Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

we fancy someone, the blood flow to the pleasure center of the brain increases, which is the same part of the brain implicated in obsessive-compulsive behaviors. So I’ve been accidentally feeding my obsession by making all the blood pool in my brain.

I’m now aiming to reverse the effects by remaining upright twenty-four seven. Which probably means I’m going to fail all future GCSEs, because of my brain’s intentionally reduced blood flow.

Life! It’s all swings and roundabouts.

Monday, June 4 #LustLoveLost

This morning before History 1, Polly pulled me into the toilets.

Polly: I tilted my pelvis, and presto.

Me:…

Polly: The vaginal orgasm.

Me: We’re about to take a history exam.

Polly: I just wanted to let you know. It didn’t work for ages, and it’s only happened once so far, but you know …

Me: We’re about to take a history exam.

Polly: Yeah, I know. It’s great. Love you.

Then she winked at me and sort of floated out of the toilets and down the hallway.

I know it’s all my fault, but

Oh!

My!

God!

On the bus home, I texted Emma because:

a)  I subconsciously know that I’ve lost Polly to Tristan forever and should therefore, in the most pathetic way possible, start clinging on to the people who are still in my life, and

b)  I’m stupid.

I was like:

Are you studying, or do you fancy coming over and seeing Richard?

And Emma was like:

I’ll be over at five.

And because my brain was having a bus-nap, I asked her if she wanted to stay for dinner, and she said yes.

So then I had to check with Kate if it was okay, who told me not to be so daft, and that Emma could come over whenever she wanted to, but that she couldn’t stay long because of tomorrow (English Language 1, Geography 2).

When I opened the door, Emma was like: “I’m here to see Richard, please,” and I was like: “Right this way, madam.”

Emma played with him for a little while, and then he fell asleep on her. I told her to stay where she was, and I went into the kitchen to help Kate make dinner.

Me: You can’t sell Richard. Emma saved his life, and she should have him.

Kate:…

Me: He thinks she’s his mother. He loves her.

Kate: Does he, now?

Me (grating cheese): Why do you say it like that?

Kate: Like what?

Me: Like I’m making it up?

Kate: Phoebe. Take a deep breath.

Me (taking a deep breath):…

Kate: And another.

Me (taking another):…

Kate (whispering): I think you love Emma.

Me (taking no breath):…

Kate:…

Me:…

Kate (still whispering): Okay, fine, moving on. But, anyhow, you can’t just give her a kitten. Her mother’s going to have a fit. The woman’s a total germophobe, and I don’t blame her for it.

Me (whispering, but in a shouty way): I don’t love Emma.

Kate (shouty whispering, too): I’m talking about the kitten now.

Me: And what if I did?

Kate: Nothing.

Me: I’ll never speak to you again if you say anything.

Kate (pretending to be locking her mouth with an invisible key and then tossing the invisible key over her shoulder):…

When I walked Emma home after dinner, it was all weird. Like I didn’t know what to say to her and like I had to think about how to walk. By the time we got to her house, I’d additionally lost the power of speech, and so I just stood there, like a stranger in my own life.

Emma (looking at her shoes, then looking at me, smiling, possibly mocking me): Good night. And good luck tomorrow.

Me: What’s tomorrow?

Emma (laughing, definitely mocking me): GCSEs.

Me: Oh, yeah. Fine, okay, I almost forgot. Night.

If you could die from awkwardness, I’d be dead.

Tuesday, June 5 #TheLoveFactor

I’m exhausted.

I didn’t sleep very well after yesterday, and everyone stressed me out this morning, asking stupid last-minute questions, so by the time I sat down to take the English exam, I couldn’t remember how to spell my own name.

In other news, the person from the cancer charity is coming to the shop on Friday night to give us the fund-raiser award.

Someone from the Wimbledon Gazette is coming, too, and Kate wants us all to be there so we can be in the picture and raise awareness.

I wish this school year would hurry up and be done with, because I’m over everyone and everything: GCSEs, Polly, Tristan, kittens, the thrift shop, Emma.

I don’t think I have the tolerance for heightened emotions.

When Polly first had a crush on Tristan, she ran with it. She loved being in love, and she loved how it consumed her.

But I’m not like that. I feel like I’ve fallen into quicksand, and now I’m unable to move, and I’m sinking, and I can’t breathe, and I hate it.

Being in love is ridiculous, and it makes people do ridiculous things.

Look at Romeo and Juliet: ridiculous.

Wednesday, June 6 #NoExamWednesday

Today all the clever people (like Emma) who took Spanish instead of French had their exam, and I had the day off.

I studied for math all day, which was strangely soothing. I appreciate the structure of it. Everything makes sense, there’s only ever one right answer, and my thoughts don’t drift so much when I look at numbers.

Mum sent an email to say she’ll definitely be back for my birthday and that we should have a big party in our garden and invite all my “new” friends. And James.

I wonder if she’ll ever find a new boyfriend.

Maybe she doesn’t want one.

Or maybe she’s got one. Maybe he’s like my dad: Israeli, and funny, and gorgeous.

Thursday, June 7 #Math

I took Mathematics 2 today pretending it was the entrance exam to NASA’s Mission to Mars program.

I think I did really well.

I was done before everyone else, and I was like: Hmmm, shall I sit here and go over it, like, a thousand times, even though I know it’s right, or should I just hand it in?

So I handed it in.

Afterwards Miriam Patel said that it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

Drama queen.

Emma texted me asking if I’m coming to the thing tomorrow night, and I said I was, and then she was like: