Diary of a Crush: French Kiss Read Free Page A

looked at our knees and mine just looked so small and childish compared to his. Even his knees seem dangerous. Does that sound strange?
    Anyway, to cut a long story short, quite literally, we ended up in the bathroom so that Dylan could tidy up my fringe. He was really into the idea and I figured that it couldn’t look any worse.
    It was a very, very intimate situation. I sat on the edge of the tub and Dylan knelt in front of me, cupping my chin and turning my head this way and that before he started snipping. I’d always vaguely thought that all boys who cut hair had to be gay – but Dylan seemed so not gay. The way he went about cutting my fringe was more about me being a sculpture or a drawing and him being an artist, moulding clay or smudging charcoal.
    And then when he’d finished, he wouldn’t let me look. Instead he did something which freaked me out. He told me to close my eyes and he started, very gently, blowing on my face to get rid of all the icky little hairs. He was holding me by the shoulders to stop me from moving and I wanted him to kiss me so badly. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
    But he didn’t.
    He just turned me round to face the mirror and I have to admit my hair was happening. My fringe was really, really short but it suited me. That devastating half-smile which makes me turn into a puddle of not-quite-set jelly was back on Dylan’s face again but he just said, ‘I’ve given you a 1960s urchin cut. It looks really cute.’
    I was sort of ‘aw shucks’-ing but he just said dead seriously, ‘Your eyebrows are fantastic.’ Then the moment was gone, so I went downstairs and made him some tea.
    But the kettle had barely boiled before Dylan had to go. It was just, ‘Time I wasn’t here.’ We didn’t even take any photos or talk. One moment he was in the kitchen dunking digestives into his tea and I was summoning up the courage to open my mouth and form complete sentences, the next he was out the front door. He didn’t even say goodbye. I watched him disappear down the street and as he got further and further away, the sadder I felt. Then I realised the ’rents would be home any minute so I went to inspect the rug for puke damage.
    Later on, I googled 60s urchin cuts and there were lots of pictures of girls with a mod-look who were all very pretty in a really gamine way.
    I wondered if Dylan thought I was pretty in a gamine way… or was it just my fringe?
    I have to stop this obsessing about him but it’s almost like I want to consume Dylan whole. When I’m with him, I’m a different person. I become really aware of myself and I’m not sure I like it. I don’t know. Why is this whole boy/girl thing so confusing?
19th October
    I felt dreadful today, like I had this sense of impending doom hanging over me. I spent most of the night thinking about what had happened with Dylan. And I also remembered how unimpressed he was with Mia. I didn’t see Dylan at all, but I saw his friend, Paul, who smiled at me. Not in a sleazy way, more in a friendly way. I also saw Mia who I thought might apologise for puking on my mum’s rug. But she just sneered at me and said, ‘Your fringe is ridiculously short.’ And I said, ‘Well, whose fault is that?’ Then she muttered something under her breath about girls with stupid crushes and how I should just get a life. So, then I was like, ‘Oh yeah, I had a great time with Dylan on Sunday in case you were interested and Paul’s just smiled at me.’ She kind of shoved me against the wall and then stormed off.
    But Nat and Trent said that I looked a little bit like Emma Watson and I beamed at them, because that was so the right thing to say.
20th October
    I sat in the canteen on my own and Mia sat nearby with a bunch of people who kept looking over at me and laughing. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, Dylan walked in with Shona and even though there were two spare seats on my table, they sat as far away as possible.
    Shona is gorgeous. She looks