Monday 5th February

Yesterday I made out with The Quarterback. I had no intention of doing any of it, but he kissed me and then before I knew it I was kissing him back and he had his hands down my pants. I wasn't going to let him do all that to me and I was certainly not going to do all that to him, but to my surprise I found myself begging for it.

Needless to say I am horrified. He is and always has been extremely good looking; even I can't fail to see that. However he is also and always has been what one might call a Dick, with a capital D. And a Douche. And now a Disaster in the making.

The problem is I can't get the whole thing out of my head. It happened; I accept that and no amount of wishing it away will unhappen it. I can't tell anyone, of course, so it is going to have to live in my head getting bigger and bigger so to speak. I have always been impulsive and this time I have gone and done it. Making out with the quarterback is one step too far. Making out with one of the people who is capable of making my life a misery was not a GOOD IDEA.

I wasn't even drunk or high. I was stone cold sober. It was two in the afternoon for God's sake. On a Sunday. Oh why did he have to look at me like that? With those ridiculously long black lashes? Why did he have to put a finger on my lips and look at me like that? And why oh why did I have to lunge at him like a bitch on heat?

We were arguing. I was attempting to confront him about what he did to my friend, Stu. It was a very stupid idea to do that alone. I was going to blind him with my vocabulary and ability to express a rational and unbeatable argument, but who was I kidding? Did I really think The Quarterback gives a damn about rational argument? He just stood there with his arms folded while I whined on and on about fairness and mature behaviour and … I cringe to remember it. He had this little grin on his face and was looking at my mouth the whole time, and for some reason I stopped mid sentence and found myself looking at his crotch. That did it I suppose, with a Neanderthal like him, that's all it took. He stepped towards me and placed his finger on my lips and I lunged at him. I don't know why! I couldn't help myself and his kiss was so deep and tasted so good and then his hand was in my jeans and I was grinding into him and fast reaching the stage of no going back. And the worst bit is that I was going to stop and walk away. While he was muttering curses into my neck I was mustering the resolve to push him away, but something in me snapped and I found myself begging for more, scrabbling at his belt buckle, grabbing at him. And the boy whose name I can never bring myself to use actually had me yelping that name as he made me come. I hate him.

He was in my Math class today. He gave me a look so steamy that I was tempted to play with myself under the desk. What have I done?

Tuesday 6th February

Woke up this morning on my back, paralysed and panting. I think I had just had a wet dream but wasn't sure. At least when you're a guy you have evidence. When I looked in the mirror, a strange face stared back; same brown hair and green eyes and too full mouth, but less innocent than two days ago with a gaunt haunted look. I watched my dad drinking his coffee and dripping it onto his tie like he does every morning and wanted to burst into tears, have him stroke my hair and tell me everything would be OK. But how could I tell him his little girl has no moral compass?

Of course, I was immediately confronted with my crimes when I got to school. I feel like I am the star of some morality play. The Quarterback was lounging around on the steps with two of his fellow morons. I am waiting for him to say something incredibly gross to me, in front of everyone. It's bound to happen. In fact, it's inevitable. I know the Douche too well. But apparently he is going to play with me, like a sleek long-lashed cat. He is just going to fix me with steamy, knowing looks and make my insides crawl – with pleasure or pain, I'm not sure which. I can hardly tell the difference any more.

When Stu bounded up to me in the hall I nearly burst into tears for the second time that morning. His shining face was so trusting and unchanged. I'd managed to avoid him the day before but now I had to face up to him and lie like a disgraced Beauty Queen.

"Hey," I said in a noncommittal way and tried to keep walking.

"Hey Girlfriend – and where have you been hiding?"

"Oh, nowhere, just been feeling unsociable."

"I've been dying to know if you had it out with the Douche."

"Nah, chickened out in the end."

I hate myself.

Thursday 8th February

Four days have passed and no one seems to know anything. Nothing has been said; no graffiti has appeared in the bathroom, nothing even on Facebook. This is very strange and disconcerting. I feel like it is the calm before the storm, and each calm day that goes by I can't help feeling the storm is just getting stronger.

Friday 9th February

I forgot to switch my cell phone to silent today and it beeped in Spanish class. That was embarrassing enough, but when I looked at the message later it said, "Are you wearing any panties?" Thank God Mrs Talbot is a reasonable human being who just tutted at me instead of confiscating my phone. "Who is this?" I sent back in the desperate hope that Stu was playing some sick joke. I knew it wasn't Stu though, especially when I got the reply "Someone who knows how to make you come." So it begins.

Saturday 10th February

It appears that the incident is still between him and me. This is bothering me more than I can say. I wish I could talk to someone about it but I am having to work out the puzzling nature of this whole affair on my own. I have a horrible feeling that I am going to have to talk to The Quarterback. If I don't talk to someone I am going to go crazy, and lets face it, he is the only one I CAN talk to about this. What a ridiculous situation.

Sunday 11th February

A week ago I was a flawed human being, but I hadn't yet made out with the least likable and trustworthy guy in school - twice. In the words of Cher, if I could turn back time.

Yesterday, just as I was thinking it was a sensible idea to talk to him, my cell phone went all X rated on me again. This time it wanted to know if I had been playing with myself, and if so, whose cock was I thinking about? I angrily, deleted the message. Angrily, because I hate to admit it, but in between worrying about how he is going to destroy me, I have been thinking about his cock. This is very wrong, but I have no control of the visions in my head. I threw my cell under the bed and hunted around for my boots. I had to go somewhere far away from that evil piece of metal. But just as I was heading for the door it started ringing. I KNOW, I should have ignored it but I have never been able to ignore a ringing phone, it's a genetic thing. It might have been Stu. He might have been beaten up again.

"Hi,' said a deep voice. It wasn't Stu.

I took a deep breath, "OK. Listen up. We made out. A week ago. It will never happen again and I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."

"Let's do it again."

"What?"

"I wanna do it again."

I was speechless.

"I wanna make you come."

I snorted in a most unattractive manner. "Are you out of your mind? Oh ...wait a minute... are you recording this call?"

"No. I'll pick you up in 20." And he hung up.

Oh Jesus-Mother-of-God.

What could I do? If I hadn't got in the car he would have sat outside my house honking his horn and causing a scene. What would the neighbours have thought? The star of the school football team sitting outside my house, acting like his heart had been broken in a scene from some alternative universe? So I got in the car, and once I was in the car it was pretty much a done deal that he would drive us to the lookout and we would make out, like the next scene from that alternative universe. It appears that I have suddenly become the star of a teen movie, the one where the geek gets a makeover. Although I'm not sure the geek would have done all the things I did to him quite so readily. Feeling up The Quarterback against a wall at 2pm on a Sunday afternoon had been surreal enough, but making out with him in his car was positively insane. And very enjoyable, I have to admit. Wet panties and all.

Monday 12th February

He has a girlfriend. I have been trying not to consider this. The list of my sins is long enough as it is without taking that particular crime into account. She is blonde and blue-eyed, of course but there the stereotype ends. I hate to say it, but she is actually quite nice. And intelligent. She isn't even a cheerleader. She has never paid me any attention, of course. In 3 years of school she hasn't once spoken to me, or even acknowledged me. But why would she? She has a crowd of friends, all gorgeous and wealthy and glowing with the joys of being 18 and full of potential. Why would she even notice me, skulking around, hiding under my existentialist fringe, totally unsure of my place in the world? And with that word 'fringe' I give away the reason for my insecurities. I am hardly an All-American Homecoming Queen. I'm not even American. I am dark haired, with a liking for clunky boots and scarves that hide most of my body, into which I mumble the remnants of my once strong Northern English accent.

The Quarterback thinks my accent is sexy. I have just remembered something he said yesterday as his breath tickled my skin and I can feel a hot blush radiating across my face. The girl opposite me is trying to see what I am writing.

I can hear The Girlfriend laughing on the other side of the library. It is a tinkly, joyous laugh and it twists my guts.

Wednesday 13th February

I haven't seen Him since Sunday. He seems to have been skipping Math. This is a Good Thing. No X rated texts either. Maybe he has had his fun and has discarded me. I can pose like a spurned and ruined woman in a Victorian novel. Lock myself away, never to be with a man again.

I am relieved, I suppose. The guilt and constant stress was killing me. I am still expecting him to expose and ridicule me. Every morning, as I walk up to those steps I expect comments and looks and laughter following me, and there is no relief when it doesn't happen because I am convinced it WILL happen. It would be better to have it happen now rather than have the constant stress of waiting for it. And the worst of it is, not being able to understand my own actions. He is behaving how he is programmed to behave, selfishly and demandingly like any Alpha Male worth his salt. But my behaviour has not been so excusable. Why have I given in twice? Once, is maybe excusable but twice? Am I some kind of masochist? I thought I had more self-respect.

Poor Stu. He has no idea what is going on with me and hopefully, he never will. I shudder to imagine his response if he ever found out. Me cavorting with his chief tormentor. It will put him in therapy for life. I was supposed to be defending him, making things better and I do nothing except make a whole lot of trouble for myself.

Dad wanted me to show him how to use Garageband tonight but I couldn't face such an innocent father/daughter bonding session with all the confusion in my head. If he could see what I can see when I close my eyes he would die a thousand deaths.

Thursday 14th February

Is this what it feels like to be addicted to crack? You know it's doing you no good but you have to have it. I did a very good job of convincing myself it was all over last night and then I walk into school this morning, straight into Him. He was leaning against the locker next to mine, plugged into his iPod. He didn't even look at me, gazed in the other direction as I took out my books. I was trying to breathe through my mouth, because no way did I want a hit of his smell. I was also trying not to hurry because I didn't want to show any fear. Isn't that what you have to do when confronted with a wild animal? Stay calm and back off slowly? He started singing very quietly and surprisingly in tune, 'If you wanna go and take a ride wit me…If you wanna go and get high wit me…' and then he looked straight at me through those long lashes and grinned.

Oh Jesus-Mother-of-God. I swear, certain parts of me leapt to attention so violently I nearly passed out.

Then he walked off, down the hall, in that slow graceful stride he has. I had to stay there, stuck to the locker until I could trust myself to move without wobbling. My mouth was dry, my heart was hammering, I felt like I had been attacked and left barely alive and he hadn't even done anything except sing a stupid rap song!

I spent the rest of the day feeling like road kill. I couldn't concentrate on a thing. Stu was yammering on about something vaguely important at lunchtime and I didn't take any of it in. Mrs Prentice's explanation of symbolism in 'The Yellow Wallpaper' completely passed me by and I have no idea what Mr Gallo was talking about in Chemistry, or indeed what my lab partner did with those test tubes. I was waiting for something. I guess I was waiting for the wild animal to come and finish me off. Then came Math, last period. That's what I had been waiting for and there he was slouched in his seat, laughing loudly and basking in his entitlement. I swear him and his friends all looked at me when I walked in and I had the sinking feeling that the end had come. Thank God Drexler is a total tyrant and insists everyone works in silence. I was still in turmoil of course. Just being in the same room as that Douche, makes my brain turn to jelly. It's his smell, or his goddamn aura, I don't know but I wished to God he would just stop existing. Forty minutes later I was developing a thunderous headache and when Drexler dismissed us I made for the door like a hunted animal. But then Drexler stopped me and I could have screamed. It turned out he had noticed my 'recent lack of focus' and was wondering if anything was wrong, blah, blah, bah. Like I was going to tell him, "Well actually Mr Drexler, Sir, I very nearly fucked the biggest sociopath in school the other day and I can't stop thinking about doing it again." And the whole time, I could see Him over Drexler's tweedy shoulder, pretending to be finishing off his work but actually listening to our conversation and smirking.

Of course, he was waiting for me outside the room. He looked around to make sure no one would see and backed me against a wall, whispering into my ear, "So what's causing your lack of focus then?" and sliding his finger under the hem of my T-shirt.

I shivered and muttered through gritted teeth, "This is sexual harassment."

"Only if you don't like it."

He had me there. His lips met the bare skin of my neck and I pulled away. "I have a headache. I am going home," and I slid away from him and left him standing there looking somewhat hot and bothered, I have just realized. In fact, I suspect he had to stay there for a while before he was fit to be seen in public.

Friday 15th February

Today, I was made to suffer. Pretty much everywhere I went, The Quarterback was there, with The Girlfriend. Normally, I can go days without laying eyes on him but today his presence was unavoidable, or at least that's how it felt. In the morning, he was near my locker, playing with her hair and making her giggle. At lunch he was at the next table, feeding her yoghurt (Key Lime Pie, non fat). In Math, he was passing her notes that made her blush a delicious pink.

I was in a fowl mood all day, so fowl that Stu fell out with me and refused to lend me his Spanish textbook. He said he was sick of my moods, that I was always like this nowadays and I had permanent PMS. I said he ought to know how that felt, being such a GIRL himself, and he said was that the best I could do and stormed off. I am turning into a Douche myself – it's contagious.

Saturday 16th February

I couldn't sleep last night, despite making peace with Stu. I persuaded him to go see 'Betty Blue' at the Art House AND bought him two Ben and Jerry's (Triple Caramel Chunk and Cherry Garcia). I guess 'Betty Blue' wasn't the best choice in the world, it being a movie about some French chick who goes completely bat shit insane. And it STARTING with full-on-butt-naked-sweaty-sex.

When I got home I got to thinking about how The Quarterback must spend his Friday nights when it isn't football season, which put me in a fowl mood again. I never used to think about this shit before.

Sunday 17th February

I woke up this morning with a positive attitude and the determination to Get On With My Life. I was determined to suppress a certain feeling, one that went with the fact that it was Sunday. All of a sudden Sundays have taken on a certain significance, one that I am determined to exorcise. I started with some Yoga exercises (after digging out a long abandoned yoga mat) then made Dad breakfast – waffles, eggs, bacon, freshly ground coffee, the works. He was a bit surprised but gamely worked his way through the enormous pile of food. Then I finally finished reading 'Catch 22' AND immediately wrote a book report and posted it on my English class's blog. Then because the sun came out, I went out into the yard, considered exposing some skin but decided that was a step too far, and mowed the lawn instead, listening to my 'Upbeat' playlist which has been somewhat neglected of late. I got so into 'Walking on Sunshine' that I didn't hear the car pulling up. God knows how long he had been standing there by the time I saw him. I should have done the immature thing and just pretended not to have seen him but instead I promptly stopped all activity, froze on the spot and gawked at him with my mouth unattractively open. He was leaning on his car, arms crossed, in his usual insouciant manner. I took the earphones out. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't mess me around. I have a bitchin' hangover."

I nervously looked back at the house. I really did not want my Dad to see him here.

"Are you getting in?"

I just stood there, deciding whether to be difficult or not. "OK." It really was that simple. He barks, I jump. And, Dear Diary, you are the only person on earth I will admit that to.

When I got back a couple of hours later, Dad gave me a really funny look. Apparently Stu called round while I was gone and neither of them could work out where I might have disappeared to. I mumbled something about walking round the block but wasn't exactly convincing. At least he hadn't seen The Quarterback; at least I thought he hadn't. Maybe he was testing my honesty. Now I have something else to worry about. Am I ever going to get any peace?

Saturday 23rd February

Tomorrow is Sunday. I have been lying on my bed for an hour listening to frikkin' 'Chasing Cars' over and over again and I am going insane. I haven't written in this diary for nearly a week because I don't even dare think about certain things, let alone write them down.

So here goes, it has to be done. Last Sunday when he drove me to the lookout, when he kissed me, he did it so tenderly, so softly. When he touched me, he looked at me as if … as if I was precious. He melted into me and I melted into him, and he told me I was beautiful. I can't have imagined it can I?

I think he has been avoiding me this week – there have been no text messages, no taunting me with The Girlfriend, no trapping me against walls. Just the occasional longing look from across a room and when I catch his eye, he quickly looks away.

I wish I could talk to someone about this. But how can I when I can't even admit any of it to myself?

I think I must be imagining it.

Sunday 24th February

He didn't come.

Monday 25th February

I am pissed. Really pissed. How dare he treat me like this? I am going to school today and I am holding my head up high and I am not going to let him get to me. I am making sure I look Super Hot (well, as hot as I can manage) and I am going to laugh and chat with my friends and totally ignore him.

The Douche is old news. He is dead to me.

Well, that went well. I managed to get through most of the day with nonchalance and NOT CARING radiating from me. Stu wasn't fooled though and had a look of almost frightened puzzlement on his face all day as I insisted he accompany me everywhere. Unfortunately he is not in my Math class (being a genius) and so I had to cope with that one alone. And I did not cope well. The minute the Douche fixed me with a look I felt my resolve crumbling. It wasn't even his usual steamy look; it was a questioning look full of hurt. He looked like a little boy all of a sudden, and he had me suddenly questioning my perception. Could I have been wrong? How could that be possible?

At the end of class, I hung back a little and as I had hoped he came up to me. He shuffled and looked nervous and whispered, "I was busy yesterday."

"So? What's it to me?" I said. I couldn't help it; I was still pissed.

Then The Girlfriend said his name from across the room; I hadn't even noticed she was still there.

"Yeh, I can see what you were busy with," I said and pushed past him, not taking another breath until I reached the car park.

I am ashamed to say that when I got home I cried. I can't do this on my own any longer. I need to talk to someone. Why isn't Mum here when I need her?

Monday 3rd March

Somewhere in this school The Quarterback is going about his daily business. I have no idea what this is but it probably includes cruising the halls absorbing the adoring looks thrown at him from all quarters, tormenting the occasional overweight sophomore, charming teachers into giving him homework extensions, doing press-ups and writing obscene graffiti in the bathroom. Whatever it is, it used to have nothing to do with me but now it appears that one of his daily activities is texting me. I am in another part of the school; it could be another world for all intents and purposes, going about my daily business. I know all too well what this is. It tends to involve keeping my head down and getting on with what is required with the minimum of fuss. But my phone vibrates in my pocket and the two worlds collide. Somewhere in school he has just typed the words 'I miss u' into his brand new iPhone G3S (Black) and they appear on the scratched screen of my bottom-of-the-range Nokia. I never dared save his number into my phone but I know it's him because he said these very words to me when he called me last night. "I miss you," he said and I hung up on him.

I need to get on with my assignment now. It's due in tomorrow.

Wednesday 5th March

Apparently Stu is worried about me. He sat me down this lunchtime and said we needed to talk. He said I had been behaving strangely for a few weeks now and I was not myself. He said that whatever it was I could talk to him – whatever it was. He said that he was my best friend and completely non judgmental, and added that he trusted me so much that I was the first person he told about being gay and that he would expect me to trust him too. I said that I was fine and not to worry.

Needless to say that was a lie and I am a really terrible friend.

Thursday 6th March

Now my Dad has started on at me. I swear those two have been swapping notes. They both have the same method – beat you into submission with their niceness. However, I am currently a tough nut to crack. If the school Sociopath can't crack me then no one can.

Friday 7th March

It took The Girlfriend to crack me. I have been waiting a month for certain things to become public. The waiting has almost driven me crazy and now finally, it has happened. Someone other than The Quarterback and myself has become involved. She walked up to me today, all swishy blonde ponytail and wide lip-glossed smile. I knew the moment I saw her that the secret was out. She had never even looked at me before, and now here she was, walking up to me about to speak. For a split second I actually considered making a run for it, cartoon style.

"Hey," she said.

I just peered at her from under my fringe. Stu stood next to me paralyzed with amazement.

"So… my boyfriend's been texting you."

I stayed glued to the spot and Stu turned his look of amazement on me.

"He left his phone at mine last night. Apparently, he likes the way you …," she choked back the tears." He likes the way you …" She couldn't finish her sentence.

I left her standing there. What could I do? I actually did that cartoon run I had been contemplating and left her standing there next to Stu who was still frozen with shock.

Yup, a pretty dramatic moment, and I think everyone who was there would agree.

Saturday 8th March

Speaking as the biggest coward who ever graced the halls of John Howard High, thank God it's the weekend.

This morning I woke to … a new world. One in which the whole of the school knows The Quarterback was unfaithful to his perfect girlfriend with me – the weird English chick with the fringe. At least I have had a month to absorb this information; everyone else must be in a state of confusion and turmoil.

How can I be so light hearted? I guess I am kind of relieved, in a strange sort of way. I have been expecting this humiliation for so long, it's a relief that it's finally happened.

The only thing I am really concerned about is Stu. He must hate me. I have lied to him and evaded him for a month. When he told me he was gay it must have taken so much courage and how have I repaid him? By messing around with a male bimbo who has made his life a misery. I decided to keep my head down last night, but today I have to do something, the longer I leave it the worse it will seem. I am so tempted to stay under the duvet and pretend none of it ever happened, but all this was of my own making and I have to take personal responsibility and make amends. That's what Mum would have told me to do.

Sunday 9th March

I have the worst hangover in the history of mankind. My head feels like a vice is closing round it and I can't stop throwing up. It's 3pm and I am still in bed. God knows what Dad thinks; to be honest I am past caring.

I tried to talk to Stu yesterday. I had to down some of my Dad's whisky for Dutch courage, and smoke a couple of joints out in the back yard. I turned up on Stu's doorstep all contrite but he wasn't having any of it. He wasn't even all shouty and angry, he was just cold. He shut the door in my face even though I was crying. I have never felt so bad.

So I found myself heading towards the parking lot where the kids from school hang out. I think I had some kind of death wish going on. I must have looked like some crazy chick, with my hair all wild and my eyeliner all smudged. I could see Him from way off and the closer I got the blurrier he got, which was weird. I think he took my arm and steered me away and into his car.

The next thing I remember was looking at the lights from the lookout. They were sparkly and twinkly and Lady Gaga was playing on the radio and the beer in my hand was warm but tasted good. The Quarterback's breath was hot on my neck and he was saying something about …regrets? And his lips were soft on my mine, and I was kissing him like drowning. And then I was crying and he was holding me, and I was telling him about my Mum and what she said to me the day she died. And the next thing I was in my bed and then it was morning.

God, my head hurts.

I woke earlier to find Him asleep beside me, arms around my waist. He smelt of cinnamon toast and I breathed him in. How could a creature so dangerous smell so innocent? But here he was sleeping like a baby, long lashes fluttering slightly against his smooth skin. I think he had charmed my puzzled Dad into letting him into the house and into my bedroom. He had kicked off his shoes and got in beside me, tucking himself against my back and kissing the nape of my neck gently. I hardly dared move in case it broke the spell. Now I sit looking at him, asleep in my bed and think it is, indeed, a brave new world that has such people in it. I will have to wake him soon and tell him to go home, but a few more minutes will do no harm.

Monday 10th March

Dad let me stay home today. He knows I don't have stomach flu but is wisely keeping his counsel and allowing me to be a slacker for once in my life. I have a 48-hour hangover to recover from as well as a seriously bruised reputation and a world that has been turned upside down. It's too much for my fragile psyche and I am staying in bed. I was hoping to sleep all day and avoid any introspection but I am wide-awake, staring at the ceiling wondering what Stu is doing. Who am I kidding? I'm wondering what The Quarterback is doing. Has he gone into school and is it just business as usual? I can imagine all scandal has merely brushed his golden exterior and left him unmarked. No one will think the worse of him – he's just been doing what's expected of the Alpha Male (although I am sure there will be discussion about his dubious taste in mate) And is he thinking of me? And if he is thinking of me what are his thoughts? There lies trouble, letting my thoughts roam in that direction. I think the way to deal with this dangerous animal is to accept him for what he is and no more. He is a creature of the wild and his thoughts are not my territory.

When I heard voices downstairs earlier, I woke with a start thinking it was Him, stupidly. Of course it wasn't but it was Stu and I was so pleased to see him despite the shame I still felt. He came and sat on my bed and looked at me in that little girl way he has and made me laugh, and then we were both laughing and he was snorting, "you look so rough!" Well thanks. But it was suddenly very funny that I was lying in bed at four in the afternoon for no reason other than cowardice. "And I thought I was the Drama Queen," said Stu.

I wanted to ask him about The Quarterback so badly but I knew Stu would have to broach that subject himself. I did say I was sorry and he wanted to know what for. This is why I love him.

A long time after he turned up he finally broached the subject; Stu has always been one for suspense. "So the Quarterback spoke to me today." And? "He apologised for what he'd done to me in the past. He said I must be a pretty cool guy if I was your best friend."

I was speechless.

"He's got it bad, girlfriend."

I was still speechless.

"What have you done to him? Do you have some secret sexual trick I didn't know about?"

I blushed.

"OMG, you do! What is it? Spill!"

I laughed and stuck my head under the duvet.

"You are one lucky bitch."

"I don't feel very lucky," I said from under the duvet. "I feel like I've done ten rounds with a man-eating tiger and been left for dead."

"Jeez, what the hell have you two been up to?"

I emerged from the duvet. "Stu, I'm being serious. I have no idea what is going on in that boy's head."

"He's a guy; of course you have no idea. HE has no idea what's going on in his head. And that is one gorgeous head, let me add."

"I thought you hated his guts."

"Well, there you are wrong. I have spent the last six years fantasizing about that boy. It was him undressing in front of me when we were 12 that made me realize I was gay. I hate his guts because I know I can never have him or even hope to have him."

Now I really was sorry. Poor Stu, how painful must it be to be discussing this with me of all people?

"Do me a favour honey. Tell me he's not all I imagine. Tell me his kisses are too sloppy and he fumbles."

"His kisses are too sloppy and he fumbles."

Stu smiled, "He's as good as he looks isn't he?"

"And then some."

Tuesday 11th March

The dawning of a new day, and the weird English chick with a fringe returns to school to face the mob. Stu and Dad talked me into it over Dunkin' Donuts (Maple Frosted and Chocolate Crème Filled) bought especially to lure me out of bed. Stu told Dad about The Quarterback Debacle, thankfully a censored version and not in my presence, and it was kinda nice to have the other two men in my life finally know. It put everything into perspective and I realized it wasn't the end of the world, as we know it.

I changed my mind about this as I walked up to the steps. All of a sudden I didn't feel as anonymous as I normally do and it is bizarre to have people actually notice you, look at you, wait until you've passed by and say something about you. I decided that the best way to cope was to treat it like a sociological exercise, to study my peers in a purely intellectual and objective way.

The objectivity went out of the window when I ran straight into Him. When I say 'ran straight into him' I mean exactly that. If he weren't so God damned tall and solid, I would have knocked him over. He did at least look a bit winded and slightly shaken. He hadn't had time to compose his features into an acceptable and appropriate expression so he looked like a startled fawn. Christ, did I just liken him to a fawn? Bambi he is not, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that isn't usually there – well not in public at least. I felt like yelling at him, "You're a sociopath! For God's sake toughen up!" It seemed that it was left to me to be the Douche. "Watch where you're going," I said with a sneer, and was tempted to add, "Douche," but thought that might be a bit too much. I sort of shouldered him out of the way and kept on down the corridor, attempting to look cool.

"Emilyl!" he stammered after me. Yes, you heard it right, he called my name in a crowded school corridor. In front of people. I just kept going and kept going until I reached the bathroom where I almost threw up. I shut myself in a cubicle and sat on the toilet with my head in my hands. I had absolutely no idea why I had just behaved like that. I played with my phone on the verge of texting him an apology but I couldn't do it. If I did that, he would presume all sorts of things and then what would happen? It was much better to pretend none of it had ever happened and get back to my old life; the one where I was invisible and untroubled.

It's amazing isn't it? Before any of this happened I hardly ever saw him, only in Math class and occasionally lounging around on the steps. But now I'm trying to avoid him, he is EVERYWHERE. When I went to English he was there, talking to Mrs Prentice. When I came out of English he was in the corridor tying his shoelace. When I went to lunch he was lining up two places in front of me. When I went to meet Stu in the quad, he was sitting on the wall reading a book (yeh, rightf) and I almost expected him to be hanging out with the girls when I went to the bathroom. When Math class came around, at least he had a legitimate reason to be there sucking in all the oxygen. Why can't I breathe when he's in the room? Why do I find myself staring at that little curl at the back of his head when I'm supposed to be following what Drexler is saying?

It seems The Quarterback and The Girlfriend are no longer. They both sat in Math pointedly ignoring each other, her radiating silent animosity towards both him and me I suspect. She kept jabbing her pen into her desk in a most disconcerting manner. Drexler had a whole lot of people to quiz about their lack of focus today! There was a living and breathing love triangle to distract from the algebra. I felt like I was auditioning for a new ABC drama.

Well that was a new venue and not on a Sunday.

Dad went out tonight and 5 minutes after he left the doorbell rang which leads me to think He was hanging around watching and waiting which is slightly stalkerish behaviour if you ask me. I didn't think he looked like a stalker when I opened the door though; I thought that he looked like six foot of cinnamon smelling skin and muscle and it had been far too long since I had touched any of it. I was kissing him before he had said anything, pressing myself against him and dragging him inside. "Oh, God I missed you," he managed to groan into my hair as my hands pulled at his T shirt.

"Why did you blank me today?" he said later as he lay on my Dad's couch, shirtless, jeans gaping open, his hand still down my pants.

I wondered for a moment if I could distract him sufficiently to stop him talking but he extricated himself from my pants and took hold of my face pulling it towards his. "I don't know," I said which was the truth, kind of.

Those long black eyelashes batted a few times as he maintained eye contact.

"I guess I'm scared," I managed to stammer.

He smiled slowly, "So am I, but this is nice isn't it? It kinda works," as he stroked my cheek and then kissed me slowly and deliciously. And I had to agree.

I was still absolutely insistent that he left before my Dad came home. I am not nearly ready to make any of it that official. I still don't know what 'it' is. We fit together physically that's for sure but is there really anything else to it? He's not as much of a douche as I thought he was, I know that now. I spend a great deal of my time thinking about him, I admit it. He seems to like me. He has always been attentive and gentle, and dare I say it, passionate. But can I really envisage myself dating the Star Quarterback? Having the entire school watching our relationship?

It's not long before we'll go to College. So really what's the point? Why set myself up for ultimate disappointment? I never even use his real name, for God's sake. Imagine, "Do you take this man, the Quarterback, to be your lawfully wedded …" Ridiculous!

Sunday 12th June

I've just found this diary. I was trawling through my incredibly disorganized documents folder on my laptop when I stumbled across it. I read it all in one go cringing at my soul searching. Two months of obsessive thoughts all poured out onto a Word document. What an embarrassing idiot I was!

Three years of college have taught me a few things. Firstly, some good-looking guys are Dicks but some of them are quite nice. Secondly, guys come and go, friends stay. Thirdly, it's not so bad being the centre of attention (also a bit hard to avoid when you're a Drama major). And finally, it's not a good idea to mix hard liquor with recreational drugs.

There is one of those nice good-looking guys in my bed right now. He is lying on his back, fast asleep with his mouth slightly open. He is totally naked and I am taking a moment to have a good look at his FREAKING FANTASTIC body. According to Stu, he was cute when he was 12, well I can vouch for the fact that he's damn cute now.

'Hey Douche, wake up!' I shout.

He jumps as if shot, 'Christ Emily, can't you ever use my name?'

I am going to put my laptop down now and kiss his stupid mouth.