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such an occasion as my first kiss, ‘Um?’
    Jeremy responds by kissing me again, very authoritatively.
    I think, in quick succession: What’s happening here? – I should go after Chris. – That’s someone else’s spit in my mouth.
    – That’s tongue! – Maybe I should stop this. – Weird. – Okay, that’s not bad. – Not bad . ..
    Jeremy interlocks all of his fingers with mine, gently squeezes my hands and stops kissing me. I open my eyes and look up at him. I can feel his breath on my lips. The seconds that we have been kissing are the first seconds in six months that I have managed not to think about Chris. Intriguing. And a bit of a relief.
    ‘Come inside with me,’ he says.
    ‘Okay.’
    He leads me back inside the front door by the hand. So this is what it feels like to hold hands with a boy, I think. Nice .
    Instead of taking me through the house to the back deck where the party is, Jeremy makes a clean left sidestep into a formal dining room with a never-used feeling. A huge and ornate dark wood table stands in the centre of the room, flanked by glass cabinets filled with expensive-looking crystal and china. On the sideboard is the remains of the second bottle of wine Jeremy and I had been drinking. But no glasses. He picks it up and drinks straight from the bottle, then motions for me to do the same. I swallow down a generous sip, fight off a sway, hand back the bottle and wait to see what will happen next.
    What happens next is quite mystifying for a girl who spends hours of every day staring hatefully into the mirror and down at the scales. Putting his hands on my hips he gently shepherds me over to the edge of the table. Then he bends down, takes a gentle hold of me around the thighs, lifts me up and sits me on the edge of the table. My shoes swing above the carpet.
    More kissing – nice. Jeremy’s hands are on my hips, pushing me, ever so gently, along the shiny wood towards the centre of the table and then onto my back. He is on the table too and kissing my neck. I open my eyes and look up at the plaster designs on the dining-room ceiling.
    It’s nothing but interesting times , I think, a little foggily.
    ‘Righto, kids, that’s enough for now.’
    It’s Ed’s voice and he’s pulling Jeremy roughly off of me. Jeremy made some protest until Ed said, ‘Your girlfriend’s arrived, mate’ whereupon I didn’t see him for dust.
    Oh crap .
    That left Ed and me alone in the dining room. I quietly got down from the table. My head was spinning.
    ‘Where’s Chris?’ I asked feebly, massaging my temples.
    ‘No idea. But I don’t think he’ll be back.’
    ‘And Kathy and Stuart?’
    Ed grimaced. ‘Still upstairs, I think.’
    ‘I feel sick,’ I said in a very small voice, because suddenly I did.
    Ed found a quiet place for me to lie down then disappeared to find someone to take me home.

D ISGRACE
    I wake to my alarm the next morning, fully clothed on my bed and feeling absolutely wretched. It’s Monday. School today and then work tonight. Summoning everything I have, I haul up into a sitting position. Ahhhhgow .
    After a minute I stagger to my feet and stumble down the hall to the bathroom. My head pounds. My mouth is parched and foul-tasting. I struggle to remember the events of the previous evening.
    And then it comes back to me. More or less. Oh no. How had following Jeremy into that dining room seemed like a good idea?
    I clean my teeth thoroughly and gargle with a generous quantity of Listerine. The foulness in my mouth remains. I fumble in the cabinet for Panadol and then run a hot shower.
    Leaning against the steamed-up glass shower recess, I wonder how Chris is pulling up. I’m going to have to see him tonight. And Jeremy. And Ed. But I can’t think about that now. I just have to concentrate on staying upright, not throwing up and getting off to school without anyone noticing I’m hung-over. Hung-over! Me! I perk up a bit at the thought of telling Penny that I pashed a boy and