‘Hey,’ Mark says, ‘why don’t we all meet up, Saturday?’ There’s instant silence. Rachel and I look at each other, then at Sarah.
‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘That was greeted with enthusiasm!’
I’m trying to come up with a decent excuse.
But Sarah beats me to it, leaning across the table to Mark and David.
‘Do you think you guys could bring, like, a friend?’ It’s like she’s thought this through and decided to turn it into an opportunity. And you’ve gotta admire her.
David and Mark exchange a glance.
‘Eh, yeah, maybe,’ says Mark.
He looks at Rachel. Who nods encouragement. Her enthusiasm boosts his.
‘I’ll make a few calls.’
‘Great, thanks,’ says Sarah, like it’s a done deal.
I glance over at Simon. Does he know his biggest fan is moving on?
It’s two days before there’s news. But it’s positive.
‘A friend of Mark’s is going to meet up with us, Saturday,’ Rachel tells Sarah, walking up from the DART one morning.
Sarah’s face lights up. ‘Really? Who is he? What’s he like?’
‘Don’t know but he hangs out with Mark so he’s probably . . . a total nerd.’ She laughs but then sees Sarah’s face.
‘Only joking. I’m sure he’s fine.’
‘What does he look like?’ Sarah asks.
‘No idea.’
‘Can you find out?’
‘I’m not asking Mark what the guy looks like.’
‘OK, I will.’
‘Sarah, he’s just hanging out with us, OK? You guys might click. You mightn’t. Don’t get your hopes up. He could be completely not your type.’
‘What’s he into?’
Rachel laughs. ‘You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?’
Sarah doesn’t give up. ‘It’s just that if I know in advance, I’ll know what to talk about.’
‘Then you’d better ask Mark.’
‘How does he know him, anyway?’
‘Karate. I think.’
‘Ah. So he must be fit,’ she says, looking hopeful.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘God. You’re useless,’ Sarah says, just as I was beginning to feel sorry for her.
We’re on David’s bed and we’ve reached that point again. I want to. But don’t. I pull back. Again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, totally frustrated. ‘I can’t.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ he says, but I know he does.
I wonder what’s wrong with me. He’s lying there, beautiful. Perfect. I’m aching for him. And still . . . He throws his legs over the side of the bed and I wonder how much more patient I can ask him to be.
We go downstairs. He busies himself putting on pasta. After a while, it becomes easy between us again.
Bobby comes into the kitchen. ‘Can I’ve some?’
‘Here, see if it’s ready,’ David says, scooping out a spoon and blowing on it, reminding me of my father when I was a kid. I’d forgotten he did that.
‘Ready,’ Bobby says.
And as David pours microwaved red sauce from a jar onto the pasta (Barbara would be appalled), I wonder when I will be ready. Will I just wake up some day and know?
Sarah goes all out. Straightens her hair. Borrows money from me to get more highlights and a spray-on tan. Rachel gives her money for a manicure. She spends hours in Dundrum, shopping. When we hook up, Saturday, she does look amazing. OK, maybe slightly too amazing for the amusements in Bray but then you can never look too good, right? We’re meant to meet Mark’s friend, Peter, outside the amusements. But he’s not there. We wait around for a while, freezing.
‘Maybe he’s inside,’ Sarah suggests, hopefully.
We go in and wait near the entrance while Mark goes to look for Peter. After a few minutes, he comes back alone, with his mobile at his ear. He hangs up. And his face does the talking.
‘Some family thing. Apparently.’
Sarah tries not to let her disappointment show.
‘What kind of loser is he anyway?’ I say, so she knows it’s his problem and not hers. Then I remember he’s Mark’s friend. ‘Sorry, Mark.’
‘No, you’re right. He should at least have called before now.’
‘Well, his loss,’ Rachel says.
And from that moment, without anyone saying anything, without even a look passing between us, we all make sure that Sarah’s not the odd one out. I avoid David. Rachel avoids Mark. David asks Sarah if she’s been here before, and suggests she try out the virtual motorbikes.
We go upstairs. It’s dark. The noise of gunfire competes with music. All around, people are lost in their games. A little boy has a bazooka on his shoulder and is wiping out life. An overweight woman dressed like a biker is on a virtual rollercoaster, screaming. Sarah asks David if he’ll race her on the motorbikes.
‘Sure.’
The rest of us hit the air hockey table.
Rachel looks back at Sarah. ‘Don’t know what we were worried about. She’s fine.’
We take it in turns to play each other. Then I start to feel like an extra. I wander off to find the others. They’re not at the bikes any more. But they’re not far. David’s standing in front of a large screen, legs spread, arms outstretched, a pink gun in his hand. Sarah’s beside him. I go over, stand on the other side, and watch what’s happening. He’s coming under serious fire, guys in combat gear springing up all over the place. I bite my fingers to stop a scream. He just turns his gun on its side and shoots non-stop. Then he calmly reloads.
He’d be good in a war situation, I think, imagining him telling me to ‘get down!’
‘Will I keep going?’ he asks suddenly. ‘Or will I quit? Quick.’ He has a coin poised over the slot. I’m about to tell him to keep going when I realise he’s looking to Sarah for the answer. I wonder if he’s even noticed I’m here.
‘Keep going,’ Sarah shouts. Then, as if in slow motion, she leans back and looks at me with this really smug expression, like it’s some kind of victory that he asked her, not me.
I walk away. Sit into a game nearby. ‘The Lost World’. And, though I’m so not into being chased by dinosaurs right now, I drop in the coins and start to play. I don’t last long. So I go again. After a few minutes, someone arrives beside the machine. I recognise David’s jeans. But keep on playing. He stoops to watch until Game Over comes up on screen.
‘Hey,’ he says then.
‘Hey.’ My voice is flat.
‘Shove over.’ He sits in beside me. ‘How did you do?’
‘Lost after two seconds.’
‘It’s a hard one.’
It feels cosy in here, just the two of us in the dark, away from everyone.
‘So. You’re Mr Popularity all of a sudden,’ I say, turning to look at him.
He shrugs. ‘Don’t ask me why.’
‘Could be all the attention you’re giving her.’ I hear the edge in my voice.
He must too because his face goes all serious and he looks at me for a long time. ‘Sarah’s your friend. I was trying to make her feel included. For you.’
And I see that suddenly. But am too embarrassed to admit it.
‘Want a game?’ I say instead.
‘Sure.’
After that we stay together, just the two of us shooting hoops, playing air hockey and racing motorbikes towards an ever-changing horizon. We laugh. Touch. We’re ourselves again. And I can’t believe I doubted him.
The DART is practically empty. David and I are first on. We sit beside each other, opposite two empty seats. Across the aisle are another four places. I’m not exactly thrilled when Sarah sits opposite David, leaving Mark and Rachel to take the seats across the aisle. When the train gets moving, she smiles at David.
‘I like the way you hold a gun.’
Oh my God. It’s totally suggestive.
David laughs awkwardly. ‘You mean that pink gun?’
‘Yeah, but
pink is so you.’
I roll my eyes. When really I want to slap her. What is she doing?
She crosses her legs slowly. Her dress is so short it’s totally provocative. David looks out the window. And I’m thinking, what kind of friend does that, especially when you’ve gone out of your way to include her? I just sit there, glaring at her, but she doesn’t see it. Because, at no point in the whole DART ride, does she look at me.
I’m glad when the next stop’s mine. I get up and say bye to Rachel and Mark. Ignore Sarah. Easy, given that she’s ignoring me. David walks me to the door.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he says.
‘No. You’ll be late.’ His father is bringing them to a restaurant.
‘Dad won’t mind.’
I smile. ‘Of course he will. Look, I’m fine. I’ll call you later. OK?’
‘Why don’t I get off, pretend to go with you and get back on another carriage?’
I laugh. ‘She’s not that scary.’
‘Trust me, she is.’
‘Just sit with Rachel and Mark when you go back.’
‘Don’t worry. I was going to.’
Of course, Sarah will join them. At least he won’t be alone with her though.
The doors open. We kiss quickly and I get off.
‘Enjoy tonight,’ I call.
For a moment it looks like he’s going to come after me. And I so want him to. But he lifts a hand and the doors close in front of him. I stay on the platform watching the DART head towards town. I imagine how it will pan out from here. Mark and Rachel will get off at the same stop. And David will be left alone with the nympho. I trust him 100 per cent. Still, I wish she’d never come.
I spend the rest of the evening telling myself to forget about it. She was being ridiculous, embarrassing herself more than anyone else. I’ll rise above. I watch the three Bourne movies back to back. By the time I get to bed, I’m so punch-drunk I fall straight to sleep.
NINETEEN | TOYOTA COROLLA
Sunday, and I’m dying to see him. When he pulls up out front, I rush to the door.
The Rockstar calls from the office, ‘Who’s that?’
‘Friend from school. Bye!’
‘Eh . . .’ There’s a pause. Then, a resigned, ‘Bye.’
Outside, David’s coming up the steps. His head is down, his shoulders hunched.
I burst out laughing. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
He looks up. Without a smile.
And for the first time, I think there might actually be something wrong. I feel guilty for laughing.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. Fine.’
He sounds the opposite.
‘Did something happen?’
‘I’m just not feeling the best.’
He does look pale. ‘What did you eat at the restaurant?’
He looks at me strangely. Then says, ‘My stomach’s OK.’
‘Did you sleep at all?’ There are dark shadows carved into the skin below his eyes.
‘Not really.’
‘Maybe you should go home. Lie down.’
‘I’m fine.’
He doesn’t kiss me. Just turns and starts walking to the car. I follow. He ducks inside. I sit in. Peer at him again.
‘It could be flu.’
He starts the engine. ‘It’s not flu. Let’s go.’
I shrug. ‘OK.’
But it’s not OK. If it was, his hand would be resting on my leg. He’d be telling me about last night, driving along and making me laugh. He’d be waving at the fans outside the gate. Instead, he just drives. The silence between us grows, taking up space in the car. He turns on the radio. It’s a programme about the economy. I feel like saying, ‘You’re not serious.’ But then I realise he’s not even listening. I stare at him. He looks straight ahead. And I know there’s something wrong.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’
I take a deep breath. OK, fine. If he’s not going to tell me, I’m not going to keep asking. ‘Where d’you want to go?’
‘I don’t know, a movie?’
‘Fine,’ I say, though, after Jason Bourne, I’m all movied out.
Only when we get there do I realise how perfect his choice is. He can sit beside me, looking straight ahead, not having to open his mouth. Because other people are doing all the talking.
Afterwards, we don’t go for a pizza. We don’t go anywhere. David drops me straight home. We don’t talk. We don’t kiss goodbye. And before I even make it to the front door, my eyes are filled with tears.
Why won’t he tell me what’s wrong? Why won’t he look me in the eye? Is it something I’ve done? Something I said? Maybe it’s because I was hard on him about Sarah yesterday. But he was fine when we were saying goodbye. Could she have said something to him after I left? Or, worse, done something? I shake that thought from my head. Whatever about Sarah, I know David. And I trust him. Completely. Maybe it’s something totally different, nothing to do with Sarah at all. What, though? And why won’t he tell me? These are the thoughts spinning round in my head all night.
In the morning, I catch the DART, semi-conscious. I wake right up, though, when I see Sarah getting on. She spots me and makes her way over, smiling like nothing’s happened. Unfortunately, the woman beside me gets up for the next stop and Sarah perches herself like a princess, on the same puke-green upholstery she was sitting on the last time I saw her. I tell myself to rise above, but she looks so immune, like she can do and say anything to anyone.
‘Don’t ever do that again,’ I say.
‘What?’ she asks like a wide-eyed Barbie.
‘You know damn well what.’
She gives me a look that says, ‘Get over yourself’.
‘Friends don’t do that, Sarah. Friends don’t come on to your boyfriend. Would I do it to you? Would Rachel?’
She looks as cheerful as ever. ‘Be kinda hard, seeing as I don’t have a boyfriend.’
‘You are unbelievable.’
‘And you are overreacting.’ She bends her fingers and examines her nails.
‘What is your problem?’ I whisper. ‘Why does everything have to be about you? You’re not going out with someone, so what? Half the world’s single. And they manage to cope without moving in on other people’s boyfriends. You know what? I’m tired of the Poor Sarah routine. You can keep it.’
I get up and walk to the door, where I stand, fuming, until it opens at our stop. Then I’m out, powering up the hill, passing groups of people in uniform. And I find it weird, as I storm towards the school, and see Tiptoes carefully reversing her Toyota Corolla into a space, that something she said at the beginning of the term has come to make so much sense. What is a friend? Not someone who moves in on your boyfriend. Not someone who only thinks of herself. OK, her parents have split up. That doesn’t give her the right to treat me like that. A real friend wouldn’t. No matter what’s going on in their lives.
David’s late for school. He apologises and takes his seat. He glances back at me and smiles. But it’s a different smile. It’s flat and blank and it’s hiding something. I watch him all morning, staring out the window, failing to hear the teacher calling him, apologising. It’s like all I’ve heard from him this morning is ‘sorry’.
At break, we all go to the canteen as usual. I don’t look at Sarah. But I watch how David is with her. He is different: quiet, withdrawn. But then, he’s different with everyone. He’s somewhere else. I have to get away. I get up and leave my tray behind as if I’m coming back. But I go to my locker, grab my coat and go outside. It’s windy, cold and grey but I need air, and anything’s better than having to be where Sarah is. Even where David is, right now. I drag my scarf across my face, shove my hands into my pockets, put my head down and walk. Fast.
I don’t know how much time has passed before I hear Rachel calling me. I stop and turn. She catches up.
‘I saw you from the window. You OK?’
I look at her. ‘No.’
> She takes a deep breath. ‘Look, I know what she did was dumb but she’s like that sometimes. Needing to be centre of attention. She wasn’t being malicious. Sarah never is.’
‘I don’t care about Sarah,’ I snap. ‘Something’s wrong with David.’
‘What d’you mean? What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. He won’t tell me. Was everything OK on the DART after I left?’
She looks surprised, then frowns, thinking back. ‘Yeah, we all sat together. Sarah was doing her usual attention-grabbing thing, but we ignored her.’
‘Did Mark get off the DART with you?’
‘Yeah, why? Oh my God, you don’t think . . ?’ She looks shocked.
‘No. No, I don’t.’
‘David wouldn’t.’
‘I know.’ I take a deep breath. Wish I knew what it was.
‘Want me to ask Mark, see if he knows anything?’
‘No! Say nothing. Let me figure it out. Or let David tell me. In the meantime, don’t ask me to be buddy-buddy with Sarah because it’s not going to happen, OK?’
She looks at me for a long time, then nods. ‘OK.’ But I know what she’s thinking – where does that leave the three of us, and where does it leave her and Sarah?
‘Look, about Sarah,’ I say. ‘I’ll be civil with her, if it’s easier for you.’
She looks relieved. ‘Thanks.’
But then I get annoyed because it’s just too easy for Sarah.
‘For the record, why are you taking her side? You know she was a total bitch.’
She looks shocked. ‘I’m not taking sides. I just don’t want us all to fall out. We’ve been friends since, like, First Year. And I know she can be a bit . . . silly sometimes but she’s actually a really sweet person and I know she wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. She’s not like that.’
‘Then why did she do it?’
‘I don’t know. Things never go right for her. That guy Peter not showing up, it’s just, like, typical. I mean, who, of all of us, is the real romantic? And who is on her own? She hangs out with all these rich kids but her parents struggle to make her fees. Her mum gives her a pretty tough time. And now her parents have split up.’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 15
