Myths And Facts About Boys That Every Girl Should Know [#1]

Myth Number 2: All Boys Are Only Good For Stuff Like Opening Jars and Heavy Lifting.

Fact: That’s only half a myth – they can mow lawns, too.

xxx

“Could everyone please, BE QUIET? I don’t care what you did on the weekend.”

Ugh. I have to say, starting a school day with English class is particularly sadistic on the part of the administration.

“…ahem. And so to nominalise a word or phrase you simply make it a noun. It’s quite uncomplicated… you simply take a verb or adverb – or even both – and make it into a noun. For example, ‘he was swimming rapidly’ becomes ‘his rapid swim’. Then you can add on to…”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like English. It’s actually one of my favourite subjects. But to be forced to think this early in the morning is about as natural as a sexually active 95-year old.

That is to say, not at all.

“…it also allows you to write concise, informative sentences. One or two of you managed this quite well… Catherine, for example, did it particularly nicely… would you like to read yours out, dear?”

I mean, my morning has been traumatic enough without – oh, crap. That’s me. Sigh.

“With all due respect, Miss, I hate that name. Can’t you just call me Ather like everyone else?” I asked exasperatingly, making sure to put emphasis on the miss. Miss Heeber, my English teacher, is from the old school, where being old and single is the same as being ugly and useless. It never fails to get to her but she can’t exactly say anything.

Except to call me by my full name, which I totally hate.

“But Catherine is such a lovely name! Or at least Cathy, or Cat. ‘Ather’ makes you sound like such a boy, dear,” she told me, looking at me kindly. Oh, I hate her.

“Well, your esteemed opinion aside, Miss Heeber, I think I still prefer Ather. I am not a feline animal, nor old, like the other two sound.”

“Well, I refuse to call you by that other name… but if you don’t answer to Catherine I suppose Miss Kingston will have to do. Now, could you read out part of your essay for the class, please?”

I heard snickering behind me and fought the urge to bring my elbow up and into Isaac’s face. Why, after annoying me all morning, he couldn’t just sit somewhere that wasn’t within a metre of me, was completely beyond me. Maybe he has a daily quota to fill?

Or maybe he just actually likes seeing me suffer. Jerk.

Heebie Jeebies (as is her student nickname) was still looking at me expectantly. She sort of reminds me of that character in Harry Potter, the bitchy head teacher one. Umbridge, that’s it. Only not fat. And I don’t think she makes students write notes with their own blood.

Although, I wouldn’t put it past her.

I figured I had to say something. “Well, Miss, I’d love to, only… only I have a really sore throat, and even talking now is painful.” I coughed a couple of times for effect. “I don’t want to make it any worse. I might lose my voice.” Cough.

Heeber smiled tightly. “Just read it, Miss Kingston.”

I had the sinking feeling I wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. I gave the teacher a ‘you’ll pay’ smile and picked up the essay that was still upside down on my desk.

I cleared my throat loudly and pointedly, which drew some more sniggers. “One of the main characteristics of the literary canon is that each defies their own context, remaining relevant for generation after generation. The poetry of John Donne, while written in a form of English unfamiliar with contemporary students, still retains pertinence of theme and content which we can understand and - ”

RIIIIIINNNNGGGG

Oh, thank little baby Jesus, lying there in his little manger, for that bell. Away went the essay and I packed my books into something resembling a manageable pile, my eyes firmly fixated on the door. I felt something prod me sharply in the back and spun around. Isaac whistled innocently.

“Argh! What is with you today? Just leave me the hell alone!” I hissed at him, then turned back around.

“Or what, kitty, you’ll scratch me with your claws?” he mocked, pushing past me to exist the room first. I tried shoving him back but it didn’t make any noticeable difference. Argh.

“Stupid big cut guys with their stupid muscles and stupid being-a-girl-ness and not wanting big muscles otherwise you look like one of those chicks from Gladiator and lets just face it, its totally wrong and stupid not having any physical power unless you’re a total slut and maybe, just maybe some of us aren’t like that so then what do we do, couldn’t just get some respect but nooo…” I muttered under my breath all the way to my locker where my best friend was leaning against it, waiting.

“Enjoy English with the Heebie Jeebies?” she asked with a teasing smile. Callie isn’t in my class but she is still aware of my, uh, relationship with Miss Heeber. I fished around in my pocket and produced my key.

“Yeah,” I drawled sarcastically, “it was a real fucking riot. Me and her just get on so well, y’know?” My locker finally opened and I shoved my books inside it, grabbing the stuff I needed for art. Still fuming, I slammed it shut and only just had time to jump out of the way before it bounced back and swung toward my head.

Callie was still smiling. “Ok, doll, calm down. It’s just a stupid teacher who you are never going to see again after this year.”

“Easy for you to say. You get the good one. I get stuck with the only adult in this whole goddamn town who insists on calling me Catherine*.” I spat the word out. “Oh, and the only guy in this whole school who prefers to insult me rather than ignore me.”

“Um, you’ll get over it. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Isaac only does it because he liiikes you. And there are heaps of guys who don’t ignore you. Now are you coming to art or not?” she said as she pushed off the neighbouring lockers and I managed to close my locker and actually lock it.

“Isaac does not like me, he hates me. No guy who likes a girl does this sort of crap unless they’re in preschool. Guys our age ask girls they like out. And I don’t mean to sound mean but the guys we hang around aren’t exactly date material.”

“Yeah, they ask them out unless they have a deathstare that some have compared to actual lasers shooting out of their eyes. And don’t you mean all the guys we hang around except for one in particular?”

“Oh, shut up, you.”

Callie just gave me a look.

“My eyes do not shoot lasers, virtual or otherwise.” I chose to ignore the other part.

“Uh huh, sure. What eeever you say. Now would you hurry up, I think we’re late.” My best friend, who clearly knows nothing about boys, said as she rounded a corner toward the Creative Arts building.

I knew it was pointless to continue the argument so I didn’t bother. I knew she was wrong anyway.

My day didn’t exactly get better. Next up was Maths… and oh, how I hate it. The teacher is a total asshole who thinks that just because you can grasp a concept, barely, that you should like grasping it. I’m fairly sure I’m currently bottom of the class.

It pretty much continued on in this vein… a double hell (see above) coupled with another double of a particularly boring Legal Studies lesson.

When the bell rang signalling the end of last period I almost sighed out loud with relief. Thank God. Then I remembered the bet I made this morning and my mood brightened considerably.

Our grass was getting a little long.

I had made a point earlier on of letting my dad – otherwise known as Stupid Loser Neighbour’s football coach – in on the bet, so now there was no way Isaac could back out. Dad has this thing with people keeping their word.

Also apparently I miss spots. I don’t see it, but whatever works.

Isaac was not happy. Considering his happiness and mine are mutually exclusive, this was a good thing.

“You told your dad??” he howled that afternoon when I informed him of that little fact. “That is low. Just low. I hope you burn in hell for this.”

I, like the mature almost-adult I am, stuck out my tongue at him. “You shouldn’t have bet me I couldn’t fix your car. Then allll your problems would be solved.”

“No shit. Last time I ask you for help.”

“You didn’t ask me, jerk, you bet me I couldn’t. You challenged me, and you lost. Simple as that. Now deal with it.”

“You’ll pay. I will make sure of it,” he threatened as he got into his car and turned the key. His threat was made a little empty by the clicking and half-cranking noise his engine made before dying.

“Oh, shit. Not again.”

I grinned. “Want me to take a look under -”

“NO.”

“Ok, ok. Touchy. Ill see you at home then. Well, that is, if you make it…”

With that little parting sentiment I got into my own car and turned the ignition. The look on Isaac’s face as it started smoothly was priceless. I gave a little sarcastic wave and pulled out of the lot. Oh, victory was sweet.

It was even sweeter on my arrival. The lawn mower was sitting on the grass in our backyard, a pair of earmuffs on top of it.

Sometimes I love my Dad.

Isaac’s arrival was heralded by a very unhealthy sound coming from his engine. It nonetheless made it to his driveway and upon getting out and seeing the mower he said a very bad word. Then stalked inside his house.

“Hey!” I yelled after him, “you still have to…” and trailed off when he stormed back out carrying an iPod and rubbing his neck and face with sunscreen.

“I’m going to get this over with and then not another word is ever to be said, understood?” he hissed at me and I was taken aback by the vehemence. He must’ve had a really bad day.

Excellent.

“Fine. Just make sure you get that bit over in the corner. Oh, and watch the dog crap, it’s a real bitch.” I said, like I actually cared if he stepped in it.

Isaac just ignored me, inserting the headphones and putting the earmuffs on over the top. Soon any comments I made were drowned out by the sound of our ancient mower and I decided to just go inside.

Although… to watch his misery or not to watch his misery. A hard choice to make at the best of times. I resolved to go get food, a book and then sit near a window where I could see if the urge so took me. Win-win.

I don’t think I really thought that little plan through and prepared myself, though. When I got back to my favourite cushy armchair by the window and sat down, I did so assuming that Slave Boy (an unfortunately temporary nickname) would be fully clothed.

I was wrong.

Despite the cold outside in the morning, it had warmed up considerably in the early afternoon and the sun was beating down pretty much directly on our lawn. Isaac was evidently feeling the heat as he had stripped down to just jeans and shoes. I hope he remembered sunscreen.

You could go offer to put some on yourself…

Wait. What?! I did NOT just think that. No, no, no, no. That is all wrong.

I don’t care how totally great he looks right now there is no way I am going out there, full stop. Period. End of story. I tore my eyes away from the window and tried to concentrate on my book, but it just wasn’t working very well. Growling with frustration, I eventually stood up and went into my room.

He can be deaf, dumb and blind to me and still that boy makes me mad.

Fact: Not only can they open jars, lift heavy things and mow lawns, they even manage to be extremely frustrating at the same time. Whoever said boys couldn’t do two things at once was either stupid or lying.