Stereotype (3 page)

Chapter Ten

I know Sarah’s room almost as well as I know my own. Around her mirror she has a bunch of those cool fridge magnets, the ones that have great phrases on them like
When I found Mr Right I didn’t realise his first name was Always
. Fiona bought that one for her after she broke up with Kieran, her boyfriend of six months. None of us, including Sarah, were too broken-hearted when that relationship ended. In fact, as I recall, we went out to Planet Hollywood to celebrate.

“Hey, guess what?” Sarah says.

“You’re starting a band,” I reply.

She looks disappointed at not getting to announce it. “Fiona told you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So . . .”

“So . . . what?”

“So what do you
think?”
she demands.

“Does it really matter what I think?” I ask.

“Abi! Yeah, it does. You think it’s a stupid idea, don’t you?”

Honesty is the best policy, but also helps you lose friends quicker than any other virtue.

“No! I think it’ll be great,” I lie.

“Really?” she beams.

“Really. Come on, tell me more about it.”

“You sure? I don’t want to bore you to death.”

I don’t want her to bore me to death either, but she has this gigantic smile on her face and is bubbling with energy and excitement. I hope it’s not infectious.

“Just tell me,” I say.

“Well, I ran into Shane yesterday. You know Shane, right?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so.”

“You
do
. . . he remembers you, anyway. I used to work with him in Superquinn. He came over here a couple of times.”

While I am still musing over whether I can recall Shane or not, Sarah continues.

“Well, he’s still there, and I saw him yesterday, and we started talking about music and stuff. He called around when he finished work and we decided – we’re going to start a band.”

“I hear he’s a guitar player, huh?”

“Yep. And he writes songs, and sings, and – he’s just
so
talented, Abi, you would not believe it.”

I grin. “You like him, don’t you?”

She shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe a little. I don’t know. But it’s more just . . . oh, I don’t know. He likes all the same bands that I do, and we just –
see
music the same way. It’s amazing.”

I can’t remember the last time she sounded this happy. I mean, she’s normally cheerful, but
this
– this I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

“That’s great,” I say honestly.

“Yeah . . . it is.” She beams again and twirls around the room. “I can’t wait until we get started. Shane has a couple of friends who might be interested. And I’ve been writing new songs all day. It’s like – now I have a
reason
for writing them. It’s just – incredible.” She laughs. “So, any news with you?”

Well, Sarah, although I’m delighted that you’ve found a purpose to your life, I’m just a teeny bit jealous of your happiness and will probably go home after this and play with sharp objects.

I shrug. “Not really, no.”

Chapter Eleven

This year at school has been full of irrelevant, pointless activities. I suppose if I had thrown myself into it I would have gotten more out of it, but as you know, I’m lazy. It was a nice idea back in September, the thought of me enthusiastically Getting Involved in as much as possible, but I never put it into practice.

It’s almost over, though. I mean, it’s mid-March. We get our Easter holidays in a couple of weeks and then it’s just a matter of biding our time until the summer holidays. I can’t wait.

Then, Fifth Year. Actual work. I’m not sure how I’ll cope, but I have a feeling it’ll involve a lot of chanting to myself, “Just another two years and you’re out of here.”

It is Tuesday and we all have a morning of Irish dancing. Apparently some nutcase in the staff-room thought it would be a good idea to subject our year to this torture. Tragically, my tracksuit and runners are at home. I try to look distraught as I explain the situation to the teacher. I am sent off to be supervised along with assorted others, including Caroline, a fellow survivor of Junior Cert German. I sat beside her for three years and we bonded in hatred for the subject. Needless to say, we’re not planning on continuing with it for the Leaving.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down beside her.

“Hey. Not doing Irish dancing, huh?”

“No.”

“You must be heartbroken.”

“I am.” I grin, pretending to wipe away a tear. “But I’ll cope.”

“I bet. Have a good weekend?”

“It was OK. How about you?”

“Same. I was working all day Saturday.”

“Fun.”

“Oh yeah. There was one girl who came in looking for the Mandy Moore album and threw a fit when she realised we didn’t have it. She actually started screaming at me because it wasn’t in the shop.”

“Oh my God. How old was she?”

“About ten.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “I almost felt like yelling right back at her for having such crappy taste in music.”

I laugh. OK, so I’m against judging people by what kind of music they listen to – but come
on!
No sane person would yell over Mandy Moore.

“Did we all have such bad taste when we were kids?” she sighs.

I nod. “Hate to tell you, but . . . yeah.”

She smiles. “At least we recovered.”

“True.”

Pause. “I still listen to Britney, though,” she confesses sheepishly.

“I bought the latest Westlife album,” I admit.

We laugh.

“This conversation never happened,” I say.

“What conversation?” she asks innocently.

I’d love to be pretty. I wonder what it feels like, to be able to look in the mirror and beam at your reflection. Sure, I have my good days, the days when I feel that I don’t need to put a paper bag over my head. But there’s no way that I’m
pretty.

For starters, I am not tall and willowy and graceful, or petite and cute and delicate. I’m somewhere in between. Same with my figure – I’m not thin or fat, just average. I have freckles, but not too many of them. And my hair – oh, my hair.

Ever read
Anne of Green Gables
? You know the way she’s completely distraught over the fact that her hair is red? Well, that’s me. I like to call it “auburn”. It’s grown darker in recent years, which can only be a good thing, but it’s still most definitely not brown.

If I could look like any one of my friends, I’d have to pick Sarah. Fiona is actually prettier than she is, but Sarah has one of those perpetually happy faces. Even if she’s depressed, she finds something to smile about, and that makes all the difference.

Karen would never win a beauty pageant. OK, I wouldn’t either, I know. She’s not ugly or plain – she’s just average. Maybe it’s just that she’s been getting on my nerves lately. People always seem more attractive when you’re in a good mood with them. When you’re not, you project your irritation with them onto your perception of them. That’s my theory, anyway.

It certainly would explain why I think the bleached-blonde look doesn’t work for so many of the bitches in our year. Then again, maybe it really
is
just absolutely hideous.

Lunch. Tina is talking about what she’s going to wear out this weekend. Leanne is planning how she’s going to get drink. Niamh is showing everyone the text messages from her boyfriend. Karen is participating in the fascinating discussion. I am not.

I am Silent Abi. I sit. I observe. I get extremely bored. I leave.

Caroline’s sitting in her classroom with her group. If I knew them better I’d go in, but I’m not the most socially adept person on the planet. I venture up to the Fifth-Year classrooms.

Fiona and Sarah are sitting at the back of the classroom. Fiona is copying Sarah’s maths homework. Sarah is nibbling at a roll and sending text messages to someone. Possibly Shane. Probably Shane.

“Texting Shane?” I ask.

She looks up. “Hey, Abi. Yeah, it’s Shane.”

“She is
so
in love with him.” Fiona smirks.

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Stop. Please. I’m not.”

“Yes, you
are.
It’s so obvious.”

“I’m not! I’m just excited about the band, that’s all.”

“
Sure.
”

“Go do your homework,” Sarah tells her.

Fiona goes back to her maths.

“I don’t like him,” Sarah says firmly. “I don’t.”

It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself of that fact, but I don’t say anything.

“I believe you,” I reassure her.

I hope Shane isn’t going to be the sole topic of conversation for the next six months. I remember when she was going out with Kieran. At first it was, “He’s so wonderful/kind/gorgeous, don’t you think so? I wonder if he likes me. Do you think he likes me? No, of course he doesn’t. He probably just thinks of me as a friend. Maybe he doesn’t even like me as a friend! Maybe he really hates me and every time I talk to him he can’t wait to get away from me . . .”

Stage Two. Budding Romance. “I think he likes me. I mean, he’s been calling me every night this week. That has to mean something, right? And we’re going to the cinema on Saturday. But I don’t know if it’s a just-as-friends thing, or if we’re going to the cinema
together.
You know what I mean?”

Stage Three. Getting Together. “So, we’re officially going out now! Oh my God, I can’t believe it. My boyfriend, Kieran. Wow. But what if he only wants to go out with me so he can say he has a girlfriend?”

Stage Four. Jealousy and Insecurity. “We saw his ex yesterday. She’s so pretty, you wouldn’t believe it. And skinny. He’s still friends with her, you know. He was really nice to her. He probably wishes he was still with her.”

Stage Five. Boredom. “It’s just not exciting anymore. He’s so
predictable
. I don’t even bother getting dressed up for him anymore. I mean, what’s the point? We’re like an old married couple.”

Stage Six. Fighting. “I hate him. Absolutely hate him. Every time he says something, I just want to shoot him. He’s so boring! He never shuts up about that stupid car he wants to buy. I mean, who cares?”

Stage Seven. Post-Break-Up Blues. “I miss him so much. Why did I break up with him? Why? He was such a great boyfriend. I’m so
stupid!”

Stage Eight. A New Beginning. “So we’re back together now. It’s great! Really! Even if he’s boring and I hate his friends and he spends way too much time hanging around his ex-girlfriend. This is what I want. Really.”

Stage Nine. Coming To One’s Senses. “Thank God that
asshole
is out of my life for good.”

Not that I don’t absolutely adore Sarah. I mean, she is one of my closest friends in the entire world. I just wish that the boyfriend crisis wasn’t so all-consuming. It gets boring hearing about your friend’s love life. Especially if your own happens to be somewhat non-existent at the time.

To be fair to Sarah, she didn’t babble on about Shane all through lunch. The babbling was mostly band-related. Sort of like Michelle in
American Pie
. Fiona and I nodded and smiled like the good friends we are.

I find it hard to get enthusiastic about anything. Sometimes even going out with my friends seems like too much effort.

After lunch it’s time for assorted Pointless Classes. I settle back and examine my homework journal. Behind me, Karen is whispering to Leanne. I can’t believe she doesn’t realise how horrible Leanne really is. I can’t believe the others don’t, either. I don’t get why Karen is a part of their group. An enthusiastic member, I mean. I’m just the quiet one who sits there biting her nails. She likes them. She really does.

I hate her sometimes.

Our last class is careers, in which no one listens. We get handouts on different universities. I think I’ll do Arts in UCD. A nice, pointless degree, right? I can study a couple of subjects I like for a few years without having to decide what I actually want to do.

I actually love careers class, even if half the time it’s devoted to a lecture on the importance of having a study timetable. It’s like a glimpse into the future, the post-secondary-school bliss. I can’t wait.

Sophie and the Bleach Brigade are amusing themselves by asking stupid questions and then not bothering to listen to the answers. Ha. Ha. Yes, hilarious. Ever thought of doing stand-up comedy, girls? Here’s a tip –
don’t.

In two and a half years’ time
they
will be the ones with not enough points for the course they want to do, or finding dead-end jobs which will leave them bitter and hardened before they’re thirty.

Now
, they waste time and annoy the hell out of the rest of the class. Well, me, at least.