by Holly Smale
(I lied: it wasn’t milk.)
Lying flat on my face in mud in front of a field full of thirty students, my new nemesis and three teachers is an event now very much on that list.
“Crap, are you OK?” Jasper jumps forward. “You’re not hurt, are you? Nothing’s broken, is it?”
I stare coldly at the hand he’s holding out.
My palms are stinging, my knees are stinging, my eyes are stinging and my cheeks are stinging: all the familiar symptoms of humiliation and falling over.
In my peripheral vision, I can see groups around the field, starting to head in this direction.
Am I hurt? No. Am I angrier than I have literally ever been in my entire existence?
Absolutely.
“Oh you know me,” I snap, shakily trying to get to my feet. “I’m so full of it I can’t even stay upright. Don’t touch me.”
Jasper grabs my arm anyway. “At least let me help you up, Harriet. We don’t have to be friends, but I’m not a monster. Let me get you off the floor.”
“I said do not touch me.” I shake him off furiously. “Ever. The next thing you hold out gets bitten off.”
He laughs, and it takes everything in my willpower not to lean forward and scrabble at his face with my little dinosaur claws.
“Fair enough,” he says, shrugging. “Sorry. Maybe I should have put down that cloak after all. Could have provided a bit of padding.”
“Ooh,” I say, getting on to my knee. “I’ll get a bit of padding and stuff it right in your—”
But I don’t get any further.
My foot hits another slippery spot, and this time I slide backwards.
Into the mud again.
ou know what? I think I’m just going to stay here.
The universe seems to be strongly suggesting that lying on the floor, covered in 360 degrees of wet dirt, is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The bell for breaktime rings.
With a clatter, people burst out of the sixth form doors, pause and then a large number start running towards me.
I automatically close my eyes and wait for the inevitable laughter. Geek. Loser. Idiot. Why do you always make a mess of everything, Harriet?
“Oh my God, are you all right, Ret? What happened?”
“You poor thing, you’re totally dripping.”
“The biology department should be ashamed of themselves, sending us out in this weather. My parents are going to write in and complain.”
Cautiously, I open one eye.
Dozens of faces are now hovering over me, creased with concern. There isn’t a glimmer of laughter: not a single sign of a snort, an eye roll or a chuckle. Nobody’s whispering or taking photos and videos and then uploading them straight on to the internet.
Seriously?
I slipped over into wet mud twice. I’m one banana skin away from being a Charlie Chaplin film.
India silently helps me up.
“I … umm.” I wipe a strand of hair out of my eye, almost definitely making the mess worse. “I thought it was important to get a close-up view of our biology project. From … you know. Ground level.”
Everybody laughs.
A clomp of wet mud and grass falls off my knee with a plop on to the floor and there’s a sympathetic awwwww. Somebody hands me a useless but well-intentioned tissue.
“In fact,” I say, my cheeks gradually starting to return to their normal colour, “baby elephants have been known to throw themselves into mud on purpose when they’re having a temper tantrum. That’s pretty much what I was doing too.”
It’s not that far from the truth, in fairness.
There’s another laugh. I head towards the sixth form block to try and dry off, and the crowd begins to disperse. But just as I’m walking off, Liv arrives.
“What happened, Retty?” she says breathlessly, running to my side.
“She got pushed,” Ananya says, barging through. “I saw it. That freak of nature lost his temper and shoved her over, then he laughed.”
She points at Jasper, and some of the remaining students abruptly turn back towards him.
“Oh my God, what a weirdo.” “What is wrong with you?” “Douchebag!”
“Such a mutant,” Ananya says fiercely, crossing her arms. “Where did you come from, anyway? Is one of your eyes made out of glass or something?”
“Yeah,” Liv hisses. “Freakazoid. No wonder you hide in the art room on your own like a total loser.”
The sudden vitriol is so thick, so intense, it feels like you could open your mouth, take a chunk out of the air and swallow it.
African wild dogs are one of the most efficient pack hunters in the world. When working together, they have a successful kill rate of eighty per cent.
Some of my classmates’ ratio may be even higher.
I look in surprise at Jasper.
Is this what they’re always like to him? Is this why he’s in the art room all the time? Is this why he’s so angry and hostile constantly? How hadn’t I noticed?
Jasper lifts his chin, clenches his jaw and glares at me defiantly. Go on then, he seems to be silently saying.
Do it.
This is my chance, and we both know it.
All I have to do is say four little words – yes, he pushed me – and I’ll have the ultimate revenge. This horrible boy has insulted me, called me names, judged me and twisted my friend against me. Now it’s my turn.
After all, he started this, didn’t he?
Except …
Except as I stare silently at Jasper’s round face, with a lurch I suddenly recognise it all. The tenseness of his jaw. The too-brightness of his eyes. The twitch in the muscle next to his mouth. A group of people facing one way, and only one facing the other.
He’s pretending he doesn’t care, but he does.
I know, because eight days ago – and for eleven years before that – it was me.
“Jasper didn’t push me,” I say quietly, still looking at him. “I slipped twice because I’m an idiot, and he was just trying to help me. And he’s not a freakazoid, so please don’t call him that. The chances of having heterochromia iridium are six in a thousand, so – to quote Professor Xavier – it’s actually a very groovy mutation.”
Jasper blinks.
“Also,” I say, reaching firmly into my trouser pocket, “here’s your invitation to my party, Jasper. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier.”
I pull out a piece of muddy plastic and wipe it clean on my scarf. Ha. Told you laminating everything was a good idea. When you fall over as much as I do, you learn to take precautions.
Still dripping, I hold the invitation out and Jasper takes it in silence. His face is slowly turning from pale to a strange, mottled pink.
“Well,” Ananya says, uncrossing her arms. “We were only defending you, Retty. As long as you’re OK, that’s all that matters.”
“Definitely.” “We didn’t mean it. We were only teasing.” “He should totally come to the party.”
Jasper’s face still hasn’t moved.
We look at each other for a few seconds.
Then I resume limping soggily back to school.
The last thing on my list is believe in yourself, and this is exactly what it means, isn’t it?
It means knowing who you are, even when it’s incredibly tempting to be someone else instead.
I’m not Hook, or Khan, or Ursula, or Scar.
Maybe in another life, I might have been.
In an alternative universe – one where everybody always laughed at my jokes and invited me to parties and never hid my pencil case at the back of a toilet cistern – maybe it would have been harder not to hurt somebody who’s hurt me.
But for the first time in eleven years, I’m glad I’ve spent a lifetime with GEEK written all over my satchel. I’m glad I know exactly how it feels to always be on the outside, looking in.
I might finally be on the inside now.
But I am not – and never will be
– the villain.
hich means there’s one more thing I have to do.
“Harriet!” A blue front door swings open and a face coated in thick brown gunk pokes out. “Darling! Just look at the two of us! Snap!”
Nat’s mum holds her hand in the air, so I high-five it.
It seems churlish to point out that only one of us is covered in mud intentionally.
“Hello, Miss Grey,” I smile, picking a bit of wet grass from my hair and flicking it into a bush. “How are you?”
“I’m just dandy, sweetheart. No botox in six months and I’ve got so many expressions I’m terrifying the postman.” She wiggles her face and grins. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you got back from Nooo Yowwwk, darling. Are you terribly glamorous and sophisticated now?”
I look down.
Nearly a year ago, Toby vomited on me and I was forced to walk around Birmingham wearing little blue nylon shorts, a yellow T-shirt with the number 9 on the back and knee-high green socks.
I am now in a boy’s football kit again, complete with little studded boots. You can say what you like about the universe, but it obviously has a very symmetrical and ironic sense of humour.
I just wish it wasn’t always aimed at me, that’s all.
“Absolutely,” I grin. “Or as good as I’m ever going to get, anyway.”
Then I clear my throat.
After I’d raided the PE lost property box, I took a deep breath and raced to Nat’s house as fast as I could. I still haven’t given her an invitation to my party, and it doesn’t matter how hurt I am by her, she’s my best friend, I love her, and I need to make sure she has one.
Two, actually: one for Theo as well.
He’d seriously better be worth all this trouble. I’m going to be very annoyed if he’s as drippy as François.
“Umm.” I step into the hallway and hand Nat’s mum two pieces of laminated plastic. “I just brought these round for Nat. Can you give them to her? Also, is it OK if I run upstairs and get something from her cupboard?”
Every fun thing I own in the world is currently in a cardboard box that has NAT AND HARRIET’S WORLD OF FUN written on the side in purple Sharpie.
My party doesn’t need it – obviously – but it’s always nice to have a fall-back plan.
“Of course, darling,” Nat’s mum says as I tug off a football boot. I might look into getting some for myself: they’re remarkably grippy. “But why don’t you just give them to her yourself? She’s in her bedroom, watching a film.”
I pause, still holding on to a red lace. “What?”
“Roman Holiday, I think. She said it’s for her course but I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t just an excuse to watch Gregory Peck drive a scooter.”
“But …” I blink a few times. “Nat said she was out every night this week.”
Nat’s mum laughs. “In that case, she’s been climbing up the chimney like Santa Claus. To the best of my knowledge, Natalie has barely left the house for anything but college in a fortnight.”
My stomach flip-flops.
“Then I must have misunderstood,” I say slowly as I take the other shoe off and start climbing the stairs.
“You definitely have some kind of wires crossed,” Nat’s mum says brightly.
“Huh,” I say, frowning. “Weird.”
But as I climb the stairs, I check my phone again: just to make sure.
I’m out every night this week. I’ll ring soon. Love you. Nat xxxx
Two sad faces, four kisses.
And she never rang me.
So you can analyse and pull it apart as much as you like, but there isn’t a lot of ambiguity in that sentence.
I don’t think I’ve misunderstood at all.
he Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture is one of six unsolved Millennium Prize Problems. It’s regarded as one of the most challenging mathematical problems in the world, and it’s so hard there’s a $1,000,000 prize for the first one to solve it.
By the time I reach my best friend’s room, three floors up, I’ve decided I’d rather be giving that a shot right now than trying to work out what’s going on here.
None of this makes any sense.
Nat has repeatedly told me she hasn’t got any time to see me, but she’s been in every night? What the sugar cookies is going on?
Has Jasper got to her now too?
Maybe he’s written a list of my failures as a human being in the sky with plane smoke and trailed it all over Hertfordshire.
Frowning, I lurk anxiously outside Nat’s bedroom for a few seconds.
Then I knock politely on the door. We normally have a strict no-knocking policy, but I no longer feel totally comfortable just walking straight in.
“I said in a minute!” Nat yells through the wood. “I’m still drying, Mum! You know I can’t eat pizza with wet nails! Enamel is not a topping!”
“It’s not Mum,” I say in a slightly bewildered voice. “It’s Harriet.”
There’s a short silence and a little clatter.
Then the door swings slowly open.
Nat’s wearing a bright green dressing gown with cotton wool balls stuck between each of her toes, fingers spread wide in the air in a large Y shape and a white blackhead strip plastered across her nose.
“Harriet! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I say, folding my arms tightly. My throat is starting to hurt again. “You said you were out all week, and yet … here you are.”
A familiar, guilty red pattern has started making its way across Nat’s collarbone and I watch it travel suspiciously up her neck and on to her jawline.
“I’m just … getting ready to go out again.”
I fold my arms a bit tighter. “Funny, because your mum just told me you haven’t left the house much in weeks.”
“Right.” The pink rash climbs a little higher on to her cheeks. “Well, I’ve been sneaking Theo in. You know … without Mum knowing.”
My shoulders relax a little bit, but not entirely.
That might be true, but Theo’s certainly not here right now: I’ve known my best friend skip a maths exam because she had an unsightly blocked pore. She’s not going to be sneaking in a boy while dressed like Kermit.
“OK,” I say slightly stiffly. “Well …” There’s an uncomfortable pause. “If he’s not here now can I come in, then?”
“Oh.” Nat nods and opens the door properly. “Yes, please do come in.”
“I will,” I say awkwardly, walking forward and taking an uncomfortable seat on the edge of her bed like an old matron aunt. “I’ll come in. Thank you very much.”
Then I twiddle my thumbs.
“Nice weather we’re having,” I say experimentally, even though it’s been raining all day. “Unseasonally warm.”
“It … umm. Is,” she says. “They say there’s a storm coming.”
I’ve never, ever felt like this around Nat before.
Together, we’ve made it through eleven years, three countries, three break-ups, six million fights and three hundred chicken and jam sandwiches, but there’s never been this kind of distance between us before.
I just don’t understand where it’s come from.
“Well.” I stand up and clear my throat. “I thought you should know that I’m having a party tomorrow, Natalie. You are most welcome to come.”
Natalie. I just called my best friend Natalie.
“A party?” Nat stares at me for a few seconds. “You’re having a party?”
“Yes.”
“Like, a proper party? With proper people? Real people?”
“Yes.” I’d be offended if ninety-five per cent of our guests in the past hadn’t consisted entirely of teddy bears, Mickey Mouse and a shaved-headed Barbie doll. “Real people.”
Nat’s eyes are so round she looks like an ocelot. “A physical, real-life party, with people and music and food and lights and—”
“I understand the basic concept of a party, Nat.�
�� I’m getting a bit irritated now. “Yes, a party.”
She frowns and stares into space.
My stomach suddenly flips, and every single bit of stiffness abruptly melts away in a wave of guilt.
“Oh please don’t be angry with me, Nat,” I say, jumping off the bed and grabbing her hands. “I know I didn’t tell you, and I know it’s normally just us, and I know we normally arrange it all together and it’s a tradition, but you weren’t around and I didn’t know what else to do and … Please don’t hate me, Nat.”
Nat blinks a few more times. Then her face clears.
“What on earth are you talking about? I couldn’t be more delighted. A party. Harriet Manners is throwing a party!”
Like a soldier she drops to the floor and starts rummaging under her bed until she’s dragged out a huge, familiar cardboard box.
Then she hops up and claps her hands.
“So,” she says brightly, rushing across the room and flinging open her cupboard with a flourish, “we’ll need to sort you something to wear, obviously. It’s important to get it exactly right, because otherwise … tragedy. Chaos. And we can’t have that.”
She pulls out a yellow dress, holds it up critically, then shakes her head and lobs it on the floor.
I can feel every single cell in my body starting to uncurl. It’s all going to be OK again. The Super Team are back.
“You really don’t mind? Really?”
“Of course I don’t mind, you silly billy. A party.” She laughs. “An actual party. Who’d have thought it?!”
“Not me,” I say fervently, starting to laugh too. “I’m throwing a party. Me. Can you believe it!”
We’re both snorting with laughter now.
“Hey, what’s that big party you’ve heard of?” Nat chuckles. “Oh it’s only Harriet Manners’! Biggest party of the year, dontcha know.”
“What’s that?” I giggle, holding my hand up to my ear. “Want a ticket to the bestest party of the year? Well, you only need to speak to Harriet Manners.”
“Hahahahahaha!” Nat shakes her head as she drags an orange dress out of her wardrobe and then lobs it on the floor too. “Unbelievable! So who’s coming? How big is it? What’s the plan? How did this come about? I need to know everything.”
