The Booby Trap and Other Bits and Boobs

Author:Dawn O'Porter
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471401435
Publisher: Hot Key Books
Published: 2014-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

Melon

JULIE MAYHEW

My name is Melon Fouraki. Let’s get that out of the way, straight off. Some kids get their parents’ jewellery or record collections as hand-me-downs. Mum gave me this name. Quite frankly, I’d rather she’d given me her dusty CDs.

I have lost count of the number of times I’ve asked her why she gave me such a stupid, stupid name. Every time I ask, I get ‘The Story’ – her fairytale memories of being brought up on a melon farm in Crete. I get whispering at seeds, I get yellowstriped armyworms, I get laying hands on warm fruit. I don’t get answers.

Before I get ‘The Story’, Mum will usually go: ‘Why you ask about your name today, peristera mou? They make fun of your tits at school?’

I hate the way she says ‘tits’ – it’s so porn mag, so throw-away, as though nothing that worries me is important to her. My name is important. The size of my chest is important. The two of them work together to ruin my life.

In the back of my Great Expectations study guide I’m keeping a list of every possible way that my name can be twisted into something else.

MELON-CHOLY

MELON-OMA

SMELLY MELON

These are names I’ve had used on me before. Some of them are names that are bound to get used sooner or later.

MELON BELL-END

MELON THE FELON

BIG MELONS

Writing them down helps. If I get to know them, I can guess what’s coming.

MELON HEAD

MELON ARSE

MELON TITS

They’ll be like advertising slogans that people repeat over and over. They won’t mean anything in the real world. The trouble is, when I look at the list, I know the most ridiculous thing I’ve written is the name at the top.

MELON

My real name. There is no getting away from it, I have a stupid, stupid name.

Ian Grainger knows this. And I hate him. If me or my best mate Chick ever mention him we always say ‘God!’ afterwards. Guaranteed. He’s just so immature. When he’s acting amazed he sucks in his cheeks and makes a noise like he’s calling a cat. Idiot. And he has to keep flicking his fringe out of his eyes. He thinks the flicking thing is cool. It’s not. It just makes him look he’s got Tourettes. He also walks with a limp, all the time, even though there is nothing wrong with his leg. This is so we all think his bits are so huge that they stop him from walking properly. He wishes. Lucy Bloss reckons he’s got a massive dick but has she ever really been there? She’s gob almighty.

I’m in the line-up outside the science block, at the front of the queue with Chick. Ian’s at the back. It’s Biology today. Reproduction. It’s hard to look any of the boys in the eye after Mr Spencer has put up that picture on the overhead projector – the one of a woman’s pelvis cut in half so you can see all of her tubes. I prefer Physics.

Mr Spencer is late, so we’re standing there, killing time.

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