DISCLAIMER: I own neither Stand By Me nor "The Great Pretender" by The Platters. BUT, I do own a little ditty I made up myself :
"My Mummy says I'm special,
my Mummy says I'm cool,
my Mummy says I'm special,
cause I go to a special school!" (Don't worry, it's not true. It's really shit, anyway, I almost wish I didn't own it.)
"Oh yes! I'm the great pretender, ooo-o ooo-o, something eeeeeelse, oooo-o oooo-o…" It really was amazing how talented I was at singing. The trouble was, no one else thought so. Because, simultaneously, 3 voices cried out "SHUT UP!!!" Naturally, I didn't. What did they think I was, considerate? Anyway, it's not often that I'm in a good mood in the morning, so really, they should have been making the most of it and singing along with me.
I glanced in the mirror. This is where I start to talk about my perfect white teeth, full lips, bright blue eyes and fabulous, chocolate-caramel-cream-strawberry-on-top hair, right? Wrong. (My eyes are green, anyway.) In fact, the most interesting thing about me looking in my mirror was that I suddenly realised how messy my room really was. (And still is.) But that's beside the point, mainly because it is my life's goal NOT to clean it. Sorry Mum.
I bopped my way down the hall (scary, I know, especially since my bopping leaves a lot to be desired) and into the kitchen, blinding several people with my huge grin.
"What are you so happy about?" Mum asked. She sounded kind of…frightened.
"Ohh, nothing, you know, something." I giggled a little.
Mum suddenly leaned in close. "Is it…a boy?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
"Uh, no?" Jesus, what is it with parents? It's as if they think my life revolves around boys. Okay, so maybe it does, but it doesn't mean that I think about them constantly. Well, okay, so maybe I do, but-
"What then?" Mum had exhausted all the possibilities for my happiness, apparently.
I paused, leaning back in my chair. Why WAS I so happy?
"No idea, actually." I shrugged, and wandered over to the cupboard. Within lay my last jar of Vegemite. I'd brought over 8 of them when we moved from New Zealand to America. Still not entirely sure as to why we had moved in the first place. And why we chose Castle Rock of all places. I mean, great place, but I'm sure that Mum and Dad just pulled out a map, closed their eyes, twirled a finger, and it happened to land here. So here we came. No, actually, I think the real reason we came was because of Dad and his work. He was asked to come because he's a fireman, and there'd been a crazy amount of bushfires in the recent years (the summers just got hotter and hotter), and due to his expertise he said okay, and came. So basically, it was all just a temporary thing, one year of helping out in Oregon, then back to the old down under down under I love so well.
School had recently started again, and it was Friday. That would probably explain my cheerfulness, because as we all know, Friday is there so you know that it's almost Saturday, and Saturday is there so we don't have to go to school.
So anyway, back to the story, before I go off on another tangent. Dad was at work. Mum would be going to work that evening (night-shift at the hospital). My eldest brother, William, was still in University in NZ; my little sister, Rory, was going to the local primary school, and my older brother Daniel and I (Elizabeth, or Elle) were off to Castle Rock High. (Not, as I frequently call it, "Castle Rock College", since in America that means university. Argh.)
Anyway, it took me so long to get the perfect consistency of Vegemite on my toast that I ended up being late for school. But teachers are (generally) kind to poor little foreign girls, and my usual excuse of getting lost (which was true, since I had walked into the wrong classroom as well as missed the bus) worked just fine.
First period: English. Very sarcastic whoop-de-doo. No, I actually really like English, I just feel like I should complain about it. Slid into my seat, smiled hello at my friend Tess, tried my very best not to laugh too much at the boy in front of me when the teacher called the roll. Failed miserably.
Chris Chambers, the guy on my left, leaned over and asked me what was so funny.
"His name…" I giggled. Chris nodded, waiting for me to go on. "It's Randy!" I cackled (as quietly as I could, of course).
"And…?" He was grinning, but that was probably just because I was getting slightly hysterical and gasping for air like a wounded buffalo. Not that I've ever seen a wounded buffalo gasping for air (or a buffalo, for that matter).
"Elizabeth? Are you alright?" Mrs Coster asked worriedly.
"Not really," I gasped. "Just, may I get a drink of water?"
"Of course," she said. I staggered out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, I dissolved into a fit of giggles. How embarrassing. Particularly as, after class, Chris told me that laughter had indeed been heard inside the classroom.
"So, what was so funny about the name "Randy", anyway?" He asked as we walked to biology.
"Oh, where I come from, 'randy' means 'horny'." I waited for the inevitable explosion of laughter.
Silence.
I looked up. He was grinning at me, shaking his head in that "oh, that girl, whatever shall we do with her" kinda way. (Though, for the record, Chris is NOT the type of guy who would say anything remotely like that. Thank God.) Then he started laughing, softly at first, then louder. It struck me, quite randomly, how nice he looked when he laughed. My stomach did a little jig.
"That's not that funny," he choked.
"But you're laughing…" I pointed out.
"Just because you made such a big deal about it. I was expecting more of a…I don't know, a-"
"Funny thing?"
"Yeah." He smiled at me again, and I realised that the jig in my stomach was now more like a tap dance. With those cool tappin' shoes.
It wasn't long before I realised the truth: I liked Chris.
It was a problem, a very big problem. A huge, elephant-sized problem…Okay, not that big a problem. It wasn't like I had a boyfriend or a pet monkey or anything like that. Though a pet monkey would be grand…
Anyway. It was just frustrating, for 2 reasons:
My "Official Crush List" was over a page and a half now. Sad? Very. Healthy? Not at all.
There were only so many boys I could actually talk to without blushing/saying nothing/saying something incredibly thick/getting sweaty hands (a problem I pick up from my dad). Chris used to be one of them. Not anymore.
The worst part was, I was in the middle of my "Get Kevin Baker" plan (the no. 1 guy on my list). Don't worry, I'll explain later.
"ARGH," was about the extent of my vocabulary at this point. Poor Tess, having to put up with a nutter like me. Though, she was obsessed with rugby players (an Aussie, what do you expect?).
"Elle? Are you going on the bus?" Tess tapped me on the shoulder.
"ARGH."
"Hurry up then, you dick, or we'll miss it. Again."
"ARGH."
Looking back now, I'm afraid she was right. I was a dick. And I was only going to get worse.
dun dun DUN
Well, was it any good? (I thought it to be a bit crap, actually. And the "Randy" thing is a true story. Except without the hot Chris.) Please review. I don't care if all you have to say is "Peanuts are in my belly", a review is a review. Oh, and that stuff about the bushfires, well my dad actually did go to America for a couple of months a few years back to help out with that, so it's true, but it sounds kinda dumb, I know, lol.
DiggingDog
