Tanvi lowers her hands. ‘I swear I didn’t even realize how much I liked him until he gave me half his Crunchie bar in maths last week. And now I can’t stop thinking about him. Do you honestly think he might like me back?’
‘He’d be really stupid not to.’
‘That’s not a proper answer.’
‘Tanvi,’ I say, turning to face her and trying to make my face look as serious as possible. ‘Every time you walk into registration, he goes all giddy. You may as well just replace his head with a big fat heart eyes emoji.’
Tanvi’s hands fly straight back up to her face. ‘Really?’ she squeaks through her fingers.
‘Really. He’s super into you.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I don’t know. I assumed you knew already.’
The whole time, I feel a bit like I’m delivering lines in a play. I’m not used to these sorts of chats – about boys and flirting and feelings. And yet there’s something surprisingly nice about it – sort of warm and cosy.
‘You’re the best, Ro,’ Tanvi says, resting her head on my shoulder.
‘Just saying what I see,’ I reply.
We sit in silence for a few moments, the firework smoke slowly clearing to reveal a brilliantly starry night.
‘How about you?’ Tanvi asks. ‘Is there someone you like?’
I hesitate.
‘Go on!’ Tanvi says, sitting up straight.
‘There is this one boy …’ I begin experimentally.
‘Who? It’s Jamie Cannon, isn’t it? I knew it!’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s no one at school.’
Tanvi’s brow furrows. ‘Who then?’ she asks.
I pause, surprised to discover just how much I want to tell Tanvi about Noah.
‘He lives next door,’ I say.
‘Oh, how romantic!’ Tanvi swoons, draping herself across my lap. ‘Not to mention convenient.’
‘Not exactly,’ I say.
‘How come?’ she asks, sitting up again.
‘He goes to boarding school so he’s only there like once in a blue moon.’
‘Does he know how you feel?’
‘I don’t even know how I feel,’ I say. ‘We’ve only really talked in person once. And that was ages ago.’
‘Have you got his number?’
‘Yeah. And we’ve texted and stuff, but it’s not the same.’
‘When will you next see him?’
‘He’ll be at his dad’s for the second half of half term.’
We’ve arranged to meet on Wednesday afternoon. He offered to come to mine but I quickly put him off, proposing we hang out at his place instead.
‘But that’s next week!’ Tanvi squeaks.
‘I know.’ I’ve been trying not to fixate on it in case it falls through for some reason and I end up getting disappointed, but at the same time it’s been difficult not to count down the days, my brain reeling off endless pages of scripted conversation.
‘Oh my God, Ro, this is so cool!’ Tanvi yelps.
‘He might not even like me,’ I say quickly.
‘Don’t be nuts! I bet he’s well excited about seeing you again. What’s his name?’
‘Noah,’ I admit.
Just saying his name out loud feels electrifying.
‘Ro and Noah,’ Tanvi says. ‘Noah and Ro. Roah!’
‘Ha! That would make you and Emerson, let’s see, Tanvison.’
‘Or Emi. Hey, maybe we can double date?’
‘Um, aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves here?’ I don’t want to jinx things.
‘Maybe,’ Tanvi admits.
As we continue to talk, I wait for the inevitable regret and fear to kick in. I’ve never, ever confided in someone like this before. Five minutes pass, then ten, then another ten. And still nothing. Just the warm fuzzy glow of what I think might be friendship. Perhaps I can do this – protect Bonnie and have a best friend. Maybe they’re not mutually exclusive after all. The prospect is both scary and exhilarating.
‘Girls!’ Tanvi’s mum calls from the kitchen window. ‘Can you come in now, please. It’s nearly eleven.’
Reluctantly, we heave ourselves off the bench and return inside where people are starting to leave. Aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins embrace me like I’m one of the family, congratulating me on my Sing Star performance and wishing me luck for my audition. It’s overwhelming but really nice too.
‘You girls ready?’ Tanvi’s dad asks.
‘Aw!’ Tanvi whines. ‘Does Ro have to go?’
‘It’s gone eleven, bachcha. On a school night too.’
We head upstairs so I can change. Back in my normal clothes, I feel deflated, like a superhero stripped of their powers. As I’m pulling on my jeans, I can’t help but look at the girl in the photos and once more find myself wondering why I was here tonight instead of her.
Tanvi insists I take the front seat in the car. As we turn into Arcadia Avenue, I feel the familiar sense of dread creep up my body. Passing number 48, I stare resolutely ahead. To my relief, Tanvi and her dad don’t even look at it.
‘It’s just here, number fifty-six,’ I say, stupidly happy to see the house in darkness.
Tanvi’s dad turns off the engine.
‘Thank you for the lift,’ I say.
‘You’re very welcome, Ro.’
I get out of the car. Tanvi gets out too so she can transfer to the front seat.
‘Did you have a good night?’ she asks as we stand on the pavement.
‘I really did,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry you had to sing in front of everyone.’
‘That’s OK,’ I say lightly. ‘It was probably good practice for the audition.’
‘That’s what I thought!’
Tanvi’s dad winds down his window. ‘Bachcha,’ he says. ‘It’s late.’
‘OK, OK,’ Tanvi says, rolling her eyes.
‘Thanks again for coming,’ she says, hugging me tightly. ‘I had the best time.’
I hesitate before putting my arms around her and hugging her back.
‘I’m really glad you told me about Noah,’ she says into my hair.
‘No big deal,’ I murmur.
We separate.
‘Well, see you tomorrow,’ Tanvi says.
‘Yeah, see you tomorrow,’ I echo, hovering on the pavement as Tanvi climbs in the passenger seat.
I make my way up the path, pausing to wave before disappearing behind the side gate. I crouch down, and wait for them to drive away. I give it another few minutes before unlatching the gate and heading back down the path towards number 48.
The house is quiet. As I creep past the living-room door, I realize I haven’t thought about the house or Bonnie all night.
And it has been lovely.
More than lovely.
In fact, it might just have been one of the nicest nights of my entire life.
26
My phone is missing. After my chat with Tanvi about Noah, I got the urge to text him when I got in but when I reached for my phone it wasn’t there.
I’m not too worried. I must have left it at Tanvi’s. I remember putting it on her bed when I was getting changed. I’ll have forgotten to pick it up.
It turns out I was right. When I walk into registration the following morning it’s sitting on the desk.
‘I left it on your bed, right?’ I say, scooping it up and dropping it my blazer pocket.
‘Uh-huh,’ Tanvi says. ‘You haven’t been too worried about it, have you? When I found it, I wanted to drop it off straightaway, but Dad said it was too late.’
We’re interrupted by Emerson. ‘You guys going to Jack’s Halloween party next Friday?’ he asks, his elbows resting on our desk. Even though he addresses the question to both of us, it’s clear that Tanvi’s is the response he’s interested in.
‘I don’t know,’ Tanvi says, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger. ‘Why?’
‘You should come,’ Emerson says
.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, I’ll be there for one,’ he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.
I hide my smile behind my hand as Tanvi dissolves into giggles.
‘Plus, Jack’s parents are really cool,’ Emerson adds. ‘They let you drink and everything.’
‘Hmmmm, let me think about it,’ Tanvi says.
‘You do that,’ Emerson says, turning back to face the front of the class before Ms Cameron tells him off.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Tanvi says the second the bell has rung for morning lessons and Emerson is out of earshot. ‘We have to go to Jack’s party, Ro, we have to!’
‘But I thought you were going to Center Parcs next week.’
‘I am. I’ll be back by Friday though. You can come get ready at mine and we can go together!’
‘What’s all this “we” business?’ I ask, pulling my backpack onto my shoulders.
‘Well, I can hardly go alone. I need a wingwoman!’
‘What about Marissa? I bet she’s going.’
‘Noooooo! It has to be you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because. We’re a team.’
‘But I’m no good at parties.’
‘Er, excuse me, what about last night? Everyone loved you. Seriously, my parents won’t stop going on about you.’
‘That was different.’
It really was.
‘Oh please, Ro,’ Tanvi says, grabbing my hand and waggling it up and down. ‘I’m nearly fifteen years old and I’ve never been to a party. This is beyond tragic.’
‘What about last night?’ I ask triumphantly.
Tanvi makes a face. ‘You know what I mean. A proper party. Where actual stuff might happen, maybe even to me.’
I don’t say anything.
‘We don’t have to go for long!’ Tanvi continues. ‘And if it’s rubbish or boring or anything, we can leave and you can say “I told you so” until the end of time.’
‘I don’t know, Tanvi …’ I begin.
Last night was brilliant and everything, but the idea of going to a party full of people from school is a completely different proposition and fills me with dread.
Tanvi plants herself in front of me with her hands on her hips. ‘You give me no choice, Ro Snow,’ she says.
I frown, unsure what she’s getting at.
‘Now,’ she says. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you’d deprive a girl who VERY NEARLY DIED, from attending her very first proper party?’
My mouth drops open. ‘I can’t believe you just went there, Shah,’ I say.
Tanvi’s stern expression melts into a mischievous grin. ‘Well?’ she demands. ‘Are you?’
My insides twist. Every instinct is telling me to say no. And yet the idea of Tanvi missing out because of me feels just as terrible, if not more.
I take a deep breath. ‘You promise we can leave if it’s awful?’ I ask.
‘It won’t be.’
‘But do you promise?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ Tanvi says solemnly, swiping her index finger across her chest.
27
I spend the early portion of the half-term week practising for my audition. Luckily, Bonnie has the TV and radio on so loud there’s little danger of her hearing me.
I stand in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door and sing for hours on end, fascinated by the way my face and body transform into someone else entirely the moment I open my mouth.
My days are punctuated with flurries of messages from Tanvi. I’m treated to regular updates on her Center Parcs schedule – a dizzying timetable of swimming and badminton and archery and indoor climbing – interspersed with speculation about Jack’s party.
It’s funny, but after seeing Tanvi pretty much every day for nearly two months, I’m sort of missing her this week. It’s not just that though; everything seems a bit easier lately. The state of the house is as bad as ever, but it’s not quite getting to me in the way it used to. It’s the same with Bonnie. She went on another one of her shopping sprees the other day, and even though the sight of all those shopping bags most definitely upset me, I didn’t fly off the handle the way I would have done a few months ago.
On Wednesday morning, I wake up to a text from Tanvi:
Have fun with Noah today!!!! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Hahahahaha!
I can’t believe I’m finally getting to see him. I don’t know why but I keep worrying he’s going to cancel on me, despite the fact he messaged me last night to ask what biscuits I like.
I spend the morning practising for my audition. I’m distracted though, jumpy and daydreamy. After lunch, I brush my teeth and replait my hair before planting myself on Noah’s doorstep at two o’clock exactly, clutching the chess set to my chest. I ring the bell, nervous excitement pulsing through my body.
Mr Hornby answers. He’s unshaven and has purply grey bags under his eyes. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks, his face exhibiting zero recognition.
I glance over his shoulder. The hallway looks nothing like it did when Terry lived there. The swirly carpet has been replaced with laminate flooring, the textured wallpaper with bland magnolia paint.
‘It’s for me, Dad,’ a voice calls.
Mr Hornby drifts back to the living room as Noah comes galloping down the stairs.
‘Hi,’ he says, coming to an abrupt stop in front of me.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
There’s a moment where we just look at each other, our eyes wide and unblinking. Noah’s hair is longer and I swear he’s taller.
‘Er, do you want a drink or something?’ he asks.
‘Yes please,’ I say.
I follow him through into the kitchen. In terms of layout, 46 Arcadia Avenue is the mirror of 48. Not that you’d ever guess. The dimensions may be the same but it feels like another world – clean and spacious, a blank canvas. It’s like being in an alternate universe, one where Bonnie and I live together in peaceful magnolia-hued harmony.
The kitchen in particular is suspiciously bare, the counter tops empty apart from an expensive-looking coffee machine and a fruit bowl containing a single blackened banana.
‘Coke?’ Noah asks, opening the fridge.
‘Please.’
He hands me a can, wedges an unopened packet of Jaffa Cakes under his arm and leads the way upstairs.
In keeping with the rest of the house, Noah’s bedroom is sparse and impersonal, more like a guest room than a teenage boy’s bedroom. The bed is unmade, a tangle of navy blue sheets.
‘Most of my stuff is at my mum’s,’ he explains, tugging the duvet into place.
‘Makes sense,’ I say. ‘I don’t keep much at my dad’s either.’
He turns to face me. ‘Your parents are divorced too?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How often do you see your dad?’
‘One weekend per month.’
‘Your mum got full custody as well then?’
I realize I don’t know, only that whatever arrangement they have seems to suit Dad just fine.
‘It was kind of a long time ago,’ I say. ‘Chess?’ I add, holding up the box. ‘I wrote down where we were so we can finish that game.’
‘Smart thinking.’
I kneel on the carpet, referring to my scribbled diagram as I place the pieces on the board, while Noah opens the Jaffa Cakes.
‘Sorry my dad was so weird just then,’ Noah says, offering me one. ‘He’s such a dick sometimes,’ he adds, a fierce look in his eyes.
‘It’s fine, really,’ I say.
When it comes to weird parents, I don’t have a leg to stand on.
As we begin to play, the chat starts to flow. First of all, it’s just general stuff – whether Jaffa Cakes are cakes or biscuits, summer versus winter, our favourite Harry Potter characters, the most annoying noise in the world, a documentary on sharks we’ve both happened to have seen. Gradually, t
hough, we move on to more personal stuff. I find myself telling Noah about my audition tomorrow, my nerves and excitement fizzing over as I describe the day ahead. In return, Noah opens up about his parents’ divorce. He’s telling me about his mum’s new boyfriend and how he can’t decide if he’s really nice or a complete phoney when my phone rings.
It’s Jodie.
‘Sorry, I need to get this,’ I say, picking it up. I turn away. ‘Hey, Jodie, everything OK?’
‘Not exactly,’ she says. ‘I’m in A&E. I think I might have broken my ankle.’
‘How?’
‘Don’t laugh, but I fell out of a tree. And I wasn’t even drunk,’ she wails. ‘I was helping my mate Benny with his photography project.’
My heart sinks. I know what’s coming next.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Ro, but you’re going to have to ask someone else to go with you tomorrow.’
‘That’s OK,’ I say.
Because what else can I say?
‘Really?’ Jodie says. ‘I feel so terrible letting you down but I literally can’t walk right now. You’ll be able to find someone else to fill in, right?’
‘Course. It’s fine, honestly.’
This is a lie but there’s no point in making Jodie feel bad when she’s stuck in A&E with a suspected broken ankle. At the same time, I’m so disappointed I could cry.
‘Oh, babe, I’ve got to go,’ Jodie says. ‘They just called my name. Good luck tomorrow!’
I hang up.
‘Everything OK?’ Noah asks.
I tell him about needing an adult to come to the audition with me.
‘Can’t your mum go with you?’ he asks.
‘It’s not that simple,’ I say.
‘How come? She’s a singer, isn’t she? Surely she’s the perfect person.’
‘She doesn’t actually know about the audition.’
‘You’re kidding. Why not?’
I try to work out if there’s a straightforward easy way to describe why I don’t want Bonnie involved. I settle for, ‘It’s complicated.’
Noah is opening his mouth to ask me another question when the door bursts inwards. Even though there’s an entire chessboard between us, we both jump a mile, making the chess pieces wobble violently.
Mr Hornby looks down at us wearily. ‘Time for dinner, Noah,’ he says.
Paper Avalanche Page 17
