by Sarah Webb
“I’m not really hungry, Beanie. And I feel a bit sick from all that ice cream.”
“You’re having a toastie and that’s that.”
“Fine. You get more and more like your mother every day.”
I ignore her and start slicing cheese.
“I guess it’s all the walking,” she says after a few minutes. “And you can’t eat in the Dead Zoo.”
I stop slicing and look at her blankly.
“I’ve been strolling around Saint Stephen’s Green Park at lunchtime,” she admits. “Or visiting the Dead Zoo. I tried the National Gallery, but that was snoozeville. I really don’t understand what you see in galleries, Beanie. Stuffed animals are far more interesting.”
I’m about to ask why she hasn’t been eating lunch at college when it dawns on me — she’s afraid of bumping into Cliona or Kendall.
“You have to eat, Clover. You’ll get sick.”
She nods glumly. “I know.”
I decide not to press her. Right now, she could do without a lecture. “So what about this letter, then?” I ask instead.
She delves through her bag — a leopard-skin Mulberry satchel, the Goss fashion cupboard strikes again — and pulls out a folder. “This poor soul sounds in an awful state.”
I get back to sandwich making while she reads the letter to me.
Dear Clover and Amy,
You are probably going to think this is the weirdest, saddest letter that has ever landed on your desk. I have a problem. A BIG problem.
I live in Greystones with my mum. She’s a flight attendant, and because she’s away a lot of the time, I’ve been at boarding school — Rathmore Abbey. But here’s the thing: Tuesday’s my last day.
Mum has just come off the transatlantic flights. She’s shifting to the European routes instead — so I don’t have to board anymore. She says she needs to get her life back. I think she’d actually like to meet someone, someone who isn’t a married pilot.
She’s had a rotten time with men. There was this one guy, Dermott, who had a wife and a baby at home. Mum was devastated when he finally told her. And he only came clean because Mum invited him to spend Christmas with us and couldn’t understand why he claimed he was tied up on Christmas Day.
Anyway, Mum has found me a place in Lakelands Secondary School in Bray, starting next week — a week! I’m TERRIFIED, girls, utterly heart-thumpingly petrified.
I have three days to get ready — buy the uniform, check what extra books I need — but I know nothing can prepare me for the biggest difference of all . . . You see Rathmore is all girls, and Lakelands is mixed. Please don’t laugh — but I’ve never really spoken to a boy my own age before, not properly. I have no brothers, no cousins, no male neighbors, nothing. My life is a boy wasteland.
All my friends are girls, and I never meet any boys. If I walk into a shop and there’s a guy behind the counter, I blush and stammer. It’s so embarrassing — I’m sure they think I’m some sort of freak. I can’t go into Xtravision anymore ’cause I get so tongue-tied — there are loads of cute boys working in there. I have to send Mum in now to get movies for me.
I really don’t know what to do. I’ve tried talking to Mum about it, but she says that in time I’ll get used to sitting beside boys every day. But I even blushed when she said this — I had no idea I’d have to sit beside them! Don’t all the girls sit together? If I have to sit beside a boy, I really am doomed.
Please help! I’m seriously freaking out here!!!
Eloise Oliphant, 13
By this stage the toasted sandwich is cooking away, so I prop my bum against the kitchen counter and look down at Clover and shake my head. “I see what you mean. Poor Eloise. And Lakelands is full of D4s and Crombies. Once they realize why Eloise is blushing all the time, they’ll eat her alive. What do we tell her? To spend the next week trying to buck up the courage to talk to the boys in the DVD shop?”
Clover is smiling rather smugly. “Remember back in the spring when I first took over this agony-aunt job?”
“Yes,” I say cautiously. I think I know what’s coming.
“I swore we wouldn’t just be the usual letter-writing agony aunts, that when the time was right, we’d take action, in person. Well, Beanie, this is one of those times.” She pauses as her eyes meet mine. “I need to borrow your boyfriend. Eloise needs total boy immersion, and she needs it fast. Seth’s going to be one of our crash-test dummies. That coolio with you?”
I shrug. “I guess. As long as he doesn’t have to kiss her.”
“Course not, babes. Don’t you worry. Bailey’s out, obviously, creep features that he is. Shame, he’s very good-looking. No news there, I suppose?”
“No, he’s still hanging out with Annabelle. Mills is in bits.”
“Poor moo. Tell her I was asking about her. And if she wants some revenge tactics, tell her to give me a ring. What other boys could I ask at short notice? Who’s ultra hot?” She taps her lips with her finger. Suddenly her eyes light up. “I’ve got it. Felix!”
I snort. “There’s no way Eloise will cope with a rock god. She can’t even talk to spotty DVD-shop boys.”
“Exactly, Beanie. Now, let’s e-mail Eloise and set everything up. The sooner the better. Operation Boy Immersion is go, go, go!”
The doorbell rings at three o’clock the following afternoon. It’s a clear, sunny day, and Mum has taken Evie to Cabinteely Park — which is perfect since Eloise is coming over for Operation Boy Immersion. I open the door and smile at the girl standing on the doorstep, twisting her hands nervously. She’s stunning, with black hair swept back off her oval face by a sparkling silver hairband. She’s wearing red jeans and cute silver pixie boots. Her pretty brown almond eyes fix on mine. “A-A-my?” she stammers.
I nod and smile warmly. “You must be Eloise. Come in. You found the house OK?”
She nods wordlessly. I walk into the hall, but she doesn’t follow me. Instead she stays on the step and peers inside suspiciously.
“Worried we’re going to kidnap you?” I joke — but from the look on her face and the way she’s blushing, it’s clear that this is exactly what she thinks — or worse. I feel sorry for her. I’d be nervous of walking into a stranger’s house, too, especially under such weird conditions. “Clover,” I call into the living room. “Come and say hi to Eloise.”
Clover bounds out into the hall, grinning. “Hey there, Eloise. You’re right on time. Everything’s set. No need to be afraid. None of them bite.”
“Them?” Eloise asks, her voice quivering a little.
Clover just smiles and touches her nose. “All will be revealed, Grasshopper. So, are you coming in or what? Mush, husky.”
Eloise sighs. “I’m not sure this is such a good—”
Clover takes her arm. “Lesson one: You have to get over those nerves, Eloise. They’ll gobble you up otherwise, and you’ll end up like one of those saddo girls you read about sometimes who can’t leave their own house.” Clover pulls her gently into the hall.
Eloise looks around, clearly relieved to find that it all looks fairly normal. She takes a deep breath. “OK, what now?”
Clover points at the living-room door. “Pep talk with fellow teen Amy. Then I’ll bring in our first volunteer from the holding pen, aka the kitchen. They’re all a bit restless at the moment, so I’m feeding them sausage sandwiches. The more boys you meet today, Eloise, the easier you’ll find it at your new school.”
The instant Clover says the word “boy,” Eloise’s face flares up, her cheeks turning beetroot.
“Looks like we have our work cut out.” Clover sighs and pats Eloise’s arm. “Don’t you worry, babes. We’ll get you sorted for Lakelands. When’s D-Day again?”
“Monday, unfortunately,” Eloise says. “And I do hope this helps. Otherwise I probably will become agoraphobic — you know, afraid of going outside.”
I lead her into the living room while Clover goes back into the kitchen to check on the boys. Flopping down on the so
fa, I pat the seat beside me. Eloise sits, clutching her hands in her lap.
“Tell me about your mum’s job,” I say. “She’s a flight attendant, isn’t she? Sounds really interesting.” (If Eloise is nervous, I figure it’s best to start with something easy.)
She smiles. “It is kind of cool. She gets really cheap flights, and during the school holidays, we go to all kinds of places. She’s a nut for the sun, so recently we’ve been to Waikiki and Phi Phi — although to be honest, I’m more of a city girl myself. We did Milan at Easter, and Budapest is the next city on our list.”
“My best friend’s sister lives there,” I say. “She’s in the Budapest Ballet Company.”
“Really? Now, that is cool. It’s supposed to be a really beautiful city. I can’t wait to visit.”
“Where else have you been?”
She shrugs. “Loads of places. San Francisco, New York, Paris, Rome. The Caribbean. And masses of beach resorts.”
I whistle. “You’re so lucky. And I bet all the girls in your new school will be really impressed. You must have loads of great travel stories to tell.”
“I suppose I do,” she says happily, and then her face drops. “But what about boys? Are they interested in travel?”
“Of course they are. Most boys are obsessed with New York. Boys are just people, Eloise — nothing more and nothing less. They’re not a different species, and most of the time they’re just as nervous and self-conscious as we are. But be warned, in Lakelands, in addition to boys, you’ll encounter some pretty serious cliques — ones that have been honed by years of shoving students into boxes and making them stay there.”
“Cliques?” Eloise shifts around on the sofa. “You mean like gangs?”
“Exactement. Rathmore doesn’t have cliques?”
“Not really. It’s a very small school. There are sporty girls, all right. But that’s about it.”
“No mean girls?”
She shakes her head. “No. The nuns wouldn’t tolerate it.”
I whistle. “Eloise, I think Lakelands is going to be a bit of a culture shock. But it’s nothing you can’t deal with. And if you know how to spot the cliques you’re at an advantage. First of all, there are the D4s, aka the mean girls. Look out for girls who” — I put on my best D4 voice —“like, talk like they’re from California and, like, begin every sentence with OMG.” I drop the accent. “Other giveaway signs are obsessive use of fake tanner, poker-straight mink-colored hair, and skirts hiked up around their waists to make them shorter.”
Eloise nods solemnly. “D4s. Got it. So I keep away from them, right?”
“Abso-doodle-lutely. Also steer clear of their male equivalents: the Crombies.” I describe their characteristics — designer clothes, obsession with rugby, and thumping one another — and then I move on to the Emos, the Metal-Heads, the Library Nerds, the Bloggers, and, finally, the Wimpy Kids, aka the chess and computer clubbers.
“What about normal kids, like me, who aren’t anything?” Eloise asks. “I like music and sports and books, but I don’t want to be defined by any of them.”
“I feel exactly the same, Eloise. Luckily, there are plenty of fellow normaltons out there. It may take a while to find them, but I’m sure they’d love to be friends with you.”
“Normaltons.” She smiles, her twinkling eyes lighting up her whole face. “I like that. But what about my problem? You know, the boy thing.” She starts to blush again.
“Hopefully after today that won’t be so much of a problem,” I say. “First we’re going to introduce you to Alex—”
“A-a-alex?” she stammers, her face looking like it’s on fire.
“Alex is blond and very cute,” I continue, as she blushes deeper and deeper. “His interests are food, television, and trains.”
“T-t-trains?” Her nose wrinkles a little.
I nod, smiling to myself, and ring the handbell on the coffee table. (Clover grabbed it from Gramps’s house.) “Here comes boy number one.”
The door opens, and Clover leads Alex in by the hand.
Eloise starts to laugh. “But he’s only a baby.” Her cheeks cool a little.
Alex scowls at her. “Me big boy.”
“Sorry.” Eloise gets to her feet and crouches down in front of him. “I hear you like trains.”
Alex nods. “Thomas. Percy. Gordon. Hen-wie—” He starts listing off his favorites, and since he knows every single one of Thomas the Tank Engine’s crew, this could go on for hours.
“OK, Alex,” Clover says, cutting him off mid-flow. “Back into the holding pen for you, little man.” She leads him out again.
“Big boy,” he protests, and we all laugh.
As soon as he’s gone, Eloise says, “He’s hardly a boy, Amy.”
“All boys were that size at one stage. You have to stop thinking of boys as mystical, Lord of the Rings – type creatures. They’re just humans, and as mixed up and self-conscious as the rest of us.”
She shrugs. “I suppose.”
But from the doubtful look on her face, it’s clear she needs more convincing.
I ring the bell again. “Next.”
This time Gramps comes through the door, without Clover. “Hello, girls,” he says.
Eloise stares at him in astonishment, her mouth hanging open.
“This is Len Wildgust,” I say. “He’s a very sprightly sixty-six. He also happens to be my grandpa.”
“Eloise.” Gramps holds out his hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
Eloise shakes his hand, still saying nothing. I check out her cheeks. Red, yes, but not beetroot.
“May I sit down beside you?” Gramps asks politely. Clover has briefed him perfectly.
“Of course,” Eloise says.
I move to give him my seat and sit in one of the armchairs instead.
“So what are your favorite subjects at school?” Gramps asks.
“Classics and art,” Eloise says easily.
I let them chatter away for a few minutes before interrupting: “Time for Dave, Gramps.”
Gramps nods. “No problem. Lovely to meet you, Eloise. You are a most charming young woman, I must say. Good luck in the new school. I’m sure you’ll get on famously.”
Seconds later Dave walks into the room a little reluctantly. As a nurse, he thinks our scheme is scientifically flawed. “You can’t control blushing,” he told me over breakfast. “Some people are just prone to it.”
“Hi, girls,” he says now. “I’m to sit down beside Eloise, is that right?”
“Yes,” I say. “Eloise, this is my, um, stepdad, Dave.” (I still stumble a little over the whole stepdad thing.) “He’s thirty-two,” I add. “A nurse. And a singer-songwriter. Soon to be the next big thing in kiddie rock.”
Dave smiles at me. “Thanks, Amy.”
Eloise nods and gulps as Dave takes a seat. She looks decidedly uncomfortable.
Dave must sense this because he smiles at her kindly. “Alex is my little fellow. Didn’t throw anything at you, did he? He’s going through a bit of a pitching phase.”
Eloise laughs. “No, he was sweet.”
“Sweet? Do you know what he did this morning—”
Dave tells Eloise about how Alex dipped his toothbrush in the toilet bowl and “painted” the floor tiles, and she seems to get more and more comfortable in his presence: unfolding her arms and leaning toward him. By the end of the story, she’s laughing happily. “Alex sounds a real little character,” she says.
“He is.” Dave stands up. “Now it’s time for Felix? That right?” He hesitates at the door and then says, “Boys don’t mind blushing one little bit, you know, Eloise. It was one of the things that first attracted me to Amy’s mum, in fact. It’s pretty; don’t try to hide it completely.”
Eloise goes scarlet and presses her hands to her cheeks, but Dave just stands there smiling at her. “See. You look beautiful. It doesn’t bother anyone, Eloise, truly. Amy blushes all the time. Even Clover does it, and she’s hyper-confident.”<
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“It’s true,” I say. “Everyone blushes. Especially me.”
“Not like this they don’t,” Eloise says. “Look at my chest.” There’s a prickly looking pale pink rash dotted over the top of her chest.
“I didn’t notice it until you pointed it out,” Dave says. “Did you, Amy?”
I shake my head.
“Seriously?” Eloise stares down at her chest. “You can’t see it?”
We both shake our heads.
She grins. “That’s great. I thought it was really noticeable. That’s made my day.”
“And you’ve been having conversations quite happily with both Gramps and Dave,” I point out.
“I have, haven’t I?” she says. “I wonder what Felix will be like.”
“Ask him about his music,” Dave says kindly. “He plays the guitar. Boys like being asked about movies and telly programs too. Most of us are movie obsessed.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Eloise says brightly.
After Dave’s left the room, I figure I’d better warn Eloise that she might find Felix a bit more of a challenge — but it’s too late, he’s already walking in the door.
Eloise’s eyes are fixed on his face — on those piercing green eyes, with their Bambi eyelashes, and chiseled cheekbones. Strangely enough, though, she’s so mesmerized, her cheeks are not as crimson as I would have expected them to be.
“Hiya, Eloise,” Felix says in his lazy drawl. “Aren’t you a doll.” He sits on the sofa beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. (OK, now her face is starting to burn.) “I’m Felix, a friend of Amy’s and Clover’s. Charmed to meet you.” He kisses her on both cheeks. She looks delighted yet mortified.
“Dave said you play the guitar,” she manages to get out without stammering. “Are you in a band?”
Go, Eloise! I think. As Felix starts telling her about the Golden Lions, she’s so interested, she seems to have forgotten to be embarrassed. Plus her cheeks are cooling down.
The door opens a little then, and Clover pops her head round it. “Seth’s just arrived. Wants a quick word, Amy.”
“You guys OK for a second?” I ask, looking at Eloise.
