{"id":757,"date":"2019-06-29T09:57:39","date_gmt":"2019-06-29T08:57:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bigbookend.co.uk\/nssf\/?p=757"},"modified":"2019-06-29T09:57:35","modified_gmt":"2019-06-29T08:57:35","slug":"one-of-the-girls-by-flash-fiction-slam-2019-winner-monica-dickson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bigbookend.co.uk\/nssf\/one-of-the-girls-by-flash-fiction-slam-2019-winner-monica-dickson\/","title":{"rendered":"One Of The Girls by Flash Fiction Slam 2019 Winner Monica Dickson"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"The boys call her Wardy, like she\u2019s one of the lads, a bit of a laugh. Maybe she\u2019s leading a double life; they all fancy her anyway. They just ignore me, most of the time. Same goes for the teachers. Jane Ward\u2019s intelligent and independent. I\u2019m invisible. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I do everything with my best mate, Carmen. We walk to school and tennis club and Guides and that keeps us on the right side of the good girls, even if we do smoke on the way. So I should have known better than to go round Harriet\u2019s without Car. Jane Ward is already there, lying on the bed in Harriet\u2019s room, reading. Wordy Wardy. She sends a half-arsed nod in my direction; her bob sways back and forth either side of her jaw, like abandoned swings. I collapse onto a beanbag in a fake swoon; Harriet laughs. I think she likes me \u2013 why else would she invite me? Not sure about her dad though. When I arrive he doesn\u2019t speak, just holds the door open so I have to duck under his arm to get past. He smells of Imperial Leather and last night\u2019s booze. I keep my head down and stomp up the stairs. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

At the top I look back and he\u2019s still standing there, giving me a funny look. I say <\/span><\/span>tiny cock<\/i><\/span><\/span> under my breath, which is something I\u2019ve worked out you can do without moving your lips. And filthy ventriloquism is a talent of sorts. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The afternoon gapes, like Saturdays do, and we loll about listening to records. Harriet and Jane talk to each other and I talk to Harriet and try to make her laugh again. Harriet\u2019s got a new album and the two of us sing along and act sad and sexy, like we\u2019re in a video. <\/span><\/span>Jane drifts about, not joining in.<\/span><\/span><\/span> A hard ball of empty forward rolls in my belly, like I\u2019m hungry or homesick, <\/span><\/span>even though I\u2019d rather be anywhere but. It\u2019s the same with people; I hate Jane Ward but I still want her to like me<\/span><\/span><\/span>. Then I remember how she likes the sound of her own voice and I have this idea that we should make a tape of the three of us messing about. Jane gets all enthusiastic then and we spend ages recording what we\u2019re going to do that day; go to Asda, go swimming, go round the ring road on the number 9, even though none of us have got any money or swimming costumes and it\u2019s already four o\u2019clock and starting to get dark. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s quiet for a bit and I\u2019m trying not to think about having to go back and I\u2019m staring at the red light on the stereo, listening to the far away squeak of the tape as it strains on pause. Then I just start talking gibberish about being a Victorian maid. I don\u2019t know why, it just comes out of my mouth and I jump up and start pretending to dust the room and asking, \u201cEw are you two?\u201d and \u201cWhat\u2019s this new fangled machine what yer playing with?\u201d I keep it up for ages and my voice gets higher and sillier and I start chucking stuff round the room.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s supposed to be funny and Harriet\u2019s wetting herself but Jane Ward starts getting radged, she goes to me, \u201cStop it Nicole, you\u2019re freaking me out\u201d and even though her face is still as smug as the Mona Lisa\u2019s I know she actually is bricking herself. Harriet\u2019s still cackling away though and her braces are catching on what\u2019s left of the light so her teeth look like that James Bond villain. I say, \u201cYou should be freaked out, look at Harriet\u2019s face\u201d and Harriet laughs even more in this sort of screechy, Halloween-y way and then Wardy starts proper blubbing and I say, in my best witchy voice, \u201cWhy are you crying little girl?\u201d and loom right up in her face and she shouts, really loud, \u201cGet off me you nutter!\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

That\u2019s when Harriet\u2019s dad walks in. He doesn\u2019t knock; he just puts the light on and says in a really calm, smooth voice like he\u2019s a presenter off the telly, \u201cWhat are you young ladies up to in here?\u201d Harriet goes red and says, \u201cNothing, Dad\u201d which is technically true. He looks at Jane Ward\u2019s white, teary face, then at me, all out of breath, hair stuck to my forehead. He says, \u201cTime to go home now, don\u2019t you think\u201d and I know he means me and it\u2019s not a question.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I try to get my tongue round <\/span><\/span>fuck off<\/i><\/span><\/span>, silently, without moving my lips. It\u2019s impossible.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Monica Dickson is the winner of the Northern Short Story Festival Flash Fiction Slam 2019. You can also hear an audio version of this story on the Chapel FM website<\/a> here. This story was previously published on Dear Damsels.
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The boys call her Wardy, like she\u2019s one of the lads, a bit of a laugh. Maybe she\u2019s leading a double life; they all fancy her anyway. 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