in her direction. Siân snorted. "You're not looking for some idiotic, basketball-playing prick to tease you and follow you around the school."

She stared at me with wide eyes. "Boys tease girls they like," she said solemnly. Siân raised her eyebrows and looked away.

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "That's a really old, overused thing, Beth."

"It doesn't mean it's not true," Beth said serenely, passing a hand over her dark hair. "I, for one, believe it, and I reckon that Billie has developed a thing for you, Nerys Catherine Powell."

I reached over and pulled her hair. She shrieked and looked at me indignantly, eyes narrowing. I smiled sweetly, and Siân shook her head at us.

"Fools," she said affectionately before we entered Mr. Trow's classroom.

And then there was another distraction, only a week after that incident with the boy shorts and Billie. Funnily enough, it involved Beth, her romantic side, her constant colds and, for some unusual reason, a smashed jar of manuka honey.

She came into school looking a bit distracted, and I knew that something was up straight away. In form, I brushed off Glyn by telling him I had 'girl trouble' (interpret that how you want) and dragged Beth away to sit at one of the computers. Miss Moore didn't challenge us, something that I was glad for, and Glyn left us alone, which I noticed seemed to be reluctant on his part.

"What's up with you?" I demanded.

She glanced at me, and then sighed, heavily. "I...I met someone last night." I gaped at her. 'Met someone'?

"Someone, as in, what way?" I asked, cocking my head to one side and leaning forward. She messed with the mouse mat on the computer desk, picking at the cloth covering the foam the mat was made out of.

"As in a boy," she muttered. "I don't know his name. It's a long story but...I might see him again tonight."

I stared at her, bewildered. Girls like Beth rarely met boys outside of school. The last time any boy approached her had been at the shopping centre, and she got so embarrassed she couldn't speak except to yell at them that her mother wouldn't let her have a mobile phone. Which was a pity, because that scared the lads off, and they were pretty cute. Anyway, Beth meeting a boy felt quite monumental at the time.

"Tell me what happened," I commanded, and she rolled her eyes but complied.

When the story was over, I gathered two things: she was potentially barking mad and had finally found a cure for her cold. Her father had been researching the medicinal properties of manuka honey and found that it was very effective on colds and throat infections, and Beth had gone to the supermarket the night before to buy some of the honey. However, there was only one jar left, and she ended up fighting with some cute boy over the jar, which resulted in her dropping it and it smashing all over the supermarket floor. By the end of the night, he appeared to have nicknamed her 'Manuka' and had told her 'see you tomorrow!'

"...So, I'm hoping that I'll see him tonight," she said eagerly, "And, you know, stuff will happen. Kind of."

"What, with your dad just around the corner?" I snorted. "Sure."

She glared at me. "Cheers, Nerys, I love you too."

"Beth, I didn't mean it like that," I responded, "I'm just saying that your dad's going to be there, so you can't exactly leap on the boy and start snogging him to within an inch of his life, can you?"

"I wasn't planning on it!" exclaimed Beth, pale face reddening. "God, Nerys, I've got some self-respect, I'm not Siân you know!"

"That's true," I noted. "No one is quite like Siân Jones when it comes to self-respect or lack thereof. But anyway, what's your plan for tonight then?"

"Um, go home, get changed, go out, find him, and then, I don't know, I get lost. Preferably, not wrestle him over a jar of honey." She ran a hand through her hair, looking worried. "Oh, God, Nerys, what the hell do I do?!"

"Just say hello and ask for his name and his number and stuff," I shrugged. "I don't know; you're asking the wrong person. You should probably ask Siân."

"Are you mental?" It was Beth's turn to gape. "She'd have me turning up in a bra and a miniskirt before performing a lap dance on the guy –"

"You forget the fact that Siân doesn't do foreplay. She'd skip the lap dance and go straight to having sex in the freezer," I said wisely before Beth ruined the effect by cracking up and laughing.

"I guess," she giggled. "But what would you do, if you were me?" she pressed.

I pulled on her hair. "I, Beth, would never be so crazy as to fight a guy over a jar of honey," I told her, shaking my head. "You're completely bonkers, do you know that? But if I was you...Then I'd talk to him, find out his name and then his number. I'm pretty sure that Siân would say the same thing. She's not really into corrupting people like you, Beth."

"Okay. Okay. Ask his name, then his number...I think I can do that," she said confidently. Then she bit her lip. "Then what?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Beth," I said with a small smile. "Don't worry about it just yet."

And she smiled at me, seemingly content with what I had just said before the panic set in again and she said, "Oh my God, what am I going to wear?"

Typical Beth. So overdramatic.

(May I just note, right now, that I still love Siân and think she's fantastic, if not a bit lacking in the self-respect department? Because, you know, I wouldn't want anyone thinking I don't like her or anything...)