Girls Out Late Read Online Free Page A

I’ll clear off down Weston Avenue and go that way home, OK? I don’t want to play gooseberry.”
    “You’re not!”
    “Oh, yeah, well, I’m not going to stand and file my broken fingernails while you stand snogging on the doorstep.”
    “I’m not going to snog!” I forget to whisper. Nadine nudges me. Russell is staring at me. Oh God, did he hear what I said?
    “Of course you’ll snog,” says Nadine.
    “I don’t think I want to.”
    “Don’t you fancy him?”
    “I . . . don’t know,” I say stupidly. “What do
you
think of him, Nad?”
    “Well, he’s OK. I mean he’s not really my type.”
    “Do you think he’s good-looking?”
    “Sort of. Well, he’s not totally nerdy, but it’s hard to tell when he’s wearing that awful uniform.”
    “Nadine, when you snog—like now, first time—are you supposed to do the tongue thing?”
    “If you want to.”
    “I don’t know
what
I want.”
    It’s true. I always dreamt of a romantic encounter like this—and yet now it is happening it’s so overwhelming I’m kind of scared. I almost wish Russell had gone after Magda or Nadine. No, I don’t really wish that. I wish Russell had never started sketching me, and that now I was going home on the bus with Nadine after a perfectly normal girls’ night out.
    “Come on, it’s our stop,” says Nadine.
    “Maybe he’ll stay on the bus,” I say.
    “You’re mad, Ellie. Look, he’s getting up too.”
    “Nadine, don’t go down Weston Avenue. Come my way. Come via my house.
Please,
I don’t want to be on my own with him,” I whisper urgently.
    “Grow up, Ellie!”
    That’s the trouble, I’m not sure I want to grow up.
    We get off the bus, Russell, Nadine and me.
    “Well, cheerio, you guys,” says Nadine.
    “Nadine!”
    “See you tomorrow, Ellie.” She nods at Russell.
    “Bye, Nadine, nice meeting you,” says Russell. Then he turns to me. “Which way do we go?”
    “We can go Nadine’s way,” I say.
    But Nadine is already running off, clonking a little in her new Shelley’s shoes.
    “We’ll go your way,” says Russell. “Or thereabouts. Shall we go for a little walk first?”
    “Well . . .” I’ve got matching silver bangles jangling on my wrist instead of my watch—but I know it’s getting late. Not just getting. It
is
late. I am a Girl Out Late. I’ve got to get home. He can walk me to my door and then I will give him a quick little kiss on the cheek and then I’ll scoot indoors. That’s what I’ll do. That’s what I want.
    It’s not what he wants.
    “Come on, Ellie!” He’s looking all around. “Is there a park round here? Come and show me so that I can imagine a chubby little Ellie feeding the ducks.”
    “No duck pond, no ducks. Swings.”
    “Swings are better. A little swing in the park for five minutes. Ten at tops. Yes?”
    My head nods automatically. We walk toward the park. Russell edges nearer to me. He reaches out. He takes hold of my hand.
    Oh God, I don’t know what to do with my fingers. They’re crooked uncomfortably but if I fold them over they may stroke his palm in a suggestive way. My hand starts sweating, or is it
his
? If only it was the bitter cold winter and then we’d be wearing gloves.
    But it’s spring and I’m getting uncomfortably hot inside Eggs’s tight sweater. What am I doing? I want to go
home,
and it really is late. I’m going to get into trouble.
    “I’ll have to get back soon, Russell, really.”
    “Sure, well, so will I.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “Oh, around here.”
    “No you don’t, not if you don’t even know where the park is!”
    “It’s . . . over there.” He gestures vaguely with his free hand.
    “Totally wrong. Come on, where do you live specifically?”
    “Near the park.”
    “Lies!”
    “OK, near
a
park, Pembridge Park.”
    “That’s
miles
away!”
    It’s also the posh part of town, with huge great Victorian houses. I once went to a party there and I remember being astonished by the