We’ll Just Ride Past extract

In the following week, Malin and I try to collect some intel on John and Pugg. Where they hang out, who with, what they like. I’ve checked what Malin said, and it’s true, John and Pugg seem to be as thick as thieves. Hardly surprising really, as my sister also seems to know both of them.

Unfortunately, neither of them seem to be very active in any particular place, so it’s quite hard to find out what sort of things they do. But we know that John works at the pizza joint and that both of them play in Slutslayer – though Pugg bellows more than he plays,  judging by the video clips we found from their gigs. Malin’s forced me to watch them a billion times, even though the only person you can see is Pugg. Before now, I’d never thought about who was in the line-up behind Pugg in Slutslayer, but it’s John on drums. Now I know he’s there, it’s hard to imagine that I never noticed him before.

One evening Malin sent me a photo she’d photoshopped to make it look as if Pugg was licking her throat. I could see straight away that it was a still from one of the gig vids.

Malin’s changed her look too. She’s always dressed a bit differently from the crowd, but now she’s taken things even further. She’s hacked a pair of jeans to shreds, her pigtails are even wilder, and she’s plastering on the makeup – much more than usual. She’s got long black streaks of kohl around her eyes. It’s a pretty cool look, though it seems a bit daft to me to do all this for Pugg. She’s said herself that she wants him to notice her the next time he sees her, so she needs a punkier style.

We spend more time than usual sitting on the steps up to the sweetshop-pizza joint, but we don’t see John. Which is lucky, because if he heard how Malin talks about Pugg sometimes, he’d probably head for the hills.

‘I want him to see that we’re soulmates. But I’m not doing this just for Pugg,’ she says, rolling her eyes. We’re sitting outside the pizza place for the third time in a week. ‘It feels like I’ve finally found my style. Maybe you should too.’

‘I don’t think I’m a punk,’ I say, looking down at my jeans.

They’re just so bog-standard.

‘No, but you might be something?’

‘I’d be happy enough if I was good-looking,’ I say, leaning back.

I feel a step cutting into my back and sit up straight again.

‘You can be anything at all,’ says Malin.

She’s sticking a load of safety-pins, in a line, down the sleeve of her denim jacket.

‘I’d like to know what John finds attractive,’ I say.

‘But then you’d be changing yourself to suit him,’ says Malin, cursing as she pricks herself on a safety-pin.

‘I didn’t say I was going to change,’ I say. ‘I’d be just the same. But it’d be nice to know.’

I’ve almost forgotten what John looks like. He hasn’t been seen anywhere and there aren’t any new photos of him online.

I haven’t managed to read any more of the book. Instead, I’ve tried listening to some punk hits Malin’s sent me. They weren’t bad, but I wouldn’t say they were that good either. I don’t get why Malin likes them so much. Anyway, we don’t even know if John’s into punk.

I wish I could find out a bit more about him, something new I don’t already know.

‘We can find out where he lives and ride round there,’ says Malin. ‘I reckon that’s the best chance I’ve got of meeting Pugg, too – if you and John get together.’

‘Yeah right, ‘cos that’s really going to happen if we ride past his house! What if he sees us – he’ll think I’m some kind of creepy stalker.’

‘Aren’t you?’ says Malin, sticking another safety-pin into her jacket.

She looks almost like a knight in armour, with all those safety-pins in her sleeves.

‘He doesn’t have to know that,’ I shrug.

‘We just have to find a way to make friends with them first, then they’re sure to fall in love with us,’ Malin declares.

I find that hard to believe, as nobody’s fallen in love with me yet. But I’d be glad if I could just get to speak to John sometime.

‘If only we could go to that party,’ I say.

‘What party?’ says Malin.

‘Someone called Tati’s having a party at Easter,’ I say. ‘My sister’s going and she says John’ll be there.’

‘Tati,’ says Malin, pinching my arm. ‘That’s the girl from Slutslayer. The one from Ukraine I was telling you about! Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Then Pugg’s bound to be going too. We’ve got to go!’

‘My sister would never let me,’ I say. ‘Anyway, we haven’t been invited.’

‘No one gets an invite to a party like that,’ says Malin. ‘This is great! We wanted something to do instead of the Easter bonfire, remember?’

‘Fat chance I’ve got of going with my sister,’ I say.

Even so, I can’t stop myself thinking about what it would be like if I did turn up. ‘Hey, good to see you here,’ John would say, or maybe, ‘Hi, I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?’ Then, by chance, he’d see my book, which I’d have left in my bag. Perhaps he’d offer me a beer and we’d laugh when we bumped into one another. ‘Like to go outside for a bit?’ he’d ask, and I’d nod. Then we’d go for a walk, or maybe sit on a swing in the garden, or just on the steps.

We’d talk, and we’d discover everything we had in common, and the party would go on around us. Maybe someone would come and tug at John’s arm and try to get him to come back inside, but he’d say he was busy, with a discreet gesture in my direction, which I’d pretend not to see.

‘But we can ride over and just check it out,’ says Malin. ‘Come on. I’ve got to meet Pugg!’

‘OK, I’ll think about it. But isn’t that a bit stalkerish too? Standing outside watching someone’s party?’

‘All we’re going to do is ride past! We’re allowed to be out on our bikes, aren’t we? Or is there a law against that too now?’

‘If my sister sees me, she’ll kill me. No kidding.’

‘She won’t see you, she’ll be too pissed to notice anything anyway. You can pretend to be a hallucination or something. Please, please, please, this is the only thing I want for the whole of the rest of my life, and if we don’t go I won’t even have any reason to go on living!’

‘I’m not sure,’ I say, but at just that moment we hear the sound of a moped.

Even before I see the helmet and the jacket, I know it’s him. My heart tells me so, shooting up into my throat so I can’t even swallow. I can’t breathe either, but that doesn’t matter: what I can see gives me everything I need to go on living.

John climbs off the moped and takes his helmet off. The back of his head is so gorgeous. When he turns round it’s just like in the movies; it’s as if there’s electricity crackling around him. He doesn’t notice us, though, just goes inside.

‘Come on,’ says Malin. ‘We’ve got to go in after him. Now’s our chance!’

I follow when she tugs at my arm. Down the steps, round the corner, up the official steps, in through the door and up to the counter where Shelfie’s sitting, blinking.

‘Hi,’ says Malin.

‘Hello there,’ says Shelfie.

‘Er, we were wondering…’

Then John comes out of the kitchen. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that’s dusty with pizza flour and a cap with the shop’s logo. He sees us but pays us no attention.

‘Where have all the aprons gone?’ he asks Shelfie.

His voice runs over me like chilled yogurt. As for me, I feel warm all over like a sandy beach. Malin’s still holding my arm.

‘Don’t ask me,’ says Shelfie, shrugging her shoulders so her breasts jiggle.

I can see John’s noticed. So at least I know he likes breasts. Mind you, so do most guys.

‘What were you wondering about?’ asks Shelfie, turning to Malin again. She gives her a bigger smile than she gives John.

‘Er, well…’

Malin’s grip on my arm gets harder.

John’s still there, filling a paper cup with Coke from the machine. Then he looks at us.

‘It’s about summer jobs,’ I say. ‘We were wondering if there might be any summer jobs going.’

‘Ah, I see. No, sorry, I think we’ve got all the staff we need for the summer,’ says Shelfie, smiling. ‘And John’s here too now.’

‘I see,’ I say.

‘But if you leave your names and phone numbers, we can keep them in case something comes up,’ says Shelfie consolingly.

‘I’m Manda,’ I say.

‘And I’m Malin,’ says Malin quickly.

‘Manda and Malin,’ says John. ‘Sounds like a kids’ TV show.’

He doesn’t say it in a purposely unkind way, but I feel a bit childish anyway.

He takes a swig from the Coke and goes back into the kitchen, disappearing behind the curtain.

‘Don’t mind him, that’s just his way. You can put your phone numbers down here,’ says Shelfie, holding out a pad of white notelets.

‘Oh, we’ll do that later,’ says Malin, leaving the shop with me.

We sit down on the steps again. I stare straight ahead but don’t see the tangled underbrush – or anything at all. Only John’s teeth, John’s hair, John’s cheeks and John’s fingers around the paper cup.

‘OK then, we’ll ride past,’ I say finally. ‘Quickly!’

‘Yessss!’ cries Malin. ‘We’re going to the party!’