Me Life Story by Scarlett Moffatt (best classic books of all time txt) 📗

you’d see another yellow sticker and you’d be like, ‘Yeah, a fellow rebel!’ I think it did the opposite to making you look stupid, because all the cool kids wore yellow stickers. It was almost like we were in a gang.

Now I was never cool enough to be in the smoking crew. (I’ve never actually tried a cigarette, as my dad drummed it into my head that they’re poisonous. When my mam used to smoke we would snap some of her fags in half and put them back in the packet, or we would write little messages on them like ‘cancer stick’, ‘don’t do it, Mam’ or ‘ashtray breath’, much to her annoyance when she would dish out her fags on a night out with all these obscene messages on – although it obviously worked as she hasn’t smoked in over ten years.) However, now apparently I was cool enough to get invited to drink down the rec.

‘My sister’s boyfriend said he can get us some booze from the corner shop on Friday night. We’re gonna get a few bottles of Lambrini and vodka if you’re up for it,’ a girl from my English class said.

‘Erm, how many people are going to be there? Will we not get caught out?’

‘No, Scarlett, honestly it’s fine, plus everyone will be there. Just bring three quid in tomorrow so I can give him the money to buy the booze. We’re all chipping in.’

I handed her over five quid there and then and she gave me the two-pound change she was going to use for her dinner. I felt slightly anxious as I had never drank before but equally excited that I’d been invited to the rec on a Friday night.

My alarm went off on the Friday morning. ‘Good morning, good morning, Scarletto,’ my mam greeted me. ‘Toast and peanut butter or Coco Pops?’

‘Coco Pops please, Mam.’ Every spoonful of cereal was harder to swallow as I knew what was about to come out of my mouth was lies. My brain started going crazy. What if she can tell I’m lying? What happens if she finds out what I’m really up to? What happens if she grounds me, stops me from going dancing? What happens if she never talks to me again?

‘Mam, is it OK if I stop at Rosie’s tonight? I know it’s last minute but her dad said we can get a takeaway and watch the new Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, he’s got it on copy.’ Technically I was going to be doing some wizarding skills myself; I was going to do a disappearance spell. ‘Evanesco’ and the quarter-litre of vodka has gone.

‘Yeah, of course it is OK, just give me a bit of notice next time – you could have told me last night. Make sure you take your phone so I can get in touch with you. Shove some pyjamas and that in your PE bag.’

‘I will. Have a good day at work, Mam, love ya.’

All day we passed notes around the class about the ‘wrecky’ (definition: cross between getting wrecked from alcohol whilst sitting in a rec). We were buzzing. This was my first ever time having a drink (apart from that pina colada I had when I was nine that my grandad bought me). Me and Rosie organised to go to Libby’s house to get ready beforehand and Rosie brought over some Lambrini she had stored in her bedroom that her sister had left over from the previous week. Now, note to self: if there is one thing I’ve learnt from this experience it is DO NOT drink Lambrini that has been sat in a warm bedroom with no cap on for a week. Normally I love a little glass of Lambrini but room temperature and flat as a fart, it’s not good.

‘I’m going to get so drunk I won’t even remember my own name, me.’ Libby was known for always slightly exaggerating. We walked down to the rec wearing our light blue skinny jeans and me with my black pleather fringed jacket. I was ready to sit on a swing, listen to some MCing through a speaker and enjoy my first alcoholic experience.

Turns out my £3 not only got me a quarter bottle of vodka but an added bonus of a blueberry Panda Pop to mix it with.

‘Down half of the vodka so you can put the mixer in the bottle, Scarlett,’ said one of the girls. Before I had a chance to say no, peer pressure kicked in and six others had joined in with the chanting.

‘We like to drink with Scarlett coz Scarlett is our mate, and when we drink with Scarlett she downs her drink in: ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five …’

Half of the bottle was gone. Why the fuck do adults do this every weekend, I thought. My breath smelt like the ethanol we used in science class. My throat and insides were on fire and that £3 could have bought me two bags of fish bites from the chippy.

As the night went on and everyone had played the usual Truth or Dare, which involved telling the whole group who you fancied, necking on with someone or making a dodgy phone call to the local pizza shop, I started to feel seriously sick. I remember the sudden numb feeling of not being able to control my own body. I felt like my legs were made of jelly and I was trying to walk on a waterbed. However, I also suddenly had a boost in confidence and started running round the rec like a demented spider monkey, hanging from the bars and shooting down the slide. I even threw a chip at Chelsea Lowland’s head (something you just do not do).

Then the word-vomit started. I was telling my friends things that I was only going to regret in the morning. ‘I know you fancy Dylan, mate, but to be honest he told me he just does not