Head Over Heels

by Holly Smale

  ow, I’m not famous for my ability to read people.

  In the past, there has certainly been the odd occasion where I’ve possibly missed a hint here or a gesture there or an outright statement kind of everywhere.

  But not this time.

  As I skip into the cafe, my friends’ urgency is unmistakable. Bags are being slung on, coats grabbed, coffees slurped and cake polished off.

  And I think we all know why.

  They clearly want to get the party started as quickly as possible.

  Wow, these guys are keen.

  “Gang!” I smile, taking my normal seat. “Chill out! There’s plenty of time to get to my house. The Sleepover festivities don’t commence for another –” I glance at my watch – “nineteen minutes at least.”

  I pick up my slightly cold Harriet-uccino from the table. “Although admittedly a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I add, gulping some down and standing back up. “We could do with another run-through of the plans.”

  Then there’s a silence.

  A silence so long you could use it as a tree-swing, should you be capable of swinging from silences.

  “Do you want to tell her,” India says to Nat, “or shall I?”

  I blink at them. “Tell me what?”

  “Umm, Harriet,” Nat says quickly, going pink around the ears and brandishing the paper at me, “I’ve just opened my last essay. I got a C. I’m going to have to put some more work in, like yesterday.”

  “And my mum’s texted,” India grimaces, quickly flipping up her phone. “She doesn’t want me staying out so close to exams.”

  “I could really use the extra time to get some painting done,” Jasper says, grabbing his big black A Level art folder from behind the counter, “if everyone else is going to be working.”

  We automatically turn and look at Toby.

  “Has anyone seen my new Dr Who Sonic Screwdriver with LED Flashlight?” he says, holding it up. “It’s really useful for confusing cats.”

  “So what are you saying?” A hot fizzing is starting at the base of my stomach, as if somebody’s just combined vinegar with baking soda. “Are you cancelling on me again?”

  “Not cancelling,” Nat says, flushing a little harder and fiddling with the paper. “Just … delaying.”

  “Again?” I say, stomach still fizzing.

  “It’s only the second time.”

  “You’re cancelling my sleepover AGAIN?”

  “Our sleepover,” India says, frowning. “It’s our sleepover, Harriet.”

  “That’s what I said,” I snap, crossing my arms.

  I can’t believe this.

  Why can’t my friends organise their spare time properly like I have? I’ve got exams coming up too, and you don’t see me panicking and changing plans at the last minute.

  Mainly because I’ve been revising in reasonable chunks every single night for the last six months and my carefully calculated schedule is working perfectly.

  But still: preparation.

  “Harriet,” Nat says tiredly, putting the paper back in her stuffed handbag and rubbing her eyes again. “What do you think I’d rather do? Examine the thread count of different fabrics or watch romcoms with you guys?”

  “Wait,” Jasper says in alarm, “we were going to watch romcoms? When was this covered?”

  “Oooh!” Toby says, sticking his hand up. “I know this one! Ask me! Ask me!”

  And – just like that – my sulkiness pops.

  I’m not being very fair, am I?

  Everyone’s genuinely busy working and revising and obviously they don’t want to not have fun tonight.

  I’m just disappointed, that’s all.

  Then I look closer at my normally happy gang and something in my chest twinges. The skin around Nat’s eyes is darker than normal; Jasper’s scowl is deeper and there’s a smudge of orange paint near his ear. India’s got black roots for the first time since I’ve known her.

  Toby looks well rested and calm, but I suspect he has a similar schedule to mine.

  A group at the University of Virginia studied twenty-two different people who were under threat of receiving an electrical shock to either themselves, a close friend or a stranger.

  It turns out the brain activity of a person in danger is indistinguishable from the brain activity of a person when someone they love is in danger instead.

  My friends are tired, stressed and anxious.

  These are my people and if they’re not happy, I’m not happy either.

  Something needs to be done.

  “OK,” I say, thinking fast. “How about I sort out a little food fest for when you’ve got half an hour free?”

  “That would be great,” India smiles broadly. “Thanks, Harriet.”

  “You’re ace,” Nat says, giving me a hug.

  “Hang on.” Jasper looks up from his art folder. “You’re not going to turn us into fajitas or burritos, are you, Harriet-uccino? I knew those guacamole face masks you had planned were leading to something.”

  I stick my tongue out at him.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” I say reassuringly, putting my Team JINTH Sleepover folder away. “I’ve got this.”

  After all, isn’t that what friends are for?

  ecently, ecologists set up cameras on the Indonesian island of Borneo in order to evaluate the environmental impact of logging in the Wehea Forest.

  To their surprise, they found that – rather than swinging from trees – the orang-utans decided to use the felled timber as roads, save energy and just walk to where they were going instead.

  The moral of the story is: it’s important to adapt.

  And also – let’s be honest – avoid unnecessary exercise at all costs.

  By the time I get home, I’ve already started mentally working through a new plan. I can’t let my friends lose their happy glow. So there’s no time for a sleepover any more: that’s OK. I’m flexible. Supple. Capable of changing direction at will; of dipping and swerving through life like a swallow or a swift or a house martin.

  Or maybe some kind of nimble pigeon.

  I’m going to make my friends the best Team JINTH Picnic of All Time.

  It’s going to be a quick, breezy, casual picnic in the park: the kind of picnic that provides physical, mental and spiritual sustenance fast when you need a proper break.

  The kind of picnic that screams ‘happiness’ at the top of its lungs. Because, let’s face it, nothing says joy and relaxation like a full stomach and personalised biscuits.

  All I need now is a suitable theme.

  Maybe a few decent recipes. A couple of drink options. Possibly bunting. It wouldn’t hurt to work out exactly where to position us to maximize sunshine and protection from the wind, either.

  I’m pretty sure there’s room for the five of us on the roundabout, but maybe I should measure it first just to—

  “Harriet?” Annabel says as I burst through the front door with a bang and start pounding straight up the stairs.

  “Can’t stop!” I call cheerfully over my shoulder. “Super busy!”

  Taking into account preparation time and the actual picnic itself, I’m going to have to rearrange my week’s revision plan.

  This is exactly why it’s so handy to have it saved as a spreadsheet. A few quick presses of a button and a new colour-code, and I’ll have a brand-new, highly flexible schedule with space for spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment activities like picnics.

  “Harriet!” Annabel says a lot more loudly. “Just wait a second!”

  I pause at the top of the stairs.

  Then I glance down and blink: something’s changed. “Is there … How the …” I sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

  Wait: is Annabel wearing an apron? I didn’t even know we had one. Both of my parents think that warming up a stale croissant qualifies them for MasterChef.

  “I’m ‘cooking’,” my stepmother confirms, inexplicably making quotation marks with her fingers. “‘Broa
dening my skill set’, ‘sustaining the family’, ‘providing nutrition, vitamins and minerals for my loved ones’ and so on.”

  That’s a lot of air-quotations for statements that probably should be said without irony.

  “You’re cooking?” I repeat in amazement. “No wonder I was confused. Tabitha, mark this historic occasion. It may never happen again.”

  Then I raise my eyebrows pointedly.

  “I probably deserved that,” Annabel smiles. “Even though your father has actually taken Tabitha out for a walk so I’m not entirely sure who you’re talking to.”

  There’s a soft jingling sound and Bunty pokes her pink head through the living-room door. “What do you think, darling? Apparently I can fit more souvenirs in my car boot than I thought.”

  She waves a ring-clad hand around.

  The living room looks like an enormous butterfly just went bang: brightly coloured printed blankets, dream-catchers, crystals, bells and cushions are everywhere. Lamps are switched on in every corner and new plants sit in pots. Crystals are spread on every surface.

  Huh. That was fast.

  “This is for you,” Bunty says, handing me two small brass cymbals on a long piece of leather. “They’re Buddhist Tingsha Chimes from Tibet. The sound is immediately calming. Try it.”

  I obediently hit them together. The air is filled with a sweet, high, long note that fades slowly into nothing.

  Nope. Didn’t work: still busy.

  “How about we all have a cup of tea?” Annabel says brightly. “The kettle’s just boiled.”

  “Yes, please!” I say gratefully, turning round and heading across the hallway. “You can leave it outside my door!”

  “Harriet, that’s not what I m—”

  “Thank you!” I shout.

  And with a firm click I close my bedroom door behind me.

  he next few days are manic.

  Sitting on my bed, surrounded by bright textbooks like a bird in a shiny and informative nest, I plough through as much schoolwork as possible.

  I study compositions of various amino acids: alanine, cysteine and valine. I memorise the tertiary structure of ribonuclease molecules, and precisely how the polypeptide is folded.

  Given that y = x5 – 3x2 + x + 5, I find dy/dx and d2y/dx2; I factorise x2 – 4x – 12 and sketch the corresponding graph. I learn the baryon numbers of quarks and antiquarks, and the properties of leptons and antiparticles.

  (I finally know what they are, by the way. No thanks to a certain American governess.)

  I even discover that there are as many bacteria in two servings of yoghurt as there are people on earth.

  Then promptly abandon breakfast.

  And – during my breaks – I make a JINTH Picnic Pack. There’s a menu and personalised paper crockery, napkins and music. I’ve even got mini sparklers just in case it gets dark and we want the calming, happiness-inducing party to continue.

  This fun is going to be off the chart, while also being very much on it.

  Every now and then Annabel and Bunty try to distract me – do I need my chakras cleansing? Why don’t I eat with them for once instead of on the floor of my bedroom? – but I cannot be moved.

  Even school can’t divert my focus.

  As India, Toby and Jasper disappear to their various billion extra-curricular activities, I hunker down with neat notes in the corner of the common room and study.

  By Tuesday afternoon, I’ve completed an entire week’s worth of revision. Which means I’m now available for any kind of spontaneous social occasion that might pop up.

  Whenever that might be.

  Although it’s been 71 hours and I still haven’t heard anything, so maybe my hints have been too subtle.

  Hey team JINTH! Weather forecast for Wednesday is good! ;) Hxx

  Partly cloudy with bursts of sunshine on Thursday! Wind only 11mph! ;) Hxx

  Humidity on Friday 73% so cover your sandwiches! ;) Hxx

  Finally – at 4:30pm, just as I’m arriving home from school – I get a reply.

  OK Harriet! Park at 5? Nat x

  Quickly, I calculate the timings.

  Ten minutes to prepare, five minutes to pack and get dressed, five minutes to run to the park, five minutes to recover from running to the park.

  That leaves me a few minutes to set up the picnic and that’s all I really need. Time to officially Get Happy, Team JINTH.

  They are going to be blown away.

  “Gosh,” Bunty says, appearing in the kitchen doorway as I’m quickly shoving together the JINTH sandwiches. “They look terribly creative, darling.”

  Jam, Nutella, Tuna and Ham.

  Admittedly I struggled with the I and settled for Iceberg lettuce but they can always pick it out.

  “These sandwiches have a very wide range of nutrients,” I inform her, tucking them into a Tupperware box. “Vitamin A, calcium, protein.”

  Not to mention saturated fat, but never mind.

  “Delicious,” my grandmother beams, leaning against the doorway. “You’re such a busy little bee these days, darling. Buzz buzz buzz.”

  I nod, chucking in a large packet of crisps. “There’s just so much to do.”

  “I can see that,” Bunty laughs. “Just –” she puts a heavily turquoise-ringed hand on my arm – “leave a little room in the garden for the fairies to dance.”

  I blink at her. Oooh. Dancing.

  Turning around, I quickly grab the break-dancing manual from the kitchen table. There should be plenty of room for that in the park.

  “I’m so glad you seem happier now,” Bunty continues more gently as I swing the enormous basket over one shoulder. “Tell me, after all those letters did you ever decide to get hold of N—”

  “Napkins,” I say quickly, grabbing a handful. “Yup, got some. Thank you!”

  I kiss her briskly on the cheek.

  Then I swing my satchel over the other shoulder and charge towards the front door.

  “Harriet?” Annabel appears at the bottom of the stairs with a damp, flushed Tabitha straight out of the bath. “I’m making some kind of Peruvian chicken stew from a recipe Mum brought back. Would you like some?”

  “Yes, please!” I call over my shoulder. “Leave some in the fridge and I’ll heat it up later!”

  Let the fun times begin.

  his is why it always pays to prepare.

  With just seventy-three seconds to spare, I quickly spread out my picnic blanket and distribute the JINTH branded plastic cups and paper plates; hang bunting from the overhead tree – one letter on each flag – and slot my iPod with carefully selected playlist into the speakers.

  Skilfully, I set out Monopoly and do my best to ignore a young couple wandering past: giggling, holding hands and snuggled up inside the boy’s coat.

  It’s not that cold.

  By the time I hear footsteps on the path, I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.

  Which, for the record, is very ready.

  “No way,” Nat’s saying loudly. “Christopher and Ananya are going out?”

  “Right?” India’s voice is clear as a bell. “Christopher. The dude still thinks he’s Hamlet, for God’s sake. He turned up to their first date wearing a freaking beret.”

  “Ugh. He kissed me once, you know. I nearly removed his lips for him.”

  “Connecting at the mouth actually helps humans to exchange unconscious biological information about each other. He was probably just trying to work out if your immune system was different from his.”

  I can’t see them yet, but that’s obviously Toby.

  “Look at that orange and red sky. It looks like something from a Turner painting.”

  And that’s Jasper.

  “Well,” Nat continues sharply. Come on come on come on hurry up … “After what happened last year, I think they probably deserve each oth—”

  They finally reach the opening to the park. My goodness, they walk slowly.

  That took forever.

  “Tada!�
� I shout in excitement, jumping up with my arms spread out and my hands waving. “Welcome to Picnic JINTH, friends! Come over! Settle down! We have everything your hearts could possibly desire!”

  There’s a stunned silence.

  “Look!” I prompt, dragging India and Nat by the hand towards the blanket. “I made a special Scrabble game! We can only use J, I, N, T, H and the rest of the vowels, but you’d be shocked at how many options there are.”

  “AUNTIE and ATONE are just two of them,” Toby says, sitting on the blanket.

  “We also have JINTH napkins!” I say, pulling them out in a triumphant fan shape.

  “Genius!” Toby shouts, clapping his hands.

  “And JINTH biscuits!”

  “Visionary!”

  OK, I need someone other than Toby to be impressed now: India, Jasper and Nat are still staring at the blanket in silence.

  “Sit down!” I say quickly, gesturing. “Make yourselves at home! Eat! Drink! Be Happy!”

  I’m starting to sound like a novelty tea towel.

  “Blimey, Harriet,” Jasper says, running a hand through his hair and lowering himself on to the floor. “You don’t do things by halves, do you.”

  “This is … above and beyond,” India says, pulling out a plastic carrier bag. “I brought … uh. Three quarters of a pack of Jammie Dodgers.”

  She slides them on to a plate in obvious embarrassment.

  “There was really no need for this, Harriet,” Nat says gently, perching down and offering a small packet of cheese straws.

  “Don’t be silly!” I say cheerfully, handing out cups of lemonade. “We can share, that’s what a team does! Now, sit down and relax. What were you just saying about Christopher? Oh my goodness, remember that time we were on stage together and Alexa …”

  My pocket suddenly starts vibrating.

  A fraction of a second later, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo starts playing.

  “Uh,” I continue smoothly when it stops ten seconds later, clearing my throat, “when Alexa started playing animal noises and—”

  The Fairy Godmother tune starts again.

  Jasper, India and Nat are staring curiously at my pocket. Toby’s blowing on his little Monopoly dog and rubbing it on his jumper sleeve.