Page 119 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘At the party, at first, it felt as if those years of striving were paying off. The most popular boy at school told me I was “fit”. He was That Boy – I’m guessing every school year has one – who carries himself like he’s Jim Morrison. He is revered and desired. His word is God. When it came to girls, he only consorted with queen bees, the handful deemed attractive enough to be worthy of him. I didn’t fancy him, and I didn’t expect him to fancy me in a million years, but I wanted his approval, above all others. Everyone did. His opinion of you could make you, or break you.

‘And he’d complimented me. This was unprecedented. This was a coronation. It was like being in a daytime soap, and being nominated for an Oscar. Then he added:You look like a high-class prozzy. “That’s your thing, right?” Everyone laughed. I laughed too, to show I wasn’t stuck up. If I laughed, I was part of the joke, not the object of it. I wanted to believe he meant I looked seductive, when in fact I knew he wasn’t paying me a compliment at all. He was making it clear I was viewed as a girl hopeful for that sort of attention, and that I was actively inviting being treated a certain way. He was saying you’re cheap, and I was enthusiastically agreeing.

‘He told me he wanted to “show me something”. When I think back to that moment, much as I wanted to believe me and this boy were friends, I knew I was being mocked. Remember those times in life, when you sense everyone is on something, and you’re not? The holding of breath while they see if you fall for it, the murmuring, the giggling they catch in the throat, so they don’t ruin the prank? It was that. Nevertheless, I said “Ooh OK …” with a stupid grin on my face, wanting them to accept me, wanting to be game Georgina who was up for anything and so, so likeable. Above all, be likeable. Never stop smiling. Keep smiling, laugh along, and you can’t go far wrong.’

The room is so still, I could hear a pin drop. I continue.

‘Onlookers outside his gang watched in envy and wonder as he led me away from the party, by the hand. A huge public gesture, being prepared to be seen with me like that. I was being anointed by the king. Georgina Horspool just got a major promotion. Ifhewants her, then she’s made it.’

I shuffle and turn my sheets of paper and in the now sepulchral silence, the rustling sounds painfully loud in the microphone.

‘The Boy took me into the disabled toilet. He locked us in before I really comprehended where we were, and put himself between me and the door, a smirk on his face. Suddenly, I knew I was out of my depth.

‘“What are we doing here?” I said. He pushed me roughly against the wall and tried to kiss me. I pushed him away and tried to laugh it off. I heard the noise as if it had come from someone else, strangled and false-sounding.

‘“What’s the problem?” he said. “You like me.”

‘It wasn’t a question.

‘“I do like you,” I said, quickly, because I wanted this boy to think that, and I wanted him to like me.

‘“Then what’s the problem?” he said.

‘He pushed his mouth against mine again. It was sloppy and aggressive, teeth first, and tasted of Strongbow. But he was That Boy. This was an extraordinary honour, if he wanted to kiss me. So how could I stop him?

‘Nothing in my life so far had equipped me for this. School teachers, my parents, getting on and fitting in – my experiences had taught me nice girls say yes please and thank you, we oblige people, we meet their expectations, we don’t hurt feelings or offend. We don’t say no. This boy wanted something from me, so I should reciprocate.’

I glance up again and see Jo, tears now coursing down her face, her hands gripping Clem and Rav’s on either side of her, both of whom look pale and shocked. I look away again before I catch Jo’s tears, still not able to look back to where I know a man with dark hair and dark eyes is watching me.

‘He went to kiss me again, and tugged at the front of my dress, trying to wrench me out of my bra. Fortunately the fact my dress was a size too small meant it was tight as sausage skin, and he barely moved it a centimetre. “Don’t!” I said.’ Here, my voice breaks for the first time. I swallow it down and continue.

‘But I tried to say it in a light, playful, coy way. A don’t that was supposed to translate as:Don’t, but of course DO another time, only maybe not right now, because I am a Good Girl.An instruction, that was begging.

‘“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said. I hated myself for not succeeding in deflecting him. I was funny, cool Georgina, and I wanted to prove I could cope. I wanted it to turn out well. I didn’t want to upset him. That shouldn’t be beyond me. Yeah, what the fuck WAS wrong with me?

‘He might not have managed to pull my clothing down, but he was exposing a terrible truth. I wasn’t what I seemed. I tried to fool everyone I was this bouncy fun girl who nothing fazed. But I was inexperienced, and scared, not at all cool. I still thought that this being found out was the primary threat. I had been plunged into the psychological warfare of trying to work out how to reject him, without him thinking I’d rejected him, because rejecting him would go very badly for me. He wasn’t worried about how this story would play, but I was. He would be the storyteller.

‘“I’ve got a boyfriend,” I said, gambling that a prior claim wouldn’t wound his masculinity.

‘He said, “Hah no you haven’t! Who’s that?”

‘I didn’t want to drop my boyfriend in it. I didn’t want to sell him out, and have outsiders storming in and trashing what we had, which was more precious to me than anything. He was blameless, and he was mine, and he must be protected at all costs.

‘I said, “You don’t know him.”

‘“Bollocks, Georgina. Everyone knows you’ve never been with anyone and you’re gagging for it. Going on about romance all the time like an old biddy in English class.”

‘This was like a series of precise stab wounds to the major organs. The worst thing imaginable – everyone smelling my desperation to be liked. This boy telling me it was common knowledge. I was hideous, gauche, needy, pathetic.’

I’m crying too now, but only tears, my voice is still steady.

‘He tried to kiss me again and I pushed him off saying, Let’s go back to the party, let’s get some of that punch, and he said, to show he wasn’t buying my casual deflection routine: “Are you a virgin?”

‘I said: “No.”

‘He said: “Well then.”

‘He unzipped his jeans and I stood, pinned against the wall, under the medical-bright lights, wondering why I was here, how to escape. How everything had gone so wrong, so fast.

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