When we get our food, I find the bench farthest from him.
‘Here?’ Sarah says. ‘Are you kidding? This is social Siberia.’ She holds her tray tight, like she’s no intention of lowering it onto a table this far from the action.
‘If you want to sit somewhere else,’ I say, ‘do.’
Sarah glances at Rachel. Who shrugs. They both sit down in silence. Sarah shakes her head like she doesn’t believe it. It doesn’t last long. She’s back to the conversation she started in the queue.
‘So, the party . . .’
What else? After, like, a blizzard of messages last night and two conversations already today, you’d think she’d have exhausted the subject. She hasn’t. The only thing I’m grateful for is that she missed the whole thing with Louis. Too busy trying to line up sex before she dies. Which mustn’t have happened – or we’d have heard. I look up. Amy has just sat down opposite me – suspicious, given how far from the action we are. For a moment, she listens in, then cuts across Sarah.
‘Speaking of the party . . .’ Amy leans towards me conspiratorially. ‘Was that you with David McFadden in the garden?’ It sounds like an accusation in Cluedo.
Sarah drops her fork, and stares at me. ‘What!?’
I struggle to find an answer but Rachel beats me to it.
‘Alex was upset about her mum. David’s been there. He knows what it’s like. And was helping her through it. Right, Alex?’
They all look at me.
‘Right,’ I say, and start to breathe again.
‘You looked kind of cosy, though,’ insists Amy.
‘Oh, get lost, Amy,’ I say. I stand up, knowing I can’t be here any more. ‘You know what? I feel crap. I’m going home.’ I walk off.
Behind me, I hear Sarah say, ‘Nice one, Amy. That was real subtle.’
Hours later, I’m lying on my bed, still in uniform, covered in dog hair (and dog), trying not to think of my mum, my dad or David McFadden. There’s a knock on my door, and when The Stylist pokes her head around, I feel like throwing something. I mean, why’s she even here? Shouldn’t she be in New York with The Rockstar? Hasn’t she got any other clients? Or ever heard of a hotel? I’m serious: can’t she just get lost?
‘Really hot guy, downstairs,’ she says. ‘Asking for you.’
‘Don’t know any hot guys.’
‘David Mc . . . something?’
‘Hot, my ass.’
‘Looks kind of cute to me.’
‘Right, well, do me a favour and tell him to get lost.’
She comes into the room. ‘He wants to know if you’re OK. Said you left school early.’ She looks concerned. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’ She smiles, then raises her eyebrows. ‘He did come all this way.’
‘So what are you, my mother?’
‘No,’ she says, calmly, ‘I’m not your mom. Neither am I your messenger. So, maybe you should tell him yourself.’ She produces a no-hard-feelings smile and closes the door.
I flop back on the bed and mutter the word ‘bitch’. But know who’s really being the bitch here. Another knock. And I’m really going to throw something this time.
The door opens.
‘Hey,’ he says.
I sit up. ‘Who said you could come up here?’
He walks so casually into my room. ‘Marsha,’ he says, like they’ve known each other forever.
‘Marsha doesn’t even live here.’
‘So, what’s up? Hey, Homer.’
Homer’s tail starts to slap against the bed. He gets up and goes to him. Traitor.
‘Look,’ I say, getting up from the bed and standing with my arms folded. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here. But the weekend was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again.’
He squats down to Homer, and pets him.
‘You’re getting hairs everywhere,’ I say crossly.
He looks at my hair-covered uniform and raises an eyebrow. ‘So. What did I do to bug you?’
‘Who said you bugged me?’
He ignores that. ‘Let me guess. I didn’t come over to you at break. That it?’
I say nothing. Just shrug.
He stands. ‘So, it never occurred to you that there might have been a reason?’ And he sounds impatient now. ‘Look, Alex.’ I still love the way he says my name. ‘We never talked about how we were going to play it at school. Clearly, we should have. Anyway, for the record, I’m happy for everyone to know about us. I just didn’t know how you felt. So I played it cool when I thought anyone was looking.’
‘Oh.’ I feel a fool. But there’s still the canteen. ‘What were you laughing at lunchtime?’
He looks confused.
‘What were you telling Mark and Simon and the others?’
‘I don’t know.’ He frowns, thinking. Then his face clears. ‘I’d a hockey match yesterday before I met up with you. Probably that.’
‘Must have been some match.’
‘You wouldn’t believe it.’ He tells me about the umpire who didn’t know the rules, the goalie with Tourette’s syndrome, the fouling and the ‘supporters’ who took the word to extremes. It’s actually really funny. So funny that he couldn’t be making it up. I can’t help it, I laugh.
He sits on the bed. A minute ago, I’d have told him to get off. Now, I sit beside him.
‘So,’ he says. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I’m fine. I’m sorry. I guess I was a little angry at the world.’
‘At me.’
And because I don’t want to discuss it, I grab a pillow and hit him. He gets one and hits me back. In seconds we’re pounding each other. Laughing. Homer’s jumping up on us and barking. But then it all goes quiet. He looks at me for the longest moment and I think we’re going to kiss. But I’m wrong.
‘You have to trust me. OK?’
I nod. ‘OK.’
‘I’m not a bad guy.’
Those eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
And then we are kissing, our mouths melting together, his lips so soft. But then he’s taking my hands and pulling me up from the bed.
‘Come on. Let’s go.’
What? ‘Where?’
‘Hockey match for nine-year-olds.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’ve got to pick up my brother.’
I smile. ‘Oooh. I’m meeting the family already?’
‘Do I have to remind you? Your gran kissed me on Saturday.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, closing my eyes. ‘Don’t remind me.’
I’m standing on the sideline trying to stay quiet, when really I want to shout, ‘Hey, the wing’s open’, or ‘Shoot!’ or ‘What are you doing?’ I’d forgotten how great hockey is. Watching these little guys flying around makes me want to pick up my stick again and run onto the pitch. I used to captain the Firsts – before my world exploded. Now, David’s brother Bobby, a skinny blond kid, moves like lightning, slipping past three defenders. Facing his fourth, he passes at the last second to a teammate who shoots for a goal and gets it. Beside me, David lets out a roar. The final whistle blows and Bobby’s team go wild – for about two seconds, then they’re running off the pitch, victory forgotten. If that was us, we’d be hanging around soaking up the victory, then heading for coffee, hanging out, having a laugh. God, life was so simple before Mum died. Bobby’s walking towards us now, pulling a bright green gum shield from his mouth.
‘Did you get me a drink?’ are his first words to David.
‘Hi, Bob,’ David says, widening his eyes at him. ‘This is Alex.’
‘Hey,’ I say.
Bobby glances in my direction, then looks back at David.
‘The drink?’
David raises an eyebrow. ‘Good to see you, David. Thanks for picking me up, David. I know you’ll get the drink on the way home, David. Because that’s the kind of great guy you are, David.’
‘You’re a great guy, David.’ Bobby smirks. ‘Now can we get the drink?’
I’m still trying to decide if I like this little guy, when David takes my hand. We start towards the car.
Bobby squints up at me. ‘Are you his girlfriend?’
Whoa, I think. Slow down, buddy.
‘Alex has a name, Bob.’
‘Yeah, but is she your girlfriend?’
‘So, good game?’ David asks, ignoring that line of questioning.
Bobby swings his stick. ‘I was lege, wasn’t I?’
‘You were legend.’
Nearing the car, Bobby bursts into a run. He stops by the front passenger door, holding the handle.
‘Alex was sitting there,’ David says.
I’m about to tell him it’s OK, when Bobby says, ‘But I always sit in the front.’
I look at David. ‘I don’t mind. Honestly.’
I sit admiring the back of David’s head, while he gets a blow-by-blow account of the match from Bobby. We stop for that all-important drink. As Bobby runs into the shop, David turns around to me.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘He’s just excited about the game, I guess.’
‘I mean about him sitting in front. He’s kind of sensitive about stuff like that, you know – routine.’
‘Sure,’ I say, not quite understanding.
Their house is only about two miles from mine. I’ve passed it loads of times and never really noticed it. It’s on a road of similar houses. Redbrick. And old. Inside, it’s cold, and David turns on the heat. Then he bribes Bobby to go play on his Xbox 360. Bobby doesn’t look thrilled but money’s money, I guess, because he wanders off, and minutes later I hear a TV. I follow David into the kitchen.
‘Want a drink?’ he asks, ignoring the mess and heading for the fridge.
‘No, thanks.’
He pours himself some juice.
‘So, who looks after Bobby when your dad’s at work?’ I ask.
‘Some days me, some days Romy.’
‘No childminder?’
He laughs. ‘It was like Mrs Doubtfire here for a while. He went through four in a month.’
‘Wow.’
‘You’ve got to understand something about Bob,’ and I know he’s about to defend him, which I think is cute. ‘He’s the youngest by eight years. When he was born, Romy and I were at school. He spent most of his time with our mom. Then our parents split up. Mom got sick. Before we knew it, she was gone. We had to move back in with our dad . . . who’d a new girlfriend. Bob’s life has been a bit crazy. Which is why he can be a bit . . . difficult. And why he needs routine.’
I can’t believe all they’ve been through. ‘What’s it like having to live with your dad’s girlfriend?’
‘Jackie? Oh, no, she’s gone. I think we scared her away.’ He half laughs.
‘Oh my God. I hope your dad didn’t blame you or anything?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah. He was more upset about Mom. I don’t think he realised how much he still loved her until she was gone. Which didn’t help the girlfriend situation.’
‘That’s so sad.’
He shrugs, finishes his juice, leaves the glass by the sink and walks towards me. ‘Want to go upstairs?’ He says it casually but I’m suddenly nervous. What exactly does that mean?
I act cool. ‘Sure.’
I follow him up to his room. It’s like walking into the ocean. The walls are covered in posters of the sea. There’s one of a killer whale leaping out of the water, but mostly they’re of waves, great giant curling waves. Surfers cut through some, blazing a trail of white. But my favourite is the silhouette of a guy in a wetsuit sitting on his board, his back to the camera, looking at the sunset. It could be David.
I smile at him. ‘So, you like the sea.’
‘I like the sea.’
The room has a pinball machine, a basketball hoop and a snooker table. It also has a bed – a fact that makes me embarrassed or something. I plonk myself down on his gaming chair. My iPhone slips from my pocket, onto the floor. He picks it up, sits on the edge of his bed and starts to check out my playlist.
‘Eminem?’ He looks surprised.
‘What’s wrong with Eminem?’
‘Nothing. He’s just not mainstream.’
‘What makes you think I listen to mainstream stuff?’
‘Everyone does. That’s the point.’
‘I’m not everyone.’
‘I noticed.’ His eyes hold mine, and my heart speeds up, then he turns his attention back to the iPhone. ‘Who’s Nina Simone?’
‘If you don’t know who Nina Simone is, I’m not telling you.’
‘Can I’ve a listen?’
‘Knock yourself out.’ I get up and mess around with his pinball machine for a few minutes. Then I wander over to his desk. OK, so he’s not a tidy freak. I pick things up, have a look, put them down. The usual stuff. Except for, oh my God, what’s this? Mr Zog’s Sex Wax – The Best for Your Stick!? I pick it up, turn around. Slowly I lift the ‘Sex Wax’. And an eyebrow.
He smiles. ‘For all the hot babes I have up here to my love nest.’ He pulls out the earphones. ‘It’s for my board.’
‘Your board?’
‘Surfboard.’
‘I should have known.’ There’s an edge to my voice, like surfing’s a bad habit. It’s like I’m afraid he’s too cool for me or something. Or maybe I just don’t want him to think he is. I don’t know.
‘I’m only getting back into it,’ he says, quietly.
I feel mean. Don’t know what to say. So I say nothing. Just act my usual tough self and go over to the pinball machine. He plugs the earphones back in.
After a while, he comes over and hands me back my iPhone. I’m relieved he’s smiling.
‘You’ve got kind of weird taste. No offence.’
‘None taken, jerk.’ OK, it’s a standard joke. I still like it.
‘So, is this what happens when you grow up in a musical house? You go all eclectic?’
OK, now that gets to me. ‘What I listen to has nothing to do with him.’
He looks doubtful.
‘Right. I’ll prove it. First time I heard Nina Simone was watching The Thomas Crown Affair. There’s this great song of hers, “Sinnerman”, that’s on during the art-gallery heist. I checked her out on YouTube and loved her stuff, especially “Ain’t Got No”.’
‘The one I just listened to?’
I nod. ‘A lot of the music I like comes from movies. The theme tunes from Blood Diamond, Black Hawk Down, Inside Man. The Shrek movies always have great soundtracks.’
‘So you’re a movie buff?’
I straighten up. ‘You name it, I’ve watched it. Go on, try me. Ask me anything. About any movie. Don’t be shy.’
‘Okaaay,’ he says, thinking.
I fold my arms, hold my chin high.
‘All right, then,’ he says, ‘what movie was the Door Test in?’
I’m impressed. But don’t let on. ‘I was expecting a bit of a challenge here.’
‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘A Bronx Tale.’ Great movie and not an obvious choice.
‘OK. Who got an Oscar for My Cousin Vinny?’
‘Marisa Tomei.’ She deserved it.
‘Who named all his fishing boats Jenny?’
‘Don’t tell me you like Forrest Gump?’ I say it like I hated the movie. I’ve watched it eight times.
‘Don’t tell me you don’t.’
I laugh. So, he’s a softie who’s not afraid to show it. If there was such a thing as a movie test, to judge a person by the movies they like, he’d have flown it. I feel silly now that I was nervous.
‘OK, so you’re a movie buff. And a music buff.’
‘I’m not a music buff.’
‘I might believe you if your iPhone was full of pop charts. Oh, and by the way, most people I know who watch a movie just watch the movie.’
I shake my head.
But he just lifts his eyebrows like he knows better.
We hang out for mos
t of the afternoon, shooting hoops, playing snooker and watching random, hilarious stuff on YouTube. When he drops me home, we sit in the car for a while, neither of us in a hurry to go.
‘So, what d’you want to do about school?’ he asks.
My stomach twists. Today, we were just two people, hanging out. You tell everyone, you change it, you make it a ‘relationship’, you make it ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’. You make it heavy.
‘Can we just leave it? They’ll just make a big deal out of it.’
He shrugs. ‘Sure.’
I hope he doesn’t mind. ‘It’ll be fun,’ I say, ‘pretending we don’t see each other.’
‘Might be tricky, though.’ He leans across and kisses me. I know what he means.
Later, when I’m home, Rachel texts.
‘You OK?’
My first thought is, why wouldn’t I be? Then I remember. How I felt when I thought David McFadden was laughing at me.
‘Yup. Ta. Back tomorrow,’ I text back.
NINE | I KNOW
The Rockstar’s back from New York and in the kitchen when I come down for breakfast. His hair doesn’t seem so bad today. The shades aren’t totally ridiculous. Couldn’t tell you what’s on his feet. And, for some reason, I don’t want to argue.
‘Hey,’ I say. Just that. No smart remarks.
‘Hey,’ he says, like he’s expecting one.
‘How was the trip?’
He looks surprised by the question. I’m a bit surprised myself. ‘Good. Good. It was good.’
I’m so close to saying, ‘Great, great, that’s great’, but I kill the sarcasm, for once.
‘I got you something,’ he says, almost shyly, taking a package from a stool under the counter. He hands it to me, his expression hopeful that I’ll like it, anxious that I won’t. I think that maybe, just this once, I won’t pass it on to Sarah. I open the pack to reveal clothes. Hoodies. T-shirts. Jeans. All Abercrombie. I lift each out for closer inspection. Everything’s the right size. And exactly what I’d pick for myself. It’s like he was inspired. Suddenly, I smell a stylist. He called her. He must have. And, for once, she got it right.
‘Thank you. They’re great.’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 7
