Primperfect (8 page)

I mean, we've been friends since pre-school. We went to Niamh's creche together, and both liked the fat crayons better than the skinny, and both fancied the same boy, Kevin (which is kind of fore-shadowy and creepy even though he didn't look like other Kevin at all, but more like Aladdin from the Disney cartoon. Aladdin or Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. If they had a baby, it would have been Creche Kevin), because he had dark twisty hair and light-up runners and freckles the colour of caramel.

Felix is a bit like how I imagine straight haired, grown-up Kevin would look. Only without the light-up runners, obviously.

I wish he liked me back.

I wish Joel loved me again. The best-friend kind of love we used to share where both of us were family together.

Sitting in the café beside Felix, I got a wave of jealousy for Joel. I will never have a life exciting enough to war rant interventions.

Would it be weird to bring a series of helpful and informative sex-pamphlets to the café?

Because you can get an STD from very little sexual contact if you are unlucky, and it's best to be careful.

I'd hate to get an STD — you'd feel all filthy.

And not in a good way.

Good-filthy is a nice feeling.

But Kevin-shaped experience has taught me it is all too often followed by bad-filthy.

I wonder if Kevin ever felt bad-filthy after we hooked up?

It can't be just a girl thing. The shame of letting yourself be taken for granted.