WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE
F=ma (Just Desserts) A Short Story by Alyson Hilbourne
‘Is anyone sitting here?’ The voice forces me out of my reverie. I’ve been trying to
work out the density ratio of the room, given that most people are on the dance floor
and the wall spaces are almost empty. Except, of course, for me.
‘Err, no.’ I look up to see Richie Stephens smiling into my face. I am doubly
surprised because he is talking to me and he isn’t with his girlfriend. Perhaps the
girlfriend bit doesn't shock me so much. He is drop-dead gorgeous, with dark
Italianate looks apart from the piercing blue eyes. He makes me think of a tiramisu
with his coffee coloured skin and shining white teeth. He has been in on-and-off
relationships with most of the girls in class throughout the year. I thought he was
currently hot on Mandy Spinner, but obviously I’m behind the times. That's not so
odd. I don't really socialise with most of the class or even the school. None of them
are interested in maths or physics and I'm one of the few who has any intention of
going to university. However I can’t work out what he wants with me.
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
‘Help yourself.’ I gesture airily at a chair. He is making me uncomfortable.
‘I just wanted to say, Marsha, how much I admire you and I appreciate the help
you've given me with exams over the years.’
I blink several times. This is most unusual. The only help I've given Richie is
when he's stolen my bag to get the answers to homework, or when he's leaned over
to look at my paper in a test. We've never actually talked about the work I do and he
nicks. Nevertheless I can feel myself getting hotter under his gaze and my heart is
thumping ridiculously loudly.
‘Oh,’ I say, lamely.
‘I know you are so much smarter than anyone else in school,’ he carries on. ‘I
know you'll get where you want to go. I hope you'll remember us all here. Do you
think I could have a dance later on?’
I'm just about to say I don't dance, but he carries on, ‘Can I get you a drink? They
have a big bowl of punch in the other room?’
I nod dumbly. Why has he taken away my powers of speech? I noticed the punch
earlier. I'd had a guess at working out how much liquid there was in the bowl. It was
pretty big, but depended what you were measuring in. A firkin maybe, that would be
nine gallons or four and a half pecks or a little over a bushel. But it might be bigger.
A barrel maybe. My head went into overdrive working out the figures. I wish we’d
been allowed to use imperial measurements in school. They are so much more
complicated than litres.
Richie Stephens sat next to me and asked me to dance? I puzzle over this. But
my heart works independently of my head and does another little skip. I hadn't
wanted to come to the prom, but the school made it clear it expected all the leaving
class to attend. Mum had to lend me her red silk top as none of my t-shirts would do.
White trousers and red top, and with my white blond hair I feel like strawberry
shortcake with cream on top. I thought it wouldn't matter as nobody would talk to me,
but now I wish I'd taken more care about my appearance.
5|Sept 2014