by Sarah Webb
“Best day ever.” I put my head on her shoulder, and we both sigh blissfully.
“Oy, Bean Machine, what’s up?” Clover appears in the doorway to my bedroom that night. She sits down on my bed and puts her arm around my shoulders.
I shrug it off a tad grumpily. “Nothing.”
“Sounds like something to me. Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
She smiles gently. She seems quieter today, not her usual Tigger-bouncy self. “OK, then. I have something here that might take your mind off whatever’s bothering you — the latest Goss agony-aunt letters. Want a go?” She pulls a purple folder out of her smart black patent-leather bag (another piece swiped from the Goss fashion cupboard, no doubt) and taps it with a finger.
I sigh. “Can’t we do it another night? I’m not in the mood for other people’s grumblings right now.”
“Mood-smood. I have deadlines, Beanie, you know that. You can’t weasel out of your agony-aunt duties that easily. But first, tell your old aunt Clover what’s up. Pweetty pweese? A problem shared is a problem halved and all that nonsense.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
I give her a half-smile (it’s all I can manage) and sigh again, so deeply I half expect to blow her across the room like the house of straw in the Three Little Pigs. “Oh, it’s just Mills,” I say glumly.
“What happened? Did you guys have a fight?”
I shake my head. “Nothing like that. It’s just that she and Bailey are glued at the hip, and it’s driving me crazy. Honestly, they can’t keep their paws off each other. It’s tragic-o. We had a really nice afternoon. The four of us — me, Mills, Seth, and Bailey — wandered around the shops in Dundrum, had a pizza, and then got the bus back to Dun Laoghaire together. Seth had to get home, so he jumped on a DART, which meant I was left walking with the two of them like a prize lemon. Mills barely said a word to me, and they stopped at every lamppost to have a kiss! It was going to take hours to walk home. In the end I said I was late for babysitting and ran on ahead.”
Clover is staring at me, a smile flickering on her lips. “Not jealous are you, Beanie?”
“No! Don’t get me wrong. I like Bailey and, let’s be frank, he’s heaven on legs to look at. Plus he’s very decent to Mills — got her a CD today and everything. But I’m still not sure about him. There’s something about him that doesn’t quite add up. He never talks about his past and clams up if you ask him about his previous school, and he gets really moody for no reason. Sometimes I think he’s hiding something.”
“Oooh, I do love a boy with a big, dark secret. I wonder what it could be.” Clover grins, then stops when she sees that I’m not smiling. “This is seriously getting to you, isn’t it, Bean Machine?”
“I guess the truth is I feel a bit abandoned,” I admit. “I know it must sound stupid — I mean, I still see her every day in school and everything — but she’s changed in the last few weeks. It’s all Bailey this and Bailey that. She’s obsessed. It’s like my best friend has been abducted and replaced by a boy-crazed alien replica. And she’s crazy about a boy she barely even knows! I’m her best friend. We’ve known each other since we were babies.”
Clover sighs. “Friendship is hard, Bean Machine. Make no mistake. You should try talking to her. Maybe she’s in such a love haze, she can’t see or act straight. It happens — especially to girls like Mills. She does tend to view boys through rose-tinted Romeo-and-Juliet glasses, doesn’t she? And it’s her first proper Irish garçon, oui?”
I nod. “Yes, and maybe she doesn’t realize what a ninny she’s being. I guess I’ll try talking to her and hope that the boy-mad lenses fall from her deluded eyes soon. But I am seriously worried about her. I suppose Bailey could just be very private, but I don’t want to see Mills get hurt. I’ve never seen her so crazy about anyone.”
“I guess you have to be her safety net, Beanie: catch her fall if it all goes belly-up. That’s what friends are for.” Clover smiles at me gently. “Now speaking of problems . . .” She opens the plastic folder, pulls out two pieces of paper, and dangles them in front of my face. “I have some rather interesting ones here that will take your mind off things. Número uno involves a friendship dilemma, in fact. Let’s start with that one. Because ze second — ooh-la-la! Très, très tricky, mon amie. Read them out loud, Beanie. I need to beautify my toes,” she says, pulling a bottle of glittery teal nail polish out of her bag. She draws her legs up and opens the bottle. The acrid smell fills the room.
I scowl at her. “Don’t get that on my duvet, Clover. Mum will murder me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mills.”
I give a short laugh. It is exactly the kind of thing Mills would say, all right.
I clear my throat and start to read:
Dear Clover and Amy,
The name’s Frizzy and I have a big problem. I have three bfs — I’ll call them Kylie, Danni, and Cheryl, in case they’re reading — and recently they’ve been acting seriously schizoid.
We haven’t been bfs all that long. I used to be bbfs with a girl called Susie, but she’s kinda quiet and all she ever wants to do is talk about her drama club (she’s pretty good at acting), play Wii, and moon over Jacob from Twilight. That’s OK some of the time — I’m a bit of a Twerd myself — but not all the time. Still, she listens to me moan about the tiresome trio, I guess, and never complains. She’s pretty nice that way.
But K, D, and C are great fun and way more popular in school than Susie. They make me laugh — a lot. They’re always cracking jokes about other girls in our class. Yes, sometimes they make fun of me, calling me ginger rasta girl — my hair is orange and can go a bit frizzy sometimes — but they tease everyone, even each other, so I don’t really mind.
Anyway, last Sunday Kylie’s mum drove them all to the designer outlets in Kildare Village to go shopping. When I asked why they didn’t invite me, Kylie said there wasn’t room in the car, but I know she was lying ’cause her mum has one of those SUVs with three rows of seats. I said I felt really left out, but she told me to get a grip and stop being a baby.
It’s not the first time they’ve done things without me. And sometimes they ignore me in school and walk straight past me in the corridor. Sometimes I wonder if they’re real friends at all.
What do you think, Clover and Amy? Am I being paranoid, or are they way out of line?
Trusting you to tell me the truth,
Frizzy, 13
XXX
“Poor Frizzy,” I say, putting the letter down.
Clover looks up from her nails. “What advice would you give her, Beanie?”
“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” I say. “First of all those girls — Kylie, Danni, and Cheryl, or whatever their real names are — sound more like frenemies than real friends.”
“Excellent, Beanie. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’d tell her to forget the backstabbing threesome and hang out with Susie more, who sounds kind of sweet. Loyal too. I’d tell her a true friend is worth hanging on to, no matter what.”
“Good thinking, Beanie.” Clover sounds impressed. “Couldn’t do better myself. You’ve rightly nailed that one. Now try the next letter. It’s a bit more complicated.” Her eyes dart away. Is it my imagination or does she seem nervous?
Dear Clover and Amy,
I could really do with your advice. I’m supposed to be starting college any day now, but I’m petrified. The problem is that on the outside I appear ultra-confident and together, but inside I’m Silly Putty. I find it hard to trust people and to make new friends. I had a best friend in school, but eventually she showed her true colors and I got my fingers not just burned but completely bushfire torched — which leads me to the second problem. This girl is at the same college, taking similar classes, and I’m dreading bumping into her. Seeing her will remind me of the whole sorry affair, time after time.
I’m tempted not to bother with college at all and to stick with writing for the Goss.
; What do you think, Beanie?
Seriously down,
Clover X
“Clover! I had no idea you were so worried. You should have said something. It’s your old friend Cliona, right? The girl who betrayed you?”
Clover stops painting her nails, twists the tiny brush back into the bottle, and looks at me, her eyes twinkling with tears. “What if I bump into her in college?” Her eyes widen. “Or him? I’d die.”
“Him? Who are you talking about, Clover?”
She gives a deep, raggedy sigh. “Kendall.” Tears start spilling down her cheeks. “Seeing them together will kill me.”
“Together?”
She nods, wiping the tears away with her fingers. “Cliona and Kendall were seeing each other, behind my back. That’s why Cliona and I aren’t friends anymore. I lost my boyfriend and my best friend in one fell swoop. I thought I was over it, but it still hurts so much.”
I’m genuinely shocked. Clover and Cliona were like me and Mills — inseparable. And Kendall was Clover’s first proper boyfriend; they were together for over three years. I can’t believe he’d do such a thing, especially after everything Clover went through. Clover’s mum (my gran) died nearly five years ago, and Kendall came to the funeral. He sat beside Clover and held her hand during the service — stayed with her the whole day, in fact. I remember thinking, When I’m older, I want a boyfriend just like Lucas Kendall.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he cheated on you!” I say. “You said it was a mutual decision, that your lives were going in different directions.”
“I lied,” she says simply. “I couldn’t face telling you the truth. The fact is he betrayed me — they both did — the night of his seventeenth birthday. Kendall was having this huge party in a tent in his garden. A DJ and everything. It wasn’t supposed to start till eight, but I decided I’d get there early to surprise him. I wanted to give him his present before everyone started arriving. I knew he was getting a car for his birthday, so I’d bought him a GPS. Cost me a fortune. Anyway, I went straight round the back and walked into the tent, and there they were: Kendall and Cliona, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing.”
I gasp. “No! That’s horrible.”
“Tell me about it. I felt like I’d been stabbed. I got such a fright, I dropped the GPS. They must have heard it smash on the floor, because they both spun around. And do you know what Cliona did when she saw me, Beanie? She smiled. Just for a split second — but it was still a smile. I think she wanted me to catch them. Wanted for it all to be out in the open.”
“And then?” I ask, transfixed.
“Kendall started apologizing: saying how sorry he was, how he’d never meant for it to happen. I asked him how long it had been going on, and Cliona answered for him. A month, she said. And then I really lost it. I told him he was a useless good-for-nothing, and I threw the shattered GPS at him and stormed out.”
“Yikes. Did you hit him?”
“No, but I wish I had. Stupid pig.”
I whistle and shake my head. “That’s quite a story, Clover. I guessed you must have had some sort of falling-out with Cliona — one minute you guys were best buddies, and then you suddenly stopped talking completely — but you never wanted to discuss it, so I figured the subject was off-limits. But this . . .” I trail off. “It’s horrible. She’s some piece of work. And as for Kendall, I don’t know what to say. I know how much you liked him.” I put my arm around her shoulders.
“I loved him, Beanie. Really, really loved him.” She leans against me and starts sobbing; her eyes are waterfalls of tears, and snot is coming from her nose. I’ve never seen her in such a state — it’s very unnerving.
“It’ll be OK, Clover.” I hand her a tissue from my bedside table.
“How?” she wails. “How will it be OK? Knowing every time I turn a corner they might be there, holding hands, just waiting to laugh at me, is driving me crazy.”
“Maybe they’re not together anymore.”
She sniffs and blows her nose. “They are.”
“How do you know?”
“Headcount. I’ve been checking their profiles.” (Headcount is the new Facebook. You can find out all kinds of things about people, and, unlike Facebook, you don’t have to be a “friend” to search the info.)
“I’m so sorry, Clover.” I give her a squeeze, not knowing what else to do.
“Me too.” Her eyes well up again, and she dabs at them. Then she takes a deep breath. “Funny — it’s the first time I’ve actually cried about the whole Kendall drama-rama. What a mess. It’s too late to change colleges, and besides Trinity has one of the best English courses in the country. But seeing the two of them holding hands in the corridor might just tip me over the edge. I really don’t want to go. Any advice for me?”
“But you have Brains now,” I point out gently.
“I know. It still hurts, though.”
“You can’t shipwreck your whole college career because of two nasty, deceitful eejits, Clover. You just can’t. If you drop out, they’ve won. Maybe it will always hurt a bit, but you have to move on.”
“Move on? How exactly, Beanie? The mere thought of bumping into them makes my stomach churn.”
She looks so sad and anxious — I know I have to do something. The question is what? This one has me stumped — maybe some problems really are too big to be fixed. But this is Clover’s life we’re talking about. I have to help her!
“I’ll think of something,” I tell her. “And that’s a promise. But in the meantime, you’re going to college, and that’s that. I’ll drag you in myself, if I have to.”
“At least my toes look bootiful,” she says with a glum smile.
Her mobile bleeps then, and she reads the message. “Siúcra ducra” — she slaps her head with her palm —“the teen surf gods photo shoot! I was supposed to be on Killiney Beach ten minutes ago. Would you be a doll and write up Frizzy’s answer and file it straight to Saffy when you’re finished? I’m so over deadline, it’s scary biscuits. You have Saffy’s e-mail address, right?” She slides her feet carefully into her flip-flops. “I’ll be forever yours, Beanie. I’m so behind with everything. Saffy wanted this surfing piece like yesterday, and I haven’t even done the research yet.”
I roll my eyes and smile. “OK, just this once.”
I’m actually quite excited. It’s the first time Clover’s let me file a piece without checking it over first.
“Coola boola. Sorry for burdening you with all my woes. You feeling a bit brighter yourself now, babes?”
I nod — compared to Clover’s problems, mine are gnat-size. “Thanks for coming over.”
“You’re more than welcome. And I’m sure Mills will snap out of it soon — try not to fret.” She kisses her fingers and waves them at me. “Toodle-oo, babes.” She runs out of the door, then stops and dashes back in again.
“I told you about Friday night, right?” she asks.
“No.”
She gives a laugh. “I’m such a scatterbrain at the moment. I’ll pick you up at seven. Tell Sylvie I’m taking you out for pizza. But wear something hot! And there’s a slot for Mills, if you can tempt her away from lover-boy.” She lowers her voice. “And put on your dancing shoes. The girls are going capital O-U-T!”
By Friday morning I know I have to tackle Mills over Bailey, and the sooner the better — we’re on the way to school, and she’s in the middle of yet another monologue, and unless I stop her, I’m going to jump in front of a bus.
“Do you think Bailey would look better in black or blue?” she’s saying in the usual daydreamy voice she uses when she’s talking about him. “I spotted a really nice shirt in the Goss. They did this ‘Dress Your Boyfriend’ fashion spread and—”
“Mills! All this Bailey stuff is doing my head in. Please, you have to cease and desist.”
“What Bailey stuff?”
I put my hands over my face and groan. Clover’s right. Mills is delusional.
“Mills, Mr. Otis is your sole topic of conversation 24/7. You talk about nothing else.”
“That’s rubbish,” she says, but from the blush creeping across her cheeks, I can tell she knows it’s true.
“And I wish you’d stop with the kissing in front of me. It’s embarrassing.”
“We never kiss in front of you, Amy . . . Well, hardly ever.”
“Mills! Come on. The D4s are calling you Leech Lips.”
“Leech Lips? That’s disgusting. And most unfair.”
I sigh. “Mills, I know you’re crazy about Bailey, but you’re going to have to cool it in school. And it might be worth playing just a little bit hard to get, don’t you think?”
She gasps. “Do you think he’s going off me? Did Seth say something?”
“No, of course not. But you guys spend so much time together, it’s not healthy.”
Her back stiffens. “That’s just your opinion, Amy.”
Now she’s really starting to annoy me. “For the record,” I say, “Clover thinks you’re behaving like a sap.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dumping your mates once you have a boyfriend is classic D4 behavior, she said, and utterly beneath you.”
Mills swallows and looks away. I can tell she doesn’t like what she’s hearing, but it might just be sinking in. Mills thinks Clover is the expert when it comes to love.
“Do you agree with Clover, Amy?” she asks finally.
“Yes,” I say firmly.
“Have I really been that obsessed?”
“And then some.”
She plays with her ponytail, flicking it around a finger. “I guess I have some making up to do.” One of the nice things about Mills is that she admits her mistakes. “How about shopping tomorrow?” she suggests. “Just the two of us.”
“I’m at Dad’s this weekend. And I’m going out with Clover tonight. But she said you’re welcome to tag along. We’re meeting at my place at seven. She won’t tell me where we’re going — but knowing Clover, it’s bound to be fun. Will you come? Please?”
