Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1)

  ALI CRONIN

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Coming soon

  GIRL HEART BOY:

  GIRLS’ NIGHT IN

  GIRL HEART BOY:

  FORGET ME NOT

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  GIRL HEART BOY:

  RUMOUR HAS IT

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  For my family

  1

  Ashley stretched like a cat and yawned so wide I could see the flappy bit at the back of her throat.

  ‘Yeah, no, I dunno,’ she said, post-yawn. ‘Maybe four? No wait …’ She looked at the common-room ceiling, as if the mounds of gobbed paper stuck there would provide some insight into her holiday sex stats. ‘Yeah. Four.’ She scratched at her eyebrow ring. Lovely Ashley and her insatiable need to be edgy.

  I wriggled on my chair. Partly because although it was September it was bloody boiling, and scratchy common-room chairs + sweaty thighs = not comfy. But also because I had a secret. Well, it wasn’t a secret, but at the same time I didn’t want just to shout it out. A girl has standards.

  Donna gave Ashley a little round of applause. ‘Nice work, lady. So, to recap. Zero for me …’ She raised the back of her hand to her forehead in mock regret. ‘Obviously just the one for Ms Monogamy over here.’

  Cass smiled almost guiltily and hugged her knees. Bless her, after nearly four years with Adam she knows the score. Let’s just say he’s not exactly Mr Monogamy.

  ‘Which just leaves our feminist friend, Sarah.’ Donna plonked herself on my knee and hooked her arm round my neck.

  ‘Any news, hmm?’ she asked, pressing her cheek against mine and fluttering her eyelashes. She wears so much mascara I could feel a draught. I pushed her off. She was pretty heavy.

  ‘That would be telling,’ I said demurely, but I couldn’t help grinning. Honestly, I’m such a tit.

  Donna spun round from her position at my feet and looked up at me, her dark eyes enormous. ‘Oh my God, you totally did it!’

  I actually giggled. I know: tragic.

  Ash and Cass both leant forward in their chairs like I was about to impart the news of the century, and I found myself with three pairs of eyes boring into me and three pairs of eyebrows reaching for the skies.

  ‘What?’

  Ash growled and chucked her apple core at me. ‘Just tell us!’

  ‘Well, his name’s Joe …’ I started, but was drowned out by my friends’ shrieks. There was a split second when the room went silent and everyone turned to look at us, but it was over as soon as it had begun. It was the first day of term: it was not the first gossip-related shrieking incident.

  ‘I KNEW there was something going on,’ crowed Cass gleefully. ‘You’ve been bouncing around like Tigger ever since we got here.’

  Donna punched me affectionately on the arm. ‘Who’d have thought, our own little man-hater’s all growed up.’

  ‘Ow! Piss off,’ I said amiably, rubbing my arm. ‘Anyway, I don’t hate men.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Cass, rubbing her hands together at the thought of the juicy goss I was about to serve up.

  So I told them.

  It started with a Disney Princess football.

  We were in Spain on holiday, me, my mum and dad and my little brother, Daniel. He’s twelve and on the cusp of being a total dickhead, so I was keen to stay out of his way. In fact, my plan was to sunbathe, read, swim, eat and maybe do a bit of sightseeing and shopping. That’s it. I mean, I liked my parents. I generally enjoyed being with them. But what they wanted from a holiday and what I wanted from a holiday was about as far apart as, let’s say for argument’s sake, getting up early to visit ancient ruins, and sleeping till noon to muster the energy for a busy afternoon’s lazing. In short, I wasn’t overly enthusiastic.

  The first three days we all mooched about on the beach, my parents making a show of taking my needs into consideration, but then the call of scenery became too much and they took Dan (sucker!) in the hire car up some mountains to take photos of The View, while I took myself, my iPod and my book down to the beach for some serious doing-nothing.

  I laid out my towel, rubbed Factor 30 into my exposed bits and settled down to some boy-meets-girl with an Ellie Goulding soundtrack. It was lovely to be basking in the sun, all on my own. I thought about the crisps and chocolate chilling in the cool bag beside me. Mum and Dad were of the opinion that eating anything between meals was some kind of character flaw. Like it was noble to be weak with hunger by teatime. But they weren’t here to disapprove. I wriggled with contentment. And then a football shot out of nowhere and bounced off my sunglasses, popping out both lenses.

  ‘OW! What the …?’ I howled, grabbing my poor broken shades. They were only Primark, but that wasn’t the point. I looked up to see someone looming over me. The sun was in my eyes, but I could see that it was a boy, about my age, and that he didn’t look particularly sorry.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? That bloody hurt!’ I had turned a fetching shade of beetroot, partly from the shock and the pain, but mainly cos I don’t do confrontation. Irritable tutting is about as far as I go, but I was so angry it had just come out.

  ‘I’m really sorry, mate,’ he said, laughing. ‘It was an accident. Ben’s a donkey in midfield.’ He pointed back at three guys, all pointing and laughing at me. Brilliant.

  ‘Yeah, well, you could have blinded me,’ I grumped.

  ‘No offence, but I don’t think so,’ said the boy, still smirking. What was he so chirpy about? ‘It’s just plastic. Look.’

  He held out the ball to me. It had Disney Princesses on it. And, while I didn’t fall for him there and then, it was definitely the beginning.

  Well, obviously I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Nice ball,’ I said. Then blushed again, as I fought the urge to glance at his pant region.

  He kneed the ball into the air and did a couple of keepy-uppies. ‘Thanks. I found it.’

  ‘Cool. Lucky you,’ I said wittily.

  He put his head on one side as if to say, ‘Huh. Strange girl,’ but then, despite my lack of conversational skills, flopped down on the sand beside me.

  ‘I’m Joe,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, Joe.’ He stared at me for a moment. I gawped back at him. Oh shit. Right. Social niceties. ‘Sarah,’ I said hurriedly.

  ‘Well, nice to meet you, Sarah,’ he said, smiling again. He had ridiculously perfect teeth, which explained all the grinning. Show-off. He looked down to brush a fly off his foot and I took the chance to give him the once-over. Short light-brown hair that had gone all surfer stiff with sea spray, dark-brown eyes, slim but not skinny, and wearing nothing but loose swim shorts. There was no denying it: he was hot.

  ‘So, you here on your own?’ he asked, tossing the ball from hand to hand.

  I shook my head. ‘With my parents,’ and then added quickly, ‘but I pretty much do my own thing. How about you?’

  ‘I’m with them,’ said Joe, nodding back at his friends, who were now engrossed in pushing each other over in the sand. ‘Mates from uni.’

  We watched one of them clutch his chest and die in dramatic slo
w-motion under a volley of imaginary machine-gun fire from another, and I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh yeah, studying what?’ I said. ‘Arsing Around 101?’ (Get me, making conversation! As long as his friends stayed over there, I’d be OK. I could handle a new person, but new people, plural? It was like my worst nightmare. I didn’t know what to do, what to say – even how to stand. Should I put my hands behind my back? Should I fold them? What expression should I have on my face? See? Nightmare. So instead I’d just clam up. It’s probably where the man-hater rep came from. People mistook my social crapness for aloofness.)

  Anyway, glory be, cos Joe laughed! ‘Yeah, with Advanced Dick Studies,’ he said. And then it was his turn to blush, or was it my imagination? ‘I mean, not literally, y’know … studying dicks.’

  I laughed then. ‘It’s OK. I knew what you meant.’

  ‘Cool.’ He met my eyes for a moment and smiled that smile again.

  Despite myself, I felt a flutter of excitement. Here I was – me, the virgin queen! – sitting on a Spanish beach chatting with a boy who was both gorgeous and funny, and who had just looked deep into my eyes. The girls would never believe this. Hell, I could hardly believe it. I hated being a virgin among, well, a whole heap of non-virgins. Hated it. But at the same time I’d pretty much resigned myself to staying that way forever. The thought of a boy fancying me enough to want to do It with me was just … weird.

  It’s not as if I had self-esteem issues. I didn’t spend hours in front of the mirror hating my body; I didn’t wear much make-up; and I had ambition. I wanted to be a writer when I was older and had every intention of making it. Like, give me half an hour to stare into space and imagine my future self doing a book-signing in Waterstones and I was there. But myself in a sex-based scenario? Way less believable. Go figure.

  ‘… anyway, join us if you fancy it.’ Joe looked at me expectantly. Shit, I’d been so busy analysing our conversation I’d forgotten to actually engage with it (story of my life).

  ‘Sorry, say that again?’

  He gave me the strange-girl alert look again and said, ‘We’re having a barbecue on the beach tonight. Wondered if you wanted to come?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Cool. Definitely.’ Mercifully I stopped just short of adding, ‘I’ll ask my mum.’

  Joe jumped to his feet and brushed the sand off his bum. ‘OK, great. See you here, nine-ish.’

  And with that he grabbed his princess ball and ran off to continue kicking Cinderella repeatedly in the face.

  Over lunch that afternoon I brought up my plans for the evening.

  ‘So, I was thinking of going out tonight,’ I said, casually spooning potatoes on to my plate.

  I felt my parents’ eyes on me. ‘Oh yes, who with?’ asked Dad, cutting to the chase, as is his way.

  ‘Just some people I met on the beach.’

  ‘People … or boys?’ Dad widened his eyes and waggled his fingers.

  ‘Boys …’ I hammed it up, mirroring him. ‘But don’t worry, they’re my age.’

  Dad squirted sauce on to his steak. ‘Oh right, I’m not worried at all then.’ He and Mum smirked at each other. I hated it when they did that Ooh, look at our teenager playing at grown-ups stuff.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Well, we were planning on having a massive orgy, but if it’ll make you feel better we’ll just go to the beach for a barbecue.’

  ‘What’s an orgy?’ piped up Dan.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Mum, ignoring him. ‘Just don’t be back too late. And don’t get drunk.’ She and Dad exchanged smiles again. Oh, how amusing to have a teenage daughter who caused you no trouble. Just watch it, I thought. All that could change.

  That evening I stumbled down the path to the beach with butterflies in my stomach and fake tan on my legs. I’d spent a stupid amount of time choosing what to wear, from the ridiculously underdressed (swimming costume and sarong) to the plain ridiculous (heels). I finally settled on an H&M sundress with flip-flops and my mum’s pashmina for warmth. Not exactly cutting edge, but then I’m no fashionista.

  When I got to the beach the light was just beginning to fade, and I stopped for a moment to watch this strange boy who, even stranger, had apparently taken an interest in me. He was sitting on the sand, light from the setting sun giving him a kind of bronze glow. He was looking out to sea and occasionally swigging from a bottle of beer. His mates were messing about in the water, their shouts and laughter ebbing and flowing like the sea. But Joe was content to sit and just … be.

  And ping! I fell for him. In the time it takes for a signal to move from eye to brain, I had transformed from a woefully inexperienced seventeen-year-old with stupidly high standards to one who had just been waiting for the right person. I almost laughed. I took a deep breath and set off down the beach, my flip-flops sliding around in the sand so my sophisticated sashay turned into an attractive drunken lurch.

  ‘Sarah, hey!’ said Joe, jumping up and kissing my cheek. He was a bit stubbly, and he smelled lovely. Sort of fresh and cucumber-y.

  ‘Sit down. Drink?’ he said, offering me a beer, which I hate but I took one anyway. I looked around for the barbecue.

  ‘Turns out they enforce the “No Barbecues” thing,’ said Joe, reading my mind. ‘We got ours confiscated.’ He jutted out his lip petulantly like a little kid, and I’m sorry, but it was cute.

  ‘How come you’re not with your friends?’ I asked, taking a sip of beer and wincing. Joe looked at me.

  ‘You don’t like it, do you?’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Not really,’ I admitted.

  ‘Here, I’ll have it.’ His hand brushed mine as he took the bottle. ‘There’s a couple of Cokes in there, I think.’ He nodded at a supermarket carrier bag.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking one and clinking his bottle with it. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers to you too, Sarah Doesn’t-like-beer.’

  ‘So, how come you’re not swimming?’ I asked again.

  Joe looked down at the sand and smiled, then lifted his eyes to mine. ‘Because I have good friends,’ he said cryptically.

  ‘Oh. Right. Cool,’ I said, not wanting to presume. Although I totally was presuming. Had they really left him so we could be alone?

  Joe didn’t move his eyes away from mine, and I could feel my face getting hot. ‘You’re quite beautiful, aren’t you?’ he said simply. I presumed it was a rhetorical question. What was I supposed to say? ‘Well, as you can clearly see, I’m not actually beautiful. In the right light I am quite pretty, though’? I kept quiet, and smiled goofily. Turns out even if you know a compliment isn’t true, hearing it can make your heart sing. I took a mouthful of Coke for something to do besides grin inanely.

  With his eyes on my lips, Joe moved his face towards mine. I’d like to say that our lips met in a passionate kiss while the waves crashed symbolically in front of us. But actually I choked on my drink.

  ‘Oh God,’ I said when I’d finally finished spluttering. ‘That was not supposed to happen.’ I dared to look at Joe, but, instead of regarding me with the disgust I deserved, his eyes were twinkling with what seemed suspiciously like affection. He put his hand gently behind my head.

  ‘Come here, you,’ he said, and pulled me towards him.

  Cue kiss.

  2

  And cue further screaming from the girls back in the common room.

  ‘Oh my God, what was it like?’ asked Cass, her eyes shining as she clasped her hands in rapture.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Donna. ‘When’s the sex part?’

  ‘It was lovely,’ I said, smiling as I remembered the way Joe stroked my face and ran his other hand up through my hair at the nape of my neck. Lovely didn’t cover it. It was bliss – pure and simple – and it made me feel gorgeous and sexy and special.

  ‘Aw, look at her,’ crooned Ashley, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. ‘She’s in lurve.’

  ‘Shuddup, Ash,’ I said, trying to ignore the heart-based fluttering that happen
ed whenever I thought about Joe.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Donna, making winding-up movements with her hands. ‘The sex …?’

  ‘All in good time, young Donna,’ I said primly. ‘A lady waits, you know.’

  Ashley snorted. ‘Sod that. A lady gets it when she wants it.’ Me and Cass looked at each other and rolled our eyes. This was a favourite theme of Ashley’s.

  ‘Mark of a true feminist,’ she said, picking at a hangnail on her big toe.

  ‘Yeah, all right, keep your Birkenstocks on,’ said Cass, ignoring the one-finger salute she got in return. ‘Go on, hon.’

  But the beeps for next period put paid to any more revelations. With a promise to meet back in the common room at lunch, we went our separate ways. Me to English, Cass to business studies, Donna to theatre studies and Ash to media studies. Not that we knew each other’s timetables or anything.

  Actually we knew everything about each other, more or less, and had done since the first week of Year Seven. You know how when you start a new school you hook up with people pretty quickly but only find your real friends over time? That didn’t happen with us. We found each other straight away, as if it was meant to be.

  We were put on the same table in science on our second day at school. Cass and Donna had been at the same primary school, although they’d never really spoken, but otherwise we didn’t know each other at all. My best friend from primary school, Megan Roberts, had emigrated to Australia in the summer holidays, and I was properly grieving. I felt like half of me was missing and I didn’t really care who I sat next to. Anyway, we didn’t get a choice cos our teacher, Mr Evershot, placed us.