“Yes!” Namir shouted. He ran over to Maali and hugged her tightly. “Love you, Hermione.”
Maali looked down at him and laughed. “Love you too, Harry Potter. Now go and get your coat.”
The fluttering in Maali’s chest reached fever pitch as the farm loomed into view. Ash probably wouldn’t even be there, she told herself. But what if he was? Maali pulled her hat down against the cold breeze. Why was she being like this? It was crazy. They’d only met once and for a couple of minutes. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? It’s love at first sight, her inner voice whispered. You’ve read about it in books and poems, and now it’s actually happened. Maali stopped, overcome by a sudden wave of fear. It was one thing to daydream about Ash, but to go to the farm, looking for him – it suddenly felt a little too real. On the other side of the road a group of kids were running out of the council flats, laughing loudly.
“Come on.” Namir tugged at her hand.
“I don’t know if—”
Namir tugged again. “Look! Look! There’s a camel!”
“What?! Where?” Maali followed Namir’s gaze over to the farm.
“There! In the field.”
Two llamas were grazing on a threadbare patch of grass by the entrance to the farm. “They’re not camels, they’re llamas,” Maali corrected with a laugh, and she started walking along the road. She couldn’t let Namir down now. And besides, it was Sunday. Ash probably wouldn’t be working.
The farm was surprisingly busy given how cold it was. As soon as they got through the gate, Namir ran over to the pig enclosure, oinking loudly. Maali glanced over at the stable. A teenage boy with ginger hair was raking up a pile of dirty straw. Maali felt a strange blend of disappointment and relief.
“Maali! Maali! Look!” Namir cried.
Maali turned round.
“The pig’s having lunch.”
A huge pig was snuffling about excitedly as one of the farm staff tipped a bucket of scraps onto the floor in front of it.
“Yuck! It’s eating potato peelings!” Namir yelled before dissolving into a fit of giggles.
But Maali wasn’t looking at the pig any more. She was looking at the boy feeding it. And he was looking at her.
“Hello again,” Ash said with a twinkly eyed smile.
Maali opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out.
Rose stepped inside the house and slammed the door behind her. The noise echoed around the empty hall, causing the dewdrop-shaped jewels on the chandelier to quiver. For a second, she wished she had a baseball bat so she could smash every last one of them. She hated this damn house almost as much as she hated her mom – and she hated her mom a lot right now. How dare she embarrass her like that? And in front of Sky and Liam too. Rose’s blood had turned to liquid rage; her whole body was burning up. She pictured the three of them playing happy families right now as they had lunch together in some fancy restaurant and talked about how weird she was.
“I think she’s suffering from some kind of anger-management issues,” she imagined Savannah saying to Liam and Sky. That’s what she’d accused her of last night. That, and being “selfish and ungrateful”. The worst thing was, after spending a couple of hours drinking hot chocolate and eating all kinds of delicious creations in Francesca’s shop yesterday, Rose had come home feeling more positive than she had in ages. She’d planned how she was going to tell her mom what had happened at the casting – she’d worked out her damage limitation plan. But she hadn’t figured on the modelling grapevine. It turned out that the casting manager had told Panache Agency all about her “attitude problem”, and they in turn had told her mom – who was waiting with both barrels loaded the minute she walked through the door. Rose had managed to keep her cool last night, but today was the limit. She’d never felt so humiliated in her life.
She slung off her coat and stomped up the stairs. She marched into her bedroom and over to the window. Hampstead Heath was spread out below her like a green velvet blanket. It was an OK view, she guessed, but she wanted to be back in New York, looking at the rich green of Central Park and the yellow taxicabs buzzing round it like wasps. She didn’t want to be in this dumb place where nobody understood her. She took out her phone and called her dad. With every long purr of the ring tone she became increasingly tense. “Just pick up already!” she muttered. Then, after what seemed like for ever, there was a click and she went through to voicemail.
“Hi! Sorry, I’m not able to take your call right now,” she heard her dad say in his clipped British accent. “But you know what to do. Beep. Message. Thank you.”
Rose terminated the call and threw her phone onto her bed. It was so unfair. Why was he over there while she was here? He was the British one, not her. When her parents had split they’d wanted to put an ocean between themselves, but couldn’t they at least have arranged for her to be where she felt most at home? She sat down on the end of her bed and put her head in her hands. She’d never felt emptier or more alone. Her Beyoncé ring tone snapped her from her gloom. She grabbed her phone and looked at the screen, hoping to see Dad calling, but it was Matt. For once Rose didn’t cringe. After the crappy morning she’d had, she needed to talk to someone, and she didn’t much care who.
“Hey,” she said softly into the phone.
“Hey.” His voice was soft too. She’d obviously been forgiven for running out on him yesterday. “Where you at?”
Rose didn’t even cringe at his fake American accent. “My bedroom.”
“Really? What you doing?”
Rose ignored the suddenly interested tone. “Nothing much. Where are you?”
“Still in bed.”
“Really? It’s, like, almost two.”
“I know. A gang of us went to The Island last night. It was sick.”
The Island was the latest hot club in town – a renovated warehouse in East London with a Treasure Island theme. Rose had thought it was a bit Disneyland when she’d first gone a few weeks ago, but now she felt a twinge of envy. If only she’d been out getting trashed and dancing herself into oblivion last night instead of getting the hairdryer treatment from her mom.
“Wanna come over?” Matt said.
“What, to yours?”
“Yeah. My parents won’t be getting back from skiing till really late.”
The last time she’d been to Matt’s things had gotten kind of heavy. He’d wanted to go all the way. She’d got to second base and ended up faking a headache – cheesiest excuse ever. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through that again. “I can’t. I’m grounded.” It wasn’t exactly a lie: she was pretty sure as soon as her mom got home that would be the first thing she said.
“Oh man! I really want to see you.” There was an urgency in his voice now. If they’d been in the same room it would have unsettled her, but the fact that he was so far away made her tingle instead. After the morning she’d had, it was good to feel needed.
“I know,” Matt murmured, “why don’t you send me a picture?”
“A what?” But she knew what he meant.
“A picture – of you.”
“But you have pictures of me.”
“But not … private pictures.”
“Oh.” Rose sat still as she tried to figure out her next move.
“We’ve been going out for four weeks now,” Matt whispered. “I need something.” The intensity in his voice was making her feel really weird. A mixture of nerves and adrenalin. She liked this sudden power over him. It made her feel strong again.
“OK,” she whispered into the phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”
wildeatheart.tumblr.com
THINGS I HATE!
• Selfish people
• People who don’t think about other people’s feelings ever – not even their own children’s
• Parents who would rather go away than watch their daughter – or son – take part in something really major – like, say, a national debating final
• Parents w
ho go away and then, as soon as they’re back, start droning on about themselves instead of asking how their daughter is and how she did in her debating final (if she had taken part in a debating final)
• Parents who can’t take criticism and have to go off and sulk in their room if anyone dares to point out that they might be in the wrong
• Parents who like playing opera loudly – just to annoy you
• Parents who are ridiculously melodramatic all the time and make you want to fling yourself off the nearest cliff-top whenever they come in the room!!
Here are this week’s Wilde Words, from my hero, Oscar Wilde. Oh, so true!
“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go.”
Amber
Chapter Twelve
Maali turned on the fairy lights around her shrine. She lit the incense. She rang the bell. She stared at the Lakshmi figurine. Lakshmi smiled back serenely.
“Why couldn’t I have said something?” Maali whispered. “Why did I have to stand there staring at him like a – like a – starey thing?”
Nice to see you, Ash had said.
Maali had nodded and then she’d turned and walked away. She’d spent the rest of the time at the farm studiously avoiding the pig enclosure and kicking herself for being such an idiot. It wouldn’t have been so bad if seeing Ash in the cold light of day had brought her to her senses, but if anything he looked even nicer. His hair was ruffled in the breeze and he was wearing a khaki T-shirt with NO MORE WAR printed on it. Maali blushed as she remembered the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he tipped the bucket of feed onto the floor.
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked Lakshmi imploringly. “How am I ever going to meet my soulmate if I can’t even talk to a boy?”
Lakshmi looked so poised, so wise. Surely she would be able to help. Maali shut her eyes. “Please, please, please,” she prayed, “help me find the courage to talk to boys. To talk to a boy. To talk to Ash.”
Amber stared at her email from Dictionary.com. Usually their word of the day seemed uncannily appropriate to her mood, but not today. Today she needed a heavy black cloud made from letters. Something like “morose” or “melancholy” or “moribund”. She most definitely did not need “hurdy-gurdy”. Hurdy-gurdy was way too happy. It conjured up images of jolly, smiling people dancing a jig, not of a death-row prisoner the night before their execution.
Amber always started feeling like a death-row prisoner by Sunday evening as she started counting down the hours to school. It was hard to believe she’d once loved it. That was back during the pre-secondary school years, which was so long ago it felt practically prehistoric. In primary school no one cared that she had two dads. No one cared that she was different. Back then everyone was different and they all got along fine. It was as if, as soon as they started secondary school, kids were reprogrammed to want to be exactly the same – and hate anyone who was even slightly different. Amber was about to dig out her most mournful Billie Holiday album and fling herself face down on her bed when there was a knock on the door.
“Can I come in?” Gerald called.
Amber sighed. It was all so predictable. When he’d forgotten to ask how her debate was, she hadn’t said a word. Daniel must have told him to say something. He’d probably written him a script.
“Yes,” Amber muttered.
“Amber?” Gerald called again.
“I said yes!” she yelled.
“All right, all right, no need to announce it to the whole of Londinium.” Gerald strode into the room. He was wearing his paisley dressing gown and brown leather slippers. His cropped white hair was still damp from the shower. “So,” he said as he glanced about the room. “So…”
“So, what?” Amber said, staring up at him from her desk. Surely he hadn’t forgotten what he was there for already?
He looked at her. “What? Ah, yes. Your debate. How did it go?”
“Brilliantly, thank you.”
“Yes. Daniel said you did very well.” He smiled at her.
Against her better judgement, Amber felt a speck of warmth inside her chest.
“I was wondering…”
The speck grew to the size of a pea. “Yes?”
“I met an art student at the gallery opening, a young man called Sven. He said he’d like to interview me for his blog. Apparently my work inspired him to take up painting.” Gerald broke off for a moment, taking a dramatic pause for full effect. “Anyway, he’d like to interview me on Skype, and as you know, I don’t know the first thing about the blasted worldwide internet thing, so I was wondering if you might help me.”
The warmth Amber had been feeling was abruptly extinguished by a cold stab of hurt. So he hadn’t come up to ask about her debate at all. “No,” she said tightly.
Gerald’s jaw dropped in shock. “Pardon?”
Amber turned back to her computer. “I said no. I won’t help you. Now, if you don’t mind, I have homework to do.”
“You won’t help me? Well – I – I—” he spluttered. “Why not?”
“When do you ever help me? With anything?” she asked as she turned back to look at him.
Gerald’s face was journeying through a spectrum of reds and purples. “When do I ever help you?” His voice climbed an entire octave in the space of a sentence. “When do I ever help you?”
“Yes. When?” She stared at him defiantly, but inside she was starting to feel really sick.
“I thought it would be nice – I – oh, I give up!” He flung his hands in the air and turned to go.
“How can you give up something you never even started?” Amber’s heart was pounding now.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What have I never even started?”
“Being a proper parent.”
Suddenly there was a terrible silence.
Gerald stared at her, his eyes full of rage. “I don’t know why I—” He shook his head. “I don’t need to listen to this,” he muttered and walked out of the room.
Amber sat at her desk, motionless. What was he going to say? “I don’t know why I – bothered having you,” her inner voice filled in the blank. Her eyes filled with tears.
“Well, I give up on you too,” she muttered at the closed door. Just then, the email notification sounded on her computer. As she read the subject line, her hurt faded: Yes – I am a Moonlight Dreamer. Amber clicked the email open. It was a poem. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine as she began to read.
MOONLIGHT DREAMER
BY SKY CASSIDY
Glittering
glimmering
you light the loom
as I weave my dreams.
Glistening
shimmering
you fill the air
as I dance my dreams.
Waxing
waning
you paint the page
as I write my dreams.
For I am a Moonlight Dreamer
a dreamer by moonlight
still awake when dawn breaks
your spell.
Chapter Thirteen
Sky looked at her inbox expectantly. She wasn’t exactly sure why. It wasn’t as if she was going to get a reply straightaway, but she couldn’t help feeling intrigued. It must have been the girl in the vintage store who gave her the Moonlight Dreamers card. How else would it have got in the bag? Yes, she most certainly did want freedom and adventure and, yes, she was definitely sick of being told what to do – well, being told that she had to move in with that woman, anyway. And the quote about being a moonlight dreamer had been awesome.
Sky had almost emailed back immediately, but then she started wondering whether the girl in the shop had put it there after all. Maybe it had been mixed in with the vintage postcards and Sky hadn’t noticed. But after the terrible morning in the art gallery and an even more terrible lunch with Liam and Savannah – where Savannah had been all over Liam like an adoring fangirl – Sky felt desperate for something, anything, to distract her fro
m the disaster area that her life was fast becoming. So she’d written her response in a poem. That way, if it wasn’t from the girl and was some kind of trick, she wouldn’t have given too much away. Now she just had to wait and see.
Sky snuggled down into her bunk. The nights were definitely getting colder, but she didn’t mind – she’d always liked winters on the boat. Liam was wrong – she didn’t care about radiators, their log burner was far cosier. Over lunch, Savannah had asked them to move in this Tuesday. She’d done her stupid doe-eyed expression at Liam and said that Rose needed a calming male influence. And, of course, never being able to resist someone in need, Liam had agreed, looking at Sky only as an afterthought. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach as she thought of the prospect of only two more nights on the boat. How could her dad think that their moving in would help Rose? It was obvious she didn’t want them there.
Sky felt for the amethyst pendant around her neck and held it tight. The pendant had belonged to her mum and Sky had worn it every single day since her mother died. “Why did you have to leave us?” she whispered into the darkness, tears burning at her eyes. But then her email notification pinged. Sky scrambled for her phone and clicked on the inbox.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Date: Sun 18th October 22:40
Subject: Moonlight Dreamers Meeting
Hello,
Thank you so much for responding to my appeal. I am happy to confirm that you both definitely sound like Moonlight Dreamers. And I am even happier to discover that I am not alone. Are you free this Tuesday evening at 6.30? I will be in the 1001 Café in the Truman Brewery (upstairs at the back, at the table with the Moroccan lamp and the leather chairs with holes in the arms – it’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise!). If you would like to find out more about being a Moonlight Dreamer, meet me there.
Best wishes,
Amber
PS: This is not an elaborate clothes sale promotion. I’m just a teenage girl who wants to find the confidence to live her dreams. I hope you are too…
The Moonlight Dreamers Page 6
