by Day, Susie
I’m getting the Go Away look now.
It hurts, but I’ve probably earned it.
Fili lifts a hand up and rests it on the top of her case. She drums her fingers as if she’s waiting for me to leave. I nearly do. But that’s not what I came here for.
“Look, just…don’t run away, yeah? I mean, if you were thinking of it.”
She rolls her eyes, unzips the suitcase, and lets it fall open. It’s empty.
“Oh. So…you’re not running away then?”
She shakes her head, slowly.
“Oh. Well, good. I thought you…I mean, Ed thought…”
She flips the suitcase lid down again, and looks at me sadly.
OH.
OH.
Something in my head clicks into place.
“You know, don’t you?” I say, my voice coming out all thick. “About Ed. I mean, you know he’s…” I swallow. It feels so odd, saying it out loud. “He’s not real. He never was real. I just…made him up.”
Fili nods, just once.
I flop down on the bunk bed, next to her. “I always did think he was kind of obvious. Poetic boy with motorbike who no one can ever meet who happens to fall madly in love with me? I didn’t really expect anyone to believe in him.”
“You just put him on the internet by accident. And then wrote all those messages. By accident.”
I feel my toes knotting together, and I hang my head. It’s probably a good thing we’re sitting side by side. Makes it easier not to see her face.
“It just kind of got out of hand, honest. Dai and Ludo started talking to him, and it seemed like it couldn’t hurt anyone, you know?”
“It hurt me,” she says.
OW.
“Think I was jealous,” she says, with a tiny sad smile.
“But I was jealous of you! You had Simon, and you seemed like you were so happy, and always together. And you never talked to Ed like the others did, though I suppose I get why now. I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”
“I thought the same thing about you,” she says, slowly. “I wanted to talk to you. Not Ed-you, Heidi-you. I wanted to tell you how unhappy I was with Simon, how crowded I felt, the way he was always following me around, copying me. How I felt about…”
I look up as she cuts herself off, and shakes her head.
“I don’t know why I’m angry with you,” she sighs. “It’s me who screwed up. I sort of had a thing with Eric. While he was still going out with Ludo.”
I squirm on the bed. “I know. I mean, I figured it out. Eventually.”
“I’ve wondered if you knew for ages,” she says, sounding almost relieved. “The way you kept staring at him like you knew something wasn’t right.”
I squirm a bit more.
She sighs, and twines her fingers in the tassels of her scarf, looking impossibly sad.
“You want to know what hurt me the most, though?” she says, not looking up.
I look at my feet. I don’t even know what the worst of it is: There are way too many contenders for the prize.
“The worst of it is…you actually believed all that emo crap I wrote.”
HUH?
A wan smile tugs at her lips.
“I don’t send complete strangers e-mails about my rainbows of despair, Heidi. ‘The garden of love is a thorny threshold’? I’m offended. When I do pain, I do it better than that. I kept expecting you to call me on it, but, well, apparently that’s what I am to you: the sad clown, with tears on her face.”
“I didn’t draw that,” I blurt out.
She raises an eyebrow. Drops it again. Comes up with a totally unexpected rueful laugh. I haven’t seen her do that in…I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her do that.
“We really are the screw-up twins,” she sighs, all the coldness gone from her voice now.
“So…you were just messing around? All that stuff about being unhappy, that was just…for entertainment? To punish me?”
The smile dies away, and she shrugs. “Well, some of it.”
I think I know what she means. Half-play-acting, half-truth: I know that game pretty well.
I’ve been the worst friend imaginable. I thought I must be lonely, to have to make up a Gingerbread Ed, but Fili only had him to talk to. No Ludo because of Eric; no Simon, who wasn’t the perfect boyfriend at all; no Betsy; no Mycroft Christie; not even a Mothership. And no me, because I was off with my precious Ed.
“I’m so sorry, Fili.”
She shrugs. “Team effort. Don’t think either of us was thinking all that straight. I do get why you kept Ed around, you know. It was fun for a while, pretending to be someone else: talking up all my problems, waiting for it to sound bad enough for you—the real you—to step in. Only you wouldn’t do it. You kept my secret, all my secrets, to stop anyone from finding out yours. All to protect a boy who doesn’t exist.”
She stops and sighs, as if using up an entire month’s word quota in one go has worn her out a bit. As if she might change her mind and go back to hating me.
There are totally other reasons, I want to say: other really good reasons, like me thinking Ed could help her more than useless, thoughtless Heidi, and all those times I wanted to say something, and how I thought she’d never forgive me if I did tell, and how much I missed her, but then the Eric thing got so confusing, and Simon, and Mysterious E, and…
WOE.
UH.
I can hardly get the words out.
“Fili…are you E? Are you A Real Boy?”
She blinks at me. “No idea what you’re talking about. Things are definitely back to normal.”
They aren’t, I know, not really. It’ll take a little while for that. But she smiles, and I remember what I’ve been trying to do forever, and give her a hug. She hugs me back. It’s the best feeling in the world.
“You can tell the others,” I say, kicking at the ugly pink carpet. “Or I’ll tell them. About Ed, I mean. If you want. They’ll never speak to me again, probably, but I kind of deserve that.”
Fili frowns. “Are you going to tell Ludo about Eric and me?”
“No,” I say, without hesitating. “They’re over now. They were already over. She’s better off without him anyway. It’d only hurt her feelings.”
“So how about you keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours?”
Can it be that easy? Is this a test?
“I’ll delete him completely,” I say, in a rush. “I won’t write any more messages from Ed, to anyone. Just total and complete honesty from now on, I promise.”
She nods, then frowns.
“What was that about A Real Boy?”
I blush, and fiddle with the end of my left braid, and start to explain.
Heidi and Fili, hanging out and talking about boys, like best friends do.
Recipe for a Brand-new Heidi
INGREDIENTS:
An old, slightly worn Heidi
Friends
Honesty
The musical stylings of Kajagoogoo
METHOD:
• Take care to remove all traces of gingerbread, detectives, and boys (imaginary or otherwise) from your Heidi.
• Soak her in tea and company for two weeks.
• Unwrap her like a Christmas present.
A dimly lit penthouse, which looks uncannily like a small, untidy attic bedroom belonging to a fifteen-year-old girl. Mycroft Christie, time-traveling private investigator, is sulking, while Miss Heidi Ryder stares him down.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: This is absolutely…
HEIDI: (holding up a finger sharply) Oi!
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: But I’m merely…
HEIDI: Final warning!
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: My dear girl, this is quite—I say, why am I walking into the wardrobe? And closing the door? And putting this pair of socks into my mouth?
HEIDI: I’m sure a detective genius like you will figure it out.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Mmffwwwwhhfff.
HEIDI: Couldn’t have put it better myself
.
“I knew there was a reason I was single,” sighs Betsy, perching on one of the only chairs left in the strangely naked-looking Little Leaf.
“Trust me, I’m staying that way,” I tell her, dunking my chocolate chip cookie a bit fiercely into my tea. “No more boy action for Heidi. Not that I’ve had any boy action. But if any comes my way, I’m sending it right back to the manufacturer.”
“Oh, it’s going to come your way, honey. You’re quite the magnet. Straight girls, gay guys…”
“Have I mentioned lately how much I’m not going to miss you? Anyway, it was Ed who attracted Ludo, which is completely not the same thing. And I only attracted Henry inside Dai’s crazy brain, which is all sorted out now, thank you.”
“What about your mystery guy?”
“Mysterious E? Out of the picture.”
“Oh, you figured out who that was then?” asks Teddy, shunting cardboard boxes across the floor with his foot.
“Nope. But I don’t care. No more boy action for Heidi.” I tink my spoon against my mug with each word, just to drill it in.
Teddy blinks, gives me a slightly perturbed look (which is probably fair enough—he doesn’t really need to know about my boy action), and escapes out of the door with his boxes.
“It’s probably for the best, hon. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but he does kind of fit your pattern.”
“My pattern? I have a pattern?”
Betsy dips her chin, so she can peer at me over the top of some invisible glasses.
“OK, let’s run through the selection of boys that seem to have been taking up all your energy lately. First up: Ed. Charming and all, but just a little bit on the imaginary side. Then we have the Mysterious E contenders, right? Which would be…”
“Eric.”
“Dating one of your best friends.”
Dating two, it turns out, in fact, though I’m pretty sure that’s not going to help my case exactly.
“Then Simon.”
“Dating another one of your best friends.”
Also dating someone else, though I’m pretty sure there wasn’t an overlap.
“Then Henry. Though I never thought that! All in Dai’s hyperactive imagination.”
“But he is…?”
“Dating one of my best friends.” It still feels a little odd saying “best friends” like that. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have any a week ago. But you can fit a lot of apologizing and “Can we just forget that ever happened?” into a week. I might still have a shot at belonging, after all.
I sulk into my tea, feeling guilty again.
“Yep, OK, I get it. I’m a big shameless boy-stealing ho. In my imagination, at least.”
Betsy takes the mug away, so I can’t lurk behind it anymore.
“No, honeypie, that’s not it. The pattern’s not that they’re people your friends are dating. The pattern is that they’re unavailable. Which makes them…safe. Like your gingerbread man. A boy can’t hurt you if you make him up. And he can’t break your heart if you’ll never, ever get to date him.”
“But that doesn’t make him safe. That makes him…sucktastic. Not to mention a buttload of work. I’ve done the imaginary boyfriend thing: Seriously, that is not a relaxing gig. I mean, not that it matters now anyway, but Mysterious E’s not the same deal at all.”
“Really? So what is it you like about him? His taste in music? The color of his eyes? His laugh, his walk, that cute little thing he does when no one’s looking? Or do you like that he doesn’t have any of those things, so you can make them up yourself?”
I take my mug back, and frown into it.
“You can’t control everything, hon,” she says.
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest E,
Apparently I only ever liked you because you’re a figment of my imagination. Or something. So this is good-bye.
H
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest Heidi,
How unfortunate: I was rather looking forward to my grand unveiling. I thought a certain forthcoming end-of-term event might be a suitably dramatic occasion?
Wouldn’t you like me to prove my non-figment nature once and for all?
love & affection,
E
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest E,
No!
H
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest Heidi,
I’m not at all sure I’ll be able to carry out your wishes on this subject, my dear. We figments are rather stubborn that way.
You could always prove your utter disinterest by failing to reply?
love & affection,
E
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest E,
Honestly, I’m really not going out with people at the moment, so you really shouldn’t bother trying all this stuff.
H
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest Heidi,
Thank you. :)
love & affection,
E
The Finch is winding down for the end of term. The teachers have given up pretending to actually teach us anything, and lessons are now just finishing off bits of coursework, or falling asleep in the corner because you already have. The kitchen staff is all humming Christmas carols with a little ‘80s twist, thanks to the daily PAG rehearsals. I’ve even handed in a Poem on an Autumn Leaf to Prowse’s satisfaction.
It’s not all relaxation for me, though. As part of my newly reformed truth-telling mission (Ludo quietly excluded, so I don’t have to break her heart), I’ve confessed I wasn’t the one who drew the costume designs to Venables. Cue my first ever personal audience with Mrs. Kemble, who is inconveniently not the Demon Headmistress after all (glowy red eyes, little horns hiding under her perm, mockable pointy tail) but the sort of person who says awkward things about me letting down my mum and dad, who aren’t very mockable at all. The Mothership and Dad Man have tried quite hard to blame the negative influence of Finches, but I’m trying to cure them of that. I feel so guilty about this whole term, it’s actually kind of a relief to be properly in trouble.
Plus my punishment is pretty entertaining. I’m on litterpicking duty every break time as penance. I get to walk around the gardens dressed like a plasticated beekeeper, with a big prongy thing and a plastic bag, which happens to be the ideal outfit for Dai’s birthday.
I do hesitate before heading over to the Lake common room, wondering if I really will be welcome. But I’m curious to know how an Unbirthday Unparty works, beyond the invitation’s demand to “Dress Unfestively.” And Henry doesn’t disappoint.
The common room has been Unimpressively Undecorated. There are popped balloons in multiple colors, flat limp blobs dangling pathetically off string. There’s a banner strung up along the wall above the TV (playing Brazil on mute), with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY masked out in black paint. On the coffee table sit jelly molds shaped like rabbits, all empty: A silver foil square of card has been speared with a single birthday candle, as if the cake in between the two suddenly vanished. And presiding over all is Henry, dressed in black, wearing a cone-shaped party hat (painted black, right down to the streamers), swaying gently to some epically miserable cello music.
I’ve never been to a funeral, but I’m guessing this is pretty close. It’s horrible. It’s kind of tasteless. Dai’s going to love it.
We do the obligatory hiding-behind-the-sofa-SURPRISE! bit. Dai does the obligatory I’ve-no-idea-you’re-behind-the- sofa-I’M-SURPRISED! bit in return. Most of the Lower School PAG crowd turn up, all making the effort, suitably dressed down. It’s as if, just for Dai, half the school’s gone Novelty Goth—except fo
r Scheherezade, who sticks out in her sparkly gold dress like tinsel in spring, and Fili, who has done her best to break with form, and is wearing a bright pink scarf of Ludo’s on top of the usual uniform.
And then there’s me, in my billowy plastic boiler suit, which turns out to be a bit sweaty when worn indoors.
“You’ve excelled yourself,” says Dai, grabbing the prongy thing and trying to pick up a plastic cup (filled with only water, naturally) with its pincers.
“Truly, the least birthday partyish outfit I’ve ever witnessed,” says Henry. “And waterproof, too!” he adds, as Dai’s prongy skills fail him.
I grin. “It’s also sprayed with an antibacterial formula, which smells a bit like fish. Don’t hug me.”
They shrink back, and wander off to prong Scheherezade in the head, though Dai sneaks back later and gives me a hug anyway.
“Best birthday ever,” he whispers, yanking on a braid.
I grin, stupidly. I might nearly have it messed up. I might never be able to tell him the truth about Ed, but at least I helped Henry get this right.
Ludo flumps down next to me in an armchair later, still somehow looking gorgeous, even wearing baggy pajamas with her hair dragged into a scraggly topknot. I still need to make all this up to her, somehow. I still see her pop up in UChat every now and then, looking for Ed, always hopeful that he might return from Peru.
I get a little ghost of an old idea. Just a gesture, like an early Christmas present. A really, really good, one-time-only, remember-this-forever Christmas present.
