Chapter One

The Last Virgin in Year 10

Rosanne Hawke

I guess I can be thankful that I have reasonably good looks. I know this because Libby said in passing the other day that she wouldn’t know in the least how to relate to Mary. If I was big like Mary, Libby and Antoinette would never let me have lunch with them; besides I wouldn’t fit on the bench under the pepper tree. I go for runs on the beach after school, to the gym when I can. I’d go more if Mum would pay for it. Antoinette has a season ticket; she goes out with the circuit instructor. He’s shown her how to work out properly and how to get rid of those tiny love handles she had. He notices things like that apparently. Funny he hasn’t noticed she’s not sixteen yet. Antoinette can’t stop talking about him – it’s Brett this and Brett that. She even text-messages him in Maths. Old Crow would have no idea; she can do it without looking. She feels pretty good, for Brett will only go out with someone with a perfect figure. Anything less, he reckons, shows a lack of discipline.

You have to be so careful. One day you could meet the man of your dreams and you’ve got on a daggy T shirt, or haven’t washed your hair, or haven’t toned up your thighs. One false step, be seen in the wrong place, say the wrong thing and you could get excommunicated by your friends even. Honestly, school wouldn’t be worth coming to if there was no one to talk to who was interesting. I’ve seen Mary with that girl who wears a headscarf, but she sits by herself a lot of the time; I couldn’t stand that. It just shows she’s got nothing to hold anyone’s attention with. Everyone tries to get Libby’s attention. Even a Year 11 said ‘Hi’ to me yesterday. It rubs off spending time with the right people.

Mum says you have to know the right people too but she lives in the dark ages. She thinks the right people come out of Proverbs. Friends can lead you astray, she says. She’s not wrong. Without Libby and Antoinette I’d never have a chance with Byron Prideaux. He’s Antoinette’s brother. Because their name has an ‘x’ in it their mother thinks it’s French and she’s given the kids names from literature.

That’s what Antoinette says but I can’t figure that out because Lord Byron wasn’t French; I checked in our poetry textbook. Dad reckons Prideaux is Cornish. A lot of the names round here are, because of the miners coming out in the old days. Whatever. Byron is heaps cool - reached Bronze Medallion level in the Surf Life Saving Club last year, has his ‘P’ plates and even hangs out with Year Twelves.

Things are starting to look good for this year and then we get a new guy in our class. Matthew Tallack.

Now, there’s a slight difference in the order of life. He’s got to be the most uncool guy – no muscles like Byron, and his hair is brown and straight, not thick and wavy like Byron’s. Antoinette says Matthew will have to cut and lighten it, since it looks so mousey. No one to waste breath on, Libby said, after one look and hasn’t mentioned anything about him since. It’s like he doesn’t exist for her, had never come, and yet a different breeze has begun to waft into forgotten corners in our classroom – like dust lifting and settling when a door is opened and closed, and I can’t put my finger on when it started.

Maybe it was the first day of term. Ms White was calling the roll and everyone was mucking around as usual, except Matthew. He must have been listening for he actually called out ‘here’ when Ms White called his name. You don’t do that; Ms White looks up each time she says our names to check we’re there – we don’t have to call out. People snickered (those that heard) and that was the second thing, he never went red or blotchy like kids do when you laugh at them. It was like he didn’t notice, just sneezed into a giant sized tissue. He even says ‘G’day’ like on country shows on TV, and he hands up his work on time. I mean, there are nerds in every class, Libby says, and that’s okay, everyone understands the natural order of life, but there’s something odd about Matthew Tallack - he doesn’t seem like a real nerd.

Don’t ask me to explain; it’s just something you sense or you don’t, and Matthew’s not true blue.

Just opening my bag to get my lunch. That’s another thing – I can’t let Mum do my lunch any more; she’s likely to put in something unhealthy and disgusting like kid’s cheese. My little sister Michelle loves plastic cheese. It can’t be good for her. I’ve had to buy a special dish with sections. Libby and Antoinette don’t eat bread, only salad and fruit. Brett of the Circuit gave Antoinette this special diet.

Libby reckons that’s why Mary’s fat – she likes pies. She always did even in primary school; she and I sat in the lunch shed, meat sauce dribbling down our chins. I still like them too, though I’ve not said. I used to feel like sitting down with Mary again eating a Ned Kelly pie – egg and bacon set into it, crisp pastry, and let myself savour the taste, that is, until Antoinette said Byron thinks fat girls are such a turn off. I can see Mary’s not going to make it, not in our lifetime; and if I sit with her eating a pie, then I’d be the same in Byron’s eyes.

It’s confusing because Mary doesn’t seem to mind and I don’t understand that at all. How could she not mind not getting a boyfriend? One like Byron? That reminds me of another thing. I haven’t told Libby this. Mary’s most probably never been kissed, you can understand that, but I haven’t been kissed either. Antoinette is always going on about how Brett kisses. There are a few other things she sighs about too and even stuff she only tells Libby in whispers. How can I say I’ve never been kissed? I can just imagine the expressions on their faces. Incredulous. They might decide I’m too inexperienced to share the Pepper Tree Lunch Bench. I mightn’t qualify to be recommended to Byron for a date. I’ve never had a boyfriend except for the silly note changing that went on in primary school. But I’ll persevere; the only way I’ll get a good one is sticking with Libby and Antoinette. They know all the guys in Year 11 worth knowing (eg, Byron). I can’t believe I’m fifteen, and never been kissed. The way Libby and Antoinette go on I’m going to be the last virgin in Year 10 as well.