by Beth Garrod
I racked my brain. Could someone please hurry up and invent Google search for heads? Burrowing past song lyrics to access actual memories was way too tough. Although . . . something did pop up. Something that would probably get quite a few likes.
I went to type, but stopped as I remembered the pact Tegan, Rachel and I had made to never breathe a word of this to anyone. But in the very same convo we’d made the same pact to never lie to each other. If they could break the rules, so could I. And if they hadn’t broken the pact in the first place, then I wouldn’t be spending my time trying to fill my friend-hole with internet likes. It was the least they could do.
MENS-UN-TRUE-ATION
MY FRIEND R CAUSED A MASSIVE MIX-UP ONE
GAMES LESSON WHEN SHE YELLED, “CAN I
BORROW A TOWEL?” EVERYONE FREAKED OUT
THINKING SHE’D JUST BECOME THE FIRST TO
START HER PERIOD. SO, FOR THE NEXT TWO
YEARS, INSTEAD OF ’FESS UP, WE HAD TO
HELP HER FAKE THEM – COMPLETE WITH
MONTHLY MADE-UP MOODY MOODS.
I smiled remembering what lengths we’d had to go to. We even staged buying some tampons so Lou would see us, but had to return them later when we realized we needed the money for emergency potato wedges.
But they were the old days.
I double-checked that I hadn’t used any incriminating details and pressed post. PSSSST might be anonymous, but I wanted to be extra sure it stayed that way.
I wasted the next ten minutes doing an internet quiz to find out what flavour chewing gum I’d be (Sugar-Free Cinnamon) and tried to not pay attention to the fact that no one was paying my PSSSST any attention. But as I started a fifty questions quiz on what dog was my destiny, my phone beeped. Could this be the start of my internet-sensation-ing?
Oh no. Oh yes! It was way better. It was a message from Zac. I sat down on my bed, needing cushioning around me in case my bones jellified on reading.
Hey Bella/Bells for short. I’m in Worcester for a
college thing on Fri, isn’t that your area? Wanna
meet Sat morn? Z
Thank goodness I had 360-degree mattress cushioning. Every bone, muscle and nerve failed me. I splodged on to the bed, not even able to coordinate bodily functions enough to blink. Zac, of being half kissed by me fame, was coming to visit no-friends-and-no-goalkeeping-skills me. This was major. This was happening. IN FOUR DAYS.
I threw the rule of waiting the obligatory seventy-five minutes or more to reply out of the window. Every second was a second he might change his mind.
Sure! What time? Be good to catch up.
‘Sure’ – how funny am I?! As if I didn’t mean ‘OF COURSE THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT WILL EVER HAPPEN IN MY LIFE (AND ALSO THE MOST TERRIFYING BUT YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT)’.
I grabbed my laptop and started a search-athon in case Zac was about to ask me for suggestions of what to do, seeing as it was me who lived here. I looked up ‘most romantic places in Worcester’, ‘things to do on a first date’, and also ‘Zac Black Bay photo’ in case anyone had put anything up in the 24 hours since I’d last checked. As I waited for a reply, I also checked, ‘how to look fierce in the morning’.
Cool, 10am. By the Helga Statue? Though
it’s meant to be crazy stormy this weekend –
lemme know if you want to rain check.
Ten a.m.? What was he? A parent? Did he know Saturday firmly occurred in the period of time known as a ‘weekend’? In which plans should not be made before eleven a.m.?! I looked up the weather report. As if I cared about rain?! It was just like a shower, but outside. But the BBC brought joy to my heart. It didn’t look stormy at all. I screengrabbed the evidence.
If you mean Elgar Statue, yup I’m in. And look –
weather’s fine. Unless I’m talking hot air. . .
I attached the pic of my laptop screen. He wasn’t using rain to, er, rain on my parade. I buried my head into my pillow. Am I on fire right now or what? Have I, Bella Fisher, become the kind of person who someone actually arranges to date? Well, at least meet up with someone for a period of time when they’re in an area where they don’t know anyone?
See you then. I will try to look fierce.
How did he know?! Great minds think alike. My stomach plummeted. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe minds-which-you-send-a-picture-of-your-laptop-complete-with-completely-embarassing-search-terms-about-fierceness-and-looking-for-photos-of-himself-and-being-destined-to-be-a-Bulldog-in-your-tabs think alike. How could I be such a massive moron?! I can never message him again. I need to superglue my goalkeeping gloves on.
I flopped back and stared at the ceiling. The next 4.2 days were now project PFSZ. Preparing For Seeing Zac. Must make a list of all the slight exaggerations I’ve told him, to keep on top of them . . . and places to avoid. And people. And how to make sure Jo is NOWHERE near town to repeat sabotage.
I sat bolt upright as the reality of seeing him hit me. What on earth can I wear? Can I grow my hair the two inches I really want in sixty-six hours? Should I write a list of conversations I can start, so I come across as interesting and mature? Should I revise anything? I opened up a tab to stream BBC News. Watching the news is what Jo does – and programmes about bands in black and white on BBC Four. That must be what seventeen-year-olds do too. What else does she do? Wear actual perfume, be put up a year a school, and be on time for stuff. I can do that, easy. From now on she could be my muse. Although I mustn’t let myself get brainwashed by how dull she can be.
Wowsers. What a day – maybe things were shaping up to be less than terrible. I may be two bessies down, but now I’m one huge, big, fat, massively exciting, real-life date up.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
I, Bella Fisher, am officially a lone wolf. But it doesn’t bother me as much now I’m a lone wolf with a big woolfy date on the horizon. Ow-wooooo. Between chews on my gherkin sandwich, I glanced over at Rachel and Tegan. I’d like to say they were using their lunch to huddle round an effigy of me, sacrificing Year 7s in an attempt to show their repentance, but in reality they were just eating some Mini Cheddars. Gawd, I hated them (Rachel and Tegan, not Mini Cheddars). It’s so unfair that I’m the innocent one here, yet I’m the one who’s sitting with my B-list friends, watching them just eating crisps like nothing’s happened. Well, I hope they get soggy globules stuck in their teeth and no one tells them for the entire afternoon.
Still, B-list friends beat fake friends. I smiled up at Sarah. I’d spent every lunchtime with her since Hat-Gate. She hadn’t mentioned the drama once, despite all the looks and whispers rippling around me wherever I went. She’d been nothing but nice to me, although in fairness I’ve never met a mean Sarah, ever. But somewhere deep down, hanging out just didn’t feel right. I nodded my head along with the others at the table, channelling my efforts on smiling at the right points in her netball story. It was normally Tegan who dealt with sports chat that came our way, and I was out of my depth.
My pocket buzzed. It was another message from her.
Come over? We’ve got a sorry Babybel for you.
R&T
One for the bin. With huge hand actions I pressed delete, like my phone had big imaginary buttons. Look! I don’t want to be around your digital communications, let alone actual you. They could stick their Babybel up their bum.
I SOL-ed (snorted out loud) at mental images of Bumbybel, but got weird looks, so tried to weave the laughter into whatever it was that Sarah was saying. I realized too late she’d moved on to talking about her cat dying. I shut up.
“You like quizzes. What’s five letters and begins with S?”
EURGH. That smug voice made me want to spit out my sandwich. I spun round. Why had Luke come to speak to me? What did he want this time? Oh well, there was nowhere to run (plus running is forbidden in the canteen, plus plus I have a really embarrassing run). I plonked my gherkin sandwich aggressively back in my Peppa Pig lunchbox. Intimidating.
“Don’t know. D
on’t care. So how about you leave me alone?” But Luke dug his hands further into his pockets. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Wrong answer. It was ‘sorry’. But I’ll accept your apology however you want to give it to me.”
As if.
“Get lost. If I wanted to speak to you, I would have come over to douchebag corner, or wherever it is that you hang out these day.”
He grinned patronizingly. I swear even his nose was condescending. How could I have ever thought he was anything other than vom-inducing?
“You can always ask your best mate Tegan. She’s often aware of my personal movements, if you know what I mean?”
He was trying to wind me up about the kissing, but he didn’t know that ‘personal movements’ was the exact phrase my mum used for having a poo. 1–0 to me. I matched his condescending smile, hoping my nose also joined in.
People were looking over at us, excited at the prospect of another shouting match. I caught Tegan and Rachel staring, concerned. Please tell me there were no more revelations? All I wanted was to be left alone.
“Look, I’m not in the mood for this. Just go away.”
I turned back to the table and took a big gherkin-y bite. Can’t you see I’m chewing here? This whole situation bummed me out so much that it almost – but not quite – put me off my sandwich. It wasn’t just everything that had gone down. Or being the centre of all the unwanted attention. It was the humiliation of everyone knowing there was a time when I liked Luke. I could kick myself at being sucked in by his fakery. I should have known we had, we have, nothing in common. He likes blonde girls that wear black bras under their school shirts; I like going to fancy dress parties in a sleeping bag and pretending I’m a caterpillar. He likes girls on bikes; I like boys with guitars. He likes making ramps; I like trying to recreate album covers with nail varnish on my toenails. Everyone knows who he is; a lot of people still think my name is Tina (always Tina, I have no idea why).
A battered rucksack slammed down next to my Peppa flask (note to self, must work harder on intimidating Tupperware).
“She doesn’t want to talk, all right? So if you could do one, that’d be great.”
Mikey plonked himself on to the stool next to me. I hadn’t seen him since Tegan, Rachel and I had fallen out – it was good to know he hadn’t switched to the dark side too.
Luke slapped his hand on Mikey’s shoulder as his mates bunched up around him. Did they ever speak, or just spend their spare time choreographing ‘threatening lad’ moves.
“If I wanted the opinion of a nobody, I would have asked a Year 7.”
Mikey stood up again, and drew his shoulders back. I swear he was a foot taller than normal.
“Well if we wanted the company of the biggest jerk in school, we would have asked that loser who once put the wrong answer when an exam paper asked for his own name. Oh sorry. THAT’S YOU.”
Luke pushed at Mikey’s shoulder.
“If you’ve got a problem with me, mate, just come out and say it.”
Mikey smiled warmly.
“I am saying it, mate. I’ve got quite an epic problem with you.”
Wow. I’d never seen Mikey have a problem with anyone or anything. Was it wrong that my main thought was that it was kind of hot? But when I looked back at him, I realized this wasn’t about me. Because despite Luke being all up in his face, Mikey was distracted, staring across the canteen, the anger gone from his face. He wasn’t just protecting me, he was protecting the person he couldn’t help but watch to make sure she was OK. Tegan. And she was oblivious, whispering to Rachel. With all her As and full marks, she could sometimes be so clueless.
My heart sank for Mikey. He’d give anything to kiss Tegan, and Luke had done it just for laughs. No wonder he was so angry.
“BOYS.”
I looked up. A furious looking teacher was striding towards us, his face wrinkled with the strain of not smiling for at least fifty years. I tugged at Mikey’s jumper.
“BOYS, ENOUGH!”
Why was it always Mr Lutas that arrived at the wrong second? Maybe his jangly pockets were stuffed with misery magnets that automatically dragged him to our worst moments.
Mikey murmured a sorry. Luke thought he was far too cool to actually say anything and swung his shoulders instead.
“You do not need me to rrremind you that aggrrressive behaviourrr is not tolerated at this school. So unless you want to lose YET MORRRREE prom points, I suggest you put this petty feud to one side and start behaving a little less like children. Understood?”
Mikey nodded. Luke still did nothing. Mr Lutas jangled his keys/coins/magnets in his pocket. I didn’t try to work out what – no one wants to see teacher groin jiggle, whatever the mechanism. Instead I smiled at Mr Lutas, trying to distance myself from the drama. But a cold-as-ice stare met my gaze.
“And that goes for you too, young lady.”
Oh excellent. He hated me enough before this term.
“One morrre wrrrrrrrrrong move from ANY of you and it’s a one-way ticket to detention.”
It was the worst timing ever, but my face went rogue and looked inappropriately impressed at his monumental tongue roll. Mr Lutas totally noticed. I tried to regain control. “NOW GET GOING!”
Luke stormed out of the canteen. Mikey sat back down beside me. The rest of the room switched back from gawping to gulping. My shell-shocked lunch crew looked horrified. The most drama they’d ever had at their table was when Sarah’s best mate Pam discovered her Oxtail soup was actually made of an ox’s tail, and it wasn’t just a posh name for a vegetable. I hoped they knew this was kind of high-visibility new to me too. But, quickly, kindly, they got back to lifting the mood with chat about how OMG, they just realized they’d all visited the same cat crematorium. Mikey didn’t even pretend to listen and turned to talk to me.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know Mr Lutas was around.” He reached out and stole a crisp. “Luke winds me up something chronic.”
“You and me both.” I picked my packet of crisps up off the table. “Thanks for helping me out. Him and Mr Lutas seem on the warpath for me this term. It sucks.”
“Tottalius suckius muchius.” He stole another crisp. “Well, guess I just wanted to say ‘hi’.”
I put my crisps into the safety of my lunchbox.
“Hi?”
He waved before swooping his hand down to nabble the last crisp in the packet. I shut my box lid on his fingers. He pretended nothing had happened. “Now we’ve both said hi.”
“Sure have, a ‘hi’ point of my day.”
We laughed, but his face flushed at me catching him shooting yet another look at Tegan. I couldn’t think of what to say. All I had was, ‘Isn’t the girl you are in love with a total and utter cowbag, so how about stop looking at her?’, and I didn’t think that was a dead cert to help the conversation flow. Mikey sensed my awkwardness (yet again proving he is the most un-boy boy I know).
“OK – well, cool. I don’t want to disturb you and your friends any longer.” He stressed the words friends as if to say, ‘Who are these people that I had no idea you even knew, but whatever that’s fine’. “And thanks for the crisps.” He winked, and waving goodbye, walked out of the canteen in the opposite direction to Luke.
I wanted to make a move too, so stuffed my mum-made vegan, dairy-free, no-chocolate brownie (with added bits of Chomp in) back into my lunchbox. I still had fifteen minutes of break to kill, which meant fifteen minutes to head to the library to locate a book on Modern Art, for Zac-date revision purposes. Annoying I couldn’t just borrow one of Rachel’s, but I wasn’t about to ask her for favours. Zac said he was in to a man who painted soup cans, which sounded like the kind of art I’d like. Wonder if he painted beans and sausage cans too? I waved goodbye to Sarah and the others.
“Bye, Bella – see you same place tomorrow?”
“Totally.” Well, it sure beat any other option I had.
“Don’t forget to let me know how it goes with netball tod
ay? The team’s going up any minute?” Oh yeah, that. Sarah is also one of the sporties in our year. The reason we first got talking is because, in the nicest way possible, she’d asked me why I’d suddenly got off my arse in games lessons and had started joining in. Games lessons had previously been an opportunity to gossip with Rachel, keeping one eye on our overenthusiastic games teacher, so we could break into action if she looked over. Tegan achieved enough for the three of us anyway. Now, it was a whole other ball game. Literally. This week, taking part meant avoiding unwanted convos, and winning the tiniest chance of finally getting into a team. And teams meant points. And points meant prom. I only had fourteen – four more than I needed to go, and with Mr Lutas already unimpressed with me, I wanted more spares in the bank.
I walked the long way out of the canteen, strategically avoiding any places I could bump into Tegan and Rachel, past the team noticeboard – that didn’t have my name on – and underneath the menacing picture of Mr Lutas on the wall. Even his fake eyes on me made me shudder. His only happiness seemed to come from making others massively unhappy. Although . . . maybe two could play that game?
I swung by my locker to grab my phone. We were only meant to use them for emergencies, but this kind of was one.
NAKED AMBITION
WHAT KIND OF A PERSON LIKES TO
DRAW THEMSELVES NAKED? OUR ARRRRT
TEACHERRR, THAT’S WHO. AND FROM
WHAT I’VE HEARD, HIS BIG PERSONALITY
MAKES UP FOR SOMETHING ELSE
NOT SO BIG. IN HIS PANTS.
I mean, Jo hadn’t technically said that, but I’m sure she would have done if she hadn’t been trying not to think of the detail.
I pressed send. I didn’t need to be on PSSSST any more, but I was kind of enjoying it. Now I had someone/something I could tell my secrets to, who was actually going to keep them safe.
I made my way into the library and began revising. I felt like an intellectual being here on my own, as normally I’d only come here with the others to whisper-gossip.
But as I flicked through the art books I recognized from Rachel’s room (must remember, the bigger the artist’s hair, the more ‘influential’ they are), practised imaginary chat about my college, and made playlists of bands Zac would approve of, I neglected the one thing I should have been reading up on.
