A Cliché Waiting To Happen
- Chapter One: Four-Letter Words -

"Shit."

"Turd."

Yeah, so I find swearing liberating but, no, I'm not merely swearing at people for the sheer random fun of it, though, admittedly, it is pretty darn-tootin' fun. No, my best friend, Belinda Donohue, and I are playing our age-old, beyond-tradition, so-long-ago-it-existed-before-anybody-could-record-it-on-paper-or-papyrus-for-that-matter 'Four-Letter-Word' game.

Basically, you start with any swear word. And your opponent has thirty seconds to reply with another swear word that begins with the same letter that ends yours.

Uhhh, yeah.

Childish, I know, but it's a tried-and-true method of claiming what should be rightfully yours. Belinda and I use it any time one of us has something that the other desperately wants. And sometimes, if your mouth is particularly filthy, you get to even keep something that isn't rightfully yours. Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.

Anna hates the game but Belinda and I thrive on it.

'Cause, you know, we're so badass.

"Damn," Belinda counters, sidestepping a stolen supermarket trolley that's been dumped on its side along the footpath. Even though we go to separate high schools, we still try to catch up every now and then and some Fridays Belinda walks me home and then catches a bus to her place just so that we can bitch and moan together about how incredibly horrible our lives are and how nobody understands us and boo hoo.

"Uhhh." I wrack my brain, trying desperately to think of a swear word that starts with 'N.'

Twenty-five seconds.

"Errr."

Twenty seconds.

"Umm." Come on brain. Think rude. Think vulgar. You can do it, Meg. Come on.

Ten seconds.

There has to be a swear word that begins with 'N.'

Five seconds.

Four.

Three.

Two.

"Narr!"

"What?" Her brow furrows in confusion and, really, I can't say I blame her.

"Narr," I repeat slowly. "N-A-R-R. Narr."

"Ummm," she says, "That's not a swear word."

"Ummm, yeah. It is,"

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. And, ooh lookie, I win. You just wasted your thirty seconds arguing with me. Now hand it over."

Belinda drops her bag, dust rising to meet my face as she plants her feet and juts her chin out stubbornly. "Nuh uh, I don't think so. Narr isn't even a word, much less a swear word."

Is she challenging me? Me, Meggin Conroy, who is, like, the most grammatically anal person that I actually feel like curling into foetal position whenever somebody incorrectly uses 'me' instead of 'I.' And she's telling me that the word I, Meggin Conroy, just used is not an actual word? Granted, it's not an actual word, much less a swear word. But that's not the point.

The point is…she's challenging me! The most grammatically anal person that I actually feel like curling into foetal pos – oh, wait.

I let my own bag drop to my feet and try to exude an aura of Bring. It. On.

Which is pretty hard to do, considering that I've never even seen the movie and, thus, have no idea what exactly it is that should be brought on. On a side note, I probably shouldn't have ended that sentence with a preposition.

"Dude," Belinda protests. "Seriously. It isn't a word."

"Yes. It. Is."

"Okay," she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest. "Use it in a sentence then."

"Pffft." I flick my wrist in a haughty gesture. "Easy. Belinda Donohue is a narr. You narr. There."

"Mmmhmm." She raises a single eyebrow, unconvinced. "Yeah. Okay, Meggin. Whatever. Rules are rules, now hand it over." She holds her hand out patiently while I wage a silent battle with myself.

…

Aargh.

"Fine," I sigh, shoulders slumping.

She screams. She shrieks. She jumps up and down. She can't believe that she has it, that she actually has it and, moreover, that she's won the right to keep it.

Ummm, wonder what it is exactly? Brace yourselves. Are you ready, people? Prepare to be astounded, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, and any other word synonymous with 'amazed.'

"A sharpening from Patrick Hayden's pencil," she sighs, probably vowing to preserve it, keep it under lock and key and hand it down to her grandchildren as a priceless heirloom. I mean, to think that this sharpening came from the pencil that the most gorgeous guy on the planet – or, at least, Melbourne – has touched. He touched the pencil that this sharpening came from. He owns the pencil that this sharpening came from. There's a bond, an indissoluble connection between Patrick Hayden and the owner of this sharpening.

Oh my God.

I am writhing in complete and utter jealousy.

I mean, at least she goes to school with him. I've only met him once, when Belinda first introduced me to him at the end of last year when we'd run into him after school. He'd peered at me with those amazing blue eyes of his and had smiled politely even when I'd made a complete ass of myself and I had fallen in love, I swear it. Okay, maybe not love, but he was gorgeous.

Aargh.

But all is not lost. I mean, if all else fails, there's always the three steps to weaseling things back.

Step One: Guilt. Sigh in an incredibly exaggerated manner and tug at your friend's heartstrings. She will feel so bad that she'll insist that you keep the object.

"Well," I sigh gloomily. "I guess I'll just have to make do with my very vague, faded memory of Patrick and you can go on seeing him everyday at school and sleep well at night with the knowledge that you have his pencil sharpening."

"Yep."

Step Two: Reverse-Psychology.

"You know, I don't really even want the pencil sharpening anyway. You have it."

"Okay," she agrees simply.

Step Three: There is no step three. Wallow in self-pity because you're never going to get it. You suck.

"I suck."

"There you go," she says cheerfully, patting me on the back. "Acceptance is the key to recovery." A palpable pause. "Hey, Meg. Look. Ric's out there with Jay and Jay's sister. On the fence."

"Who?" She's obviously moved on. Me, I'm still wallowing in self-pity and don't comprehend what she's saying.

"Um, your neighbour?"

"Oh. Yeah. Him." Whatever. Wait. I look up as I notice her quickening steps. "You're not going over there to say 'hi' are you?"

She gives me a look like 'are you crazy?' "No."

"Oh, good."

"I'm going over to there to have a conversation with them," she says cheerfully, already walking ahead, her bag bouncing happily behind her. Aargh.

"What? You're joking, right?" I hasten after her.

"You know I've never really counted your whole Skipper history with him as a valid reason to despise him. Besides, dude, we go to the same school together. Ric's even in my English class and we've had some pretty cool conversations. It'd be rude to ignore them."

"Uh huh." I raise an eyebrow. "And the fact that he's hot doesn't have anything to do with it?"

Her eyes widen and she points a finger at me in a horribly suggestive manner. "You think he's hot!"

"No," I snap, swatting her finger aside. "I meant, other people think he's hot. I'm just referring to the general consensus." Although, admittedly – and I'm admitting this reluctantly, I have to point out – he has really nice hair. But that's so incredibly superficial that I want to shoot myself in the eye with a staple gun for even thinking such a thing because, when it comes down to it, he treats me like crap. And thinks it's hilarious. Har dee freaking har.

But Belinda waves her hand dismissively and it's too late for me to argue because we're already metres away from the fence that divides my house from Ric's and I would sooner die a horrible, painful death than have him know that I have just referred to him in a somewhat positive way.

He and his two friends are sitting along the fence, their sneakers laces untied because it's cool. They've probably been sitting there the whole day too; chewing gum and thinking they're so badass because they spent their day sitting on a fence instead of going to school. Then the girl smiles at me and I decide that I can afford to excuse her from my assumption.

"Hi Ric." Belinda drops her bag at her feet and smiles up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Hey," he returns, shooting a quick glance in my direction before directing his complete attention to her. Well, fine. Whatever.

"I'll be inside," I say sourly, pointedly ignoring my neighbour and his two friends. "Dickhead," I mutter beneath my breath as I turn to leave but apparently they hear me because Ric looks amused, and I want to wipe the stupid expression off his face. The girl only looks vaguely familiar but I've seen the guy around a lot (some name starting with J, if my memory serves me correctly) and, by the smirk on his face, I assume that he's been around Ric long enough to know what Ric thinks about me and presumably feels the same way.

But it seems my best friend has no notion of loyalty because she's talking to that complete jerk who not only killed Skipper when I was six, but who has proceeded to be the bane of my existence up until now. And she actually looks like she's…enjoying herself. It is beyond all comprehension, all belief.

I'm halfway across my yard when I catch a snippet of Belinda's so-called conversation.

"Oh," she laughs gaily. "That'd be Meggin. Mentions you like a four letter word."

I seethe, feeling completely and utterly betrayed. Or maybe just a twinge annoyed. Well, that's my flair for exaggeration for you. Still, I mean, what kind of girl goes around talking to her best friend's enemy (or as close to an enemy as an average suburban girl could have, anyway) like they're, you know, friends? I don't care how close they are at school, or how many classes they have together. I mean, ew.

Die, former best friend, die.

And now, to make things worse, the asshole probably has the satisfaction of thinking that I talk about him all the time. Which I don't. Only when he pisses me off. Which is all the time.

Damn.

I turn and slam the door loudly.

Ric

"So, like, dude, she just rings up and announces right out of the blue, that she's coming to stay for a month or whatever."

Jay makes a sympathetic noise and shakes his head, shifting his weight on the fence. It's only about waist high – the fence, that is – but, to tell the truth, the top of the fence is numbing my arse painfully too. I drape my arm casually over my best friend's shoulder and let my mouth slowly curve up into a casual grin, stretching one leg out in front of me and resting the other against the fence.

Cool. Calm. In control.

"Man, that seriously sucks. I remember that last time," he chortles. "That was the whole exchange student thing too. And your aunt decided she was going to pick you up from school and- "

"Shut up," I growl, not wanting to relive the memory of my Aunt Nancy dragging me out of the school gates, me dressed as a foreign exchange student, complete with miniskirt and extensions, one fake boob escaping from my shirt and rolling away underneath some teacher's car, never to be seen again. That had been four years ago, back when I was stupid enough to accept all kinds of dares from Jay, but I still shudder every time somebody brings up the incident.

Jay snickers then shrugs, apparently 'over it,' and pops his gum, pulling it an arm's length away so that a long gooey line extends from his hand to his mouth.

"Gross, Jay." Janet wrinkles her nose to my left and I roll my eyes. She's right; it is pretty gross, but Janet gets on my nerves a lot. She's okay sometimes – when you get past the fact that she's a total self-righteous loser who has a major crush on me. Gag me with a ten-foot ski pole. But she's Jay's twin, and Jay's cool and my best friend.

Obviously the coolness isn't genetic. I mean, she tries, which is why she usually skips school whenever she finds out that Jay and I are planning to skip school but, I mean, who wags just because a guy you like is wagging? Especially in year twelve. Lame. Oh, and the best friend thing? Yeah, she can keep dreaming.

The problem with Janet Rendine, though, is that she doesn't take a hint. You could pay a skywriter to write 'JANET I DO NOT WANT YOU TO HAVE MY BABIES, OKAY?' in block letters and she still wouldn't get it. Clueless. Seriously clueless.

I can think of another self-righteous loser, I think, spotting my neighbour a few blocks away, probably whining about something or other to her friend. From what I can see – which isn't much because I'm near blind without my glasses. But tell anyone that I have to wear glasses and I'll punch your face in with my fist, don't think I won't – they're arguing over something completely stupid and -

I halt my line of thinking and squint. Meggin's friend looks familiar.

Then I recognise the short blonde-ish hair and those jeans and, heck, I'd be lying if I said I didn't recognise the rack. Belinda Donohue.

The girl does Advanced English, meaning that she's one of the few year eleven's who does the subject with a class of mostly year twelve's. She's also one of the few year eleven's who I can actually stand and that's saying something because most of those younger kids make me want to pound their heads in with a textbook, they think they're so smart. Of course, in that class most of the younger kids are smarter than me because half the time I don't even bother to show up.

"What are you looking at?"

Jay inclines his head and looks in the direction of the girls. "Isn't that that Belinda chick?"

"Is it?" I try to sound uninterested.

He gives me a sidelong look. "Yeah. I didn't know she was friends with your neighbour."

I shrug. "Small world."

"Well they're heading our way right now."

Janet, wondering what all the fuss is about, peers at the girls, although the fringe that hangs over her eyes doesn't really do much for her. She wrinkles that mousy little nose of hers and puckers her lips in a disapproving manner. Pssht.

"Aren't they year eleven's?"

Jay rolls his eyes but he doesn't mean it in a mean way. "Sis, they're year elevens and they're still cooler than you." He pauses, remembering what I've told him about my neighbour, and corrects himself. "One of them is anyway."

She pokes his tongue out at him and he claps her over the shoulder affectionately. Jay and his sister actually get along most of the time, regardless of how much of a loser she is. I mean, they're twins. So I guess they have that whole 'I-can-read-your-mind' sort of vibe happening or whatever. That close connection shit people are always talking about, though, shit, if I know half the stuff that goes through Jay's mind, I hope to God that Janet can't read it.

"Hi Ric." Belinda grins and I can't help grinning back. I glance at Meggin out of the corner of my eye to make sure she notices that I actually can be nice. Just not to her. There's a disgruntled look on her face and she announces that she's leaving. Thank God.

I think I hear her muttering something like 'dickhead' under her breath and Belinda snuffs a laugh. "That'd be Meggin. Mentions you like a four-letter word."

There's a loud slam and my mouth widens in a smirk. I mean, the chick bugs the hell out of me, but the fact that she actually talks about me is a major boost to the ego, you know? Means I come up in conversations between her and Belinda, which has got to piss her off.

"So, guys. Year twelve, huh?" Belinda places both hands on her lips, the freckles on the bridge of her nose making her look kind of cute.

"Yeah."

"Well, don't you think you should rock up to English sometime soon then? It's been a while since I've seen you." She laughs and I feel my mouth curve up into a slow grin.

"Aww, Belinda. You miss me."

She laughs again and winks. "Don't flatter yourself, Ric. But seriously, who are you guys going to the start of year dance with?"

"Raquelle Danton," Jay grins. Those two have been dating on and off for over a year now, which is a pretty big commitment for Jay. Raquelle's a pretty cool chick too – can recite soccer stats. just as well as any guy on any soccer team - so I consider Jay's date a pretty good choice if we end up sitting alone at a table together and having to strike up some sort of conversation with each other.

"Going alone," I announce.

"Me too," Janet chimes in, which I ignore.

Belinda smiles politely at her.

"Aww, listen, why don't you go with me then?" She cocks her head to the side and flashes her whites. Thankfully, she's directed the question at me and not Janet.

"Go with a year eleven?" I pretend to act disinterested. Inside, I'm doing the Macarena. Or, um, you know, not. "Hmm, I don't know. I'll have to think about that. I mean, dude, I've got to keep up a good rep you know."

She rolls her eyes at me, which is what she usually does when she knows I'm being a complete asshole. The difference between her and her friend is that Belinda knows when I'm having fun and doesn't launch into a long and senseless rant when I act like a knob just for shits. Maybe if Meggin could keep her cool, I wouldn't have so much fun trying to piss her off.

"Uh huh. Well, don't go getting a big head there will you?" she says, an amused smile playing on her lips. "We'd just be hanging and whatever. I mean, we're cool, right? And if you find a chick you like, I give you full permission to ditch me."

See what I mean? The girl is pretty cool.

"Yeah," I grin, warming to the idea. "That sounds like a plan. So, you know, we can catch up at school and we can work out details and whatever."

Beside me, Janet makes a choking sound.

"Okay." She reaches down to sling her bag over her shoulder. "Guess I'd better get going then. Probably apologise to Meggin for interacting with you or whatever." She laughs. "I don't know why you have to be such an ass to her, though. You could at least stop with the water bombs."

I shrug lazily and she heads into the Conroy house. I kind of have this weird feeling like, I don't know, like I have to smile or something. But I try to keep my cool 'cause Jay and Janet are muttering to themselves and looking at me all weird and whatever.

Cool. Calm. In control.

I can't help it. My mouth breaks out into a grin.