Double Dare

by Cathy Hopkins

  Cathy Hopkins lives in London with her husband and two cats, Emmylou and Otis. The cats appear to be slightly insane. Their favourite game is to run from one side of the house to the other as fast as possible, then see if they can fly if they leap high enough off the furniture. This is usually at three o’clock in the morning and they land on anyone who happens to be asleep at the time.

  Cathy spends most of her time locked in a shed at the bottom of the garden pretending to write books but is actually in there listening to music, hippie dancing and checking her Facebook page.

  Apart from that, Cathy has joined the gym and spends more time than is good for her making up excuses as to why she hasn’t got time to go.

  The TRUTH, DARE, KISS, PROMISE series

  l. White Lies and Barefaced Truths

  2. Pop Princess

  3. Teen Queens and Has-Beens

  4. Starstruck

  5. Double Dare

  6. Midsummer Meltdown

  7. Love Lottery

  8. All Mates Together

  Find out more at www.piccadillypress.co.uk

  Join Cathy’s Club at www.cathyhopkins.com

  Thanks to Brenda Gardner, Yasemin Uçar, Jon Appleton, Melissa Patey and the rest of the team of fabsters at Piccadilly. To Rosemary Bromley at Juvenilia. To Steve Lovering for his constant support and help on all aspects of the book and for going out and to turn on the heating on in my office/shed on wintry days so that it’s not freezing when I get out there. And to a dear male friend who provided so many great dating disaster stories for this book but who shalll remain anonymous so that his street cred remains intact. (You know who you are . . .)

  First published in Great Britain in 2005

  by Piccadilly Press Ltd,

  5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR

  This edition published 2008

  Text copyright © Cathy Hopkins, 2005

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978 1 85340 971 4 (paperback)

  eISBN: 978 1 84812 303 8

  3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD

  Typeset by M Rules, London

  Set in Garamond and Fineprint

  Cover design by Simon Davis

  Cover illustration by Susan Hellard

  Contents

  1. D Day

  2. Double Dare

  3. Hubble Bubble.

  4. Change of Plan

  5. London

  6. Sergeant Major

  7. Emily

  8. Dad

  9. Women!

  10. Looking for a Way Out

  11. Phone Crazy

  12. Emily’s Visit

  13. Fantasy Girl

  14. Clearing the Air

  15. Camping

  16. Love Hurts

  17. Second Chance

  18. Dêja Vu

  19. Going Public

  ‘WHAT EXACTLY DO BOYS WANT?’ asked Cat as we sat on the bus on the way to school on the first day back after the Easter holidays. ‘I wish I could get into a boy’s head for just twenty-four hours and see what goes on in there.’

  ‘You wouldn’t find a lot,’ said Squidge, laughing. ‘Not in Mac’s head anyway,’

  I punched him. ‘Oi! Watch it, mate. You don’t know what goes on in here.’

  Squidge laughed again. ‘The state of the environment, why are we here? Is there a God? I don’t think so. More like: see girl, good, mmm, hubba hubba. Want grub, soon. Tired, me sleep through maths class. Ug.’

  ‘And I call you a mate!’ I said. ‘You don’t appreciate my hidden depths.’

  ‘OK,’ said Cat. ‘So tell me. What were you thinking just then when you were staring out the window? What deep thoughts were going through that head of yours?’

  I’m not a blusher normally but I felt myself go red. She’d caught me out. Today was the day I was dreading with a capital D. It was the day I was going to finish with Becca, and I was going over my goodbye speech for the fifteen millionth thousandth time.

  ‘Oh . . . you know, just thinking about what tortuous horrors lie ahead at school today.’

  ‘Hmm, exactly what I was trying not to think about,’ said Cat. ‘Think I’ll go and talk to Moira at the back. See what she’s been up to over the Easter holidays.’

  ‘So much for my magnetic hold over women,’ I said when she’d gone. ‘Two minutes with me and they can’t wait to get away.’

  ‘At least you have Becca,’ said Squidge. ‘She doesn’t seem in any hurry to get away from you. It was like you were joined at the hip over the holidays.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘I’ve already had two text messages from her this morning. But . . . listen, mate, strictly between me and you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Just . . . Difficult, this. I like Becca and all, who wouldn’t? She’s a top babe but . . .’

  ‘You’ve been thinking about finishing with her?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘D’oh! I’m not stupid. Remember on the film set? You said something about wanting to try a whole bowl of fruit and not just settle for an apple, or something poetic like that.’

  I nodded. In the Easter holidays, a film crew had been down filming in Mount Edgecumbe Park. It had been top as half the school had managed to wangle jobs there. Squidge had worked as a runner, Cat and Becca had worked in the catering tent and I’d worked there a few days washing cars. It was a brilliant experience and we met loads of great people, especially the make-up girls. Trouble was, Becca watched me like a hawk if ever she saw me chatting to any of them. It was then I began to question whether I wanted to be in a committed relationship and with Becca, it’s certainly that. She calls all the shots: decides where we go, when we go, who we see. And she calls or texts about ten times a day. I was beginning to feel suffocated.

  ‘So when are you going to tell her?’ asked Squidge.

  ‘Today. Start the summer term with a clean slate.’

  ‘Hmm. Best of luck.’

  ‘Oh come on, Squidge. Give me more than that. I was hoping you could tell me what to say?’

  When I first moved down to Cornwall from London just over a year ago, Cat and Squidge had been an item. They’d been going together for ages and Squidge wanted to cut loose and be free to meet other girls. And now he’s going with the gorgeous Lia Axford. But he managed to stay friends with Cat. In fact, we’re all friends. Me, Squidge, Lia, Cat and Becca. I’ve hung out with them from the beginning of my time down here and don’t want to lose any of them as mates.

  ‘No easy way,’ said Squidge. ‘Just do it.’

  ‘But how? I’ve already been over the speech a million times. How did you do it with Cat?’

  ‘Ah. I guess I did agonise about it for weeks before . . .’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘So don’t give me any of that “just do it” crap.’

  ‘But in the end, that’s what I had to do. You have to bite the bullet, take the bull by the horns . . .’

  ‘Take the Becca by the horns. Scary. What if she cries?’

  Becca is one of those girls who wears her heart on her sleeve and has no problem showing her emotions. And boy, does she have plenty. I didn’t want to upset her. I hate scenes. I hate confrontation. I’m like my dad in that way, all for the easy life, and this was going to be difficult. I knew
Becca really liked me. A lot. And flattering though it was, I wanted to move on.

  As the bus arrived at the school gates, Squidge turned to me and said, ‘May the force be with you, Skywalker, my little chum. Just do it and . . . er . . . why are you cowering under the seat?’

  I’d ducked down as I’d just seen Becca’s dad’s VW Polo draw up in front of the bus. Becca was getting out of the back. Am I mad? I asked myself as I peeked up from the floor and watched her walk into school. Dressed all in black today. Black jeans, black strappy top. She’s a really good-looking girl. Tall and curvy with long, Titian red hair. She looks like one of the girls in those Pre-Raphaelite paintings by Edward Burne Jones.

  ‘Lost something?’ asked Cat as she passed and saw me scrabbling round on the floor.

  ‘Only my mind,’ I replied.

  ‘Nothing new there then,’ said Cat as she got off the bus and ran to catch Becca up.

  Being back at school was horrible. Always is after a break. And it didn’t help that we started with double maths followed by chemistry. My favourite subject is art. It’s the only thing I’m really any good at. I want to be a cartoonist when I leave school. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a kid and although I know I’ve got a long way to go yet, I hope to develop my own style so that everyone recognises my ‘Mac’ cartoon when they see one. So I can’t see the point of potions, formulas and learning the properties of carbon dioxide.

  I spent most of the morning classes going over once again what I was going to say to Becca. She’d texted that she wanted to meet up in the break but I wasn’t ready and I’d hidden in the library where I’d decided to try and avoid her for the rest of the morning. Shouldn’t be too difficult as she’s in Year Nine and I’m in Eleven so we don’t do classes together. I’d do it at lunch. No. Bad idea. I might not be able to get her on her own – and how would I do it? I can’t exactly land it on her, just as she’s munching her sandwiches, like – oh by the way, it’s over between us, enjoy your buttie. And I might need more time than we get in the lunch hour, like if she cries and needs me to hug her and talk her through it. No, definitely a bad idea to do it then. If she gets upset then she’d still have to get through the afternoon. No. Can’t do that to her. Best do it after school. That way, she can get home and if she’s going to cry, she can do it in private. God this stinks. Why don’t they teach us important life skills like this in school? A class in how to finish with your girlfriend would be far more useful than learning what the symbols for oxygen and carbon dioxide are. As Mr Daley droned on at the front of the class, I went back to writing my goodbye speech in my head.

  I really like you but . . .

  Don’t take this personally but . . .

  It’s not that I don’t rate you. It’s just that I have discovered that I’m gay and have decided to come out . . .

  Actually, Becca, although I’m only sixteen, I have a wife and a kid in London and have been waiting for the right moment to tell you . . .

  Actually, Mac died in the Easter holidays and I’m his twin brother from London – and I already have a girlfriend . . .

  God appeared in my bedroom last night and told me that I am the Chosen One and must abstain from relationships from now on . . .

  Useless, all useless. No. I have to tell the truth. But how? Text or e-mail? Something like: CU L8R. MUCH L8R. No, that’s the coward’s way. I have to do it in person. I owe her that much.

  I looked down to see that I had scribbled a cartoon of a boy being hung round the neck from the gallows. Unfortunately, Mr Daley was walking the aisles and had seen my drawing too.

  ‘Ah. Poor lad. Is that how you’re feeling today, Macey?’ he asked. ‘Must be hard for you being back after the holidays.’

  I knew the note of concern in his voice was well fake. ‘No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean . . .’

  ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said in class so far. Have you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I have.’

  ‘And the properties of carbon dioxide are?’

  ‘Er . . . water . . .’

  Mr Daley gave me his scary smile. The scary smile that meant, you are about to be punished. ‘This is your GSCE year. No time for messing about. Detention. Lunchtime. Take a slip on the way out.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I grinned up at him. Excellent, I thought. That gives me a let out from seeing Becca.

  Mr Daley gave me a strange look. ‘Now, before I go into the properties of sulphur, is anyone else having problems concentrating and would like to join Tom Macey?’

  Becca sent me two more text messages while I was in detention saying that she wanted to see me urgently. It’s always urgent with her. So I texted back that I’d meet her outside school by the bus stop where she waits for her lift home. That way, we won’t have too much time. I can do the dreaded deed. The car will arrive to pick her up, take her home and she won’t have to face anyone until she’s ready. It was a good plan. Sorted.

  All too soon, school was over, I was at the allocated meeting place and Becca was coming out of the gates towards me. She was nearly in front of me, twirling her hair and she looked anxious. I had a moment of panic. Maybe Squidge had said something. He might have told Lia what I was planning to do and she might have told Cat and she might have told Becca. No. No, I reassured myself. He wouldn’t have. He’s my best mate. I could trust him and he knows what those girls are like. Can’t keep anything to themselves. What had he said this morning? Just do it? I hitched my school bag further up on my shoulder and took a deep breath.

  ‘Becca . . .’

  ‘Mac,’ she said, before I could get any further. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it and be straight. I think we should have a break from one another.’

  Woah! That was my line.

  ‘I really, really like you and don’t want you to take it personally or anything,’ she said as she placed her hand gently on my arm. ‘And I want to stay friends. That’s really important to me. You’re one of the nicest guys I know but I just don’t want a boyfriend at the moment.’

  Cue a line from me but my vocal cords seemed to have frozen in my throat.

  She flicked her hair back and continued with my script.

  ‘I just feel that we’ve become too much of a couple and we need to be a bit more independent . . .’

  I was vaguely aware that my goldfish impression needed no more work. I closed my mouth and tried to look casual but everything I’d planned to say had flown out of my brain.

  ‘Er . . . fine . . . right . . .’ I finally managed to stammer.

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘No. Yeah. Right. It’s fine.’

  Becca sighed. ‘Phew. What a relief that you’re taking it like this. I’ve been in agony all day, dreading this. Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Really,’ I said although I was anything but. I felt dumbfounded at the way things were turning out. She was dumping me! Last thing I expected. It was supposed to be me dumping her, something I thought I’d better let her know right away. ‘In fact, I’d been thinking the same thing.’

  Becca squeezed my arm. ‘Dear Mac,’ she said. ‘It’s so typical of you to say something like that to make it easier for me when I know I must have hurt you. So thanks. I know you’ll need some time alone to get your head around this but when you feel ready, we can still be mates, can’t we? Hang around with the gang?’

  ‘Yeah. Course.’

  ‘I’ve been so worried,’ she said, then clasped me in a great bear hug. ‘You’re such a great mate, Mac. I’m so glad this isn’t going to spoil things between us.’

  She let me go, then scrutinised my face carefully. Probably looking for tears.

  ‘So . . . See you around then.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘See you around.’

  It was then that I spied Cat and Lia hovering behind the school gates. They were looking this way and when Cat saw me glance over at them, she darted back out of sight. My humiliation is now
total, I thought. Obviously tickets have been sold to the whole school and someone will be around selling binoculars and popcorn any minute.

  Becca gave my arm a last squeeze then went back to join Cat and Lia who were still looking on anxiously. Clearly they’d planned the whole scene between them and now were going to go off somewhere and talk over my reaction. I stood there feeling a total idiot. How could I have got it so wrong? I asked myself. I thought she was crazy about me. I must be so seriously rubbish at reading girl’s minds.

  Girls. Love them. Hate them. I sure don’t understand them.

  ON THE WAY HOME, I got off the bus at the View café up at Whitsand Bay. I didn’t feel like facing anyone yet. I wanted time on my own to chill. And compose a letter.

  I walked from the bus stop up the slope to the café which is situated on top of the cliff, took a bench at one of the picnic tables outside on the balcony and pulled my notebook out of my school bag.

  The café is called the View as it has one of the best views in the area. In the distance to the left you can see the peninsula jutting out at Rame Head and to the right, there are cliffs and unspoilt coastline stretching for as far as the eye can see. It really is stunning. Sea, sky and not much else. The café used to be a greasy spoon type of place serving up endless plates of bacon and eggs to passing ramblers and tourists, but now it’s been taken over and has gone more upmarket. That’s one of the reasons I like it. It’s the only place in the whole area where you can get a decent cappuccino and I’ve missed them since we left London. Talk about culture shock, I thought as I gazed around me. Just over a year ago, on my way home from school, I’d be sitting on Upper Street in London looking out at the rush hour traffic. Every other building was a café there – Café Rouge, Café Uno, Starbucks, Café Nero – and now, my only option is this isolated place where the only buildings that can be seen are holiday chalets dotted down the cliff and the only customers are the occasional ramblers who happen to be passing by. Still, it’s better than nothing.

  I miss a lot about London. I miss my mates at my old school. I miss footie on Highbury Fields. Camden Market heaving with people on a Saturday morning. Going to the movies at Screen on the Green, bowling at Finsbury Park, visiting the Tate Modern down on the river, great exhibitions every weekend. It’s all so different down here. Beautiful, no doubt, but way quieter. The villages in winter are like ghost towns until the tourists arrive. And who wants to hang out in a ghost town when you’re sixteen years old? Not me.