Super Awkward

by Beth Garrod

  I pulled Jo’s red top out of my bag and stuck it under my nose. I’d stashed it for the journey, just in case it had any of Zac’s smell left in it from his jacket. I might not have his name, or any way of speaking to him ever again, but I do have a fifty per cent acrylic top that kind of smells a bit of him if I try and block out my sweat.

  MMMM. Zac. If I was less selfish, I should probably let a museum know, so they could pickle him and exhibit him for all to see.

  As I inhaled, Jo reached around the headrest and grabbed it out of my hands.

  “I’ll be having that.”

  She has no respect for priceless artefacts. Heartifacts.

  “Oi, it’s mine . . . Sort of.”

  Her annoying face reflected back at me in the mirror.

  “If by yours, you mean mine, then yes it is.”

  Mum cleared her throat. The signal she’s about to say something mum-y. She was fed up of us arguing all morning.

  “You do need to be bit more careful of your sister’s things, Bella. I heard what happened to her shoe last night.”

  No, Mother, you heard a Zac-less version of what happened to that shoe last night. Still, I was in no hurry for Jo to tell her the full Bella-met-a-boy-she-likes-and-so-you’ll-ask-over-one-million-questions story. But I figured there was no way she was going to risk a retaliation blab about her semi-losing me.

  “You’re going to have to put some money towards a new pair, you know?”

  I grunted. Luckily they didn’t know the shoe was actually priceless. A foot-shaped cupid’s arrow, without which I would never have met/maimed Zac. I’d happily sell my left arm to be with him right now – in fact, I’d give it away for free. Although I’m not sure who’d want a spare left arm, especially as it can’t throw anything beyond 3.5 metres. It even disappoints our dog, Mumbles.

  Zac will see that our caravan had been packed up and we’ve left, won’t he? I should have left a note. Even if it only said, ‘Sorry for saying wix.’

  I think I might actually love him.

  But what does it matter. I’m never going to see him again. I should try and put myself off him to make this thought more bearable.

  I did the ‘think about him having a poo’ trick. But picturing his scruffy morning-hair in combo with a loose white T-shirt that he’d probably slept in just made me fancy him more. PJ-upped Zac = hotness, poo or no poo.

  What about the LOVE test? I got my phone out and typed in what I had of our names. ‘Bella Fisher LOVES Zac’. I counted up the letters. Forty-six per cent. But if I knew his last name I’m sure it’d rocket up into the nineties. Especially if it’s Voles. Bella Voles – that works for me.

  Although hang on. There was one thing I knew about him.

  Over a dodgy motorway phone signal, I downloaded PSSSST. But my heart immediately sank as I realized you could only get a live feed of posts. There was no way to search for what he’d shown me yesterday. Another Zac dead-end.

  But as I went to delete it, I paused. Maybe, just maybe, if I read it every day I might see one of Zac’s posts. Recognize his mum stories. Be able to send him a direct message? Eurgh, it would be like trying to find a camouflaged needle in an anonymous haystack, but any chance was better than no chance.

  I punched in my details and up popped the anonymous name it generated for me – PruneFlapper. It sounded like the kind of job I’d end up in. Next it suggested a random list of people to follow. If only I’d got Zac’s username. I clicked away and soon anonymous secrets started to scroll past. But as I started to read them, a message filled up the screen: ‘Don’t just stare, you gotta share!’ Ew – I can’t just laugh at other people’s misfortune on PSSSST, I was going to have to share my own?!

  I looked at Jo bouncing up and down happily to Mum’s panpipe musical torture. Suck-up. Maybe she could help me out for a change.

  MY STRAIGHT-A SISTER THOUGHT THAT WHEN

  A FILM SAID ‘PRESENT DAY’ IT WAS SOMETHING

  TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS.

  I pressed post. But it came back with an error message as it wanted a profile pic first. As tempting as it was to put up a bad picture of Jo’s annoying face, I figured that, as Zac said, the best thing about it was it being secret. I scrolled through my camera roll and chose a nice non-descript pic of my feet up on the caravan windowsill.

  UPLOAD PIC. UPLOAD PSSSST.

  Ha, not so cool are you now, Joanna? She caught my eye in the mirror. She knew I was up to something. I smiled back sweetly enough to make sure I unnerved her, and got back to staring out of the window. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  With Black Bay gone for ever, and probably Zac too, my life outlook was fifty shades of bleak. When Zac was around, the total mess of my real life hadn’t seemed so important. But as the black and white sign of APPLETON flew past the window, I couldn’t pretend any longer. Mum and Jo had ruined the one good thing about the holiday, and now I was going to have to face up to reality. First stop, Rachel’s house. Like it or not, it was time for me to find out what really went down at the party.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Why is it when you stare at your phone for incoming friend messages it never, ever beeps? Even when you look away in an effort to fool it, it STILL does nothing. It’s like it knows.

  I grabbed it off my bedside table and ran downstairs.

  “See you later, Mum.” AKA Killer of Dreams. “I’ll be back for tea.”

  They were the first words I’d said since we’d been back. I knew when to take the high ground, and when to take the pie ground. I marched out the door and towards Rachel’s. She lives a ten-minute walk away, and despite hating all forms of exercise (except sass-waving my nails) I love the amble there. I normally take Mumbles and do the route at least twice a week. I’m not a keen dog walker, but I AM a semi-professional boy spotter, and the journey takes me past the playing fields where I’m often treated to a sighting of MIAGTM – Man I Am Going To Marry. I don’t know his name, but he’s a bit skatery and I’ve crushed on him since I spotted him three years ago. Although, crisis: now I’ve met Zac, do I need to change his name to MIMPM – Man I Might Possibly Marry?

  MIAGTM is my old faithful. I dial my crush levels up or down on him to fit whatever boy drama is happening in the rest of my life. He’s like the Jay-Z to my Beyoncé, he just doesn’t know it yet, and I’m assuming neither of us can rap.

  As I walked past the playing field, I rang Tegan’s house phone again. Her mum picked up. Apparently Tegan was teaching at one of her mammoth day-long gymnastics classes. That meant she’d have zero reception, which made more sense than my network just selectively blocking her messages. I’m so in awe of Tegan’s dedication to stuff. Hardly anyone at school even knows she does gymnastics, let alone teaches or competes. For her it’s never about what other people think. If I was as good as her at anything, I’d probably get it printed on a T-shirt. And matching trousers to be on the safe side.

  But Tegan was off-radar all day, and to make matters worse, there was also a total lack of MIAGTM/ MIMPM sighting. He was probably off saving a puppy’s life, or trying out for a professional football team or something.

  I rang Rachel’s doorbell and waited for someone to make the trek to the front door. Their house is mahoosive. Maybe that’s why rich people tend to be thin – they get their daily exercise just going to the kitchen and back to make tea. It was Mrs Waters who opened the door.

  “Oooh, Bella, you, erm . . . startled me there.”

  Note to self, must work on my enthusiastic hello-parent face. I stopped the manic smile.

  “Haven’t you just come back from holiday?” She looked me up and down searching for the faintest hint of a tan.

  “It was just a week with my mum and sister.”

  “Oh, a lovely beach holiday?” She nodded, as if willing the answer to be ‘yes’.

  “Sort of, we went to Wales.”

  Her nodding stopped. I put her out of her misery.

  “In a caravan.”
<
br />   Her smile remained, but her eyes screamed, ‘Is that what people call a holiday these days?’

  “Belllllllaaaaa!!” Rachel’s long red hair swooshed round the door. “You’re here! MUM, why didn’t you shout for me?” She pushed past her mum, opening the door wide enough to walk through. “We have SO much to talk about.”

  Rachel’s manicured hands grabbed my arm and pulled me in. I couldn’t help but note her fingers were 1.2 centimetres from the exact spot where Zac’s had been fifteen hours earlier. New favourite bit of skin, beating my previous favourite of a weirdly smooth bit next to my armpit.

  Taking my shoes off, I looked for evidence of the party. Nope, still a gleaming show home. I could murder someone here, and it would be so spotlessly clean the next day that the police forensic team wouldn’t be able to find a single clue. Good to keep in mind if Jo ever snogterupts me again. Or tells that story again about me taking a selfie with a waxwork nun in Madame Tussauds, only for me to discover it was a real – and quite annoyed – old lady.

  “Sorry about my mum, you know what she’s like. She can be so cringe sometimes.”

  “As if! You’ve met my mum. You have NO NEED to apologize. Your mum isn’t the one who once sent you to school with a cheese sandwich – made from human breast milk.”

  Her already massive blue eyes got even wider.

  “Oh yeah! I still can’t believe Mikey ate it?!”

  I laughed. I’d forgotten about that bit! He really would do anything to impress Tegan.

  “Someone should have let him know the way to Tegan’s heart isn’t via ‘eating lady cheese’.”

  Rach faked gagged, looking a total contrast to the professional photoshoots of her fam we were walking past.

  “Pure vileness! On a total level with my mum telling Mr Lutas that in her day he would have been a hottie. I wished the ground would open up and hollow me.”

  If it was anyone other than Rachel, I’d probably point out it’s ‘swallow’? But best not add to the already difficult thought of why her mum would crack on to an art teacher who always had suspect chalk marks around his groin from where he was ‘adjusting’ himself. He’s prob the only teacher in the UK that still uses a blackboard to make notes.

  We went into Rach’s room, which had real-life framed modern art on the walls, and crashed on her bed. It was big enough to lie widthways on. I stared up at her big wall, which was covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It never failed to amaze me. The top shelves were stacked with the ones she’d inherited (mainly dull, but there were some well-funny ones of naked people in giant champagne glasses we occasionally got down), the middle shelves were the art ones her mum had got for her, and the bottom shelves were full of the well-thumbed ones you never saw her without.

  Rachel prodded me with a glittery nail.

  “Come on then, how was your holibobs?”

  Deep breath, me. Play it casual. Maybe don’t even mention Zac for a while? Perhaps seem cool for once by making out the biggest deal ever was, like, not that big a deal. Yes. Good plan.

  “OMGItwasAMAZING. I SNOGGED, well semi-snogged, the FITTEST boy and it was probably the GREATEST moment to have EVER happened to anyone on record EVER, give or take a flying shoe, but that’s NOT IMPORTANT, cos what IS important is that he is INCREDIBLE and has great teeth and loves his gran and laughs like an strangely alluring horse.” The words couldn’t have come out of my mouth any faster. Rachel’s jaw officially dropped – and stayed there as every single tiny other detail spilled out, in such rapid fire that I forgot to breathe and had to lie flat on her bed to avoid a fainting incident. It was never me who had these kind of stories – and it felt good. Rach reacted just how I hoped, even jumping at the key moments, causing tiny tidal mattress waves.

  “So, let me get this straight. HE apologized to YOU because HE wanted to kiss YOU?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And right now, at this second, he thinks you’ve stood him up, cos you’re not interested, even though also right now, at this second, you’re seriously considering leaving my house and walking 379 miles just to say sorry for saying ‘wix’?”

  “Correct.”

  She waggled her long arms and legs around like an upturned ladybird.

  “And his last words before he semi-snogged you were about . . . slugs?”

  “Uh-huh – a whole new meaning to talking dirty.”

  “Bells – this is one hundred per cent insane. I love it!!!”

  We squackled – squealing mixed with cackling – with the sheer brilliance of my achievement. Maybe the world had changed. Maybe now I, Bella Fisher, was the kind of girl who had stories about snogging boys, rather than just tripping up in front of them.

  Riding high on this life revelation felt like a good time to broach the subject of last night.

  “So, er, now I’ve fully splurged about my hottie-day, it’s time for you to spill the beans on last night.”

  She beamed. So it had been a good night.

  “I wish you’d been here. OBVS, soooo much happened.”

  Exactly what I didn’t want to hear. ‘Absolutely nothing happened and it was so boring that we all made a pact to never have a party without you ever again’ was more along the lines of my ideal response.

  “Go on then . . . spill.” PleasepleasepleaseletthisbeOK.

  “OK – major headlines.” She paused, rummaging through a whole head-full of excellent stories. “Well . . . our toaster’s now broken because Lou’s chicken fillet flopped into it and we didn’t know until breakfast this morning when it melted on to mum’s bagel. . . What else. . . I met this dead nice guy, PJ, but might have ruined it as I introduced him to everyone as BJ and no one told me. Oh, and Mikey did a BRITS-worthy rendition of ‘Shake It Off’ complete with major sass moves.”

  Rachel chatted away enjoying having someone to relive it all with. I’d normally be heartbroken I’d missed out, but this time, if I’d have been there, I’d never have met Zac, which made it way less painful to listen to. I’d swop a toasted-fake-boob for a Zac-hang any day. But what I was lacking in FOMO, I was making up for with a nagging worry. She hadn’t mentioned the Luke-and-Tegan-shaped elephant in the room. And it was making me panic. She knew how much I’d freaked out – she’d been on the receiving end of my messages. Was she avoiding it on purpose?

  I waited for a pause in her story of how Mikey had almost knocked himself out headbanging, literally, into their grand piano. It was time for me to wave and point at the elephant. It was time for me to get the truth.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  “Raaaaaach.” Gulp. Here I go. Stay casual. And properly casual, not like my last attempt.

  “How weird were those messages from Luke last night? I mean, like, SO weird.”

  She bent her long arms over her even longer legs and picked at her fluffy rainbow slippers, avoiding eye contact. I ploughed on with my fake ‘totally mentioning this in a completely unplanned way’ casual act.

  “And then . . . then I got that one from you. Which was like, also a bit weird. And you and Tegan have both been off-radar all day.” She wasn’t filling in any blanks. “Pretty weird, huh?”

  Her face flushed. My heart sank.

  I needed to come up with some less weird words for weird.

  “Oh yeah . . . that.” She looked sheepish. So I wasn’t being paranoid – she had been deliberately avoiding the subject.

  “Yeah – that.”

  Rach walked over to her full-length mirror and pulled her hair up into a messy topknot. Unfortunately for her, she’d forgotten mirrors tend to do quite a good job at reflecting things, so I could see was stressed. Her perfect world wasn’t very good at dealing with un-perfect. I felt like I was waiting for an exam result.

  “OK, if I tell you, do you promise not to get mad?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer, carrying straight on. “I mean, I said we shouldn’t invite Luke in the first place, but it was you who had said that we had to or it’d look like he was still ge
tting to you. And we all agreed.”

  She still hadn’t told me anything I didn’t know already.

  “Aaand?”

  She fiddled with a body spray, making a rhythmical ‘pop’ with the lid, buying time as she searched for the words.

  “And. Well. Fine. Right. So, er, well, we were all sitting around and stuff, and Luke was chatting to those girls from Joggies. You know the ones.” Figures. JOGS, or James Owen Girls’ School, is a posh girls’ school round the corner from ours, where all the girls look like they’ve just come back from an incredible skiing holiday, all the time. Does snow even exist in the summer?

  “Anyway, one of them starts getting all cosy with him. They’re on the sofa – the one that Mumbles weed on?”

  It was leaf patterned! She thought she was outside!

  “And he’s got his arm round her and stuff, and they’re obviously about to snog. They had that, ‘Oh, are you ticklish?’ thing going on?”

  I knew it all too well. It’d been me once. Classic touchy-feely faux-friendly Luke. So predictable.

  Rach lay back down next to me. I had to keep the convo on track.

  “So was that the girl in the picture? The one Luke sent? Purple hat girl?”

  She thought before answering, as if trying to place her before she confirmed.

  “Yeah . . . exactly.”

  If she had a mirror on the ceiling, I’d have been able to check if she had anything crossed. On the flipside, she’d also be really creepy, so I probably wouldn’t be lying here in the first place.

  It was annoying, but the thought of Luke being all over Purple Hat Girl in front of my friends did sting a bit. Is it factually impossible not to care a bit about ex-boyfs’ new girlfs? Hopefully they both got a waft of Mumbles’ wee mid-snog and thought it was each other.