"Hey!" I almost yelled.
"What?" Luke was alarmed, as though a grey, disease-ridden rat had just raced across the street.
"Don't say 'see you later' if you're not going to see me later today," I said, bursting with unstated pride of remembering my English teacher's advice, which almost cost me an A in a newspaper-themed writing assignment two years ago.
"Does it matter?" Luke wrinkled his nose.
I muttered, "Yes, every word that flows out of your kissable lips counts, so it does matter!"
Luke reached for my arms and dramatically pulled me into a lemon sherbet-sweet, au revoir kiss, the distinguishable flavour of Pepsi hitting my tongue, and I was released a moment later, rolling in fits of laughter.
"Oh, I can see it now!" Luke joked, putting on a pitch-perfect, old-fashioned British accent. "Sadie Thompson, future English corrector - or English teacher, between you and I - and fantastic kissers!"
I howled, my legs wobbling as unstably as raspberry jelly, and shrieked, "Don't say that! Others can hear!"
Luke yelled, with the cool confidence that only a daredevil adolescent could muster, "I don't care because I want the whole world to hear!"
And, in my own way, I longed for the same, too.
"Sadie! Sadie!" Tara shouted, awakening me from a sleepless stupor. "Are you there? Like, ever? I've been calling your name for around a minute!"
"W-what?" I grumbled, jumping out of the chair I was relaxingly scrawled on. "S-sorry, Tara, I was just thinking."
"About what? Being the luckiest girl ever?"
A wild grin stretched upon my lips, even though Tara wasn't able to see it with her own sharp-as-a-knife eyes. "Yeah, something along those lines," I replied.
"It's no wonder!" Tara loudly chuckled. "Hey, why did it take you so long to tell me about Luke, anyway? I'm literally lying on the floor in shock."
"Wouldn't your mum go ballistic if you covered your jam-stained clothes all over her spotlessly clean floor or, even worse, the carpet?" I commented, light-heartedly.
"Nah, she's hardly ever at home nowadays. Running a bakery is oh-so-tiring, especially if you can devour fruity Chelsea buns and blueberry muffins for a living." Tara paused, quieting humming like a pollen-searching bee. "So, tell me! What stopped you from dishing the details about your love-struck boyfriend?"
"Boyfriend?" I questioned, my shocked mind whipped into a confused blur.
Tara sounded exasperated, as though she was talking to a confused five year old who couldn't tell the difference between a big-boobed Barbie or an outrageously dressed Bratz doll. "Yeah, who else is he?"
I mumbled a paltry apology, muttering about being unable to get my head around the day's events.
"I'm hardly surprised," Tara noted, suddenly putting on her legendary agony-aunt voice, seeming decades older than she truly was. "Moving from friendship to a full-on relationship -"
"It's not like that yet!" I almost cried.
"- obviously will take a while to get used to, particularly if you weren't expecting it," Tara advised, smartly paying a lack of attention to my pitiful pleas. "All facts of life, huh?"
"Tara, I know that - life is life, yada, yada, bore-me-to-sleep stuff." I stifled a false yawn, accentuating its sleepy sound. "But the thought of transitioning to a new role is a lot to take in, particularly as I momentarily feared I was going to lose Luke, when he found me in the park." I forcefully blinked back a few crystal clear tears. "That terrified the hell out of me."
"'Course it would, Sadie!" Tara exclaimed, her booming voice encouraging me to hold the landline phone away from my aching ears for a moment. "Fear usually strikes a huge blow in your heart, making you experience powerful emotions - was that when you realised that you loved Luke?"
I bit my lip, the distasteful flavour of lipstick flooding into my mouth. For ages, a gut feeling had wisely sensed that romance was blooming in the fly-filled air between Luke and I, binding ourselves together day by day, though I carelessly waved these sensations off, more bothered about catching up on the latest episode of Revenge on the over-recorded Sky planner. And, for once in my hormone-wrecking life, I was paying the most attention that I could possibly give, sitting straighter in my hard, screechy chair and determination making me more focused than before. Which other answer could there be?
"Yes," I confirmed. "Everything fell into place right at that moment, when I was afraid that I'd lose Luke, who had become my rock and best friend."
"If it wasn't for the fact that you've been struck by Cupid's bow and love has weaved its irresistible ways into your fallen-head-over-heels heart, I would've been absolutely livid about no longer being your best friend," Tara sarcastically remarked, drawing a wave of saddening pity in my stomach. But I ought to have known that she was joking, having gained the title of the best comedienne in a school competition at the age of ten. "Oh really," she breezily said, "did you honestly fall for that? Sadie, you know me virtually inside out - can you imagine me saying all of those things to you, actually meaning it?"
"No, why would I?" I questioned, in an infantile sulk.
Tara giggled. "Have you forgotten everything I taught you about taking off your stuffy, old beret and throwing it into the bin, having a good time? Just don't forget to share a laugh with me sometimes, when you and Luke are sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s -"
"- i-n-g!" I finished, bursting into contagious howls of laughter. "Actually, I don't have a tree house anymore, if you don't remember."
Tara sighed, a wave of boredom spreading over her previous light-hearted mood. "You've got to invite me over your house soon - I'm going insane here!"
"Or you could catch the local bus, pay the fare, and arrive here - you're not a vampire, Tara, where it's obligatory for me to invite you into my house!"
"Buses stink," she moaned, her groan echoing on the patchy line. "I once sat near a guy who hadn't bothered putting any deodorant on - during the worst heat wave ever!"
I winced, as sickening sweat trickled down my hot-as-heated-rollers neck. Just gross. "Have you forgotten everything you told me?" I mocked, exaggerating Tara's Posh Spice-inspired accent. "Life is life, as you said earlier - so be it whether you have to take a seat on a smelly bus!"
"You wouldn't do it, would you?"
I frowned. "Maybe not out of choice, though I'm desperate to see you."
Sigh. The saddening lack of Tara's breezy, dramatic presence was truly getting to me - all because she couldn't stand the thought of popping onto a public-ridden bus! What had a private boarding school done to my remarkably thoughtful friend?
"OK, anything which puts a smile on your face," Tara agreed, then commented on my strikingly similar personality to a hopeless puppy, whose eyes or pleas could win over the coldest heart.
"I don't smell like one," I protested, attempting to cross my arms without holding the phone.
Tara ignored me. "Just set a date when Luke comes around and we can enjoy a day together - maybe sans parents?"
My eyebrows rose in surprise. "One hurdle at a time, alright?"
"Whatever works best for you," Tara said, then abruptly hung up, without a goodbye or even another moan about 'cheap-and-nasty' buses.
She was my friend, right?
********
"Tinker, get off!" I moaned, placing my Nivea-smooth leg onto my Hello Kitty-patterned bed, irritated by the vast amount of brown cat hairs littered upon it.
My menacing cat, Tinker, who loved nothing better than a lazy doze all over the house, had unfortunately chosen my bed as his choice of destination for the whole day, and was reluctant to budge from his comfortable position on my Goth-friendly black pillow, purring happily as he dreamt about snatching a bag bursting with fresh, heavenly cod without being caught. Little monster.
"Come on!" I whined, my wail shocking Tinker out of his dreamy stupor, and he gave me the spine-tingling evils as his method of getting his own way. Again. Not this time.
"Seriously, Tinks, I'm the one who begged Mum and Dad to pick a kitten from the
pet shop all those years ago and what do you give me? A smirk and shrug, as if I don't matter to you?" I flopped down onto a corner of my bed, whipping my head around to place a steady eye on Tinker's movements.
Bizarrely, it reminded me exactly of whenever Mum would park in the road at the supermarket, eyeing up a parking space which would shortly be free. Dismissing it as utter craziness, belief baffled me as I realized I was performing the same action, albeit not in the middle of a jam-packed road.
His conscience, drenched in small bowls of delectable cream, gave Tinker a proper wake-up call and he stretched his paws elegantly, whilst smirking evilly. Yes, smirking. My eyes didn't want to believe what they were witnessing. How on earth had my devilish cat - whose habits consisted of begging for yet more Dreamies five minutes after the last lot, squatting in public view outside in the vegetable-growing garden performing his private business, and causing near dangerous accidents by, unknowingly to the two-legged tenants of the house, lying in the middle of the stairs - learnt the impressive art of smirking? Calling Tinker a 'little monster' didn't seem worthy of a waste of my breath anymore.
"Ugh, you'll never learn," I sighed, whilst gleeful Tinker meowed adorably, like a new born kitten - there was absolutely no way that his lovable manners could not strike a sense of passion into my love-struck heart, even though annoyance had flared upon me as exhaustion made me dream of tucking into my comfy bed and falling into a relaxing sleep. Just as Tinker was admirably blessed with the envied luxury, clearly enjoying every single minute of it.
Cats certainly lived up to their pot load lot of luck claim, huh?
Aware of his bushy, long-as-a-branch tail swiftly moving from side to side, I gingerly lied my body onto the bed, gazing at the bare, white ceiling. As a child, I'd always placed a ceiling painted full with yellow, dazzling, shooting stars which would enliven bedtime on top of my birthday and Christmas lists, though Dad unfortunately never fulfilled his apparent promise to decorate it as I'd pleaded all those years ago. Wonder seeped into my mind, questioning the fact whether Dad still remembered my previous star-admiring - obviously the non-celebrity sort - persona. Maybe.
As I willingly closed my eyes and listened to the soft purr which was booming through the air, another sound - this one abrupt and awfully familiar - jolted me out of my half-unconscious state and I jumped off my bed as fast as a Nasa rocket, my hands instantly reaching my phone, situated on a dust-free corner of my desk.
Hmm. That seemed strange. Why would anyone - whether it was so-called holidaying friends or strangers daringly begging to sign people up to their shockingly bogus scams - bother to call me, a Garfield pyjama-wearing fifteen year old, at eleven in the middle of the night? Just why? Perhaps Natalie awoke from her short-lived amnesia and her memories of my joke-cracking self popped into her mind, reminding her to check her phone and give me a call, totally forgetting that I would probably have been sound asleep in my bed, fantasizing about walking down the runway for Dior in Paris, whilst she'd spent the day trawling the shops in New York. As if.
Putting my questions aside for a moment, I scrolled down a page on the bright, electronic screen, utmost surprise preventing me from shrieking the house awake, disturbing Mum and Dad's nightly episode of Desperate Housewives in bed. Oh god. How many times had I used the clichéd expression 'I couldn't believe it'? Beyond what God had originally intended, that was for sure.
Oh god. Nobody wouldn't put their waggling fingers on this one. Not in the slightest.
Joel had sent me an open, honest text, unashamedly declaring his love for me. Love, in case he'd lost his memory for a manic five minutes, definitely hadn't played a role when he powerfully kissed that girl this afternoon, sending me on a wild rollercoaster and creating a nail-biting tension between Luke and I before we maturely worked it out, later developing a bulletproof relationship that would get through anything.
And the other worst thing? Joel's grammar was utterly appalling. More waves of nausea flipped inside my stomach than the occasion when Jay Anderson closely spat his disgusting bubble bum towards my J-Lo bouncy hair at, resulting in a violent exchange of heated words. Ugh. Honestly, how could a wannabe sophisticated teenage girl be taken seriously if she went out with a boy who didn't dare have the decency to spell 'sorry' properly? How?
At least a few things could be appreciated, though. Mum would've thought that I was choking to death on my daily bowl of Cheerios if I read the text during breakfast; an oaty shaped 'o' wouldn't have been to blame, of course. But that was it. Seriously. Why did another problem begin as another ended?
Some gritty girl talk was in deep need. And I knew just the girl to call.
Chapter 13
"Mum, can we talk?" I tentatively asked, shading my eyes away from the hot glare from the sunshine dazzling in the middle of the cloudless sky.
My mother, who was camped outside by the ever-expanding vegetable patch - which was overflowing with juicy green courgettes, Bugs Bunny orange carrots and crisp iceberg lettuces - dramatically dropped all of her tools and whipped her face around to mine, shock registering on her stunned expression.
"Y-you want to talk, Sadie?" she said, cut-throat suspicion evident in her questioning tone. "You haven't got an infection in your new piercings, have you?" she added, barking as loudly as a demanding dog.
"No, no!" I protested, taken-aback. "My piercings are absolutely fine, I promise!" I sighed. "There was something else that I wanted to talk about with you..."
"Such as?" Mum raised her eyebrows, prepared for any serious begging regarding paying over-the-top for Lady Gaga concert tickets.
I shrugged, awkwardly. "You know... love, that sort of thing."
Relief washed away all previous tension on Mum's youthful, Liz Earle-cleansed face. "Oh, I see," she commented, nodding, then a frown crossed her lips. "Is this related to Joel?"
"Yeah, sort of, but there are other things, too."
Mum turned her head towards the newest plot of the vegetable patch, which she'd earnestly stated would be for growing a second patch of tomatoes after the spectacular success she'd achieved the previous summer (whilst I put on my ancient iPod and switched on a hip hop track from the 90s', listening to Mum's mini-speech, as any darling daughter would), and said, "I'll come inside in a moment - whilst you're in the kitchen, could you get out one of the biscuit tins?"
"Which one?" I prayed that Mum would choose the mixed-selection; chocolate chip Scottish shortbread had a fairly decent flavour, but didn't enliven my taste buds in the same way as the varied selection tin did, leaving me in a craving state afterwards.
"Whichever one you prefer," Mum advised, putting her portable radio onto Radio 2, joining the ferocious rant blaring from the airwaves.
Ooh, lucky me.
*********
"Say, I genuinely can't recall the last time we had tea together," Mum noted, whilst lavishly decorating the rectangle-shaped, lightly coloured wooden table situated in the middle of the kitchen with tons of biscuits - childhood favourite Jamie dodgers, luxurious dark chocolate bourbons and Maryland-style cookies - bursting to land the starring role in the spotlight, garnering my utmost attention.
"Mmm, I know," I mumbled, poking two chocolate-coated fingers into my awaiting mouth within seconds. I loudly swallowed - relishing the sweet, welcoming flavour - and included, "Remember how we always go into those old-fashioned teashops when I was little?"
Mum laughed softly, as did I. "Oh yes, you would always pick a fruity teacake, no matter where we went!" A glimpse of longing clouded her features, as pleasant, appreciated memories returned to the surface. "Sadie, where did those days go, eh? Sometimes, I look at you and wonder whether you're still the five year old girl who follow me around, glued to my hip, always by my side! I miss this -" her hand flew into a gesture pointing towards the steaming cups of coffee and remarkable display neatly laid out with fancy biscuits "- more than you can dare to imagine."
A hard lump formed in my throat, as a measure of guilt rushed t
o the furore, creating an unbearable ache in my conscience. Where had my mum's little girl - who was treasured like priceless gold and usually bore a cute, red Minnie Mouse bow - gone? She had seemingly disappeared overnight, becoming a young, feisty, striving-to-be-independent woman, no longer needing her mother's assistance in riding a menacing-looking bike or choosing her clothes, whose bold tastes were a million miles away from her prim-and-proper mother's acceptable ideas.
Out of the blue, I desperately wished that I'd been blessed with the power of time travel - obviously impossible, as fans of Back to the Future were aware - and could transport myself back a decade, to a time where I was bursting with happiness, excitement the hugest emotion I'd experienced. And friendship was purely about sharing blackcurrant lollypops and babbling excitedly about the Barbie mermaid doll, and love was only received from your doting parents...
"I miss this too," I repeated, in a blurted choke.
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