Looking for a Hero

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Or maybe accidentally on purpose I could pour hot coffee in there,’ Zahrah said with a wicked grin.

  ‘Oooch,’ the rest of us chorused.

  ‘That’s what he’d deserve if he tried a trick like that,’ she said primly.

  I felt a tad sorry for Ryan or indeed any boy that Zahrah went out with. When she did finally meet her match, he would have to be well tough to survive – she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Although it was only Monday, I still felt on a high from the weekend. I’d told the girls every last detail of what had happened in Ravello which was great because it was like I’d got to relive the weekend and it feel real again. We had so much to tell each other and it felt as if we’d been apart loads – longer than just a weekend. We spent the whole lunch hour catching up on each other’s news and how the love challenge was shaping up. So far, Zahrah and I were doing the best in that I had Bruno and she had Ryan, although she wasn’t giving away as much as I was about what went on between them. Brook and Leela weren’t put off by their lack of success though, because there was the party on Saturday night at Mikey’s house and we were all invited. I confessed that I was hoping that there might have been a text or an email from Bruno but, after the poem, there had been no contact.

  ‘Do you think I should text him?’ I asked after we’d had everyone’s news and I felt it would be OK to talk about Bruno again. (I didn’t want to hog the stage and go on about it too much, although it was tempting.)

  ‘No way. You mustn’t,’ said Zahrah.‘You don’t want to appear too keen. Boys like the chase.’

  Yeah, maybe,’ I said,‘but it wasn’t like that with Bruno. That was what was so special. He wasn’t like a lot of English boys, playing it cool. He was really into me and didn’t mind who knew it.’

  ‘I think it might be nice if you sent him a text to say thank you for his hospitality in showing you around,’ said Brook. ‘That’s not being too keen, that’s just good manners and it sounds like he took you to some gorgeous places and, of course, it opens up the way for him to reply’

  She didn’t have to tell me twice because I agreed with her. Mum always told us to write a card to say thank you if we’d been somewhere for dinner or lunch. It would be showing Bruno that I knew how to behave and it would be good for him to know that I had good manners for our future life together. As the bell for afternoon lessons went, I got out my phone and wrote a text:

  Thanks for the poem, thanks for the weekend, thanks for being you.

  I had already programmed his number into my phone in Italy before we left so I simply found it then pressed Send.

  As we made our way to double maths, we passed Joe in the corridor.

  He smiled when he saw me. ‘Hey, Ruspoli, good weekend in Italy?’

  ‘Fab,’ I said.‘Scenery meeting go OK?’

  ‘No probs,‘Joe replied.

  ‘She met the most divine boy in Italy’ interrupted Leela.

  ‘And he’s soooo handsome,’ added Brook, ‘like the most handsome boy in the whole of Italy’

  Zahrah moved her shoulder forward in a casual shrug and gave him a ‘so there’ look.

  I pretended that I was embarrassed, but secretly I was chuffed that the girls had blurted out about Bruno. You’re not the only one who has other admirers, I thought as Joe’s expression became slightly troubled. He soon masked it, muttering, ‘Cool, good for you,’ as he went off down the corridor.

  ‘Yeah, he is,’ Zahrah called after him.

  * * *

  In the afternoon break, I checked my phone but there was no reply from Bruno.

  ‘Oh God, maybe I was too gushy,’ I groaned, clicking my phone shut.

  ‘What did you write?’ asked Zahrah.

  ‘Thanks for the poem, thanks the weekend, thanks for being you.’

  Zahrah sucked in air with disapproval.

  ‘That’s so sweet,’ said Brook. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘He’ll text back, don’t worry,’ said Leela. ‘He’s probably in a lecture or a meeting.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  But he didn’t text back.

  Not that afternoon.

  Nor that evening.

  Nor the next day.

  Nor the next.

  It was so frustrating. Every part of me wanted to pick up the phone and call him, but I knew that I’d sound desperate if I did. Or accusing.

  ‘You can’t text him again,’ said Leela when I told her on Friday that I still hadn’t heard from him.

  ‘But maybe it got wiped off his phone by mistake,’ I said.’I‘ve done that sometimes, you know, deleted a message.’

  Zahrah shook a finger at me. ‘You know it didn’t. Don’t go there.’

  ‘Maybe there’s a problem with his provider,’ I said.‘Or maybe someone stole his phone.’

  ‘Other people have phones. He could have borrowed one,’ said Zahrah.

  ‘So why would he say that he’d call and then not?’ I groaned.

  ‘He’s a boy’ said Zahrah.

  ‘But he wasn’t like other boys,’ I moaned. ‘He really wasn’t. Something has happened. Maybe he had an accident and is lying . . . ohmigod, do you think I’d better phone to find out if he’s all right?’

  ‘India, chill. No way something has happened to him,’ said Zahrah. ‘He could still have called you. If any of those things had happened or all of them, he could easily have got your number, especially if your dad and his are such good friends.’

  Brook shook her head sadly and gave me a hug. ‘And you know the rules, India, you’ve texted him once. The ball’s in his court now.’

  I kicked the wall. I knew she was right. I could come up with all the excuses in the world for why he hadn’t called but none of them washed. My new love had forgotten me the second my plane had taken off. Love hurts, I thought as we trooped out of the school gates and into the abyss of loneliness that was London on a dark evening in the rain.

  My plan for the weekend was to hide in my room, play sad music and be every inch one of the tragic heroine types that I’d decided not to be. I’d thought I was different. I’d thought Bruno and I were different but, no, I was just another love-sick fool and my love was unrequited. On Friday night after supper and a night flicking channels (every one of them seemed to show people in lu-urve), I couldn’t sleep and part of my mind was urging me to call Bruno, to be adult about it and to just sort it out. He wasn’t a game player. If we spoke, I could just find the solution to his silence. So I called his mobile.

  I got put through to voicemail and hearing his lovely accent made me feel all gooey inside. ‘Hi . . . it’s India ... oh shit!’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh er. . . never mind, sorry, wrong number.’ Oh bollards, I thought when I clicked my phone shut. That was really really stupid. I should have planned what message I wanted to leave. And now I really do sound desperate and oh nooooooooooo, he’ll know it was me. Arghhhhhhh. I longed to talk to one of my friends about it, but I knew that the girls would be mad with me if they knew I’d phoned. I was mad with myself. I wouldn’t tell them. And I certainly wouldn’t tell Erin. She’d go ballistic. Even in the midst of her own troubles, she’d find time to remind me of the rules about boys – Number one: don’t get desperate – and calling a boy in the middle of the night surely counts as very desperate. Super desperate. Oh arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

  On Saturday, I told Mum that I wasn’t taking any calls unless it was Bruno, then I went and sat with my mobile at my window for ages and stared down at the wet streets below. The occasional person hurried by under their umbrella. I gazed up at the sky and clouds and thought, He may be in Italy and I may be here in England, but it’s the same sky that covers us both and somewhere he’s under it, maybe even looking up from wherever he is.

  I stared at my phone and willed it to ring.

  It didn’t.

  I called our landline from my mobile to check that it was working, and then regretted it because that might have been the very moment that Bruno was trying to g
et through on either of the phones (I had given him both numbers).

  I stared at my mobile and the landline phone and willed them to ring.

  They didn’t.

  The words that Dad had quoted in the car on the way back from the airport played over in my mind: ‘Time is too slow for those who wait. . .’ But he could have left a message on my voicemail, said my inner voice that I call Sensible Sadie. (I have three inner voices: Sensible Sadie, Paranoid Penny and Wimpy Wanda. They come out when I’m super-stressed and Sensible Sadie talks such common sense it makes me even more stressed.)

  You’ve blown it now, idiot, said Paranoid Penny. You look soooo desperate.

  I’m such a loser, all boys hate me, said Wimpy Wanda.

  Oh shut up, I told them all, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was, just like Ophelia, a thoroughbred tragic misery. I shall waste away and people will find my bones and, when they bury me, word will get to Bruno and he’ll come to the funeral and everyone will be crying and then he’ll be sorry, I thought. He’ll know it was his fault and be guilty for the rest of his life and I’ll be glad. In fact, I’ll haunt him and, if he ever falls in love with a girl and tries to kiss her, I’ll pull her hair and tweak his elbows and make his life a misery.

  There was a timid knock on my door. ‘India, it’s Mum. Are you going to come down?’ She poked her head around the door.

  ‘I can’t, Mum. I can’t face anyone. How can I come down and be with the rest of you when my life is over?’

  ‘Still no word?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Mum came and sat on the end of the bed. ‘You’re still young, India. There will be others.’

  ‘Nooooooo,’ I moaned. ‘You don’t understand. I don’t want there to be others. I only wanted him. He was probably my soulmate.’ I felt my eyes fill with tears. I bit them back. ‘I hate boys. I really do. They so mess your head up.’

  Mum reached out and took my hand. ‘Yes, they do but only some of the time. Don’t give up yet, India, I’m sure there’s an explanation. And if there isn’t, well you have to let him go. There are lots of nice boys out there. What about that lovely boy who brought you home the other week? He was nice.’

  ‘No he wasn’t. He hasn’t called either. I was thinking about him today. There was me all worried that I hadn’t got his number to call and thank him, but he knows where I live. He brought me back here. So why didn’t he call round to see how I was? If he liked me, he could have got in touch. Why does it have to be me who does all the chasing? It’s soooo not fair.’

  Mum squeezed my hand.‘It won’t always be you, India. The right boy will come along and you won’t know what hit you.’

  ‘I thought Bruno was the right boy but look at me. It’s the weekend and I’m on my own —’

  ‘I thought Mikey was having a party. That’s tonight, isn’t it? There will be boys there.’

  ‘Not ones that I want. The ones I want don’t want me. What’s wrong with me?’

  The corners of Mum’s mouth twitched slightly like she was going to laugh, but she caught herself just in time and made her expression serious and concerned. ‘Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re a lovely, kind and beautiful girl. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother. The right boy will come along. Don’t put the walls up. Not yet.’

  Inside I felt all mixed up. I was bored sitting in my room being miserable – normally I’m not a depressed type of person. And I was starting to get hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. As always Mum picked up on my thoughts.

  ‘I’ve done a shepherd’s pie just the way you like it with cheese on top of the mash. Everyone’s downstairs. Lewis and Ethan . . .’

  ‘Is there pudding?’

  ‘Damson crumble.’

  My stomach started to rumble. ‘With custard?’

  ‘And vanilla ice cream.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better eat something.’

  Mum smiled. ‘I think you ought to and . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Leela and Brook both called. They said they’d come by to pick you up around seven to go over to Zahrah’s to get ready for Mikey’s party.’

  ‘I told them I wasn’t going.’

  ‘I know. Leela told me. She said to tell you that she’s coming to collect you anyway.’

  ‘She’s very bossy.’

  ‘I know. I like her. So, have a bit of food and go out and enjoy yourself. So Bruno hasn’t been in touch? You know what the best revenge is?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To live well. Go out and have a good time.’

  I stared at the picture of him.‘You know what. I will. Just give me a moment. I have to do something.’

  Mum got up.‘OK. See you in five then.’

  I nodded. I waited until she had left the room, then I got my scissors out, picked up the photo of me and Bruno and cut it into a hundred tiny pieces. ‘There, that’s what I think of you,’ I said, letting the pieces fall into the bin. ‘Now where’s that stupid poem you sent because that’s going in the bin as well.’

  I cut up the poem and took a deep breath. Onwards, I told myself. I’m going to go out and make boys fall in love with me, but I shall be aloof and unobtainable and break their hearts for a change. That’s what I’ll do.

  I went downstairs, had a great supper and a laugh with my family. Then I went back upstairs, put on the rust-coloured silk dress that I’d worn in Italy, blow-dried my hair until it looked super glossy, did my nails and waited for the girls.

  The doorbell rang and Mum called up the stairs that Leela and Brook had arrived.

  I checked my appearance in the mirror and looked out of the window up at the clouds.

  ‘Your loss, Bruno,’ I said to the sky.

  ‘I hope he’s invited the neighbours,’ said Brook when we got to the road where the party was being held. We could hear the music pounding already.

  We made our way to the door where a crowd of teenagers were standing in the garden and Mikey’s mum and dad were crossing off names on a guest list. Zahrah spotted Ryan standing on his own opposite the house and waved. He came over to join us and we manoeuvred our way through the crowd, gave our names and were ushered inside.

  ‘We’re with them,’ said a girl’s voice behind us.

  ‘Is that right, India?’ asked Mr Davidson. I turned to see a blonde girl who was frantically nodding at me and, for a second, I panicked because I didn’t know what to do. ‘Er . . .’

  ‘You go on in, India,’ said Mr Davidson and he turned back to the girl. ‘Listen. I’ve told you, if you’re not on the list, you can’t come in.’

  Mickey came out of the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Hey, you made it,’ he said, helping me off with my coat. ‘Put your stuff upstairs in the bedroom on the left.’

  ‘What’s going on, Mikey?’ asked Leela. ‘Who are all the people outside?’

  ‘Gatecrashers,’ he replied. ‘The girls are the worst - they’re so pushy.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d have let spare girls in, knowing you,’ I said.

  Mikey grinned. ‘I checked them out first, don’t worry, but Dad was very firm. If they’re not on the list, they don’t come in. I think Mum and Dad are nervous - they’ve heard so many bad things about teenage parties.’

  ‘It’s probably not a bad idea not to let people in if you don’t know them,’ said Zahrah as Ryan helped her off with her coat. I was surprised to see that she let him do it - Zahrah is usually so independent and it was unusual to see her acting girlie. She was wearing an ivory T-shirt, a long amber necklace and earrings, a brown ruff skirt that barely covered her bum, dark tights and knee-length suede boots. She’d applied more makeup than I’d ever seen her wear before and she looked stunning.

  Mikey looked her up and down. ‘Wow Zahrah, you look amazing,’ he said, and Ryan put his arm around her as if to say, Yeah and she’s with me. Mikey got the message and turned to face Brook, Leela and me. ‘In fact, you all do.’

  We dutifully d
id a twirl for him. It was good to have our efforts appreciated. We’d spent ages at Zahrah’s house, crammed into the small room that she shared with her sister Aisha. We’d swapped jewellery, helped each other with our make-up and tried on loads of each other’s clothes before we all settled on what we were wearing. I had on my silk dress with a hip belt over skinny jeans with my cowboy boots and ropes of Zahrah’s brown and cream shell necklaces. Brook looked divine in a steel-grey Charleston dress that was pure vintage, which her mother had picked up in a boutique in Greenwich Village last time they were in New York, and Leela was wearing black trousers and a black silk halter-neck that she’d borrowed from Brook. She looked really sophisticated.

  Ryan and Zahrah offered to get drinks and, as soon as they’d gone, Mikey pulled me into the corner and beckoned Leela and Brook to come with us.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?’ he asked. ‘The snog lesson?’

  ‘But what about Amy?’ I asked. ‘She’s not going to like it if she sees you kissing four strange girls.’

  ‘Amy couldn’t make it. It’s her brother’s twenty-first tonight and she couldn’t get out of it,’ he said. Then he made his lips pucker. ‘So ready when you are.’

  ‘Later,’ said Leela. ‘First we have to check out the talent.’

  ‘But you promised,’ said Mikey.

  The night is young,’ said Leela, and she pulled Brook and me towards the back of the hall. ‘And the girls and I have things to do.’

  Mikey stuck his bottom lip out.

  ‘Later,’ said Leela. ‘Promise.’

  He slouched off to join his parents, who were still fending off unwelcome guests. Once he was out of earshot, Leela leaned towards Brook and me. ‘OK, let’s split up and have a look around. Check out who’s here. Meet in the kitchen in . . . say, half an hour to discuss step two. Synchronise watches.’

  We checked our watches to see that we all had the same time and then Leela went upstairs, Brook into the front room and I went into the back. I began the casual ‘Oh I’m looking for someone I know’ scan while taking in the boys there and which ones were in a couple and which were single. My heart sank when my glance reached the left corner, for there was Joe with a stunningly pretty petite blonde girl in a short black dress. She had her hand up on his shoulder and was laughing at something he had said. I felt such a stab of jealousy. It hit me before I could tell myself that I didn’t care about him any more. He saw me looking and waved. The girl looked over at me too. She didn’t look very friendly so I decided not to go and talk to them. Besides, he might have asked me about my new Italian boyfriend we’d boasted about on Monday. Arghhhhh, I hate you Bruno, I thought for the hundredth time that week. Just at that moment, Eddie O’Neil cornered me and slipped his arm around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Joe watching from the other side of the room so I gave Eddie my full attention, and within minutes, he went for the snog. I didn’t resist because I wanted Joe to see that I wasn’t pining over him. Eddie put his lips on mine, opened his mouth and started moving his head around. The kiss felt very sloppy and all wrong. And then he stuck his tongue right into my mouth and started sloshing it around. It made me think of a washing machine on rinse cycle. It was horrible, too wet with saliva, and I stepped back as soon as I could. Eddie tried to pull me back to him but I shook my head.