The doorbell rings again and more people arrive. Someone turns the music up until we can’t hear the doorbell any more, but still people are arriving. There are more than fifteen, more than twenty people. Lots, lots more.
‘Where’s Mr Hunter?’ Shannon asks as yet another bunch of kids stream in through the front door. ‘I really thought he’d come! Not because it’s my birthday, I’m not that stupid… but for the magazine. He said, Ginger, he said he’d be here.’
Suddenly, it doesn’t matter about the stupid necklace any more. Shannon is my friend and she needs me. I put my arms round her and hug her tight. ‘He’s a teacher,’ I whisper. ‘You have to stop crushing on him, seriously. You’re just going to end up hurt.’
‘He likes me,’ Shannon insists. ‘I know he does!’
‘Likes, sure,’ I agree. ‘But that’s all. Don’t kid yourself, Shannon.’
Shannon’s shoulders droop. ‘You don’t understand. I just want to talk to him, away from school, let him see that I’m not just a kid…’
Alarm bells are ringing, loud and clear, but Shannon doesn’t want to hear them. ‘He likes me, Ginger,’ she whispers, and I don’t have the heart to argue any more.
‘Well… what do I know?’ I say. ‘Maybe he will come. The night is young!’
I take her hand and pull her through into the living room, and she laughs and shakes her long golden hair and starts to dance. The party comes to life.
We’re still dancing half an hour later when a burst of sax music drifts out from the kitchen. My heart jumps. A slow smile spreads over my face, and there’s a warm, fluttering feeling inside me. I edge my way through to the kitchen, and there is Sam Taylor, sitting on the draining board, playing the happiest, jazziest, coolest song I’ve ever heard. He winks at me from beneath his air-force cap, spots Shannon at my shoulder, and launches into a crazy sax version of ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘I don’t believe it. What’s he doing here?’ Shannon snorts.
‘You said everyone was welcome,’ I remind her.
‘Not him,’ she says sourly. ‘I don’t want that loser in my house.’ She glares at Sam, hands on hips. ‘Who invited you, anyway?’ she yells. ‘And why did you bring that thing with you? We’ve got proper music, y’know.’ She chucks a tea towel at his head and stalks off back to the living room.
‘You didn’t tell her that you’d invited me,’ Sam says, shrugging off the tea towel. ‘Did you?’
‘Look, Sam, I…’
He stows the saxophone in the cupboard under the sink, takes my hand and tows me through the crowded hallway. The house is so full of kids it’s a bit like being inside a very large sardine can, but we elbow our way to the stairs and sit down on one of the bottom steps.
‘Why are you so worried about what people think?’ he says into my ear. ‘Life’s too short. You can’t waste time. You have to grab each day, make the most of it. So if you feel that you just have to kiss me, well, don’t hold back on my account…’
Sam tips back the air-force cap and leans in towards me. Of course, I can’t kiss Sam Taylor here, in the crowded hallway of my best friend’s house, in front of about a million kids from school. Can I?
My heart is thumping, but before I get a chance to test out how brave I am, a flash of light explodes in front of me and Jas Kapoor grins from behind his camera. ‘Ouch!’ I yelp. ‘Not funny, Jas!’
‘That was kind of a private moment,’ Sam adds, rubbing his eyes.
‘It’s a feature for the next issue of S’cool,’ Jas explains cheerfully. ‘The truth behind teen parties. I’ve got a shot of Josh Jones juggling profiteroles and one of Faye Lassiter smoking in the garden, but this one is the best. I’m gonna caption it smut on the stairway.’
‘Jas, we weren’t even kissing,’ Sam points out, but Jas just laughs and disappears into the crowd.
‘Looks like the truth is out,’ Sam says.
‘Looks like.’
‘Do you care?’
But I don’t get to answer, because right then the doorbell rings for the millionth time and Andy Collins troops in with a gang of Year Nines. He is carrying a bottle of cider, and his friends have beer.
‘Looks like things are hotting up,’ Sam comments. ‘Shannon’s parents must be pretty laid-back.’
‘Not this laid-back,’ I frown. ‘The beer and cider are bad news – I’d better tell Shannon. Back in a minute…’
I edge my way through the crowd and eventually find Shannon hanging round Andy Collins’ neck. ‘Shannon,’ I hiss, tugging at her sleeve. ‘You can’t let Andy and his mates drink. We promised!’
‘It’s only cider,’ she says. ‘Don’t be such a baby!’
Andy pours cider into a couple of wine glasses and holds one out to Shannon. She takes a sip, coughs slightly, then drains the glass. ‘I’m a teenager now,’ she says with a hiccup. ‘I’m allowed a little drink. Leave me alone, Ginger!’
I go in search of reinforcements and find Emily fishing about in the punchbowl with a soup ladle. ‘It tastes funny,’ she says. ‘I’m not sure it’s just fizz and fruit, any more. People are starting to look a bit… drunk.’
‘Right,’ I say, chewing my lip. ‘That’s bad.’ I carry the punchbowl through to the kitchen and tip the contents down the sink. A tall figure looms in the kitchen doorway, carrying a box of chocolates the size of a small suitcase.
‘Mr Hunter!’ I yell. ‘Are we glad to see you!’
‘I said I’d be here,’ the teacher grins. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d find the place, but you can hear this racket halfway down the street! I’d forgotten what teenage parties are like! Where’s the birthday girl?’
‘This way…’ Emily dives into the crowd and I follow, with Mr Hunter trailing along behind. Assorted cheers and clinking of glasses can be heard as he edges his way through the crowd.
‘Steve!’ Jas Kapoor says. ‘You made it! Nice one!’
‘Mr H.!’ Robin chimes in. ‘S’cool to see you, Sir! Geddit?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Mr Hunter says. ‘You too, Robin.’
Shannon spots us and untangles herself from Andy Collins. She totters forward, her face shining. ‘Sir!’ she squeals. ‘Steve, I mean. You came!’
She flings her arms round him and hugs him tight. Mr Hunter peels her off quickly, loosening his collar a little and looking slightly panicked, but not before Jas Kapoor has captured the moment forever on camera. ‘Not a good idea,’ he tells Jas. ‘Erase that one, OK?’
‘But it was the best yet!’ Jas grumbles.
Mr Hunter shoves the box of chocolates at Shannon. ‘For my best editor,’ he says. ‘And the rest of the S’cool team, of course!’
‘Oh, Sir!’ Shannon’s eyes go all misty. She dumps the chocolates and drags Mr Hunter off towards the back door. ‘We can’t talk properly in here. If we just step outside…’
‘Um… is that a good idea?’ Mr Hunter asks. I try to grab Shannon’s arm, but she shakes me off, annoyed. Mr Hunter throws me an anxious glance over one shoulder and vanishes into the crowd.
Emily and I push our way back to the kitchen, but there’s no sign of Shannon – or Mr Hunter. Then the back door opens and Mr Hunter comes in, looking slightly shaken. ‘Ah… Ginger, Emily. I’m wondering if Shannon could be a bit… well, tipsy?’ he asks. ‘She’s not quite herself.’
Emily and I exchange glances. It looks like Shannon’s carefully planned chat alone with Mr Hunter has backfired. ‘I’ll go,’ I say, slipping out of the back door. I pick my way across the garden and find Shannon sitting alone on the steps of the summer house. I sit down beside her in the moonlight.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
She’s not, of course. Her eyes are misty, her pale cheeks streaked with tears. ‘I suppose you’ve come to say I told you so?’ she says.
‘What happened?’
Shannon laughs. ‘What do you think happened?’ she says. ‘A big fat nothing, that’s what. He’s a teacher and I’m just a kid, like Emily said. End of story. I really thou
ght he liked me. I thought if we could talk… be alone…’
I’ve never seen Shannon look so lost before. Getting a glimpse of the real Shannon, the person beneath the cool, careless mask, is something that doesn’t happen very often. Sharing hopes, fears, bad times as well as good – isn’t that what friendship is all about?
I slip an arm round her shoulders. ‘I’ve been an idiot, Ginger,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve made such a fool of myself.’
‘Shannon, that’s one thing you could never do.’
She wipes her eyes on the hem of her new party dress. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Ginger, please?’ she asks. ‘About all this. Don’t tell Emily.’
‘I promise,’ I say. ‘And don’t worry, Mr Hunter won’t say anything, either… I bet he’s flattered!’
Shannon runs her fingers through her hair and fixes a shaky smile on her face. ‘Well, so he should be,’ she declares. ‘It’s the last time I waste my hopes and dreams on a jerk like him, anyhow. He’s not worth it. What are we sitting in the dark for, Ginger? There’s a party going on. And you know what? We’re going to enjoy it! Come on!’
We get up, unsteadily, arms linked, giggling, and just for a moment, it’s almost like old times. ‘Forever friends, yeah?’ I tell her.
‘What? Oh, yeah. Sure.’
There’s a rustling of leaves, a crackle of twigs, and Sam Taylor appears through the bushes. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Emily said you were out here. The neighbours are at the door. If we don’t turn the music down, they’re going to ring the police.’
Shannon shrugs. ‘Like I could care less. Tell them to push off.’
‘I’m not sure if that’ll help,’ Sam says. ‘I think maybe you should speak to them, and tell people to cool it a bit.’
Shannon rolls her eyes. ‘Get a life, Sam. It’s a party – we’re celebrating. Things are supposed to get a bit wild! Who cares what the neighbours think!’
‘Sam has a point,’ I say gently, but she shakes free of my arm as if I’m some annoying, clingy child.
‘Yeah, right,’ she snarls. ‘Don’t stick up for him, Ginger. He’s a freak and a loser and a gatecrasher. Get lost, Sam Taylor! Get out! Nobody asked you here. Nobody wants you, not even your little girlfriend, OK? She’s just too polite to tell you. She’s my friend, and she doesn’t hang out with freaks and weirdos. Isn’t that right, Ginger?’
Shannon’s eyes are blazing, mascara sliding down her cheeks like spider’s legs. She looks like she’s falling apart. ‘Isn’t that right?’ she repeats, eyes burning into mine.
I look at Sam, willing him to understand. ‘Look, I can sort this,’ I tell him. ‘Maybe if you could just…’
‘Push off?’ he cuts in, his voice cold. ‘Is that what you want, Ginger?’
‘I… I need to be with Shannon right now.’
She laughs. ‘See? Take the hint, Sam. And while you’re at it, take your moth-eaten fancy dress and your rusty old trumpet or whatever it is, and clear off. Ginger’s made her choice!’ She stalks off towards the house, head held high.
‘It’s funny, Ginger,’ Sam says softly. ‘I thought we had something there for a while. I thought you liked me, but I guess you only like me when there’s nobody else around. I thought I could handle that, but I really don’t think I can.
‘I didn’t much want to come here, but I did it for you. Some joke, huh? Are you ashamed? Are you embarrassed? Or are you just plain scared to stand up to Shannon? You can’t even tell her you’re friends with me, or that you invited me along!’
My heart is thumping, and I feel cold with fear. Sam is the person who understands me, the real me, so how come he’s so sad and angry, glaring at me in the moonlight?
‘Shannon is out of order, I know that,’ I argue. ‘It’s just… something happened. She’s upset and she needs me, OK? I’ll tell her about us, once she’s calmed down a bit. I promise, Sam!’
He looks at me with soft brown eyes. ‘I don’t think your promises mean a whole lot, Ginger. I thought I knew you, but you’re really not the person I thought you were. I think you’ve made the right choice. Stick with Shannon.’
That hurts.
‘Sam… don’t go,’ I whisper, but already he is turning away from me.
‘I shouldn’t have come in the first place,’ he says coldly. ‘Big mistake. All of this has been one big mistake.’
He gives me one last look, a sad, searching, disappointed look as if he can’t quite work out who I am any more. I know that he’s right about the mistake, but it’s my mistake, not his, and it’s not the kind you can fix up with a hug and an apology. It’s way more serious than that. I want to shout and scream and shake him, make him stay, but my mouth is dry as dust.
Sam takes his sax from the kitchen and walks round the side of the house and out into the street, away from here, away from me. My heart is breaking into little pieces.
He doesn’t look back.
∗
I sink down on to the wall in the back garden, shivering and numb. Then the back door opens and Mr Hunter appears, heading for the wheelie bin, carrying a dustpan and brush that glints with broken glass in the silvery moonlight. ‘Things are getting a little out of hand in there,’ he says. ‘I think that was Mrs Kershaw’s best vase. Not good.’ He stops short. ‘Ginger? Are you OK?’
I try to say yes, sure, I’m fine, but it all gets muddled up inside my mouth and comes out as a sob. ‘Sam… I… Oh, Sir, I’ve wrecked everything!’
Mr Hunter abandons the dustpan and pats my arm, warily. He looks like he wishes he was a million miles away. Me, I could just about curl up and die with shame, but still, the tears won’t stop.
‘Come on,’ Mr Hunter says. ‘Let’s get you inside.’
He puts an arm round me, awkwardly, kindly, and steers me towards the bright lights of the kitchen. We step inside, and I can see Jas pointing his camera around and Josh eating trifle straight from the serving dish and Emily, lovely Emily, wiping profiteroles off the lightshade.
‘Emily, thank goodness,’ Mr Hunter says, handing me over with relief like a badly wrapped parcel. ‘Ginger seems to be a little bit upset…’
Emily’s eyes are wide. ‘Ginger! What’s wrong?’
What isn’t wrong? Where do I start?
‘Oh, Em… I’ve made such a mess of things!’ I whisper. I hear Shannon’s voice all over again, sneery and mean. Ginger’s made her choice… Well, I suppose I did, and I know it was the wrong one. Sam has gone, and for what?
Emily hugs me, blotting my tears with kitchen roll. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll sort it,’ she says. ‘I promise. Chin up!’
I take a deep breath in and stand a little straighter, blinking back the tears. Emily doesn’t know what’s happening, but she cares – and she’ll help me. Together we can unravel this mess… maybe. That’s what friends are for.
I look through to the living room, where Shannon is drinking cider from the bottle and dancing too close to Andy Collins. She used to be my best friend, but I’m not sure I even know her any more.
Off to the right, there’s the sound of more breaking glass. This party is getting scary. I wipe my eyes, pull myself together, exchange worried looks with Emily.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Mr Hunter says grimly, watching the chaos. ‘I hate to interfere, but…’ He strides through to the living room, cuts the music off.
‘OK, kids,’ he yells. ‘I bet you’ve all had a great evening, but now it’s time to head home. If you could just make your way to the door…’
Shannon works her way out of the crowd and grabs Mr Hunter by the tie. He looks frightened, and I don’t blame him.
‘Sir,’ Shannon says. ‘Maybe you should make your way to the door. I don’t think this party is your scene, really, is it? No offence.’
She turns away, flings an arm round Andy Collins’ neck and takes another swig of cider. Someone puts a Marilyn Manson CD on, full blast. Mr Hunter frowns. ‘I thought they’d listen to me…’
Well, they probably don’t cover ho
w to control wild teenage parties at teacher training school. ‘I think we’d better call Shannon’s mum,’ I say.
‘She’s going to be in so much trouble!’ Emily wails.
‘She’ll be in a whole lot more if we don’t do something!’
We elbow our way out into the front garden, where it’s quieter, and I call Shannon’s mum to tell her things are getting kind of crazy and maybe she could come home sooner rather than later. I can hear Shannon’s dad grumbling because he hasn’t finished his after-dinner drink, but Mrs Kershaw tells me it’s OK, stay calm, they’re on their way.
‘I guess the party’s over,’ Emily says sadly.
Well, not quite. There’s a blood-curdling yell and a big gang of kids burst out of the house and on to the front lawn. ‘Fight, fight, fight!’ someone chants. Andy Collins has Jas Kapoor in a headlock. The other kids form a circle round them, cheering and yelling.
‘Give me the camera!’ Andy yells. ‘Give it to me, you jerk!’
Jas Kapoor drops his digital camera into the grass and kicks it to one side. ‘What camera?’ he tries to say, but it comes out sounding slightly strangled.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘Jas took a photo of Andy drinking and smoking, with Shannon on his knee,’ Robin explains. ‘For the magazine. Andy wasn’t too impressed.’
Andy Collins chucks Jas Kapoor on to the grass and starts thumping him. Mr Hunter wades in, yelling at everyone to stop right there, but when he bends down to pull the boys apart, Andy lands him a hefty kick on the shins and he backs away, limping. There’s a nasty, crunching sound as Andy’s fist connects with Jas’s cheek, and I feel sick.
‘You’ve gone too far this time!’ someone shouts down from an upstairs window in the house opposite. ‘I’m calling the blooming police!’
But someone already has, because right on cue, the wail of a police siren starts up in the distance. Kids start to slope off into the darkness just as the squad car slides to a halt outside the gate. ‘Now, now, kids!’ the policemen say. ‘What’s going on?’
Jas Kapoor is lying in the flower bed with a black eye, and Andy is sitting on the path with a split lip and a sheepish grin. Neighbours trickle out of the surrounding houses, stony-faced. ‘Terrible racket,’ one man grumbles. ‘Kids today have no respect, no respect at all. I blame the parents!’
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