by Sarah Webb
“We’ll be fine,” he cuts in quickly. “I’ll manage. And she might do great. Dr. Shine said it’s hard to know. The drug affects different people in different ways. They have to give her a megadose to start off with, to knock the bad cells on the head. Then once that’s done, they can reduce the dose. So she won’t feel sick for long hopefully. But, look, I don’t really know how to say this. . . .” He tails off, looking awkward.
“Say what?”
“I need to be with Polly at the moment,” he says, his voice small. “I can’t . . . I can’t do this, Amy.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He waves his hands in the air. “McDonald’s, the cinema, fireworks. I need to be at home. It’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who has time for you. I know you want to see more of me on the weekends and stuff, but I just can’t right now. Look, I think it’s best if we . . . you know . . .” He swallows. “Break up.”
I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. Is he serious? Did he really just say he wants to break up with me? I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I just sit there in shock.
“I’m really sorry, Amy,” he adds softly. “But Polly needs me.”
“I need you too,” I hear myself say, my heart pounding in my chest. “Don’t do this, Seth. Please? I know I’ve been putting pressure on you to do things on the weekends, and I’m sorry, but it’s OK if you can’t do stuff for a while. I don’t mind. We can just ring each other or something. And maybe when Polly is better, things will change. I can wait.”
“You might be waiting a long time,” he says, then shakes his head. “No, it’s not going to work. I have to focus on Polly, and I can’t if I’m worrying about upsetting you all the time. It’s better this way.”
“It’s not better this way,” I say, my voice going up a notch. “It’s not! You need someone to talk to. You shouldn’t have to do this on your own.”
“I have to,” he says simply. “I’m all she’s got.”
“Don’t do this, Seth. Please! I’m begging you.”
He drops his head into his hands, looking devastated. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
It’s then that I realize he’s not going to change his mind. Seth really is breaking up with me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Tears prick the back of my eyes and I feel physically sick. I press my wobbling lips together, slide out of my seat, and run from the restaurant, sensing that all the D4s are staring at me.
As soon as I get outside, I stop running and look back through the window. Seth is still sitting there, staring into space. He hasn’t run after me to beg me to stop, to say he’s made a huge mistake.
It’s officially over. Seth Stone is no longer my boyfriend.
I have to get away from here. I head down the road toward the shopping center. As soon as I’m out of sight of the restaurant, I stop in the alleyway beside the bank and collapse with my back against the wall and dissolve into tears. I’m so upset, I don’t really care who sees me, as long as it’s not those D4s or Seth.
My mobile rings. It’s Mills.
I click answer, but I’m too choked up to say anything.
“Amy?” she says. “Seth just rang. He’s really worried about you. Where are you?”
“In Dun Laoghaire,” I manage to say. “Down some alley.”
“I’m in the shopping center with Mum. Can you tell me exactly where you are? I’ll come and find you.”
“OK.” And between sniffs, I explain where I am.
When Mills arrives, I know from the look on her face that Seth has told her everything. She puts her arms around me and gives me a hug. “I’m really sorry,” she says into my hair. We stay like that until I draw away.
“I know he’s worried about Polly and everything,” I say, trying desperately not to cry again. “But it’s so unfair!”
“I know. There’s just such a lot going on at home at the moment that he can’t cope.” Mills sighs. “It’s probably best to leave him alone for a little while, Ames, give him some space. I’m sure he’ll come around in a few days when he starts to miss you. You guys are made for each other.” She links her arm through mine. “Right, let’s get you out of here. We can hang out at my place. Mum’s still shopping, so we’ll have the place to ourselves for a while.”
I suppose she’s right about giving Seth some space. But waiting for him to change his mind might kill me.
I let Mills walk me home, our arms linked, our shoulders bumping gently. Back at her house, she doesn’t put any pressure on me: If I feel like talking, she listens; if I don’t feel like talking, she doesn’t force me. Either way she’s there, by my side, quietly and calmly supporting me.
We’re sitting on her bed, and I still feel numb. I can’t believe what has happened. I’ve finally stopped crying long enough to tell Mills about getting on at Seth to spend more time together, and about how I’ve started to wonder if the breakup is all my fault.
“I think I made him feel like he had to choose between me and Polly. But it’s not like that. I don’t mind not seeing him. I know Polly needs all his time right now. I understand that. I’m happy to stay in the background until he needs me.” I pause.
“I wanted me and Seth to be more like you and Bailey,” I tell her finally. “You said yourself that we’re more like best friends than boyfriend and girlfriend. Were more like, I should say — past tense.”
“I should never have said that,” Mills replies. “To be honest, I guess I was a bit jealous of you guys having so much in common. Bailey and I are very different. I don’t really like all that weirdy music he listens to, and . . . never tell him this, Ames . . . but I hate surfing. I like watching him surf, but I can’t stand getting cold and the salt water ruins my hair.” Despite everything, I smile to myself. Mills has beautiful hair, dark and glossy, but she is a bit obsessed with it.
As she’s talking, something occurs to me. “Mills, what about Bailey? Maybe he could talk to Seth? Make him change his mind about breaking up with me.”
She says reluctantly, “I’ll give it a go. But do you mind if I talk to Bailey in private? Explain the situation by myself. I think I’d feel more comfortable.”
“I understand,” I say, even though I’d rather hear what she has to say about me and Seth.
Mills goes into the hall, and I listen to the murmur of conversation through the closed door. I can’t make out anything she’s saying and I feel sick with nerves, waiting for her to come back in again.
My mobile beeps and I whip it out of my pocket, praying that it’s a message from Seth saying that he’s changed his mind and wants to talk. But it’s a text from Clover: HEY, BABES, DON’T FORGET TO FILE YOUR KISSING ARTICLE ASAP. HOPE YOUR MOVIE DATE WITH SETH WAS HOTTER THAN HOT (SYLVIE TOLD ME). GREAT RESEARCH, BABES ;) CLOVER XXX
I stare at the message, dying inside. Every word of that article will be pure torture to write now, but I still have to do it. I can’t let Clover or Saffy down. I cling to the tiny sliver of hope that maybe Bailey will be able to talk Seth around . . .
The hope dies as soon as Mills reenters the room. I can tell from her expression that it’s not good news.
“Bailey’s over at Seth’s place right now,” she says. “Seth’s really cut up about everything.” She bites down on her lip. She’s finding it hard to meet my gaze.
“He’s not going to change his mind, is he, Mills?” I say, my voice a whisper. “Please tell me the truth.”
She shakes her head sadly. “No. I’m so sorry.”
That’s it, then. Seth and I really are over. My eyes well up with tears again.
“Come here.” Mills puts her arm around me and pulls me close. “It’s going to be OK, Ames, I promise,” she says gently. “Stay here tonight. Mum won’t mind. That way you won’t have to deal with your family asking you questions. We can eat ice cream and watch reruns of America’s Next Top Model.”
“Thanks. You’re the best friend ever, Mills, do you know that?” I say through my tears.
“You too, Amy Green.” And then she hugs me, tight.
Typical! Today would just have to be March 17, Saint Patrick’s Day, the day the whole country goes completely crazy. Usually I get totally into the spirit of things, spraying my hair green and wearing any green clothes I can find, and then watching the big parade in Dublin city center with Mills and her parents — it’s a tradition. Mum and Dave used to go every year too, but since the babies came along, Mum isn’t keen. I think she’s afraid that Alex will get lost in the crowd, which, knowing my little troll brother, is a real possibility.
Normally Mills and I both love giving the floats marks out of ten, and waving at the American cheerleaders, who all have green shamrocks painted on their cheeks, and singing along to the marching bands playing “Danny Boy” and “Galway Girl.” Today, however, I can’t face it. I can barely lift my head off the pillow.
Mills’s mum, Sue, sticks her head around the bedroom door. “You guys coming to the parade? If you are, you’ll need to get your skates on. It’s already eleven and it starts at one. We need to leave here in half an hour if we’re going to find a good place to stand.”
Mills switches on her bedside light and looks questioningly down at me. I slept on a blow-up mattress, if “slept” is the right word. I was tossing and turning all night, thinking about Seth, and I hardly got a wink of sleep. I’m exhausted this morning, and my whole body aches. I don’t want to say too much in front of Sue. I frown and shake my head at Mills, hoping that she’ll get the message.
She looks disappointed, but says brightly to her mum, “We already have plans, Mum. But thanks for the offer.”
“Meeting the boys, are you?” Sue says. “Tell Bailey and Seth I wish them both a very happy Saint Patrick’s Day.”
“OK,” Mills says. “We’re going to get dressed now, so . . .”
Sue smiles. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it. See you later, sweetheart. Back by six for dinner, please. And Bailey’s welcome to join us for food if he likes.”
“Thanks, Mum, I’ll tell him that.”
As soon as Sue has closed the door behind her, Mills gives a deep sigh. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all. Sorry about Mum. She can be a bit full-on in the mornings. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the parade? It might help take your mind off things.”
There’s a flicker of hope in her eyes.
“There’s this amazing cheerleading team from Boston over for the march,” she continues. “The Boston Twirlers. They’re All-American champions, apparently. Nora-May was telling me about them — her cousin’s in the squad. I’m dying to see them!”
I feel bad. Mills has been so sweet to me. I don’t want to stop her enjoying Paddy’s Day just because I’m an emotional mess. She loves the parade, and I know she’ll be disappointed to miss the Boston Twirlers. I can’t believe Nora-May’s cousin is in the squad. No wonder the girl in the video looked like her. If I were feeling better, I’d confess how much my cheerleading skills owe to the Boston team and their ultra-useful YouTube clips.
“I completely forgot,” I say. “I promised Mum I’d help her with the babies today. You go to the parade with your parents.”
“I could always babysit with you, and we could watch the parade on the telly,” she offers.
“No, honestly, it’s fine. We did that one year, remember, when your dad was supposedly dying from the sniffles, and it wasn’t the same.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yes! Now, you’d better get dressed or you’ll miss the Boston Twirlers.”
After we get dressed, Mills skips off into town with her parentals while I go back home, hoping Mum and Dave will have taken the babies to the park or something, so I don’t have to talk to them. But who am I kidding? They’re rarely dressed by lunchtime on a Sunday, let alone out of the house, and today is no different.
Realizing they are in, I let myself in the front door quietly and attempt to sneak up the stairs without being detected.
“That you, Amy?” Mum yells from the kitchen.
Siúcra! “Yes, Mum,” I say loudly. “But I’m just going upstairs to have a shower.”
“Come here first.”
I sigh and walk through the kitchen doorway. Mum is leaning against the sink. Behind her, through the window, I can see Dave throwing Alex up in the air and catching him. Evie is sitting on a rug on the grass, giggling at them and clapping her hands. They look so happy, and it just makes me feel all the more sad.
“Not going to the parade with Mills and her folks?” Mum asks me.
I shake my head. “I think I’ll give it a miss this year.”
“Are you sick? It’s not like you to miss the Paddy’s parade.” She reaches out a hand to touch my forehead, but I step back.
“I’m fine. I think I just need some rest. I’ll be in my room if you need me.” I go to leave, but she puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Amy, what’s up?” she asks gently. “Did you have another fight with Mills?”
We have had two almighty falling-outs, all right, but thankfully that’s all in the past, and we’ve both sworn that it’s never going to happen again. Best friends forever.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together to stop myself from crying again. “I’m all right, Mum, honestly.”
“You’re clearly not. What it is, pet? Come on, you can tell me.”
My bottom lip starts to wobble.
“Amy, please, you’re worrying me. Is it about Clover’s trip to New York? Or Polly?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s Seth. We broke up.”
“Oh, Amy, I’m so sorry. I’ll miss him. He was such a nice lad.”
“Mum! It’s not about you.”
She winces. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right. And I know there’s nothing I can say that will make things any better for you. Breakups are rough at any age. There is a pot of posh chocolate ice cream hidden behind the French fries in the freezer if that helps.”
I’m sitting in my bedroom with Mills, digging a spoon into the pot of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie. It’s later the same day. She came by after the parade. I couldn’t face food earlier and I barely ate anything at dinner, but I feel a bit better now. And funnily enough, like Mum said, the ice cream is helping my mood a little.
My mobile beeps and I check it, telling myself it’s definitely not Seth before I look at the screen (even though a tiny fairy of hope is still flickering around in my head). I was right — it’s Clover. HEY, BABES, YOU’VE FILED THAT ARTICLE, RIGHT?;)
I groan.
“Who is it?” Mills asks.
“Clover. I was supposed to write this article on kissing for the Goss. I’ll have to tell her I can’t do it. I hate letting her down, but . . .” I trail off.
Mills’s eyes widen. “An article for the Goss? By yourself?”
I nod.
“Wow! That’s amazing, Amy. Your very first solo article.”
“But I can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “You know.”
“Seth?”
I nod.
“Ah, Ames, writing an article for the Goss is a big deal. You can’t let breaking up with Seth ruin things for you. Clover won’t always be around to hold your hand and it’s a huge opportunity to show the magazine what you can do without her help.”
“What do you mean? Clover’s not going anywhere.” Does Mills know about New York?
“It’s only a matter of time. This is Clover we’re talking about — the coolest girl on the planet. Once she’s got her degree, do you really think Dublin will be big enough to hold her? I bet she’ll get job offers all over the world — Paris, London, New York — ”
“Clover loves Dublin,” I cut in quickly. “And she loves working for the Goss. She’s not going anywhere.”
Mills goes quiet. She just sits there, gazing down at her hands. After a few seconds, she lifts her head and says, “Sometimes if you love someone, you have to let them go, Amy.”
> “That doesn’t make any sense.” But is Mills right — is Dublin too small for Clover? Does she need to spread her wings? New York would be so exciting, and in my heart, I know she’d be crazy not to take that Vogue internship. I wish I’d plucked up the courage to ask her about it the other night. What if she does go? What will I do without her? Especially now that I’ve lost Seth. I couldn’t bear it if Clover left me too.
“Clover loves Dublin,” I say firmly. “But it’s true that the kissing article is an amazing opportunity and I don’t want to let Clover down. Will you help me, Mills? Write it, I mean.”
“Of course. What are friends for? At least we do know what we’re talking about now.”
I type THE ULTIMATE TEEN GUIDE TO SMOOCHING, BY AMY GREEN into the computer and then read it out loud to Mills.
“What about ‘Kissing with Confidence’ as a title?” Mills says.
I smile to myself.
That was the title I suggested to Clover a long time ago for one of her articles. I secretly wrote to her, looking for kissing advice, signing my name “Samantha.” She knew it was me. “Who else would give me an idea for an article, complete with a perfect title, Beanie?” she asked me.
She never wrote the article, but she did give me valuable step-by-step smooching instructions. Only Clover could do that! God, I’m going to miss her.
“Amy? Do you like the title?”
“Sorry, yes, it’s great. Nice work, Mills.”
Kissing with Confidence:
The Ultimate Teen Guide to Smooching
by Amy Green
It’s quite normal to be nervous about your first kiss (or “meet”). Whatever anyone says, it is a big deal, and it’s something that you’ll remember for the rest of your life — yep, even when you’re old and wrinkly!
So first things first — don’t kiss any old frog (or boy), just so you can say you’ve kissed someone. You don’t want to look back and think, “Why did I smooch that slimy swimming fan/deranged musichead/loopy skateboarder? Yuck!”
Don’t rush into kissing someone just because all your friends have done it either.
If the thought of kissing someone makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, or you think you aren’t ready yet, then you should wait. It’s as simple as that. It’s not an age thing. Some girls feel ready at twelve, for others, it’s fifteen — everyone’s different.
