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

could breathe was between us, because everything else was the infinite vacuum of space.

For a moment, I just looked at her, and it felt like I was seeing her for the very first time.

She smelled of raspberries.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she was biting her lip, and I got all confused for a moment because her eyes weren’t blue, but pitch-black, and I’d forgotten what that meant, but then I was like: Okay, Phoebe, go!

Me: It’s not that I didn’t want it.

Emma:…

Me: The kiss.

Emma:…

Me: I tried to not want it.

Emma (looking confused):…

Me: Because it made me feel physically sick.

Emma: Oh my God.

Me: No, not like that. Obviously not like that. No, not like … that. Obviously. What I mean is … I … you … this … we …

And then I was just like: For fuck’s sake, Phoebe! Because I literally couldn’t remember words, and Emma looked at me the way you look at your phone when it’s suddenly stopped working.

She opened her mouth a little to probably say something that would make my previous statements sound less idiotic (because she’s good like that), but before she could actually say anything, I leaned forward and I kissed her.

And that was literally, like, the end of gravity.

It was all soft lips and tongues, fruity lip gloss and terror, and eighty million bacteria, and the single most delicious thing I ever experienced in my whole entire life.

When we stopped, I felt like I’d swum the whole length at Tooting Lido underwater: dizzy, boneless, and breathless.

Then we giggled, and I was like: “I’m so sorry I’m so ridiculous.”

Emma was like: “I’ve never met anyone like you, Phoebe, and I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

I was like: Wow. And then I was like: Maybe that’s what it’s all about?

I don’t think I let go of her hand for the rest of the day after that.

Kate knew immediately what had transpired, and I reckon an hour later pretty much everyone else got it, too.

I’m 98 percent sure that Pat opposes homosexuality, because she kept looking at me like: You corrupted the lovely Emma. But in reality, it was Emma who corrupted me with her beautiful eyes and lips, and class, and funniness, but whatever, Pat.

At one point in the afternoon, I looked at my phone, and there was a WhatsApp message from Mum.

She sent a picture of herself and a girl holding a tiny baby.

Mum:

Happy sixteenth. I hope you’re enjoying your party.;)

You share a birthday with this little man who I had the pleasure of welcoming into the world this morning.

He is called Salomao, which means Man of Peace.

I’ll be home on Thursday.

I can’t wait to see you.

I love you, and I’m very proud of you.

Mum xx

Emma was like: “The mother looks like a child,” and Kate was like: “Amelia said the girl’s only fifteen.”

Emma was like: “Imagine having a child at fifteen. In a refugee camp.”

I obviously feel like a massive dick now for having been so horrible about Mum not coming home but wanting to help a pregnant person instead. But if you don’t know the whole story, how are you supposed to behave like you do?

So that was yesterday.

Today it was back to normal life (except it’s the summer holidays), but I have to say, I do feel different. Like there’s a lot of open space ahead, but I don’t hate it.

When Kate got home she was like: “Sit.”

Me: What?

Kate: Remember the birds and the bees?

Me (rolling my eyes so much I nearly severed my optic nerve): Oh my God.

Kate: It obviously doesn’t quite apply.

Me: Obviously. Quite.

Kate: I just want to say to you that I’m here for you should you need anything. Help, emotional support, advice, even though I trust you know where things are—

Me: Oh my God, Kate. I’ve literally been with Emma for twenty-four hours. I’m not going to have sex with her straightaway.

Kate: All of that is between you and Emma, pet. I only wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need me.

Cringe!

I’m 100 percent not going to talk to her about my sex life when I have one.

On that note, Emma’s coming over in a minute, but we’re not going to have sex.

All the kittens are being collected, and we’re seeing them off. (Not Richard. He’s staying at Kate’s for the time being, because I still want to give him to Emma, but I think I may have to get into her mum’s good graces first. #pressure #inlaws)

So I think it’s time for me to present to Kate the final financial breakdown of all moneys owed and services rendered:

FYI, I’m not including the financial loss of Richard here, because Kate agreed to keep him (for now).

I thought I’d end up owing £2,000, because the nondesigner kittens were expected to bring in zero pounds.

However, we are selling three of them for £250 each. That’s £750.

£2,000 − £750 = £1,250

I’m also going to take off the £530 for the Star Wars poster (only fair), so that’s £720. Also, minus £15 for the bowling shoes is £705.

My labor over the past four months has definitely been worth £705, so I think this means Kate and I are even.

PS: I can’t believe I’m sixteen.

Turning sixteen was always for other people.

But I suppose so was love.

Acknowledgments

The creation of this novel coincided with a time of great change and uncertainty in my life, and I must thank first and foremost the three women this book is dedicated to for pulling/dragging me through it: my best friends Brittain, Luci, and Sophie. Thank you for your unwavering love and support, for putting me up, for making me dinner, for making me cake, and most importantly for always making me laugh. I love you endlessly.

Thank you, Tony: you drove the getaway vehicle back then. Thank you, Ruth: you gave me a home. Thank you, Dawn, who offered me a job and casually threw in a handful of amazing new friends for free.

A huge and heartfelt thank-you goes to Melvin Burgess for your encouragement, your wisdom,