CLEVERCLOGGS

Wodeleigh, February 2000

Flick took another swig of Smirnoff and passed me the bottle. I took a long slug, almost choking on the harsh liquor. I drew deeply on the cigarette, coughing lightly, and returned it with the vodka.

“So, what exactly is the problem?” she asked abruptly. She didn’t pause for an answer and took another gulp from the diminishing half-bottle.

“Everything” I sighed miserably. I prised the cigarette rudely from her fingers. It was almost finished. I inhale, and again nearly choked; lips tingling from the harsh heat of the smoke as it seeped through the filter. I was a beginner; you could easily tell. I didn’t even inhale properly.

“That doesn’t explain anything”, Flick remonstrated churlishly. She thought it sexy, very Lolita-like. The rest of us thought it just plain irritating. Flick wasn’t even half-clever enough to carry it off close to convincingly. She still tried though, God bless her. She tried ever so hard. Maybe that’s why I love her so much.

I sighed lengthily, pondering whether it was even worth talking to her about something so deeply personal when we were both addled. I plucked the bottle from her grasp and slugged greedily; too greedily, I might add, for I retched, nearly spilling my guts over the polished walnut floor.

“Serves you right, you greedy cow” Flick snickered witheringly.

“It’s everything” I whined miserably. “My Mum and Dad don’t love each other anymore. I’m unsure of my sexuality. I’m petrified about our upcoming exams, and, as if none of that mattered at all, everybody hates me because I’m cleverer than they are.”

“I don’t hate you and you’re much cleverer than I am” Flick quipped instantly. She smiled reassuringly. “Mum and Dad divorced when I was only eight. It’s no drama, honestly”. She seemed almost proud of the fact. Her trauma had shaped her into who she was.

’That’s because you’re thick, Flick’ I mused uncharitably, biting my tongue. ’Everyone is smarter than you. You can’t afford to hate anyone cleverer on principle. You wouldn’t have any friends at all if you did.’ And besides, your Dad divorced your Mum because she’s an insufferable alcoholic. She even turned up drunk to the proceedings, or so it was rumoured. I’d only met Flick’s real mum once, and she’d been pickled.

“I thought you liked boys?”

“I do” I said in a most convincing tone, yet quite unable to convince myself. “My elder sister is gay; it’s just an issue that troubles me, OK. It’s not like we get to see many boys” I sighed wistfully.

“I do”, said Flick, grinning wolfishly.

Flick was an unashamed tart. As shamelessly immoral as any teen girl could hope to be when she attends a prestigious boarding school surrounded by high walls and a vast expanse of woodland. She regularly sneaked out on Friday nights to meet her boyfriend who resided in the local village. Flick confided that he had taken her virginity several weeks before and that they now had intercourse regularly. Felicity Dempster was only fifteen years old, a good five months younger than I. Most of the other girls didn’t believe her, but I certainly did. We had breached a secluded stretch of dilapidated perimeter wall and headed into the local village. How else would we have procured the vodka and the cigarettes? A group of local boys had obliged us.

Flick had ‘set me up’ on a date earlier this evening with one such boy. His name was Jeremy, and I thought him quite cute. It had gone spectacularly wrong from the very beginning. He had brought his friends along for the ride, then he had gotten drunk and asked if he could kiss me, so I’d let him. I didn’t like it. Damn it; I’m supposed to like it! He ruined everything by trying to slip his hands down the front of my knickers. He had earned a well-earned slap for his misadventure. He had called me frigid, in front of everyone, and his dickhead friends had laughed. Maybe Jeremy was right, after all. Maybe I am frigid. Or maybe he just didn’t turn me on. I don’t know. Like I say, I’m confused about my sexuality.

“Do you fancy me, Maddie?” Flick asked innocently.

I glanced nastily at her. She was grinning. “Fuck off, Flick” I sighed exasperatingly. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” We giggled.

“There it is, Maddie. You can’t be a real lesbian. If you were, you would have made at least one pass at me after all these years.”

“You snore” I sneered. “It’s bad enough being your room-mate, much less your fuck-buddy.”

“I do fucking not!” she squealed in a mildly offended tone. Her eyes were glazed.

Without warning, an indignant fist rapped sternly on the door. ‘Shit’ Flick whispered franticly. We quickly squirreled the vodka under Flick’s pillow and dived under our duvets. The knock came again but we ignored it. Then, there came the voice we both dreaded.

“Go to sleep, Ladies. It’s well after lights out. I don’t want to hear another peep from either of you again!” the Matron clipped icily.

“Witch” Flick hissed as the Matron’s steps rescinded down the corridor. I giggled softly. I was tired and more than a little drunk. I couldn’t cope with Flick anymore tonight. I rolled away from her.

“Good Night, Felicity” I said.

“Good Night, Madeleine.”

I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I must have been awake for about twenty minutes when I heard Flick moaning softly in the next bed. She was either masturbating or dreaming. Either way, I didn’t really want to know. I buried my face in my pillow. Damn it Flick! Do you have to think about sex all the time? Inevitably, curiosity got the better of me. I rolled quietly on to my back and peeked slyly across at her. She was moaning softly, gentle sighs of evident pleasure. I giggled softly. She was having an erotic dream. Eventually, I heard her snoring lightly. I decided not to tease her about it in the morning. Soon, I was asleep.