‘You can’t tell your wishes,’ I say. ‘Or else they won’t come true.’
I reach up towards another falling leaf, but again it twists and dips and swirls away from me. How come the things I want are always just out of reach?
‘So,’ Sam says as we walk back up towards the canal. ‘What now? Tambourine lesson?’
‘I guess. Or… d’you want to go into town? I’ve got some shopping to do.’
Sam stops in the middle of the towpath. ‘You want to go into town?’ he asks. ‘On a Saturday? With me?’
‘Why not?’
I know why not, of course. Because someone from school might see us, and laugh or sneer or report back to Shannon. They might look at me and think that I fit pretty well with weirdo Sam Taylor, way better than I do with Shannon Kershaw these days. They might get the wrong idea, or worse, the right one.
Right now, though, I really don’t care.
Sam laughs. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Let’s go!’
Being in town with Sam Taylor is very different from hanging out with Shannon. We do not haunt the make-up counters or try on endless combinations of clothes in New Look. Instead, we go to the music shop so we can test out guitars and drum kits and tambourines. The assistants look kind of huffy at first, but change their mind when Sam sits down at the piano near the door and plays ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’, an ancient Beatles’ song. A small crowd gathers, and when he finishes there’s actually a round of applause and a few requests for more. We move on. Sam finds an old-fashioned gentlemen’s outfitters and the two of us try on deerstalkers, flat caps and pale straw panama hats before the manager spots us and turfs us out. Next we track down the hats in a big department store and try on endless wedding creations in pink and lemon and mauve, adorned with feathers and flowers and fussy bits of net. We pose in the mirrors, fluttering our lashes and blowing each other kisses, giggling.
‘So… what was that shopping you wanted to do?’ Sam asks, when we get thrown out of there too. ‘Can I help?’
I frown. ‘It’s Shannon’s birthday in a few weeks. I wanted to buy her something special…’
Sam pulls a face. ‘I’m probably not the best person to help you out with that one,’ he says. ‘Shall we split up for half an hour? I can trawl through my favourite charity shops while you go prezzie hunting.’
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘When we’re all done, we can get a coffee. I bet you’ve never been to The Dancing Cat… it’s my favourite cafe, just up the hill there. The chocolate cake is pure heaven!’
Sam laughs. ‘I’ll treat you then. See you outside in half an hour.’
‘Right.’
I wave goodbye to Sam and set off on my mission. I consider Hello Kitty earrings, a pink striped skinny scarf, a beret starred with sequins, but nothing seems right. I waver for ages over a cool gold-covered sketchbook, but even that doesn’t seem special enough.
This isn’t just a birthday, of course. It’s a chance to show Shannon that I know her better than anybody else, that I care, that I’m the kind of friend she really wants and needs.
In the end, I choose a silver necklace in the shape of a heart. It separates into two halves, each with their own chain – it’s a best friends’ necklace, the kind you share with a mate to remind you how much you mean to each other. It’s expensive, but it says everything I want to say.
There’s no sign of Sam as I approach The Dancing Cat, the necklace carefully wrapped and safe inside my bag. I scan the cafe, just in case he’s gone inside to grab a table, and my heart freezes inside me.
There’s a familiar figure sitting at the table by the window, but it’s not Sam – it’s Shannon. My best friend is in The Dancing Cat, laughing, talking, eating cake… without me.
I can’t quite work it out. Shannon is here, although she said she wouldn’t be, and I know there must be a reason for that but I just can’t figure out what it might be. I’m stranded on the pavement, while my good mood, fragile as glass, falls to the ground and shatters.
I can see other figures at the table, laughing, chatting, huddled around Shannon – Andy Collins and another Year Nine boy, and a girl, a laughing girl with dark, caramel-streaked hair in a short, choppy cut. Emily Croft. As I watch, Emily looks out of the window and spots me. She looks surprised, then grins, waves and beckons me inside. I turn away and start walking, back through the busy crowd of shoppers. My face is dark with shame, and there’s a sick feeling inside me.
‘Ginger!’ someone yells behind me.
You don’t walk away from Shannon, of course. My best friend runs across the pavement and grabs me by the arm, pulling me round to face her, and if I’m expecting an apology I can see right away that there’s no way I’m going to get one. Shannon looks furious.
‘I knew it,’ she says wearily. ‘I just knew you’d make a big thing out of this, Ginger. That’s why I didn’t tell you – you’re so clingy. I was working, OK? Emily’s my assistant editor. She’s brilliant at spotting spelling mistakes and stuff. I needed her help, but I knew you’d be all funny about it if I told you, so–’
‘So you just forgot to mention it,’ I say. ‘That’s great, Shannon. Thanks a bunch.’
She shakes her head, exasperated. ‘We worked really hard, and we needed a break, so we came out for a smoothie and we just happened to bump into Andy and Matt…’
‘Imagine,’ I say coldly. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you from your friends.’
Her eyes flash with anger and she tightens her grip on my arm, nails digging into my flesh. Suddenly, my courage drains away, and I’m shaking, my mouth dry. I realize that standing up to Shannon is bad news – very bad news indeed.
‘Look,’ I backtrack. ‘I just… I didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.’
Shannon rolls her eyes. ‘I knew you’d be like this,’ she says. ‘It was nothing, OK? You’re so moody, these days. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, Emily is more fun?’
I guess I really didn’t think of that, because the words sting harder than a slap.
I watch Shannon walk away from me, back to the cafe, back to her friends, her long golden hair streaming out behind her. I want to call out that I’m sorry, that I do understand, that it was all a mistake. That I can be fun, truly, as much fun as Emily, or more.
I want to grovel.
I don’t, though, because I have a few shreds of dignity left, and because I know that Shannon would look at me with pity and disgust. I just stand still, trembling a little, watching Shannon walk away.
I didn’t think that trying to help someone could backfire quite so badly. I thought that Shannon would get bored with Emily, but of course, that’s not what happened. Shannon got bored with me.
∗
‘Hey! Over here!’ Sam’s voice pierces my tangled thoughts, and I look round to see him loping towards me, eyes twinkling, wearing a vast tweed overcoat.
‘Couldn’t resist this,’ Sam says as he reaches my side. ‘Total bargain… should come in handy when the weather starts to get colder. Ginger? Is everything OK?’
I can’t meet his eyes. ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure…’ I bluff.
Sam frowns. ‘Was that Shannon you were talking to?’
I shrug, breaking into a brisk walk. ‘Yeah. Let’s get out of here.’
‘But we were going to get chocolate cake…’
‘It’s packed, and I’m not in the mood,’ I snap. ‘I just want to go home.’
Sam falls into step beside me. ‘Hold on,’ he says. ‘Half an hour ago you were having fun, and you wanted to go to The Dancing Cat. Now you’re all sad and snappy and you want to go home. This wouldn’t have something to do with Shannon, would it? She’s in there, right, so we can’t be… is that it? She might see us together, and that would be the end of the world, yeah?’
Sam’s voice is edged with anger, and worse than that, disappointment.
‘That’s not it at all,’ I protest. ‘You don’t understand!’
‘You’re right, I don’t,’ Sam says
, his eyes shadowed. ‘Every time I think we’re getting close, you push me away again. Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.’
Sam walks me home, but there’s a silence between us, awkward and clumsy, that wasn’t there before. The day’s magic has gone, as if it never existed at all. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him as we part at the gate.
Sam just smiles sadly, shrugs and walks away.
I don’t go to the sleepover, of course. I tell Mum and Dad I’m not well and need an early night. It not exactly a lie – my head aches, and my heart.
I slope off to my room, close the curtains, open my bag and unwrap the necklace I bought for Shannon. I thought I’d bought a heart necklace, something special, something beautiful, but now that I look at it properly I can see that it’s a broken heart.
The very last person I want to see is Emily Croft, but wouldn’t you know it, she turns up on my doorstep on Sunday afternoon, bright-eyed and smiling.
‘Go away,’ I tell her through gritted teeth. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’
Her smile slips. ‘I know you’re upset about yesterday,’ she says. ‘I just wanted to explain… we really were working, proofreading the magazine pages. It was a last-minute idea to go into town. We didn’t plan to leave you out, Ginger, honest.’
‘Whatever,’ I say, coldly.
‘I’m really sorry about what happened. I know you quarrelled with Shannon – she was in a terrible mood, afterwards. We cancelled the sleepover, obviously…’
I blink. ‘You did?’
Emily shrugs. ‘Well, there was no point without you, was there?’
I open the door a little and let Emily into the hallway, grudgingly. ‘So what do you want?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I know this wasn’t your fault, exactly, but you have to see… you must realize you’re not exactly my favourite person right now.’
Emily looks miserable. ‘Don’t,’ she whispers. ‘I feel bad enough already. This is all a big misunderstanding. We need to talk, clear the air…’
‘I’m busy,’ I say.
Emily sighs. ‘I know you’re mad at me, but I want to put things right, OK? Please! Come over to my place. Mum’s going out, so we can talk in peace, maybe even smooth things out with Shannon. She’s just as upset as you are.’
I find that hard to believe, but still, my heart leaps a little.
‘Please?’ Emily says. ‘You’ve been such a good friend to me, Ginger. I don’t want to lose you, I really don’t.’
I look at Emily and I want to hate her, really I do, but I just can’t. I know that whatever went on yesterday was between me and Shannon.
Besides, I guess I need all the friends I can get these days. I tell Mum I’m heading over to Emily’s for a while. She lives in a pretty, slightly crumbling flat just ten minutes’ walk away – I came here once before, years ago, for a birthday party. Chelsie Martin pushed me off a stool in musical chairs and then smeared chocolate on my new party dress. I ended up sitting in the kitchen with Emily’s mum, wrapping slices of birthday cake in pink serviettes to go in each sparkly party bag. Happy days.
Emily’s mum answers the door. ‘Ginger,’ she says. ‘It’s good to see you again… it’s been a while!’ She scans my shiny hair, my tight indie T-shirt and skinny jeans, as if trying to recognize the sad-eyed kid I used to be.
‘It’s so lovely that you girls are friends again,’ Mrs Croft says, ushering us inside. ‘Em’s been lost since Meg left. I’ve been worried about her. Making friends with you and Shannon has really boosted her confidence!’
‘Mu-um!’ Emily huffs, and I smile awkwardly, because I’m not sure if Emily and I are friends right now, or, if we are, for how long.
‘Well…’ Emily’s mum slips on her jacket and picks up her bag. ‘I’m going out, but I’ll see you later, Ginger. Have fun, girls!’
She closes the door behind her, and Emily and I flop down on the squashy living-room chairs. ‘So,’ Emily says. ‘You’re hacked off with me, right? You don’t want me around any more. That’s what Shannon says.’
‘Shannon says a lot,’ I sigh. ‘Forget it, Emily. I don’t even know what I want.’
Emily bites her lip. ‘You’ve been so kind to me – helped me so much,’ she says. ‘You’re the last person I’d ever want to hurt. I wish we could be friends!’
‘You could try acting like one,’ I point out, but I suppose that’s just what Emily is trying to do.
‘I didn’t know that Shannon hadn’t asked you along, yesterday,’ she tells me. ‘I just assumed you had other plans. Maybe Shannon thought we’d get through the work quicker on our own. Or… maybe she just didn’t think.’
Well, that sounds like Shannon all right. I laugh, but it’s a sad, empty sound.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ Emily asks sadly.
‘I do,’ I sigh. ‘I really do. It’s just… well, you remind me of the past, and that’s a place I don’t like to think of. I was such a loser, but I’ve changed, Emily. I’ve left all that behind.’
‘You were never a loser!’ Emily argues. ‘You were bullied, though, and that must have dented your confidence. I’ve always felt guilty because I didn’t do enough to stop it – Chelsie Martin was bad news. How come some people have so much power?’
Emily gets up and walks over to the bookshelf, pulling a photo album down. She sits down beside me again, flicking through the pages, until she finds the pictures of her old birthday party, the one I went to. I don’t want to look, I really don’t, but there’s no escape.
There’s a picture of me, at eight years old, in the chocolate-smeared dress, holding my party bag and smiling for the camera. I don’t look like a loser, just like a little kid with a too-bright smile and freckles and that long, coppery hair.
‘You were cute,’ Emily says. ‘I used to wish I could have fantastic hair like that. I wished we could be friends, but you always seemed to be on the outside… Meg said you were a loner.’
I open my mouth to argue, but not a word comes out. I can remember Emily and Meg asking me to sit with them, trying to include me in games, conversations. Chelsie Martin was never far away, telling me I was fat and ugly, telling me I was a loser, that nobody wanted me. I believed her.
Emily turns a few pages, and there’s a photo of me, Meg and Emily on the ice at my eleventh birthday party. I remember Cass taking the picture with one of those disposable cameras Emily had brought along, and there we all are, grinning, just minutes before I saw Chelsie and the whole day fell apart.
I look at my eleven-year-old face, plump, freckled, smiling, framed again by a long fall of shining, red-gold hair. I am not skinny in that photo, but I’m not fat either. I’m just a kid, a shy, smiley kid with amazing hair.
‘I don’t ever look at photos of me, at home,’ I whisper. ‘I made Mum put them all away. I thought I was fat and ugly…’
‘You were never those things,’ Emily says, shocked. ‘You were one of the prettiest kids in the year. I used to think that Chelsie was jealous of you. Maybe that’s why she gave you such a hard time?’
I frown, trying to rearrange the memories, but nothing seems to make sense. Chelsie Martin, jealous? Sometimes the past isn’t quite the way you think it was.
I snap the photo album shut, slamming it down on the coffee table. ‘I spent a long time on the outside,’ I tell Emily. ‘I used to watch you and Meg, and wish I could have a best friend too. Then I got one, and you stole her away from me.’
‘That’s not true!’ Emily argues. ‘I mean, I like Shannon, she’s great, but…’
But?
Emily sighs. ‘Look, Ginger, you’re worried about losing Shannon. I guess I’m more worried about losing you. I’m not trying to take Shannon away from you. She’s cool, but I get the feeling that however long you know her, you never really get below the surface. Everything’s a game for her. Look at the mess we’re in now… but is Shannon worried? I doubt it.’
I blink. I want to argue, but deep down I know that what Emily says is true. Shannon d
oes friendship her way. There’s no room for deep and meaningful, no room for heart-to-hearts. Everything has to be cool and crazy… and all about Shannon. It’s an exhausting kind of friendship, I know that much.
I look at Emily’s face, all anxious and bright-eyed, and realize that maybe, just maybe, she could be a better mate than Shannon ever has been. Of course, I don’t want Emily, I want Shannon. Don’t I?
‘It’s OK,’ I tell her. ‘I guess we can still work things out.’
I try for a smile. Emily is right – Shannon’s not perfect, and maybe it’s time for me to wake up and accept that fact. Perhaps that way, the two of us could build a stronger friendship, a more honest, lasting one? Or maybe the three of us could.
Emily calls Shannon, and she shows up an hour later. ‘I’m not going to apologize,’ she announces. ‘You know I don’t do that whole saying sorry stuff, Ginger. But… well, let’s forget that stupid mix-up yesterday, OK? I get mad, and say stuff I don’t really mean. Occasionally.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry too…’
But Shannon seems to have forgiven or forgotten my angry words, and I’m grateful for that. She flings her arms round me. ‘Friends, OK?’ she says.
‘Friends,’ I echo. ‘You too, Emily…’
Shannon drags Emily into the hug, and soon the three of us are giggling. The hurts and mix-ups of the last few weeks fade a little, but although I’d like to wipe them out completely, I know I can’t. There will always be a little doubt, a little seed of fear inside me now, whenever Shannon is around. I guess friendships are easy to damage, not quite so easy to fix.
We do our best, though. Shannon flicks the radio on, and Emily starts setting bowls, spoons and baking ingredients out on the kitchen table. She picks a dog-eared recipe book off a shelf.
‘You know what Meg and I used to do, if we ever argued?’ she asks. ‘We’d make up by talking things through, then head to her house or mine and bake something sweet to share. We used to fake rows, sometimes, just so we could make up and eat chocolate cake!’
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