“You're looking a bit sad today, Indie,” said Mum, sneaking a sideways peek at me as the van stopped at a set of traffic lights. “Are you sad to see the gerbils go?”
We'd just dropped off our foster gerbils to a lovely lady at an animal sanctuary in the countryside, who said she'd love them and cuddle them (if their mum let her) and find them new homes.
“I'm a bit sad because of that,” I told her, my eyes twinkling as I remembered
the babies' noses twitching, testing the smell of country air. “But I'm more sad 'cause I think Soph and Fee have gone funny on me.”
“How exactly have they gone funny on you?” asked Mum, pushing her tangly blonde hair away from her face. (There was a tiny gerbil-sized muddy paw-print on her cheek. She must have got that when she was kissing the grumpy mum gerbil bye-bye.)
“It's like they don't want to be friends with me any more.”
I'd decided that last night when I'd been lying in bed. That's 'cause I'd been thinking a lot about that ‘wrong number’.
I really didn't think it could be a wrong number. And I'd thought of something important – Soph is half-French (her other half's Somali) and she can speak French very, very well…
“Well, you haven't spent much time with them this week, have you, Indie?” said Mum, driving on and fixing her eyes on the road ahead. “You only saw them once, and that's when they dropped in to see you!”
“But that's not fair!”
I told her, feeling hurt that she seemed to be on Soph and Fee's side. “I've been helping Dylan!”
“I know, and that's really kind of you, but perhaps the girls have felt neglected. After all, the three of you normally see each other all the time…”
Actually, I was glad Mum's eyes were fixed on the road ahead – it meant she didn't see that my eyes had gone prickly with tears.
We were both quiet for a minute, which was good 'cause I got the chance to stare out of the window and try and blink my tears back.
“Listen, Indie,” said Mum finally, “it's still early – it's not even midday. Why don't you call Soph and Fee and see if they want to meet up? You could take them to the café – I'll give you extra pocket money so you can treat them!”
I really didn't know if I was brave enough to phone. But I really knew I missed Soph and Fee. So, with lots of funny pings pinging around in my chest, I speed-dialled Fee (at least she wouldn't speak to me in French).
“Hello?” said Fee, with the noise of traffic somewhere behind her.
“Hi, s'me,” I said nervously.
There was a tiny pause, like Fee was thinking or something, and then she said, “Who?”
A big, painful ping went off in my chest then – she knew it was me and was just being mean.
“It's me – Indie!” “Oh. Hello.” “Um … are you doing anything just now?” “Uh … how come?” “'Cause I thought maybe me and you and Soph could meet up at the café. I'll buy us all ice-cream!” “Where's Dylan, then?”
“Huh? I … I don't know. So can you come?”
“No,” Fee mumbled flatly, “I'm out with my mum. And I think Soph said she was going out with her mum too.”
“Oh, OK,” I mumbled in return. “See you later, then?”
“Whatever,” said Fee and then the phone went dead.
“Not good?” said Mum gently, as we stopped at another set of traffic lights close to home.
“No. I think they are annoyed with me,” I said sadly, thinking how sarky Fee had sounded when she'd asked where Dylan was. “Fee said she couldn't come 'cause she was out with her mum.”
“Well, maybe she is!” said Mum with a shrug. “Never mind, Indie – you'll be back at school on Monday and then I'm sure everything will get back to norm—”
“Mum!” I interrupted her.
“LOOK!”
And she looked. And what she saw was the same as me: Soph and Fee strolling to the shops together, all alone, without any mums.
And that's when I knew that I'd been working so hard on Dylan and the Very Important Project, that oops, I'd lost my best(est) friends.
And, oops, now that I'd started to cry, I didn't know if I'd ever stop…
Getting a LOT confused
You could tell that Fiona felt really sorry for me. I'd dropped at least six big crumbs on the floor and she hadn't made a little hurt face or tried to casually pick them up or anything.
“Have another piece, Indie,” Fiona beamed at me, trying to offer another slice of home made sticky toffee 'n' banana cheesecake.
“I don't think I can,” I mumbled, looking sadly at the gorgeous pudding that I'd normally have had three pieces of (at least). “My chest's too sore with pinging.”
“The pinging's just a little bit of stress,” said Dad, giving me my hundredth hug of the day so far.
“Can you get pinging when you're guilty too?” I asked him, thinking of the very first ping I felt in the park, when I didn't answer Soph's text.
“Yep, I guess a bad
case of guilt could set off a ping or two,” Dad nodded.
It was Sunday and I was over at Dad's as usual. I'd tried to put on something that I hoped looked like a happy face, but as soon as I got through the door and Dad said, “What's up with you, pumpkin?” I'd had a bad case of prickles of the eyes and splurged the whole thing out.
I hadn't even been embarrassed when Dylan came and stood at the living-room door and listened for a bit. But then he disappeared and I didn't know if I was glad (so he wouldn't see me all prickly eyed), or if I was bugged (since helping him was the reason I'd lost my bestest friends).
“I'm sure things will work out fine with Sophie, and er, Sophie. Friendships often have their ups and downs, Indie,” said Fiona, sounding so warm and kindly that my eyes started prickling extra hard. “But I just want to say thank you for being such a good friend to Dylan!”
So that's why she was trying not to mind the crumbs and being v. v. especially nice. As Dylan's mum, she must've worried about him not having any mates to hang out with in the holidays, and at least I'd tried to get him some. And hung out with him.
Oh … a text. Maybe it was from Mum, asking me to pick up cat litter later on the way home with Dad or something.
Miss u 2. Sorry. C U later this aft? Soph xxx
“Who's that, then?” asked Dad, leaning over for a nosey.
“It's Soph!” I said, holding the phone over for him to read what she'd written.
“She misses you too. Well, that's fantastic!”
It was fantastic, I thought, as Dad squeezed my shoulders. But it was also a bit confusing. Why had she said Miss U 2'? I hadn't told her I missed her. Though I did, tons.
“Ooh, another one – who's this from?” Fiona arched her eyebrows.
Got Dylan's email. He is so cute. Sorry 2. Big hugs Fee x
Dad and I read out in unison.
OK, I wasn't just a bit confused, I was a LOT confused.
“What email from Dylan?” I frowned at my phone.
“Well, why don't you go through and ask him?” suggested Dad.
And so I did. And found him sitting at his computer looking kind of smiley but worried. And no wonder – he was wearing everything, and I mean everything from the urgh drawer. He had on his fluffy bunny T-shirt and his pastel stripey shorts and his baseball cap with the truck on it, and he even had an I MUM sock on one hand!
“What have you done?” I asked him, wandering over to his side.
“This…”
Dylan clicked on his mouse and an email message popped up. It was addressed to Soph. There was another one in his ‘sent’ box that was for Fee.
“You sent them messages from here last weekend, so I had their email addresses in the system…” he explained.
I thought and thought for a second, then remembered that last Sunday – when we were sorting out cool clothes from ‘urgh’ clothes – Dylan had asked me to turn around while he put on the grey T-shirt and jeans. So I'd gone on the computer and email
ed my friends while he got changed.
Now that I'd worked that out, I thought I'd better read what he'd sent them. And what he'd sent was…
And underneath his message was a very funny digital photo of Dylan dressed up like he was now, pulling a silly face and waving his I MUM hand at the camera.
“So you helped me get my bestest friends back?”
“Well, yeah,” Dylan shrugged. “Only there's no such word as ‘best—’”
Before Dylan got a chance to correct me, I pulled the peak of his baseball cap down so that all I could see of his face was a big, dopey smile.
My step-brother Dylan … he could be confusing and annoying and make your head go twisty but he was dead smart, and like Fee said, he could be quite cute.
“Want to come out with me and Soph and Fee later?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” said Dylan, nodding the peak of his cap.
“Well there's one condition – this lot has got to go back in the ‘urgh’ drawer!”
“OK,” said the I MUM sock puppet on his hand…
One, two, three best(est) friends!
“Ouch!”
Dylan had just been hit on the head by a Frisbee, then fallen backwards over George and Kenneth, who were both better at catching Frisbees than Dylan.
“Are you OK?”
asked Soph, looking worried, since she was the one who'd just chucked the Frisbee.
“Yeah… I just feel a bit…”
“Discombobulated?” I shouted out with a grin.
“That means ‘muddled up’,” Fee explained to Dylan, budging up on the park bench so he could sit down between me and her.
“I know,” said Dylan, rubbing the bump on his forehead.
“You do?”
Fee's eyes were wide. She loved big words, and seemed very impressed that Dylan knew what such a big word as discombobulated meant.
“Sorry, Dyl! But you are getting quite good!” Soph called out, as she tried to wrestle the Frisbee out of George's mouth. “Fee, come and play with me till Dylan feels better…!”
It was late afternoon on Sunday and the seven of us were in the park – me, Dylan, Soph, Fee and the dogs.
As Fee went off to Frisbee, I passed Dylan my 99 cone, hoping that licking a bit of ice-cream might make up for the bump on his head.
Not that Dylan seemed to mind the bump on his head – he was grinning like mad.
“What's up with you?” I asked him with a frown, worried that he had got that serious bump-on-thehead thing (concussion, I think it's called).
“Nothing! I'm just having fun!”
“You think getting a bump on the head isfun ?”
He definitely had concussion – he wasn't thinking straight.
“Thanks, Indie!” Dylan suddenly turned to me and said, changing the subject, as ever.
“Thanks for what? For a lick of my icecream?” I replied, budging over now that Dibbles had humphed himself onto the bench between us and happily started
his stubby black tail on the wooden bench. “No – thanks for getting me some best friends!”
“But I didn't really” I told Dylan, thinking that he'd only had one, small (embarrassing for me) conversation with Matt, Zane and Rez in the burger bar. That didn't make them best friends exactly, did it?
“Yes, you did get me best friends!” said Dylan, flashing a big, dopey grin my way and handing me my cone back. “You and Soph and Fee are like my best friends now. Aren't you?”
Well, I guess I had had a lot of fun hanging out with Dylan this week, so yeah, I guess he was my friend. OK, one of my best friends. But what about Soph and Fee? They didn't know him all that well, not well enough to call him a best friend, I didn't think.
“Oi! You guys!” Soph yelled over. “Fancy two against two? Dylan can be on my side!”
“No, he won't!” said Fee. “He'll be on my side!”
Well, maybe it looked like Soph and Fee were happy to be best friends with Dylan after all!
“Come on, let's play!” I said to Dylan, as I gave the last of my ice-cream cone to Dibbles. (And got a thudda-dudda-dudda tail thump thanks.)
“I didn't tell them.”
Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. I didn't think I'd ever get used to the way he talked, but I suppose a conversation with him was never boring, not when you didn't know what was coming next.
“When Matt asked me which one of him and his mates you fancied, I didn't tell them.”
“Oh. Good,” I said, feeling pretty relieved.
“But then I said you wouldn't fancy any of them, 'cause you were way too cool.”
And with that, Dylan darted off, and immediately tripped over a speeding Kenneth.
I was glad that he was busy with tripping, and that Soph and Fee were busy with giggling and helping him up. That way they couldn't see how much I was blushing at the excellent compliment that Dylan had just given me.
He thought I was way cool!
Well, this week had been kind of weird, but by the end it had turned out kind of wonderful.
I might have thought I'd lost my best(est) friends, but in the end, I got them back, and a whole new one too!
(Uh-oh – when Dylan was getting himself back on his feet just now, did I see an I MUM logo popping up above his trainer…?)
For Rachel Petrie, because it's only fair!
K. McC.
Text copyright © 2005 by Karen McCombie
Illustrations copyright © 2005 by Lydia Monks
Originally published in the United Kingdom in 2005 by Walker Books Ltd
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
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recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written
permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
For information address Walker Books Ltd.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-49616-4
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