by Beth Garrod
Oh.
Wow.
A really beautiful, tall lady, wearing some sort of ultra on-trend jumpsuit with a statement necklace and lipstick that was so bright even Mumbles did a double-take, shimmied in. She looked like a magazine cut-out.
“Hi.” Shay stuck her hand out towards me. Did she have pastel-ombre nails? And did an actual beam of sunlight just glisten off her perfect bob?
“I’m, er, Bella. Bells for short.”
“And I’m Shay. Short for … well, everything when I take off my ridiculous shoes.” She winked and laughed, and everyone else did too, in the same giggly way we do when we get served by the really fit man in Tesco, who looks like Matt Healy when you squint (aka the cunningly named Tesco Matt Healy – TMH).
“Sooo great to meet you. Your mum’s been telling me aaaaaaallll about you.” Shay had a way of looking at me that made me feel important. “Don’t you have a big thing on tonight?”
I nodded, my brain working overtime to try and take this all in. As usual, Tegan stepped up to do the proper adulting. She waved across the table.
“I’m Tegan. And yeah – we’re in a comp to win a gig. It’s with a band called the Helicans. We find out tonight if our school’s through.”
I was about to try and explain that this was kind of a big deal, but Shay cut me off.
“Wow – that’s HUGE. Their last album was killer!”
Sorry, what? Did Model Lodger (Modger) also have excellent taste in music? Jo was going to love that Mum had traded her in for a cooler model (who also paid for the privilege of being in Casa Fisher).
“TOTALLY! I’ve had it on repeat alllll summer.” Rach legit blushed at her outburst. “Sorry. Hi. I’m Rach.”
Shay smiled knowingly. “Ah, Rachel. Such a symbolic name. Purity and love, right?” Rach went even redder. “I think names are so important. Shay means majesty and strength. That’s a lot to live up to!”
I think I heard Mum swoon. If Shay started talking about lunar cycles she was going to apply for adult adoption on the spot. Modger spotted Rachel’s fingers.
“Wait. Is that the cover of Don’t Waste a Second of Me on your actual nails?!”
I stepped behind Rach in case she fainted with delight. Mum did a little wiggle of excitement. “See, isn’t this lovely? I knew it would be! And I promised Brenda that while Shay’s here, she won’t just be a lodger – she’ll be a proper part of the family.”
Shay smiled back, not knowing the full horror of what being in Fam Fisher entailed, and we all made general “yes/good” noises.
But Tegan was looking at the cuckoo clock on our wall (it wasn’t a real cuckoo clock, it was just shaped like a cuckoo and we couldn’t think of a better way of describing it).
“Sounds great, Ms Fisher – although, and I don’t mean to sound rude, but we kind of need to go…”
Argh, yes. Only ten minutes to get upstairs, tune in and freak out. We waved bye to Modger – me promising to chat properly later, Rach asking for her Insta name – and pegged it upstairs.
We tuned in just in time to hear Jaz getting the band back on the line to make the announcement. HELLO, MOMENT OF TRUTH.
We held our breath. And each other’s hands.
It felt like the whole summer had been building to this moment.
Or not.
As Lis and Rosie, the bass guitarist, started nattering about when Amil accidentally knocked out a tooth while they were doing a way-too enthusiastic Little Mix cover. It was quite a long story so eventually we had to resume breathing.
“Sorry to cut you off, girls,” Jaz clearly wasn’t a dental-anecdote fan, “but we’ve got loads of messages coming through from people desperate to know which schools are in the running. You ready to do the honours?”
Lis cleared her throat. We re-stopped breathing.
“I know people always say this, but we genuinely had such a hard time choosing. You guys were great!” A big “uh-huh, yes” came from her bandmates. The three of us squeezed our hands even tighter.
“Sorry it took us so long to get through all the entries. They were SO good.” Trust Rosie to be extra supportive of the fandom.
“All five thousand of ’em!” Amil heckled from the background.
EURGH. Ten entries was more what we wanted to hear. The odds were for ever not in our favour. Amil cleared his throat. Rach had started muttering “pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease” on repeat. But I felt the same – please let someone, anyone, have got St Mary’s through.
“I’ll keep it quick, and tell you which schools are through. You can head to the Radio Shire Facebook to see what their winning advice was and who sent it in. If you’re a finalist – stay tuned for an email direct from us too.” He took a deep breath sounding nervous himself. “So, let’s get on with it. In no particular order … the schools in the final are … St Mary’s.”
WHAT?!
“… of The Prior.”
Oh. Not us: the super-exclusive school out of town. My stomach plunged like it was on a bouncy castle. And as Amil reeled off more and more names, it dropped so far it felt like it had taken up permanent residency in my big toe.
Oh well. That was that.
Rach did a stuttery sniff like she might be about to cry.
But what had we really expected?
“I’m so sorry, Rach.” I felt crap for me, but even worse for her.
“Fat lot of good this did.” She pulled her sock up over the biro “H” on her ankle.
But Amil’s Welsh voice cut back through. “Oops, sorry, guys. Missed one off!”
What? There was one more chance? SOMEONE HAD SEEN OUR DEAD DREAM AND GIVEN IT CPR.
We resumed the tense hand-grabbing position.
“Drumroll, please – the last school isssss … St Mary’s.”
Wait. What?!
OUR St Mary’s?!
WE WERE IN THE FINAL?!
This. Was. EVERYTHING!
I stared at the other two checking I hadn’t halluci-heard. But Tegan nodded. It. Was. Real. And after a split second of being too shocked to move, we exploded into the loudest cheers, leaping around on my bed, hands, legs, everything in the air. Mum guessed the result from the commotion and shouted up a big, “Well done,” (and something about it sounding like a herd of elephants upstairs).
We were celebrating like our school had already won the whole thing.
“I wonder,” Tegan panted as we collapsed in a heap, “who,” (breath) “made it through for us?” She refreshed the Radio Shire page again but nothing had gone up. Rach and I had even checked our emails but we’d had nothing, so it wasn’t us.
“Whoever it is,” Rach wheezed, “is going to be,” (pant) “an instant heeeroooo.” (Gasp) “Lifelong celeb status guaranteed.”
“You know what this means?” Tegan shook her head like she couldn’t quite believe it herself – and it took a lot to blow her mind. “Only three questions are between us and having the actual Helicans. At. Our. School.”
Rach wheeze-squealed. “We HAVE to do WHATEVER it takes to make sure St Mary’s wins, agreed?” But before I could check whether I should be worried about the crazed look in her eye she put her finger to her lips. Jaz had more details.
“The next round we’ll be cutting ten to five, and this time the question is going to be all about exes.”
Generic studio “Oooooh.”
“So, as it’s back to a public vote, make sure YOU tune in to vote for your favourite!”
Rach snorted. She was doing the full farmyard of noises tonight.
“Thank goodness it’s not about one of our exes – imagine that being shared with the Helicans?”
Involuntary Nostril Flare.
“Well, I’m the one who went out with a boy who tried to make a whole school call me Blobfish.” Yup, going out with Luke had been a total mistake.
Teeg laughed. “Fair point. And I don’t have one, so that’s me out.”
Rach scrunched up her nose. “Do you think we’ll know the person
who got us through? Cos soz to say it, but they might officially have to be my new best mate.”
“Oi!” I dug her in the ribs. But I knew she was messing – the whole school was probably thinking the same. I knew I was. All of our hopes of a single exciting thing happening were totally pinned on this mystery wise person. They’d better have nerves of steel. Rach had started writing down ideas of how we could befriend them. She looked up from her list (which currently only said “buy all the cake for them”).
“Imagine if they really mess it up?! They’ll have to switch schools.” She jotted down “invite skiing”. “Or at least invest in some serious disguise.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded slowly at the thought. “People have no mercy. They cut you off just for taking the last plate of Friday chips.”
But Tegan didn’t laugh. In fact she looked kind of freaked out.
“Bells. You might want to look into fake moustaches…” She pointed at the Radio Shire page. “It was you.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
If I thought the tidal wave of messages I got straight after Radio Shire posted my entry (followed by Jaz going the whole hog and announcing my name on air) might be a blip, I was wrong.
My anonymous life had started trending.
And four days afterwards, it hadn’t stopped. That one email had catapulted my life into a mix of school faces I hardly recognized chatting to me in the street (and laughing way too much at my non-jokes), a deluge of good-luck messages from numbers I didn’t know, and ten times more likes on everything I posted.
Suddenly everyone who’d never bothered to say hi wanted to be my best mate.
All the pressure to win was on me.
Despite Rach and Tegan telling me at least fifty times a day it would be OK, I was freaking out.
Freaking out about the next round.
Freaking out about going back to school.
And freaking out-out that these two freak-outs were only twelve hours apart.
This could only end one of two ways:
Hero Bella.
Being-Chased-Out-Of-Town-With-Pitchforks Bella.
And that’s both scary AND a real mouthful. The only positive I’d come up with was that I didn’t think anyone sold pitchforks any more, so it might be downgraded to rakes (but they still seem quite pointy).
It hadn’t helped that the Helicans comp was also the hottest topic of convo at home too. Mum was enjoying the novelty of boasting about two daughters, and Modger was relieved her new home wasn’t as uncool as she’d assumed. There was NO escape.
EURGH. Why had I ever thought this was a good idea?
I slumped forward over Mum’s supermarket trolley. Yup, I was so desperate to distract myself from obsessing about it, I’d agreed to my third supermarket trip of the week with her. Living the school holiday dream (everyone else’s summer involved Tenerife – mine involved Tesco). The only plus side was that Mum was so pumped about Give A Dog A Cone launching next week she’d agreed I could buy some brand-name ice creams as “research”.
Remembering this deal, I marched towards the freezer section.
THWACK.
There is something beyond painful about a supermarket trolley wheel catching the back of your heel. And I’d just inflicted it full speed on an unsuspecting human.
As my victim turned round, I contemplated leaping into the fridge unit and hiding under a pile of butter.
The victim was Tesco Matt Healy. TMH.
And to make matters worse, he’d been totally stationary, stacking Stilton.
“OHMYGAWDI’MSOSORRY.”
He crouched down to rub at the injury, putting him eye level with the current contents of my trolley – loo roll (pack of twenty-four, no less), dog-worming tablets and extra-strength toilet cleaner. If a trolley could anti-flirt, mine was achieving it.
“No worries. It’s a hazard of the job.”
No. It was a hazard of looking so dreamy people forgot appropriate stopping distances. For the sake of his health, I should warn him to stay away from pelican crossings.
Going redder than the Edam next to him I muttered another five “sorrys” before we both did the eyebrow-raise-smile combo signifying “this conversation has ended, but as it never really began there aren’t words we can use to politely acknowledge this, so let’s both be on our way”.
“Oooh, Bells, is this ‘The Cheese Man’?”
Please no. Why did my mum have to find me at that exact second? And why did she still manage to do air quotes with her fingers, despite clutching what looked like a bumper tube of athlete’s foot cream?
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.” I couldn’t be speaking any faster. “Other than yes, he is a man. I think. I mean, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Errr, I am, yes,” TMH clarified quietly.
“And yes – he clearly is involved with cheese in some way.” I pointed at the mozzarella. “I mean, not romantically, but in a working relationship kind of way.”
TMH awkwardly got back to opening up a new box of cheese, as if dealing with dysfunctional families was a normal part of his job.
“Aaanyway, we must bid you adieu.” I grabbed Mum’s hand. “Don’t want to get in the way of your balls.” BELLA, WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!? I swear my brain doesn’t function at the speed needed for normal conversation skills. I panic-shouted. “AS IN, MOZZARELLA BALLS.” Silence. “But you knew that.”
My work here was done.
I dragged us away as quickly as I could. When we got to the safety of the battery display at the end of the aisle, Mum leaned over and whispered.
“Well, he seemed lovely.”
I rolled my eyes and messaged the others to tell them we were going to have to give hanging out in the cold section a break till Ball-gate blew over. Farewell, only silver lining of being held chore-hostage. As I traipsed behind Mum in a mood, sporadically throwing in essential purchases (Wotsits, Pot Noodles, Daim Dairy Milk), my phone buzzed. It was something even more unexpected than my TMH assault.
Hiyyyerrrrrr. Free Friday evening? I’ve got a cinema ticket with your name on it.
It buzzed again.
I haven’t, that would be weird. But you get what I mean.
Tannoy announcement: LIFE EVENT IN AISLE THREE.
THE FADAM HAD LANDED.
Adam had got in contact?! Yessssssss! And despite my teammate-attack/accidental-mount combo, he wanted to see me again?!
Hallelujah!
I shook a pack of breath freshener mints like they were celebration maracas.
THIS WAS BIG.
Adam – offa being total amazing – wanted to go on a second solo-hang/maybe date. With me?!
My face = officially grinning like a gibbon. That’s what reading a message from him does to me. How lame is that? But it wasn’t my fault he made my major organs go all giddy. I’ve seriously never liked ANYONE how I like him.
He was like a Yorkshire pudding: his ingredients were all excellent, but combined they achieved a previously unimaginable extra level of perfection.
And this Yorkshire pudding wanted to see me again.
I dropped some kitchen foil in the trolley, smiling way too hard for the baking aisle, as I drifted into my pre-prepared “Why Adam is so Fadam” list.
•He’s dead funny (but in a quiet way where he doesn’t make a big deal out of his jokes).
•He’s clumsy in a cute way (like when he caught my hair in his hoodie zip and apologized for two weeks).
•He plays the drums (fit).
•And football (fit).
•He has an entertaining obsession with The One Show (meaning he is more likely to be OK with my DIY SOS obsession).
I threw in some plastic food bags (Wow! I love plastic bags! I love life!) and carried on.
•He remembers things I say (he even did further research on my hermaphroditic fish chat).
•He wears T-shirts that are just the perfect amount too big (something extra swoon about boys in baggy stuff).
�
��He has the best taste in music (we had ten matches on our “recently played” lists).
•Plus the nicest hair (especially that one bit that always curls up at the front).
•And those forearms (UFOs. Unexplainable Fit Objects).
•And he has such a beautiful…
“Spotted dick?”
Sorry, what? I blinked five times and discovered Mum holding up two tins.
“Or good old rice pudding?”
I pointed at the rice pudding and tried not to give away I’d been lost in full-on AdamPervlandia. Thankfully, Mum scurried straight off to get some scented candles, leaving me alone with a way more difficult decision: how to reply.
It had to be perfect. Getting things on track with Adam was as big to me as winning the Helicans gig. Maybe even bigger. I SO wanted him to like me as much as I liked him. Or even a tenth (still a pretty daunting prospect when I counted empty-crisp-packet origami as one of my major hobbies/skills).
I took a deep breath.
I could do this.
OR COULD I?!
Because there – in the frozen vegetables section – he was.
Adam. IRL. Just casually joking around and buying a bag of peas with his mate Marcus, as if this was perfectly acceptable behaviour. As if people like him did normal things like eat or buy chilled legumes.
Fact: supermarkets should NOT allow boys this hot to be in their freezer aisles. He was one hair flick away from causing a defrosting disaster.
I dived into the cleaning aisle, my heart thundering so loud I couldn’t even think straight.
SUBLIMINAL NOTE TO ADAM’S BRAIN: turning up unannounced like this In Real Life is NOT OK.
Quick, Bella. Think. What to do?!
There was a clear winner – I HAD to make sure my mum and me did not, in any way, shape or form, have an encounter with him.
I scurried – as fast as you can in a supermarket without getting chased by a security guard – to find her. Darting around like a ninja, I ushered her to the hopefully boy-safe haven of sanitary products. I kept her chatting there for twenty minutes until I calculated the coast would be clear. Never have I used the words “heavy flow” so much in my entire life. I will never be able to forget Mum’s story about the first time she used a menstrual cup.
