Chapter 10: There’s Nothing Like a Good Style Icon to Cheer Up a Girl
It had been two days since my date with Oliver and I hadn’t heard a word. Melody says she can’t understand why I don’t just text him myself, but George is a little more savvy when it comes to the nuances of dating.
‘If Iris doesn’t get your mind off that boy, nothing will,’ George said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. ‘Want some?’
George offered me the bowl but I declined. I hadn’t told anyone but I decided to stop snacking between meals and since yesterday I’ve gone cold turkey on the chocolate. I even gave my stash of Lindt to the family next door, telling them that my friend just came back from Switzerland and brought back way too much and would they like some?
We’d just arrived home from school and even though I had the entire house to myself George and I were hanging out in my room watching a documentary about Iris Apfel, the ninety-five year-old New York style icon with whom we are both obsessed. My favourite part is when Iris tells the story about a lady from a fancy department store approaching her and saying, ‘I’ve been watching you and you’re not pretty, you’ll never be pretty, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve got something more important. Style.’
Style.
I get a real kick out of that because in that moment, when I see Iris draped in beads and bangles and turbans twice the size of her own head she looks so awesome that being pretty just seems so, well, boring and I think, at least for a little while, that maybe I’m okay. Maybe it doesn’t matter that I’m not much to look at, that I can make up for it with the way I dress, with the clothes I know how to make and with the fabrics for which I seem to have a good eye.
‘God, my legs are like toothpicks,’ George exclaimed, looking at his bare legs stretched across my bed.
‘They are so not,’ I said. ‘You’re gorgeous.’
We were sitting side by side. My legs were curled up and I was leaning on George’s left shoulder. It felt good being next to him, to be touching a boy, even if it was just George who has been my gay BFF since the cruel and painful beginnings of puberty. After the first time he came over to my house, Mum said to me, ‘I suspect that funny little George friend of yours bats for the other team, if you know what I mean. Still, gays make great friends.’ And, as it turned out, ever since we met he has, in fact, been a fantastic friend.
‘James is on this protein supplement that he swears by. He says it totally makes you grow muscle like you’re the Incredible Hulk or something.’
‘Eeeewww.’
‘You know what I mean,’ George said. ‘You can’t say James hasn’t got a hot body.’
‘He’s okay. But I think you look better. Promise me you will never, EVER, take roids.’
‘Oh, all right,’ George mumbled. ‘I guess I could ask for a refund.’
I wasn’t kidding when I told George he was gorgeous. He has shiny black hair that always looks cool no matter how he styles it, his eyes are kind and dark, and for some reason he has never had a problem with teenage acne. He’s got cheekbones to die for and I guess he’s kind of skinny, but as you can imagine, I don’t really get why that bothers him. When he smiles his mouth goes kind of crooked but his whole face lights up so you just know he really means it.
‘Oh, I love this bit,’ I said just as Iris was about to say something like, ‘Well, I suppose it’s better to be happy than well dressed.’
‘The only thing she’s ever said that I disagree with.’ George sounded totally serious, but you never know.
I lightly punched him on the arm. ‘You’re such an idiot.’ Some of the popcorn fell out of the bowl and onto my Day of the Dead quilt.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ George grumbled and we locked eyes and something crazy-weird happened. Instead of looking away we kept staring at each other and I got this urge to kiss him. Like in a sexy way, not in a ‘you’re my gay BFF way’. And I guess George felt the same, because next thing I knew I could taste the salt on his lips and his mouth tasted like popcorn and Iris was in the background saying that when you get old you have to keep pushing yourself, because all you want to do is sleep. My phone beeped and I ignored it and so did George and we just sat there kissing on my bed.
I don’t know why it happened. I mean, I love George, but not in a boyfriend way. Maybe it was because I didn’t have Oliver. There was one thing, though, that I knew for sure.
We were going to regret this.