The dome is part of the children’s playground at the park, but tucked towards the back. Normally, it is full of teenagers who want to have somewhere quiet to make out, because it is totally private. Inside, the dome opens up so you can stand quite easily, decorated with blue and white tiles that make me think of swimming pools.
I’ve been in the dome once before, during the day when little kids were about, just to see the fuss. Standing on my own in there it didn’t feel special, especially when there was an empty bottle of vodka left behind. But I did pick it up and put it in the bin, earning me a judgemental glare from a mother with a pram who must have thought I’d been drinking in there.
If only! But it was nice even for a second to have someone believe I could be that kind of person. Someone who had friends and did daring things.
I texted back almost immediately saying I would love to, knowing I couldn’t play it cool no matter how hard I tried. But he responded basically straight away! Look!
It’s a date. See you tomorrow. Don’t message me again. I like the air of suspense around our relationship.
A date? Our relationship? You better believe I blushed. It was so hard not to text him back and ask if this meant we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Don’t worry, even I know that’s completely crazy! We have to see if we like each other first.
Oh, I hope he likes me. Because I like him.
I told Mum and Dad and Wendy at dinner that evening.
“A date?” Dad growled, putting on a typical ferocious overbearing father voice, then grinning. He thinks he’s so funny! “My daughter on her first date! Though I’m not sure I like the idea of you two just hanging around in a park together. Can’t he take you to the cinema or something?”
“That’s just where we’re meeting,” I said, though I wasn’t sure myself if that was going to be it. What did it matter though? “I’m sure we’re going somewhere after.”
“You be careful,” Mum said, though I could tell underneath she was delighted. “I want you back no later than nine, you’re only fourteen.”
“Nine! That’s so early.”
“Ten then. But that’s final.”
“So what is this Julian like?” Dad asked. “Are you going to be as lucky as your mum was when she met me?”
“Dad,” I groaned. “He’s great. Really.”
Wendy leaned forward. “He is smart too, Dad. He’s in all the top sets. And he’s super sporty, he’s captain of the football team but also part of the basketball squad. He seems nice.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mum said. “And of course our Poppy is worth ten of him, but I’m happy she’s been asked out by someone so lovely.”
“He’s very popular with girls though.” Wendy frowned, and I knew what she was thinking. Blunt as always, she had to voice it. “Why has he asked you out, Poppy? You’re not exactly . . .”
“Not exactly what?” I challenged her.
“Wendy,” Dad said, a warning tone in his voice.
“I was going to say popular,” Wendy said with a pout. “It just seems a bit odd, that’s all.”
“Well, he doesn’t judge people by how popular they are,” I said. “Maybe you should learn the same lesson.”
“Let’s not argue over the dinner table,” Mum said, ever the peacemaker. “We’ve got an apple crumble for dessert.”
“I’ll fetch it,” Dad said, gathering the plates up. “Just consider me your waiter for the evening, ladies.”
Wendy and I scowled at each other from across the table. It’s not easy, having a sister like Wendy, let me tell you. She’s only twelve but she’s already surpassed me in pretty much everything. We’re total opposites in how we look. I’m more mousy, she’s dark. I have too many freckles, she barely has any at all. That includes height. I’ve inherited Mum’s tiny legs while Wendy is like Dad, tall and graceful, and worst of all she’s slim despite her eating the same as me. I could forgive the fact she’s better looking than me, with straight white teeth while I suffer with braces, but the fact that she’s smarter than me too is just unfair. She has loads of friends, and they’re always in her room singing karaoke at the top of their lungs and just having fun.
So maybe now she’s finally a little jealous that there’s something I’ve done first. And with the best possible guy. I’ve had a guy show interest and ask me out. She hasn’t had that yet for all her pretty dark hair and popularity.
But after dinner, she stopped me.
“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” she asked. “You won’t do anything stupid?”
“I am capable of looking after myself.” I sighed, determined to just ignore her when she grabbed me by the arm and made me look at her.
“I mean it,” she said. “Don’t do anything he wants just because he wants to, right?”
“Who’s the older sister here?” I laughed. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to being the butt of a joke anyway, so if he tries anything I’ll recognise it in a second.”
Wendy still looked worried. I know she sees most of it; we go to the same school. She knows I hide a lot of the truth from Mum and Dad. They know I don’t have any friends, of course they do, it’s been years now. But they don’t know just how badly I’m bullied, how every day it’s a miracle if I’m not crying myself to sleep. Wendy sees the ostracisation, the laughter, the pranks. But, as if by unspoken agreement, she doesn’t tell Mum and Dad about it.
As much as I’m jealous of her, she’s still my little sister, and I love her to bits.
Anyway, I must rush off now. I have a fabulous date to go to! Will report back later how it all went.
Later
Dear Diary,
I want to scribble out everything I wrote before.
No, I want to tear it up and throw all the little pieces in a bin.
I’m so stupid.
Of course no one is ever going to love me. Of course I’m never going to get a boyfriend. Who would want someone so ugly, so pathetic?
I hate myself. And I hate them.
I HATE THEM. I wish they were dead.
In the end, I arrived at the park too early. Of course I did, I’m the desperate sad one. I was never going to be late and play it cool, was I? My phone said it was a quarter to six, so I tried to slow my pace as I got to the dome. I couldn’t see anyone else around, but he might have already been in there, so I ducked my head and made my way inside.
There was a small box with a note on top. The box was bow-wrapped with red silk, and there was no hint to what was inside, but the note had my name on.
Poppy, it read, in neat handwriting I didn’t recognise, Wear this tonight to make yourself even more gorgeous. I’m taking you to a nice restaurant with my savings! Love, Julian x
Love! Julian wrote “love”! With heavy breaths, I unwrapped the bow and took the lid off the box, thinking it might have been a necklace or a bracelet. And he called me gorgeous, so I was ready to wear anything!
God. I need to stop crying and just write this. At least angrily stabbing the pen to paper makes me feel a bit better, because I can pretend the paper is them.
It wasn’t jewellery. It was lipstick.
Proper lipstick, the kind in actual shops that adult women wear and that Chloe tries to sneak into school, though she keeps to nude and pink shades.
When I opened the cap it showed a bright, scorching red. Thick and matte. Practically the colour of a chilli, or a double-decker bus in London.
I should have known even then. That’s not me. I haven’t ever even worn lipstick before, let alone a shocking red one like that, like all the film stars. Like a sexy pinup model. And I’m definitely no pinup.
But Julian said I would look gorgeous. There was a public toilets nearby, and I could use the mirrors in there to put it on. I’d pucker my lips like they do in films and blow kisses and transform suddenly: weirdo schoolgirl into supermodel.
I grabbed the box, sealing the lid back on, and tucked the note into my jean pocket. As I emerged from the dome I took another look around, to see if he’d arrived, but there were just some girls far away chatting on a bench that I could hardly make out. I hurried to the toilets, eyes blinking in the sudden bright light against the dark backdrop of the park.
Toilets are never the most pleasant places, especially public ones, but I set the box on the sink, taking the lipstick out and hovering it towards my face. I wasn’t sure exactly how you were meant to put it on, but it couldn’t be harder than drawing or painting, and I was good at that. I would just apply the right amount of pressure, probably a lot to make sure it didn’t come off, and I’d look amazing.
Yeah. Makeup and painting are very different, if you haven’t learned that already.
It came on very easily—a lot easier than I imagined. All of a sudden my lips were bright red. And not just my lips either—even with my steady hand there was some that smudged above my lip, giving me what looked like a much bigger upper lip than lower. I tried to correct it by doing some more underneath, but that just made me look like I’d suddenly had filler injections. When I pursed my lips out, like I was kissing someone, the centre of my lips was still stubbornly pink, so I had to put even more on.
When I smiled, imagining a beautiful Hollywood grin, instead all I saw was flakes of lipstick on my two front teeth.
Did I look grown up and sophisticated, or did I just look like a five-year-old who had got into her mother’s makeup?
And then there was a flash.