Not My Problem

by Ciara Smyth

the least you can do is use it. Boys, you’ve had a head start—if you want to sit this one out, be my guest.” A few of the boys exchanged miffed expressions. “Miss! You can’t say stuff like that!” Ronan said. Ms. Devlin looked at him, waiting for him to explain why she couldn’t say stuff like that. “It’s . . . it’s not fair.” Ms. Devlin looked extremely unmoved by his reasoning. “I hope that any applicants to the student council will have more impressive debate skills. Just a thought.”

The most likely scenario here was the disturbed spirit of some girl who had died while undergoing an aggressive exorcism. Probably because she had unnatural feelings (a gay) or disturbing thoughts (an opinion) or had been possessed by Satan (was horny?).

Have you met my wife, Kristen Stewart? We’re flying on a private jet to Maui tonight to have lots of sex and lip biting. Fuckity bye, assholes.

“There are few holes in this,” I said. “One: I guarantee I’m not going to be wondering what you’re doing years from now.” I’d be too busy making love to my wife, Kristen Stewart, on a bed of Flubberygiblets™ money.

“It’s Saint Peter who greets you when you die.” I rolled my eyes. “Right, well, he’ll be there too obviously. But when Jesus saw your name on the naughty list he was like, Pete, I gotta come down and hang out with you at the gates and see this bitch for myself. Fuckin’ chancer, she is.” “He’s not Santa. There’s no list.” “Well, of course there’s no list. It’s all a load of bolloxology, but I’m not going to let that get in the way of making fun of you, am I?” “Heaven forbid.” “They would if they could. They try and ban everything fun.”

“I agree. It’s very fucking different.” “You don’t have to swear so much.” “I don’t have to. But it makes me sound fucking cool.”

I realized what a gift I’d given myself the first time my first-year form tutor, Mr. McCann, had phoned Mam to give out about something I’d done wrong (turned up to World Book Day without a costume. GASP).

At that moment Mr. Kowalski stepped out of his office. Immediately Kavi flopped onto my shoulder and began wailing at the top of his lungs. “SHE’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD BUT SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW I EXIST.” He flailed backward and collapsed on the sofa with a hand over his forehead like an old movie star dying of consumption. I waved at Mr. Kowalski with one hand and patted Kavi’s knee with the other.

“Aideen cannot take part in PE today because she is suffering from hysteria.” Ms. Devlin sighed. “Aideen, tell me, what is hysteria?” “Um, you know, when bitches be crazy?” I said. “This is your most offensive illness yet.”

“How are you tits deep in work and it’s only nine fifteen?” “I’m always tits deep,” she said absently. “I walk around brushing work off my nipples on a twenty-four seven basis.” “Sounds chafey,” I said.

“Look,” I said in my softest voice. “You got your heart pulped. You missed someone and then you wanted to feel like they loved you again. That’s not pathetic. It’s your heart, it’s soft and mushy and it’s supposed to be and I’m sorry he thought it was okay to mess with it but that’s his mistake, not yours.”

“Have you had unprotected sex in the last seventy-two hours?” “Yep. With a boy. And his bare penis. My bad.” But that was fine.

“Why is he here too?” Angela eyed Kavi. Kavi and I exchanged a look. Mine said, Why are you here? His said, Why wouldn’t I be here?

“You need me to be terrible,” I said. “If everyone can get As if they only try hard enough, then As become totally meaningless. It’s not designed for everyone to succeed. A few people will be exceptional. Everyone else is getting by in the middle. But you need me at the bottom. I’m the low bar everyone else can jump over.”

Mr. Smith practically ate the face off the class trying to figure out whose text tone was an audio clip of Kristen Stewart saying, “I am, like, so gay, dude.” Thankfully either no one knew it was me or they weren’t going to tout.

“Wait, wait. Hold on. How are you getting there? Where is this party?” I gave her a look. The look said, Are you, the dirty stop-out of the century, really asking me these details? She gave me a look back. The look said, I’m your mother, you insolent pup, answer my question.

“Keep going,” he shouted at me. Mrs. Something began chasing after us, shouting. “GET BACK HERE, DANIEL.” Into the dark night air Daniel shouted back. “BYE, MAM, I LOVE YOU. I’LL SEE YOU AROUND THREE.”

I felt someone jostle me and I looked up. Kavi was taking the bundle from my arms. “I’ll go,” he said. Meabh was watching too. I wondered what they saw on my face.

“I don’t think you can make people stop being dicks,” he said thoughtfully. “They either will or they won’t on their own time. I don’t need them to be on my side. I just need someone who is, so I’m not alone. I need people I can talk to. And I have that now.”

“I think I fancy Ali, you know, in my year? But I don’t know if she likes girls.” “Only one way to find out,” I said. She looked at me as if to say, And that is? “Ask her if she liked Fiona Apple’s latest album.”

“I didn’t know you helped that girl,” Kavi whispered to me, pointing at Laura behind the palm of his hand. “Yeah, so?” “She’s belly shot girl.”

“I like your hair,” I said, and I privately congratulated myself on being smooth with the ladies. I like your hair. That was going to go down in history as one of the great lines.

“It is,” I said earnestly. “I think you’ll flash me.” “You do not.” “I do.” “You don’t.” “I really do.” “You—” I cut her off with a kiss. I didn’t think about it, I just leaned in and held the back of her head gently. Her lips parted and she kissed me back.