You Really Got A Hold On Me

I've Just Seen A Face

"So, ready for another year of meaningless calculus lessons and uptight history teachers?" Abby asked me as we closed our lockers and made our way to our first class.

Abby was my best friend, no, more than a best friend – my other half... in friendship terms that is. We had known each other ever since my first day in primary school when my dad and I moved up to Liverpool. I still remember it clearly, a boy started picking on me and stole my pencils because I was the new girl but Abby poured her cup of juice all over him and told him to back off. Ever since then we've been inseparable. It didn't matter so much that I was an only child because I had Abby, she filled the gap of a brother and a sister put together. And sometimes a mother when I needed it...

"I swear if a teacher so much as asks me how my day is going I may just vomit all over their pristine pressed shirt" I said to Abby as she laughed. First day back after the summer was always the worst. Over enthusiastic teachers eager to get back into the swing of things and a large pile of homework that would no doubt take up most of the evening.

"And no new guys!" She complained, surveying the corridor.

"One can only hope" I said. We sighed and prepared for the predictably uninteresting day ahead.

Second lesson was a drag, Maths. I stared at the clock, stared out the window, at the floor, anywhere except the teacher, Mr Nicholson who could put us all to sleep faster than a couple of sleeping pills. Half the class saw Maths as a chance to get a quick nap and I was heading in that direction too when something hit me on the shoulder. I looked at my desk, there was a note folded on pink paper. Abby. She's the only one that I know who passes notes on pink scented paper. I opened it up and it read: "hey, wanna got to the Casbah after school? xxx"

The Casbah was this café about fifteen minutes away from our school that was famous for its good coffee and its where all the 'cool' people hung out. It was 'the place' to be seen apparently.

"Sure xxx" I wrote on the back and threw it to Abby who read it and winked at me. I knew Abby didn't want to go to the Casbah just to get some coffee. Quite a lot of guys had been hanging out there recently and seeing as both Abby and I were single she wanted to go boy-spotting.

Abby is extremely pretty, and I'm not just saying that because she's my best friend. Loads of guys from our school asked her out but she turned them all down because they were all too immature for her and Abby hated the idea of dating someone her own age anyway. She preferred older guys because they are "real men" she said and I had to admit that I did too, despite being scared of the idea. I just liked the idea of mature guys that's all – who were romantic and surprising but I should have known better as guys like that probably only exist in books and movies.

Abby's looks have always been a source of envy for me, especially her hair. She has luscious golden locks that flow past her shoulders in loose curls which any guy would dream of running his hands through. I, on the other hand, am aggressively uninteresting compared to Abby. My hair is straight and a sort of chocolate brown colour and I am nowhere near as social as she is, it just seems to come naturally to her whereas I am a "shrinking violet" as my father has always said, much to my annoyance.