One of the Boys

ONE OF THE BOYS

I roll my eyes when I hear a scream coming from the kitchen. Who wouldn't? Shaking my head, I listen for what's coming next.

               “Vanessa!” She shouts my name, but I don’t respond. Perhaps I’ll torture her a little longer. “Vanessa honey – come downstairs a second.” Her voice wavers at the end. Laughing, I put down my guitar and jog to the top of the stairs.

                “What, Mum?” I ask, a little annoyed. “What’s wrong?”

                “There’s a spider!” she screams this time. “Come and get rid of it.” Another spider. How wonderful. What is wrong with the poor misunderstood creatures, I do not know. But Mum hates them. Detests them. She has pretty bad arachnophobia.

                “Coming,” I sigh.

When I enter the kitchen, I see a small black dot-sized creature scurrying up and down the white tiles whilst my lunatic Mother chases it with one of her pink fluffy slippers.

                “Stop,” I tell her, panicked. “You’re going to kill it.” Reluctantly, she stands still, dropping the slipper on the floor. “Now go into the sitting room and calm down whilst I put this poor baby outside.” The patronising tone in my voice makes her frown, but she does as I ask.

                “Be quick, Vanessa.”

Once she’s out of the room, I kneel on the floor – the cold tiles on my bare knees tingling a little. As if by magic, the spider runs straight into my open palm, so I scoop it up, push open the back door with my elbow and let it loose outside again. I know for sure that that little devil won’t be coming back in this house any time soon. My Mum probably gave the poor thing a heart attack – if spiders can have heart attacks.

With a smirk on my face, I close the door and make my way to the sitting room. Mum’s sat on the sofa with her legs curled up like a young girl.

                “It’s gone,” I console her. “I put it outside.”

                “Thanks honey,” she says, relief flooding her face. “That was the third one this week – can you believe it?”

                “I know,” I say. Spiders love our house. Perhaps we’ll have to bring in some conkers to ward them off.

Clumsily, I collapse onto the sofa next to her. The guitar practise can wait an hour or so.

                “Vanessa?” she calls after a few minutes. I hate the name Vanessa, but now matter how hard I try, she’ll never call me Ness like everybody else.

                “Yeah?” I reply casually, even though I know what’s coming.

                “Did you think about the ballet lessons?” Her question hangs in the air between us like it has a million times before. My answer is always the same, of course.

                “Mum, for the last time, I am not taking ballet classes. I don’t dance. End of.” Once more, she looks disappointed – but what else can I say? There’s no way I’m prancing around in a ridiculous dress, that’s for sure.

                “I wish you would, honey. I’ll help you with your posture. And your manners. Maybe you’ll make some girlfriends there too. I know the teacher, she’ll accept you in her beginner class.”

To be honest, Mum doesn’t know how silly she sounds. For one, the beginner class is full of six year olds. Secondly, the teacher was her ballet teacher, so is now classed as ancient. And finally – I don’t dance. Ever. Unless I’m messing around.

                “Mum, I’ve said before. I don’t want to learn ballet. I can barely balance on one leg, never mind on my toes. Plus football practise runs at the same time.”

                “Oh Vanessa, you and your football. You don’t even play with girls! Why can’t you be more like you’re sister? She’s head cheerleader.” I live in England, so cheerleading isn’t exactly popular. But my younger sister attends an after school club. And she recently got promoted to the captain. Being compared to Beth is like torture because we’re so different. I’m pretty sure she hates it as much as I do.

                “It’s my choice Mum, can you just get over the fact I’m not into dancing and respect that?” She sighs, defeated.

                “Okay, but when you start college on Monday – please try to make some girl friends. They’d help you with your fashion sense.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I head out and back up to my bedroom. College was going to be a blast – all of my friends were going to the same one. I’d be studying Physics, Maths and Biology as well as hopefully making the girl’s football team. Fingers crossed. Not that playing with girls is as fun as it is with the guys.

Mum has another thing coming to her if she thinks I’m making friends with any girls. The last girl friend I’ve had that I can remember was Polly Adams, and she isn’t worth mentioning. I’d been invited around her house – but was banned as soon as her Mum found out I’d flushed her Barbie down the toilet playing a game of ‘Danger Trials’. It’s safe to say I’m not Polly’s favourite person now, even ten years on.  I guess it didn’t help that I’d received a better grade in every GCSE on results day. Her Mum wasn’t too happy.

Unfortunately for me, Polly Adams chose Dane Bank College too. I just hope she doesn’t share my Biology class.

Just as I’m about to pick up my guitar again, my phone bleeps. A grin makes its way on to my face as I see it’s a text from Chris. He’s my best friend – and always will be, and he wants to know whether I’m up for a kick about tomorrow. Did I mention he’s Polly’s brother? Count me in. A perfect end to the holidays.

Finally, the guitar gets the attention it deserves. I strum a few notes before jumping into a random song, banishing my anger and forgetting everything that’s troubling me.

Hey. So it's Bex here, writing a new story. How'd you like it? Please comment, vote, fan and let me know where you'd like me to go with this. Thank you for reading!