Kiss & Tell

By Tay Who

Having kissed a boy whose tongue felt like a slug, chased another who definitely was just not that into her and sworn off dating forever, Olive is pretty convinced that the wild boy with crazy hair calling her a punk from across the park is Not Her Thing. So why does he keep showing up wherever she goes?
    Running wild and free with best friend Poppy, Olive quickly realises that every decision has its repercussions and every boy has his story. Especially when one of those boys suddenly dies and Olive is forced to grow up ten years overnight. 
    Kiss And Tell is one girl’s journey of self discovery as she navigates the world of heartbreak, house parties and hell on earth, with little pieces of heaven scattered along the road. 
    A beautiful debut novel by T. Who, perfect for fans of Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Life Beyond The Blue
• Release date: Oct 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386573975

Tay Who

Tay is a twenty-something English girl living somewhere between France and Switzerland, writing novels in between embarrassing herself in French on a regular basis.  Having studied in Cornwall, she took her guitar on an EasyJet flight to Geneva and hasn't really left since, except to get lost in New York a handful of times.  Writer, filmmaker, singer/songwriter: find everything at: www.lifebeyondtheblue.com

Book preview

A Note From Tay

(Who?)

I ORIGINALLY WROTE Kiss & Tell aged seventeen, whilst supposedly studying during Geography and Biology classes (thank you, Royal High School, for giving us laptops at Sixth Form). This is truth and fiction merging together; this is partly my life and as such, if you knew me back then, you might find yourself recognising parts of you in the characters you read.

It is not for me to say what is real and what is not, neither is it for you to work out, but it is instead to say that being a young adult is not easy. These are the days of your life when people get mean because they’ve worked out how to be and people do stupid things because it feels right at the time, including yourself. And that’s ok.

The bad stuff gets good again and the stupid stuff gets forgotten (or turned into a story) and even if you’re just a confused girl running around kissing everyone it doesn’t mean you’ll always be. And, more importantly, you learn to stop judging your friends so harshly and love them better.

It gets better. But kissing boys and telling everyone about it can be pretty fun too.

ONE

My List of Crappy Problems

1.I have started using annoying phrases like ‘fair doos’

2.I put more effort into the relationship than Liam does

3.Liam doesn’t text me or see me as much as he should and Poppy told him that

4.I never see Liam alone

5.Long, drawn-out sigh

6.I’m at school in our lunch-break and am utterly bored because Ella is writing an essay that I should be doing but can’t be arsed.

7.I have Maths this afternoon

8.I am spending the weekend at my dad’s house and therefore shall be asked for piggy-backs non-stop by my little sister

9.OH GREAT... Now Liam is mad at me in reference to number three

10.BRILLIANT. BLOODY MARVELOUS.

I read the list typed up on my laptop screen and smile to myself, remembering the lunchtime I wrote it a few months ago. I remember the days of dating Liam when every few minutes there was a new problem of some sort or other – usually an argument about his lack of effort in our relationship. Unfortunately it was probably his apathy that attracted me.

Ok so we’ll meet at seven, yeah? Poppy confirms over the phone. Always so eager to know everything and see everyone, she is usually in charge of relaying the itineraries in our friendship group between me and the other two girls. Mainly because the other three of us just are completely not bothered to put in that much effort.

July, summer, finally; it feels so good to be out of school, out of curfews and early mornings and revising for exams. Now we take dinner in the evenings, maybe we’ll sleep over my house afterwards, maybe we’ll go shopping tomorrow morning. Who knows, the world is our oyster.

That said, this summer has so far not been the best. And I have not done the best things.

Yeah seven works for me. Actually make it seven thirty because I just painted my nails and I’m pretty sure I’ll touch something just before they dry and have to take the polish off and redo them. So let’s budget half an hour for that.

Cool, that gives me time to curl my eyelashes.

What?

What?

Poppy... you curl your eyelashes? I ask, surprised that there are still things I don’t know about my best friend. And more importantly, it takes you half an hour?

Look, not all of us are born with blonde hair and eyelashes like a deer’s, Olive.

I roll my eyes but she can’t hear that down the phone, unfortunately.

One late May evening, after receiving that phone call, me Poppy went to the park just down from my road and started running around it manically, thrashing sticks against railings and screaming our hearts out. My boyfriend, the one I thought maybe I might be falling in love with (who knows?), had just broken up with me. Poppy had been through it all with me, she’d seen me with tears making everything damp and she’d seen me when I sang I Will Survive down the phone to Morgan and Rose (whilst still crying at the same time) as I broke them the news.

Once again, as absolutely per usual, I am getting side-tracked from what I was doing earlier, which is getting ready to go out for this meal. Forgetting about my recently painted nails, I finish by pulling back the sides of my hair and clip them together at the back. I imagine it to look like a sort of Bohemian chic style, although I’m not sure anyone else would call it that. Especially with bits of blue nail polish stuck in it.

Nice hair, Olive, Poppy grins as she struts through my front door and winds her hair around her little finger. At school, she told me, she used to get teased for her hair – mousy, brown, flat (their words, not mine) – but she says that over time her fiery character outweighed her boring hair. Plus she dresses weirdly. Impatiently, she takes my hand in hers, pulling me out the door and onto the early evening streets in our towering high heels. We are the ‘it’ girls and this is our city.

I was trying something new with my hair, do you like it? I ask my her, needing reassurance.

Of course I love it, Liv, it’s like...so different to your normal style. She replies. I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.

As we walk into town, my shoes rubbing annoyingly against my little toes, the subject is brought up again.

So how are you doing...you know, in terms of moving on? Poppy enquires with a sympathetic expression plastered all over her bony face. I sigh and feel that familiar dagger swimming around my chest. Justin Justin Justin.

He had this amazing forest of dark blonde hair falling around his eyes; eyes that laughed with me, eyes that beckoned me to come closer to him, eyes that saw me as the most beautiful girl in the room. And I’m still drowning in those mossy-green pupils, my heartbeat becoming faster and faster until possibly one day it may stop altogether.

I’m alright, I’m fine. There will be other boys; the world is full of them, I guess. I say, coming back to earth after a small daydream – my focus is non-existent these days.

"Trust me, you will not find it hard to find someone else. I’m sure of that."

Mmhmm...

You never do. She says and raises her eyebrows, all-knowing.

I scowl and pull my little black cardigan tighter around my body. 

"I know you’re trying to subtly imply that I just go from one guy to the next—."

Wasn’t trying to be subtle.

"But that is not fair. I just believe in the importance of dating."

Here we go... She rolls her eyes at me but links her arm in between mine all the same. We trot down the street together like this, approaching the region of hipster cafes and street musicians.

"Seriously. And also it’s not like I ask guys out and then break up with them – I am just always being dumped because I forget how to be normal. It is not my fault."

And you like every guy you meet.

Nope.

But, she says and her pointy little face grows serious for a second. "I know that Justin was really important. And that, I wouldn’t joke about."

I feel the awkward, sad feeling of anxiety and loss fill my lungs like smoke at the mention of him again and so quickly change the subject, not wanting to spend the rest of this evening dwelling on the things I can’t change.

Oh God, you just know what Rose is going to be talking about constantly this evening...

Mmhmm, Poppy mutters nodding her head. She then looks up at my and gives a wry smile. ’Oo guess what – Jack just texted me!’ she says mocking Rose’s voice, although her imitation is terrible.

Do you think he’s asked her out yet?

Doubt it.

Most conversations, currently, end up leading back to Jack – mainly because most conversations are lead by Rose, about Rose and for Rose – and it is this that I dread the most. Not least because for as long as I can remember there as been this weird unspoken competition between us when it comes to guys. Or anything, for that matter. It’s a competition that I never signed up to and do not want to be a part of but I can’t find a way out without acknowledging the competition verbally and that is not something I want to do anytime soon.

What competition? she will say. I’ve never felt that way. I think it’s just you, Olive.

As we arrive at our favourite Thai restaurant, Rose is awaiting us with her curly black hair tied up into a tight bun perching delicately upon her small, porcelain head. She has beautiful grey-blue eyes and this flawless skin that has renounced taking part in any sort of teenage acne. Perhaps it’s jealousy that brings out the competitive nature in me, ready to grab at any compliment flying around the room.

Hey, Rose, I smile warmly and pull her in for a hug, jealousy subsiding into a comfortable friendship. How you doing?

Yeah, pretty good thanks, you? She smiles back with a big white, toothy grin and swiftly continues before I can answer. Mm this warm summer air makes me feel so good, you know? I just don’t ever want this weather to end.

I know what she means; I love how the sun stays up way past its bedtime in summer, wrapping its rays around the shoulders of the young and the restless who venture out in the evening glow; the buildings of our city hued in the golden sunset, the city itself alive in its late-hour decay.

Yeah it makes me feel like staying out all night with a few bottles of alcohol, you know? Poppy adds and then gestures over to the restaurant to get us to go inside.

Should we wait for Morgan? I ask, shuffling around in my dress.

Nah, she’ll be late as usual – let’s just go in. Poppy replies and takes our hands to lead us. 

A table for four, Rose says, lowering her face to give a flirty look to the young, good-looking waiter. Well played, Rose, I think as the waiter smiles at her before showing us to one of the nicest tables in the room – a cosy and secluded area towards the back of the restaurant with a window glancing out onto the town.

So girls, how have your weeks been? Rose coos, smoothly pushing back a stray strand of hair that had begun tickling her cheek. At the same time, I tuck my bag under the table and flick blonde sections of hair around my face.

Mine’s been great thanks, Poppy starts, pulling her tiny skirt down around her. I’ve been shopping with my mum and sunbathing a lot but that’s it.

Yeah I’ve done a lot of shopping and sunbathing too – that’s what summer’s all about, isn’t it? Rose says with her weird little giggle, glancing around the room and not meeting our eyes. And what about you, Olive? How has your week been?

I want to tell her some sort of story that will demonstrate how amazing my week has been - I met a boy, got a job and have been scouted as a model, don’t you know? - but I’m not that kind of girl so I tell her the truth instead. Besides, I think the model thing might have given me away.

Actually, it’s been pretty crap. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Justin and wishing him back. I just...I miss him. It’s...it’s just been really hard. I say, staring down at my lap.

Aww, babe, it will get better, Rose says whilst her fingers make the tell-tale clicking sound of texting on her blackberry. I should have lied. 

I slump back in my chair, feeling my high spirit that I had whilst getting ready fade, and finger the menu quietly. Poppy, who cannot for the life of her cope with tension, decides to pin the focus back on Rose by asking about her week – always a dangerous subject, especially when you’re allergic to her bragging like I am.

"Well, funny you should ask because I’ve had such an amazing week...I think Jack might like me!" Rose says beaming at us. Which I am sure is what she told us at dinner last week but I don’t mention this. At that moment Morgan waltzes over to us in a long gypsy skirt and beaded top, her brilliant red hair falling all around her torso.

Hey guys! Rose, are you talking about Jack again? Oh tell me all the latest gossip then, babe. She sings, her enthusiasm for Rose’s love life being a mystery to both Poppy and I.

Well, there isn’t really much to tell if I’m honest, Rose says slowly, in a way that means she has loads to tell us. Before Rose can even begin to recount her week, we’re interrupted by the good-looking waiter who’s keen to see if we’re in need of any assistance or food.

We haven’t really looked at the menu yet, actually. Morgan jumps straight in and smiles at him in her coquettish manner that she has. She can flirt better than all of us – and she definitely does - but when it comes to a guy actually liking her and wanting to do something about it, she backs away in horror.

Sure, I’ll come back a bit later then, Good-Looking Waiter says coolly. Rose nods at him in what she probably imagines to be suggestive but it actually just looks like she has neck cramp. Good-Looking Waiter struts off and Rose wastes no time in focussing the attention back on her.

So anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Jack has been texting me loads this week. He even said yesterday that he thought I was really pretty. Can you believe it? I actually think he really likes me and I’m so excited because now the ball’s in my court. What do you think I should do?

Oh God... I blurt out and then see a slight look of hurt register on Rose’s face.

Rose, you know exactly what you should do and you also know you’re going to do it so I don’t know why you bother asking us. Morgan replies bluntly. She’s the only one of us who really can speak that plainly to Rose. And seriously, Olive, can you not say ‘God’ like that around me?

"What do you mean? No, Morgan, I have no idea what to do next." Rose replies, pushing her brows together like this statement has really troubled her.

Well, says Poppy, buying into it all. I think you should just go for it, you know? Like now that you know he likes you and you like him, just...really go for it and...and don’t hold back.

You think he likes me, right?

"Come on, Rose, it’s pretty obvious he likes you. I mean every guy does." Morgan says, winking good-naturedly.

Uh no, Morgan. You know that isn’t true at all. Olive gets all the guys, actually. Isn’t that right, Liv? Rose quips, smiling tightly.

Out of the corner of my eye Poppy fervently looks out the window, in what appears to be an attempt to dissociate herself from this conversation. We should really look at the menus, I think, we should really order something soon.

That’s not true, Rose. I say. You know that isn’t true. Anyway, we were talking about you, not me, and in my opinion I also think that you should just go for it with Jack. I mean he quite obviously likes you – I’ve seen how he looks at you.

Yeah maybe, Rose keeps going on. I’m just so unsure. That’s a lie, she is completely sure – sure of herself, of what she’s doing and of Jack’s feelings for her.

So Olive, Morgan begins. I tense my shoulders in preparation. How’re you coping with the breakup? It’s been like – what? – a month or two now... which is a good period of time. What she doesn’t say, before she giggles as if she thinks she’s made some sort of joke, is the insinuated ‘for you to move on from someone’ which supposedly follows her last sentence. But are you doing alright?

Yeah, fine. I’m doing fine. Thanks. I mean I miss him but... I trail off because I can feel everyone at the table wanting me to be fine and I can’t handle that kind of pressure.

What even happened between you guys? I thought it was going great and then poof! You guys had broken up. What was all that about?

Poppy looks at me carefully as if she’s checking that I’m still in one piece; nothing’s fracturing from this conversation.

I don’t know. Life just happened. We just broke up and there isn’t really much more to say. I answer. Rose and Morgan look at me sceptically but let it drop. The rest of the evening we don’t talk about me and my currently sad life again. Instead we just chat about Poppy’s shopping trip, Morgan’s holiday to Cornwall next week and, of course, we talk a lot about Rose and Jack, because it’s a comfortable subject and Rose has a really loud mouth.

By ten o’clock the sun is finally beginning to yawn and shut its eyes so I walk back to my house alone. I don’t like to be alone too much these days because that’s when you can’t bury your feelings – they’ve been hidden all day under the illusion of conversation and now there’s no distraction to keep them at bay. I’m glad that my mum’s still awake when I get home as I settle down to mediocre TV and a conversation with her about why I haven’t put my laundry away yet. Anything to keep myself distracted.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

I

BUT THAT NIGHT, AS I lie awake in bed, it’s hard to keep the distractions alive. Even Boy curling himself around the side of my face, his purr almost deafening that close to my ear, though distracting me from reading my book was not distracting me from the loud thoughts spilling in and out of my conscious. I decide to go downstairs and make myself some tea. Sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, with Boy occasionally head-butting my shoulder from where he sat on the tablecloth, all I can think about is beginnings and endings; how all lovely things begin in a haze of brilliance and wonder; how all lovely things come to an end.

We met at a house party in early spring this year that Poppy had invited me to. One of her school friends was hosting it, or a friend of one of her school friends; I never quite knew. Most weekends, during this twilight six month period, were spent at someone’s house on a Friday night and someone else’s on the Saturday; sometimes you knew the host, sometimes you were just there through the grapevine, handing over four bottles of WKD to whoever opened the door to you.

Hey! I said, hugging the girl who’d just that moment opened the front door. Good to see you, how you doing?

Our main trick was to pretend we knew whoever we saw first, as if they might have invited us. Really like your dress! Drink?

Poppy handed her one of the bottles we’d brought along that her mum had bought for us (Bless you, Erika) and slipped past the very confused girl who was clearly in the process of trying to work out how she knew us.

By ten, the party was pulsating around me like the blood rushing through my body, carrying poison straight to my head and liver. Poppy, the lightweight that she is, is stumbling around in such a manner that I’ve ostracized her, in an attempt to make myself look more normal. However, the party is filled with a hundred and one teenagers that I’ve never met before in my life, all huddled around in groups of fives and sixes, so I awkwardly pace the perimeter of the room and drink my fourth WKD. Poppy’s already off somewhere, dancing around with girls she knows, ignoring any of the guys, of which there are quite a few good looking ones.

Sick of sugary blue Alco-pop, I bravely made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a drink left on a countertop and downing the brown liquid. I gag; whatever the hell that was it probably was not meant for drinking whilst sober. 

Hey, I’m Hennie, says a tanned girl stood next to me, cocking her head as if I’m controversial art in a museum. How do you know Georgia?

I don’t know Georgia.

Oh she’s just a friend of a friend, you know. School, it’s so big. I’m Olive by the way. I say whilst sipping another random drink that I’ve grabbed off the side, wondering whether it’s poison. Then, upon brilliantly realising that alcohol is a form of poison, and thereafter laughing to myself at just how brilliant this is – I must be tipsy... – I quickly remember not to look stupid in front of people I don’t know. Especially someone who knows Georgia. I do not want to give the wrong impression to Georgia. I put on a very serious face and try to look engaged. Georgia.

What? Olive...that’s an interesting name. Hennie says, choosing to ignore the strange things coming out my mouth. My name is interesting too, actually,

Oh, ok, thanks Hennie. I was actually looking for someone to say pointless comments this evening.

She fiddles with her choppy brunette hair and continues. It’s short for Henrietta.

I nod enthusiastically whilst sideways glancing around the room trying to figure out a plan of escape.

"Wow yeah, that’s so interesting," I say, giving her my widest eyes which I am certain will convey to her my sincerest interest. And then that boy catches them. My widest eyes, that is, which is the worst moment to catch someone’s eyes – when they are drunkenly trying to convey sincere interest to someone whom they are utterly uninterested in. Um, hey, who’s that guy over there? I ask Hennie-Which-Is-An-Interesting-Name, pointing to a guy standing in the corner laughing with some friends, constantly flicking his messy blonde hair out of his eyes.

Him? Oh I don’t really know him but he’s one of Georgia’s good mates I think. He might be called Zach. I don’t know.

Oh cool yeah cool cool cool. Anyway I need to go find my friend Poppy – catch you later Henry. I say and wander through the kitchen into the spacious living room now thoroughly packed with bodies moving and gyrating to the music.

I dance over to where Poppy is swaying around next to a tall lanky girl with an eyebrow piercing, attempting to dance in a drunken state. Poppy! I shout over the thumping, pounding noise of the bass in the speakers. Poppy! I need to talk to you!

Finally she staggers over to me and hangs around my neck, using my body to support herself.

Hey, Livvy-Liv-Liv. How’s it going? Great party, huh? Ohmygosh – as Morgan would say – this party is like....amaaaaazing. I don’t know half the people here but WOW! she suddenly shouts in my ear.

Yeah, it’s very cool, Poppy, I say putting on my I’m-with-a-drunk-person voice. But listen, there’s a guy in the other room, in the kitchen, and he’s so hot!

Ohmygawd Liv, babe! You are actually so ridiculous. Just SHUT UP about guys for once and fuck off a bit. Poppy scowls and then attempts to stagger away from me.

Well, that did not go quite as I imagined it.

Fine. Thanks Poppy. I mutter and I walk back into the kitchen to get another drink. As with all parties, everyone is hanging around the alcohol supply, which means there’s a great deal of people packed into a small dark kitchen. I can’t see a thing and I realise at that moment that it must be quite late considering it’s early summer and outside there is absolutely no light except from the puddle of moonlight spilling around the sky; little droplet stars scattered everywhere.

I can see Hennie talking intimately with a girl next to me, leaning into her as if her intentions are to physically trap people into a friendship.

Sometimes, at parties, there comes a point when you just look around the room and think ‘actually, I don’t really want to make friends with any of these people’, which is exactly what’s passing through my mind right now. As the evening turns to night, I realise that I just don’t have the energy to hold a conversation anymore. Much less the brain capacity now that its fermenting in alcohol.

As I stare at the window, it reflects back an image of me. I’m wearing a little black dress that hangs low whilst simultaneously riding high, showing off my legs. Perhaps a bit too much, I think on closer inspection, but if you can’t wear something revealing to a house party where can you wear it? My blonde hair is curled slightly into a wavy head of locks that fall all around me and