The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)

by Denise Deegan

  I shrug. ‘It felt right.’

  ‘Yeah, but you wouldn’t want to be doing that too often.’

  ‘Let’s watch it again,’ Dad says.

  My phone rings. It’s Mark. I take the phone upstairs.

  ‘So what did you think?’ I ask nervously.

  ‘I’m taking up smoking.’

  I laugh. ‘Seriously, though.’

  ‘You were really good.’

  ‘Really good?’ That’s crap.

  ‘You were great. Caecilius superbus est.’

  ‘Caecilius is … I’ve no clue.’

  ‘Proud.’

  ‘Caecilius isn’t just saying that because he’s going out with me?’

  ‘Caecilius isn’t that kind of man. Anyway, it wasn’t just Caecilius. Everyone thought you were great.’

  Oh, God. ‘Who’s everyone?’

  ‘My parents, Rex—’

  ‘Your parents watched it?’

  ‘Yeah, we had a big gala watching session,’ he says, winding me up.

  I groan.

  ‘They thought there was a lot of chemistry.’

  ‘I looked like a slut.’

  He laughs. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘The skirt. The boobs.’

  ‘Rex wants to go out with you.’

  ‘Mark, stop, Jesus. Just tell me. Seriously. Was I OK?’

  ‘Rachel. They used the silent take. They closed the whole show on the scene. Would they have done that if it wasn’t OK?’

  He’s right. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘It’s obvious. I’m the brains of the operation.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I say, meaning, ‘I love you’.

  At school the following morning, I’m at my locker when Peter Sweetnam comes up to me. Peter hangs around with Orla Tempany and Simon Kelleher, that group. So, not much depth.

  ‘Saw you on D4. Hot stuff.’

  What did I tell you? ‘Shut up, Peter.’

  ‘So are you going to be on it, regularly, now?’

  ‘No. I’ve just a tiny part.’

  ‘Well, if I was that director, I’d want more of you.’ He turns. ‘Hey Mark! How does it feel to be going out with a star?’

  Everyone in the locker room looks over. ‘Rachel’s on D4!’ Peter announces.

  I close my eyes.

  When I open them again, Amy Gilmore is in front of me. ‘D4,’ she says. ‘Cool.’

  ‘No one watches D4,’ I say.

  ‘They so do.’

  ‘No one our age.’

  ‘Peter saw it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Hel-lo,’ Peter says to me. ‘No way to treat your fans.’

  I smile.

  Then Amy turns to him for the first time. ‘When’s it on?’

  He blushes then stumbles over the answer. Good God. How could anyone fancy The Queen of Evil? Then again, guys never cop bitches. It’s a genetic deficiency.

  ‘Yeah, well I know what I’ll be doing tonight,’ Amy says.

  I close my locker and get the hell out.

  ‘Don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous,’ she calls after me.

  In the corridor, I wait for Mark. ‘Why didn’t you save me?’

  ‘He’s bigger than me.’

  I smile.

  He frowns. ‘Maybe you should hire a bodyguard, though. Now that you’ve your first official fan.’

  ‘You’re not volunteering?’

  ‘V busy. Though I do have buns of steel.’ He pulls up his sleeves. ‘Go on, check these babies out.’

  ‘Mark. Buns of steel refers to the general butt area.’

  He looks like he’s about to argue but then the principal comes out of his office. Mark puts away his ‘buns’.

  ‘Rachel Dunne, the very woman.’ High voice for a big guy. Our principal reminds me of the one in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Except that he’s actually OK most of the time. As principals go.

  ‘Excellent performance last night.’

  Oh God, he saw it. I think of the skirt, the boobs and can’t really believe he’s brought it up.

  ‘You’ll have to talk to the TY students.’

  ‘It’s just a tiny part.’

  ‘For three months,’ he says like he’s impressed. I wish Mum hadn’t had to ask permission for me to miss class.

  ‘Eh, I wouldn’t really be comfortable talking about it.’ It’d be like I thought I was a star, or something.

  ‘Oh. Shame.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ He looks at Mark. ‘Impressive biceps.’

  After school, we’re walking out of the newsagent’s with a range of E-additives, when Sarah’s phone starts to ring. She looks at the screen, then kills the line. She puts the phone back in her pocket. It rings again. She takes it out and checks the screen. She looks like she’s about to hang up but then catches us watching. She answers.

  ‘Oh, hey,’ she says. She listens. Then cheerfully says, ‘Oh just living till I die. Listen, thanks a million for calling. I gotta go.’ She hangs up.

  We look at her.

  She just puts the phone away.

  ‘Who was that?’ Alex asks.

  ‘Oh. Peter.’

  ‘Sweetnam?’ Alex asks in shock.

  ‘No. Shane’s friend Peter,’ she says like she hardly knows him, like we never hung out. Which we did. For months. Until Shane died.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ I ask, surprised that Sarah hasn’t kept in touch. Shane wanted them to look out for each other.

  She looks embarrassed. ‘Yeah, fine.’

  I feel like asking how she knows. But I leave it. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to him - the one person who really knows what she must be going through. But maybe that’s OK. Maybe she has to save herself first. Like oxygen masks on planes.

  Next day, on the DART to school, I’m standing with Alex and Sarah. The carriage is mobbed with people in uniforms and suits. Two feet away, Katie Burke, a girl in our class, is talking to her boyfriend, Cameron Cullen.

  ‘I don’t know what the big deal is. She didn’t even get to say anything.’

  ‘She was good, though.’

  ‘You mean she was hot.’

  ‘OK, yeah. She was hot.’

  She slaps his arm. ‘I can’t believe you even bothered looking it up.’

  ‘Got a text from Sweetnam. It’s on YouTube. Everyone’s watching it.’

  They could be talking about anyone, I think. But then Katie catches me looking and turns away immediately. Making it official - they’re talking about me.

  Walking up to the school, I catch loads of people staring at me, people in other classes I don’t even know. Before I even get to my locker, Amy Gilmore comes up to me.

  ‘I thought you said you had a part. You didn’t even speak.’

  ‘Yes, Amy. I know I didn’t speak.’

  ‘Then what were you going on about yesterday?’

  ‘I think you’re confusing me with Peter Sweetnam.’

  ‘You didn’t exactly stop him.’

  This is why I didn’t tell people.

  At lunchtime, I take a taxi to D4. It’s so good to be Naomi again. I have my first scene with somebody else – Josh’s onscreen mum. I’m sitting opposite her in her surgery in the clinic. She has a kind face that must have been beautiful once.

  ‘I was hoping you’d bring your parents,’ she says.

  I have no lines. I show no emotion. Don’t even blink.

  ‘Isn’t there anyone you want with you?’

  I barely shake my head.

  ‘I really think you shouldn’t receive this news alone.’

  I move one shoulder. Hardly a shrug.

  And so she breaks the news. Aggressive form of bone cancer. Incurable. No hope. She’s sorry. I’m only acting. I still feel the shock. My whole body moves back an inch like something’s collided with it. I don’t do this deliberately. It just happens. I keep all emotion from my face. It is closed. Unreadable.

  Slowly, I get up an
d walk out. Without saying a word.

  ‘Wow,’ the director says. ‘I felt that.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say still kind of dazed. This is how Shane must have felt when he was told he had motor neurone disease. And Alex’s mum, cancer.

  Rebecca’s in the dressing room, dancing to music on her iPhone. It takes a second for her to notice she’s not alone. She laughs, embarrassed.

  ‘Oh, hey,’ she says. ‘I wanted to ask you if I’ve the right number. I tried to call you.’

  ‘Oh?’ What could Rebecca French possibly want?

  ‘Yeah, I just wanted to say well done. Your scene was great, the other night.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  She scrolls through her numbers. Calls out mine.

  ‘Oh,’ I say like I’m surprised. ‘You got the last digit wrong.’

  ‘Cool,’ she says. And changes it when I call it out.

  At home after dinner, I’m only starting into my homework when Mark rings.

  ‘Found a great new video on YouTube.’

  ‘Don’t you ever study?’

  ‘It’s your scene on D4.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Guess how many hits you have?’

  ‘I don’t know, a hundred?’ I say only because he sounds so excited.

  ‘One thousand and twelve.’

  Like I believe him. ‘Mark, there aren’t even a thousand people in our school.’

  ‘If you don’t believe me, check yourself.’

  My laptop’s open. I go on YouTube. There it is. Oh, my God. He’s not kidding.

  ‘That’s so weird.’

  ‘Peter Sweetnam posted a link on Facebook. Loads of people shared it. Then people started tweeting it.’

  I read the comments. There’s a pattern - girls are being sniffy; guys are being guys. It’s kind of scary, being up there like that, open, for anyone to say whatever they like. ‘I googled you,’ Mark says. ‘They’re talking about you on moan.ie.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A chat room. There are these people who follow D4, then go on moan.ie after every episode and, like, dissect it.’

  ‘That’s kind of freaky.’

  ‘They want more of you.’

  ‘Really?’ This is something I never considered when I got the part. The exposure.

  ‘If the people in D4 follow moan.ie - which they’d have to - they might give you more work.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘They’d be crazy not to. This is a seriously big reaction from just one scene. You didn’t even speak.’

  I try not to hope.

  Later, I go downstairs to get a drink. My parents are still sitting at the kitchen table, finishing a bottle of red wine. They look so cosy together, almost romantic. I don’t want to disturb. So I hang by the kitchen door in my socks. And see how they are getting on. OK, spy.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Dad says, ‘why don’t you come into town tomorrow? For once, I’m not in court in the afternoon.’

  ‘That’d be lovely,’ she says, sounding surprised. ‘We could do lunch.’

  He takes her hand and runs a finger along the back of it. Then he looks into her eyes. ‘How about we book a hotel for the afternoon?’

  She giggles. ‘Are you serious?’

  For most people, the thought of your parents having sex is disgusting. For someone who almost split her parents up, it’s still disgusting. It also makes her happy. Married people don’t have sex unless they still love each other.

  SIX | Muffins

  In the dressing room the following morning, I’m trying to finish an essay that’s due in this afternoon. Rebecca’s flicking through a glossy magazine.

  ‘So, who has Emily introduced you to?’ she asks.

  I look up and tell her the names I remember.

  ‘So you haven’t even met half the cast and crew.’

  ‘I’m only here for three months.’ I probably won’t have anything to do with most of them.

  ‘Still. It’s easier when you know everyone. Come on. Let’s see who’s around.’

  I look at her and wonder if people can change.

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘No one did it for me.’

  I look down at my essay. Then I get up.

  She knows everyone. They all seem to like her. She makes them laugh. Knows about their families. Right down to the names and ages of children.

  After twenty minutes, I start to get edgy. ‘Rebecca, I have to get back and finish that essay. It’s due in today.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘The possessions I couldn’t live without.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘God. Who thinks them up?’ Funny how normal she seems.

  ‘Let’s come up with some ideas over coffee,’ she says.

  I’m kind of stuck for ideas. Original ones, anyway. ‘OK. Sure.’

  In the canteen, she insists on paying. I wonder why she’s being so nice. Guilt?

  She finds a table.

  ‘So what possessions couldn’t you live without?’ I ask.

  She swirls a coffee stirrer around her glass of Coke, then she sucks it. Finally, she pulls it from between her lips, waves it through the air, then points with it.

  ‘Now there’s someone you should avoid,’ she says, looking at the queue.

  I turn. ‘Maisie Morrin?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She can be a real bitch. Don’t look now. Here she comes.’

  But I do look.

  Maisie winks at me as she passes and ignores Rebecca.

  ‘Total psycho,’ Rebecca whispers when she’s gone. I remember how good she was at calling people names.

  ‘So what’s Mark like?’ she asks.

  ‘Mark?’

  ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘I never told you his name.’

  She waves a hand. ‘Checked him out on Facebook. You know, he really could be a model.’

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to be discussing possessions?’

  ‘We are.’

  'We’re discussing Mark?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She’s made history. She’s made me laugh.

  I don’t get the essay done. My punishment is the essay plus extra homework. I’m over at Mark’s, doing the extra homework first. He’s on Facebook, chatting to David who lives in California now. Since he left, Mark hasn’t really connected with anyone the way he did with David. They still talk a lot, on Skype or Facebook. Out of loyalty to Alex, I never ask Mark how he is, though I’d like to. I hate the way things worked out between them. They were great together. Mark closes the laptop and comes over.

  ‘Caecilius fessus est.’

  This one I know. Bored. ‘Go away.’

  ‘I thought you were going to get it done in D4.’

  ‘And I would have, only for Rebecca. She just wants to sit around and talk about you.’

  ‘Well,’ he raises his eyebrows. ‘Caecilius bestia est.’

  I roll my eyes. Clearly, Caecilius is a beast. ‘She thinks you should be a model.’

  He bursts out laughing.

  ‘What’s she like?’

  This is it, the moment I could tell him. But telling him would make me a victim again. And I was a victim for long enough. ‘I don’t know. She’s OK, I guess.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just don’t want to fall behind at school, you know?’

  ‘It’s just an essay.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘We’ve all missed essays.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘Just means you’re human, Rache.’

  ‘It’s just getting harder and harder to keep up. I’m late to bed every night and up at six when I’m on early in D4.’

  'Christmas is coming. That’ll give you two whole weeks to catch up. This is your dream, Rache. You should be enjoying it.’

  I brighten. ‘You're right.’

  ‘Here, get up.’

  ‘Why?’
>
  ‘Just get up. Come on.’

  When I do, he sits on my chair.

  ‘Hey.’

  He pulls me down onto his lap and puts his arms around me. Then he jigs me up and down on his lap like a kid. ‘That better?’

  I try not to smile.

  He jigs faster. ‘How about now?’

  I laugh.

  After a few seconds, he starts to slow down.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I say.

  ‘My legs are killing me.’

  ‘A Roman wouldn’t stop.’

  ‘No. A Roman would just ravish you.’

  ‘Ravish?’ I laugh.

  ‘Here, let me demonstrate.’

  The next day, I don’t have D4 so I can get up ‘late’ i.e. at seven. At breakfast, I’m sitting at the table taking my time. Mum is making Jack sandwiches for after-school study. Dad is putting on the kettle. Oh, my God, he’s just put his hand on Mum’s bum. Ew.

  ‘Get a room,’ I say, like they’re pathetic. And though it’s completely gross, I’m humming to myself when I leave the house.

  It’s such a relief to be in school for all the classes - and to realise that I’m not as far behind as I thought.

  After school, me, Sarah and Alex are walking to the DART when Sarah says,

  ‘Hey! Let’s go to the Jitter Mug.’

  We haven’t been to our favourite coffee shop in ages. Actually, we haven’t being going out at all. Since Maggie. And Shane. It’d be good, I think.

  ‘I need to get home to Maggie,’ Alex says.

  I look at her. She’s forgotten what she’s missing. ‘Would half-an-hour make a difference?’

  She checks the time on her phone. ‘She’s due a feed.’ She looks stressed.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘No problem.’

  ‘It’s just that if I’m not careful, she’ll start to think Jane’s her mum.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ Sarah says.

  ‘Babies know their mums,’ I add confidently. The thing about being the guru is they do believe you.

  ‘You guys go,’ Alex says.

  ‘We’re not going without you,’ Sarah says.

  There has to be a way of getting her out. All the way down to the DART, I try to find it. Then, just as we’re getting on, it hits me.

  ‘You know what we should do sometime? Ask Jane to bring Maggie to school at the end of last class then give her the rest of the day off. We could bring Maggie to the Jitter Mug. You could feed her there.’