Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.

Chapter One

Maybe if I'd had a sister, it would've been different. Maybe-if I'd had a sister-it would've been alright.

Girls have always knocked me out. I don't just mean the normal way girls knock you out and make you want to get your hands on them-although I feel that way too. What I mean is-girls intrigue me. Completely. I like watching them, the way they move, the way they do their nails and stuff, all the time they spend on their clothes and their hair. All the stuff other guys get fed up with.

It's like-I dunno-girls just aren't there, like guys are, or, you know, horses are or something. The really gorgeous ones have to make themselves up-put themselves together. It's-creative. That's what intrigues me.

Maybe though, as I say, if I'd had a sister, I'd have had a gutful of it all-never getting in the bathroom, watching all that clothes havoc before she went off to a club, hearing the drama if her hair went wrong. Maybe I wouldn't think it was creative. Maybe I'd think it was a pain in the arse.

And maybe then, I'd never have fallen for Mimi.

I saw her in my second week of college. I'd been wandering round ever since I got there with my tongue hanging out. All these new girls everywhere, girls I'd never seen before, all in their new gear for the start of term, no more school uniform-it was too much. I don't know how I made it to the right places to register and listen to lectures and eat. I really don't. I was in this kind of daze, just watching them all. And some of them were watching me too, because I'm not that bad looking if you want to know the truth. I'm kind of big, too. I look like I've grown up.

Anyway. There I was, wandering, and looking, all kinds of luxurious and which-one-shall-I-go-for, when I saw Mimi. I found out later that she was called Mimi. Strutting up the steps to the library, great shape, bit too thin maybe, long long legs, with all this brownish hair pulled over to one side and this neat, rusty coloured skirt and black jacket-and that was it.

I was pole axed. I staggered up the stairs after her and went into the library, flashed my card and pulled any old book off the self. Then I saw her into one of the alcoves and sit down. I followed her in and sat right down opposite her.

And I got a good look at her face.

Dangerous.

I don't know what it's like for girls when you get near someone you really fancy, but for blokes it's bad news. There's all this pumping going round your body, everything screaming sex! sex! sex!, and you feel about as obvious and lit up as the dodgems. You expect the girl you're homing in on to jump up and start screaming and whacking you, or something, but they never do. Maybe they don't realise whats going on or maybe they're just too polite to say.

Anyway. I opened my book, which had to be about quilt making, didn't it, and I sat there and pretended to read it, and looked at that amazing face. I went from her eye lids down to her nose and stayed a long while on here mouth-then I went all round her neck and into her hair and back to her eye lids again. That journey didn't help the pounding inside me. I could've done it forever.

She was flicking through this big, black book and jotting things down in a little notebook. It looked like she might be working, which was not something I could understand, the state I was in right then.

After a while, she pulled her bag towards her and rummaged inside, pulling out a little pink case thing, snapping it open and taking a look into it. It was a mirror-you could tell, just by the way she was looking into it. And then this is what killed me. She didn't do anything, just looked. Most girls would get their lippy out or flick at their hair or scrape some mark off their face, or something, but not her. She just looked and smiled, as though there was no improvement she could make.

And she was right, there wasn't. Not one thing.

Then she snapped it shut, and put it in her bag again, followed by the book and notebook, and then she looked up at me. She had stunning eyes, cinnamon coloured and clear as water. She looked into me like I was a mirror too, then stood up and walked away.

Leaving me totally wiped out. Gone.

The thing is, I'm not completely lacking in confidence around girls, not like some blokes are. I don't want to start bragging and telling you how long my track record is, but I've had a bit of experience. And that's taught me never to hunt in packs, like some blokes do. If you want a night full of loud chat and lots of beer and throwing up and absolutely no contact with the opposite sex, go round in a group of guys. But if you're really after a girl-especially one special girl, like I was-you do it on your own.

It took me three weeks to pull Mimi. I found out about her and I followed her, and made eye contact with her, and one scared day stood next to her in the canteen queue and exchanged a few comments about how crap the food was that they had to offer. Then I got chatting to some of the people she hung around with and made sure I got asked to the party she was going to on Friday night.

And then, I moved in.

Just the normal stuff. I got her a drink, and I tried to talk to her until the room got too loud for talking, then there was a bit of drunken dancing going on, and we joined in. God, she was perfect. She moved like nothing could touch her, nothing could affect her, like she was on another plane. Then after a bit, we went into the kitchen to get another drink and when we left it and walked into the dark corridor, that's when I really moved in.

That's the real test, isn't it? That's when you find out if you're on or not. Well, I was on. And I was so blown away that by the fact that she was letting me wrap my arms round her body and put my mouth on her face I suppose I didn't noticed much that she wasn't-you know. Responding.

Well, OK. Things had only just started. There was plenty of time.

It was late, and the party was coming to a bit of an abrupt finish. You know, parents arrive back, lights-switched-on, "I told you no later than two am and what the hell's that on the carpet?" So I grabbed her by the arm and towed her outside, and told her I wanted to see her again. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," she said. "I'm going shopping."

I'd meant tomorrow night, of course, but I said, "Great. Let me come." I was expecting her to laugh and say something along the lines of "get lost."

But she didn't. She looked up at me, coolly, and said, "OK. I need a new dress. You can tell me what I look like in it."

Whoa. I'd never met a girl who wanted me to go shopping with them before, and I'd always rather fancied it. Hanging round the mirrors and changing rooms, trying to look blokeish and bored, watching Mimi fixated on making herself look even more gorgeous…what a turn on.

Shopping? I was on, all right.

I met Mimi at eleven o'clock outside the chip shop and she let me kiss her on the side of her face about a mile from her mouth. Then she said, "Ever been to Harum?"

"What?" I asked

"It's a shop. A completely brilliant shop. Like Biba-you heard of Biba?"

I frowned. I sort of had. "Some old hippy shop, wasn't it? My mum-"

"It wasn't just a shop. It was like a club, a special place. Somewhere you worked your life out in. Harum's the same. You go in there, you're-different. It's just-it's brilliant. I'll show you." And she turned on her heel and walked off, me following.

It was the longest speech I'd heard her make so far. I caught her up and got hold of her hand.