CHAPTER 1
Operation Stop Kiss
How do you stop a guy kissing you?
I know this sounds like a ridiculous question — obviously there’s a multitude of options available to the almost kissee — but Bradley Scott’s lips were twenty centimetres away from mine and I was seriously in search of an etiquette-appropriate response. Without, you know, resorting to physical shoves, screams or other emotionally scarring options.
Normally I’m completely on my game when it comes to pre-emptive measures — that is, avoiding any situation that could lead to a guy going in for some lip action. Stargazing, firework-watching or even brief contemplation of a city nightscape has, in my opinion, a Stendhal-syndrome-like effect — only rather than fainting in response to the spectacular scene in front of them, boys seem to fall lips-first in my direction with slim to no warning. I can’t count the number of times a fireworks display has forced me to end a night early. The other key moment to steer clear of is the awkward goodnight ritual at the end of a date. Notions of ‘expected’ first moves confuse the male mind and, no matter how clear a stay-away-from-me vibe a girl tries to give out, the majority of the species will make an ill-judged lunge for the lips. I’ve learnt that the only way to avoid post-date fallout is to implement an effective avoidance tactic at the goodbye point. A person waiting at your front door (ideally giving a big friendly wave to your date as you arrive) works a treat, particularly if they’re a parental. No teenage boy is going to want to go for the clinch while under keen observation by your relative. My other failsafe is a phone call received just at the moment of romantic inclination, whether this be in your date’s car or on your doorstep.
Unfortunately this failsafe option had fallen through for me tonight. I had sent a panicked text message at the usual spot — as Bradley Scott’s car passed the corner store (exactly five minutes from goodbye time) — to my best friend, Cassie Shields, reading: PUT OPERATION STOP KISS INTO ACTION! But the crucial time had come and my phone was completely silent. It was too late to employ Option Two: Evasive Manoeuvre (carrying a drink so you can take a sip as the lips approach), as I had no beverage available; and Option Three: Distraction, which involved asking a question (‘So, how about this election?’) or pointing out something important (‘There’s a spider on your shirt!’), was also useless. Nothing would distract Bradley now except a nuclear bomb. No, this was the end of playing it cool and collected. I could feel Bradley’s breath on my face, meaning I had approximately ten seconds before the torpedo hit the target.
As Bradley’s arms moved to encircle me, I lunged for my seatbelt, frantically pushing at the release button. The belt slackened and I threw open the car door, tumbling out just as Bradley’s lips kissed the cool air where my lips had been precious seconds before.
I felt an overwhelming sense of relief for a second — a wondrous second — before I landed with a tremendous splash in the ever-present puddle in our driveway that my father refers to as ‘Loch Ness’.
The cold water must have shocked me because I sat there motionless as the brown water soaked through my clothes, watching Bradley react to the disappearance of his hoped-for make-out partner.
He leapt out of his seat and raced around the front of the car. ‘Aurora! Are you alright?’
I couldn’t speak for a moment. After all, it wasn’t every day I found myself taking a twilight bath in my frontyard.
I pulled myself together as Bradley reached down to haul me out of the water. This beyond cringe-worthy situation had only come about because of his darn touchy-feelyness and I’d had just about enough of it for one evening. Pushing him out of the way (and leaving dirty handprints on his white shirt in the process), I wearily got to my feet, releasing the ten litres of puddle water that my used-to-be-white-before-this-epic-disaster dress had collected. The ringlets that I’d painstakingly created now lay flat and dripping down my back. I was close to tears.
‘Bradley, thank you for an interesting evening.’ I pushed past him.
‘Aurora, wait! Let me unlock your door, or find you a towel or something!’
He followed me, right on my dripping heels. I summoned as much dignity as someone with gravel-encrusted knees possibly could and turned to face him. His misty blue eyes were showing complete confusion. Obviously this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill end to a date.
I forced a smile onto my face. ‘Really, Bradley, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine,’ he said, taking in my increasing resemblance to a swamp creature.
My date was now repelled by my physical appearance. Could this night get any worse?
‘Uh, yeah, happens to me all the time.’
Was that really the best I could muster up?
‘For real?’ Bradley was staring at his mud-splattered shirt. ‘I know Leos can be clumsy.’
Oh no. Now he was back to his favourite topic: astrology. I’d already heard an in-depth analysis of my star sign and his star sign and various planetary influences all through our meal at La Bella Donna, an Italian restaurant in town. I’d barely been able to appreciate the tiramisu amongst Bradley’s insights about my moon sign and its apparent ability to make me an impatient and often selfish lover.
‘Look, I think the stars have indicated that we should end our date here,’ I said as convincingly as I could.
‘My horoscope did say there would be a strong presence of water today,’ he mused.
You’d think that amongst all of his other insights into our future, he could have shared that one with me.
‘Don’t worry, Aurora.’ He grabbed my hands reassuringly. ‘For our next date, I’ll make sure that Venus is in a favourable position!’
I pulled my hands away. ‘Great … next time. Call me, okay?’
Bradley wandered back to his car, looking dreamily up at the heavens. I breathed a sigh of relief and hobbled up our too-long driveway. My mother had insisted on its length to give our place ‘atmosphere’ (i.e. it made it look impressive).
What a night. So much for my aim to exude an Audrey Hepburn-like elegance. And why hadn’t Cassie called me? I couldn’t believe she’d failed me.
‘Another successful date, hmm?’
Hayden Paris, my neighbour, former childhood playmate and ever-reliable bane of my life, stood grinning on his side of the not-high-enough fence that separated our properties. His hazel eyes danced with amusement as he spun a basketball between his hands.
Was Hayden to be witness to every embarrassment of my dating life? Just three weeks ago, he’d seen Daniel Benis get stabbed in the eye when I’d employed Option Two: Evasive Manoeuvre as he tried to kiss me on my doorstep — unfortunately forgetting that my drink had a second straw sticking out the other side.
‘At least it was you that got injured, not your date this time, so he can’t press charges.’
Please. Daniel had been such a baby about it. He’d worn an eye patch for, like, six days afterwards. Bravery was now one of the crucial characteristics I was looking for in a date. At least Daniel had been so embarrassed about the cause of his temporary blindness that he hadn’t breathed a word to anyone.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Funny, somehow I knew I could rely on Mr Zero Compassion to humiliate me even further.’