in time // h.s.

viii. janet

Fifteen years old...

The best thing about taking Art as a GCSE was that you got to go on an art trip to Paris in year eleven. A week away from parents, exam stress and school work, traipsing around the millions of museums and eating trillions of crêpes and macaroons, understandably sounded very tempting. And that was why the three of us all decided to take up art when it came to filling out our options for the years ahead (yes, we all sat down and had a big chat about certain subjects we should all go for so that we'd get time together). Along with our compulsory subjects, we all opted for French over Spanish, Art over Drama, and History over Religious Education. I however went for Fashion and Textiles, while Matty went for Physical Education and Harry went for Law and Business. Our plans did backfire a little bit when it turned out that each year group was separated into new class sets for the mandatory core subjects as well as those we'd optioned, but we found ourselves together in Art, and at least we all got most of the same homework to plough through together.

In the weeks leadingy up to that art trip I felt an endless wave of apprehension. No, I wasn't worried about being stranded in the capital (that would have simply been an adventure) and I wasn't worried I'd get homesick (I couldn't wait to get out of the house). Nope, I was nervous because of a feeling that had been brewing inside during the previous months. Those feelings had nothing to do with Paris, but everything to do with Matty. A fact I was struggling to comprehend.

As a result of that afternoon underneath the Big Green, I was drawn to him like a piece of flimsy metal to a powerful magnet, there was no way of avoiding its strength. No way to resist. That unspeakable energy tingled away beneath the surface, giving me a surge of something unidentifiable every time I thought of him. It felt like we were on the cusp of a momentous change, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

Matty treated me as he always had, like one of the boys he could have a laugh with, or, at times, a little sister he was fiercely over-protective of. He was always draping an arm over my shoulder, or gently mocking me for something I'd said or done. It was how we'd always been. So, was I the only one looking further into every touch shared? Every gaze he placed in my direction? Embarrassingly, it seemed so.

Matty's enchanting ways (which had naturally transpired from his confident role as our group's leader) continued to capture more girls' hearts than ever. He'd always been a charmer (his flirty and confident ways had been buried deep within his gorgeous exterior), but seeing him tease or fool around with any other girl after that moment under the tree was excruciating. Each suggestive glance, wink and mutter that he flung in another girl's direction stung my teenage heart. A fact that confused me beyond belief. Then there was the gossip that lingered around him. Girls speculating over who he'd end up snogging while we were away. For obvious reasons I was never even suggested, but for once, that omission left me feeling jealous. Envious not to be seen as having a chance.

Of course I knew what those alien emotions meant, but I also knew that I wasn't going to be the one to act on them. I wasn't going to show Matty that I'd succumbed to his charms and found myself plonked in the middle of his fan club with tens of other girls. Oh yes, he really did have a fan club. The girls in our year, in fact our whole school, swooned over him relentlessly. More so when he'd broken his leg! Huddles of girls would frantically walk around the school to find him on his lunch break, they'd giggle as he passed them on the stairway, dribble at the smallest glimpse of him in the corridor, and if there was ever any accidental body contact, like arms brushing as he walked past, there'd be a near-fainting situation... It was mind-boggling and quite sickening to watch, but Matty loved the attention from his adoring fans and often played up to them, much to their delight. Due to their lovesick nature, his admirers continuously treated me with caution. I was, after all, a girl with unlimited access to Matty. It was something they could only dream of. I wasn't too bothered by their occasional evil glances. In fact, I found the whole thing funny. Yes, I knew Matty up close and personal, but that didn't just mean I got to see his handsome (there's no disputing his good looks) face on a regular basis behind closed doors, but I also got to see him scratching his arse, popping his hand down between his boxers and trousers for a quick squeeze (as though to check his bits were still intact) and a million other little idiosyncrasies that would leave other's minds boggled. The Matty they saw, the charming, suave and well-groomed prince, was a tad different to my grubby friend Matt. And I loved it that way.