To Be Honest

by Polly Young

  fit together like they were just beginning to.

  Mr Morlis gets there first.

  “Kai Swanning?”

  And Taff takes his feet down immediately.

  * * *

  “So, when did it happen?”

  I’m perching on Posy , all liquid, with Mr Morlis solid, chilled, next to me. Taff’s letting off steam by pacing the floor. I mean, Kai is.

  “Monday. In the storm. I saw Taff when you both walked to school.”

  I think back to yesterday. Yes, big rain, in the morning, when he’d walked me and dropped me and Kai’d said, my hero and I’d seen Debono and Joe and I’d talked to Miss Mint by the gate and he’d got in my car and he’d driven ... wait.

  “You drove? You drove my car home? You’re sixteen. That’s illegal !”

  He says, “you can talk! It’s not even your car!” and I think, Taff’s Lamborghini. Did he get home, take it out?! Then I think, this is a lot of unnecessary exclamation mark-type comments to be making, and anyway, that isn’t the point. Mr Morlis agrees.

  “Let’s get back on track,” he says, templing his fingers. “This makes things all quite awkward.” And he twists his face so his forehead disappears into his scalp, then comes back again. It happens twice, then he’s got it.

  “The thing is,” he says, “with four people it either makes it doubly hard to switch back or it might , in fact should make things easier.”

  “How do you work that out?” I say, but only half-listening ‘cos I’m thinking of the night I’ve already spent in this house with Kai Swanning and the fact we’ve only got three days left to switch back if we’re going to and how can we still be in with a chance.

  “Well, with two people, they need to be utterly honest, which can be draining. But with four, you all know what’s in store, so you can use each other for support.”

  “Will we swap back the same time?”

  I’m quite scared, to be honest. ‘Cos what if the KaiTaff swap stops Pheebs’ and mine from reversing? What if we all get held back?

  “I can’t see why not if no one breaks the rules. So no lies. Just stay true to yourselves.”

  He smiles, winningly, charmingly and I think of Olly Goddard in physics last term, shivering in swimming trunks, climbing into a dustbin full of water to demonstrate density and

  Displacement.

  That’s why Mr Morlis is a legend. I cheer up a bit and when he’s gone and it’s Kai and me, first thing I say is, “we’re not sleeping in the same bed.”

  He looks at me, touches my hair like outside his house a lifetime ago and it’s better then ‘cos he says, “yes, so Taff said. That’s totally cool. I mean, you’re a schoolgirl.”

  I look at him then and say, “right. You’re at school too, just to remind you.”

  Then we snog pretty much the whole night.

  Chapter 18: Wednesday, tenth night

  Debono’s debunked to the dark side.

  She was meant to be backing me up on Review: said it was “unlikely to amuse” if I mimed Happy Birthday, Mr President as Marilyn to Mr Underwood’s John F. Kennedy, in a sort of so-cringey-it’s-almost-cool way. I agreed. A quick, “it’s all make believe, isn’t it?” and a little kiss-blow at the audience was more what I had in my mind.

  But she’s changed hers. Stepped in instead. Says we’ll do songs as well, not just Happy Birthday and “it’s bound to be more entertaining” if she becomes Kennedy. In drag. The fact there’ll be nine hundred ravening children and we’re wafting metaphorical Nando’s in front of them doesn’t seem to register. But there’s no time to think about Friday. ‘Cos Alicia Payne has an exam.

  It’s not ‘til tomorrow but she’s starting to worry and fret. She says, “Miss, I bet I’ll do crap,” and I say, “better not, ‘cos I’m giving my afternoon nap time up for you.”

  And she laughs but there’s something behind it, like when Tao bundled her. She looked just as shit scared back then.

  I’ve remembered the girl from the dentist. It’s Alicia Payne’s brother’s ex-girlfriend, Katie. I recognised her from a photo Alicia showed me, stuffed in her wallet and treasured, of James and her licking ice-creams on the beach. They’re giggling, closed in together. The girl’s on a picnic rug, just out of reach. They went out with each other in year 10, when James was my mentor. He told he’d “done it” with Katie but wearily, hungrily, then he’d said, “oh dear, I’m sorry. I forgot you’re twelve. You seem so much older.”

  I’d blushed and been flustered ‘cos just for a second he’d made me feel special but even then, even then, ‘cos my friend’s Josh, I’d known: James is gay.

  And so it was. When, in year 10, he got caught by the bike sheds with Sugar Berry founder by me.

  I’d said nothing, but next time at mentoring, I’d just said, “hey, you know it is fine to like boys, don’t you, James?”

  And he’d stopped spouting stuff about mothers and brothers and GCSE options. Stopped quite abruptly and said, “I knew you’d know. I’ve seen you with Josh. It’s really an honour to be with a year 7 girl who’s so streetwise and knowledgeable.” But I’d read the relief in his eyes far beneath all the sarcasm. After that we were friends. I think he might have thought he could trust me.

  * * *

  Mum’s at it again. Bedroom banging all night. Miss Mint’s shocked but I’m not convinced. “You’d know if a man came to stay.”

  “Not necessarily,” she pouts. “I do have a life, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Mine.”

  She’s taken the news pretty well. About TaffKai, I mean, and their swap. She’s worried, of course. About not turning back, either in time or ever, but she’s what I heard Mum once call ‘stoic’. Oh, and annoying, too.

  “I could tell,” she’d said. “Well, I mean Taff is my husband.”

  “Fiance,” I’d said, rather too quickly.

  But she’d let it go.

  * * *

  We rehearse at lunch break. Debono appears, late of course, in the studio, hair crazy-wild, like she’s come from a backwards hedge-dragging. Her sagging great shopper contains all the props.

  “Your hair. Platinum.”

  I look at the dry, bleached-blonde wig. Kai’s said, yet again, that short hair’s his thing and nobody will recognise me for a while with it on but still, when they do, even though I’m not me, I’m embarrassed. I waffle all this, leaving out obvious bits, to Debono.

  “You’ll be fine,” she says, blowing a smacker. Her frizz all slicked back, makes me retch. It’s too weird.

  In comes Mr Morlis.

  “Debono!” he cries, like the kids, and she winces, “just the, ah, man.” And he tells her she’s down for car parking duty.

  “It’s just you do it so well,” and he stands, flipping coins up and down and he shuffles his trainers a bit.

  With an, ‘I’m so invaluable’ sigh, she ups sticks and then turns as the penny

  Drops. Says,

  “Oh, you mean for Review. Oh, I see.”

  “Yes,” he says gently. “I’ll be Kennedy.”

  And I’m a lot happier, to be honest.

  Chapter 19: Thursday, eleventh night

  So school rushes on. Teaching’s hard. It’s been fun but I’m tired, god I’m tired. And after a full Thursday, my throat’s expired. But there’s a very important event to take place. And really it shouldn’t require a loud voice. Three fifteen comes ...

  ... and then goes.

  Lloyd Parker scratches his nose and draws a big cock and balls on the page as he sits at his desk with some lined paper soon to be checked. But not yet.

  ‘Cos Alicia Payne’s late.

  I’ve done all these things, like email Debono, who she has for last lesson ( whom ) and nagged her and dragged her away from the bike sheds at lunch to remind her it’s ‘three fifteen sharp’ if she wants to take part in CA. And I thought she did.

  Controlled assessments are usually done in a classroom of kids from one class. But Alicia was ill
for it, Lloyd was off too and so one more chance, Alicia. Just one more chance, to be honest.

  Lloyd glances up to the door and she’s there, with her hair swinging wildly, escaped from its band. There’s a full can of unopened Fizz in her hand (which is cider). I choose to ignore it.

  “Sorry, Miss. It’s just this boy came up to me, asked me to walk his dog before Review.”

  And it’s, ‘phew, Alicia doesn’t hate dogs!’ that’s the first thing I think, but I say,

  “Drink can away now. You know that’s forbidden. Sit down next to Lloyd.”

  She does what she’s told, a mood-swung, loved-up, out-cidered girl

  Trying to pass GCSE.

  “I can’t see,” she complains.

  “Nothing to,” I retort and write the instructions and time on the board and they start.

  The two of them pick up their pens. They’ve notes pages; A4 sides scribbled on, quotes and notes and occasional rubbings out. The clock ticks: three, four, five

  And I pause, say, “pens down,” and they both stretch and sigh but then Lloyds eye has wandered.

  “Oi, Miss! I could see ...”

  I instinctively cover my chest, hold my breath, ‘cos I’m wearing a vest underneath Miss Mint’s oversized, pink maxi-dress.

  “ ... Alicia cheating.”

  “You ... what?”

  Nasty boy, I think. How dare he say such a thing. Not my Alicia. Not Payne. But she clings to the desk in the way she did when we looked at rhythm, viewpoint, Sugar Berry. Exact same. But it’s her desk, not mine.

  I say, “Alicia, come here.”

  She gets up.

  “Thank you, Lloyd. You may go. Leave your papers behind.”

  He gets up.

  “But Miss ...” but he does.

  I look at her work. It seems fine. No paragraphs; only seven words a line ‘cos her writings all big and girl-loopy, but still. Then I look at her notes and my throat starts to fill up and if I’m not careful, the words will spill out. So I am careful. Calm and serene, like an un-trollied lake or a warm summer breeze. I’m just all Mint and pleasant.

  “Alicia Payne.”

  “That’s my name,” but she won’t meet my eyes.

  “How’d it go?”

  “I’ve got loads of stuff down, Miss. Look. See?” And she points at my desk, at Lloyd’s and her work all stacked up.

  “Do you want to tell me ... anything?”

  “Oh, my god, Miss!” she pops, like a cork or the top of her can of Fizz-y. She kicks back her chair and she’s gone, quick as that. And I sit down and think, Oh Em Gee.

  * * *

  I make a beeline for the staffroom, seeking out a corner ‘cos the loo’s being cleaned, I ease into Miss Mint’s now tight jeans and out of my dress.

  I’m a mess. Day eleven. How dare he? I can’t believe Lloyd would lie. I tried to find him after Alicia had scarpered. Lloyd Parker’s a sharper tool than he’d have you believe. Although lazier than Tao after he’d got into the larder and eaten and eaten his fill, he’s got radar for things that are out of the ordinary. Like cheating.

  My school’s good like that. Kids aren’t wont to cheat ‘cos they know they’ll get caught. All my friends know the code: you just don’t. ‘Cos we all know you’re cheating yourself. That sounds lame, but it’s true. Like that time when Rach got stressed. She’d missed French, she’d been smoking; we’d a test and I’d offered to help. In tech, I’d said, “fait accompli: moi vous aider,” just to show off. What I’d meant was, I’d give her a look at my book. Mais non, ‘cos although Josh’s reckless in English, Rach wouldn’t accept it ‘cos we all knew Fairmere’s policy’s pretty hardcore.

  First, your parents are called. Well, your parents or carers. Whoever’s a share in your life. It’s not nice. Mr Underwood rings. You’re hauled into his office, to hear him say things about honesty, school reputation, your mum. You just sit there, quietly, biting your tongue. Your teacher agrees. So you’re there in a chair with these grown-ups all round and all they do is stare and you can’t make a sound ‘til they’re done.

  Then you’re able to speak but you’re weak from the verbal ear bashing, the shattering of any wild hope of escape from the terrible, horrible feeling of shame. Like I said, it sounds lame but it’s really not fun to sit there all quiet just biting your tongue and with tears in your eyes.

  So it’s no surprise that Lloyd Parker would yell if he thought he could smell Alicia cheating.

  I go straight to science; tell Mr Morlis the news.

  He says, “this is bad. If Alicia has cheated, she must be exposed,” and winds two long pieces of red Bunsen hose round his hand. Then he stops, waits a sec.

  “’S’pose Alicia hasn’t confessed?”

  “Afraid not. I don’t even know what kind of mess she’s got into. It’s just what Lloyd said.”

  Mr Morlis scoots round his laboratory. Flies, in fact; glides like a penguin on ice on his tummy. He’s lost a few pounds. Bit like Mum.

  I wish he could take some of this weight off of me. ‘Cos I’m heavy. Not just in my body; my head and my lungs feel mismatched and unfair, like two different athletes competing for air.

  He decides to tread cautiously. “This,” he says, parking scooter under desk, “could be momentous. Exams are a test.” And I think, yes Mr Morlis, I know. He continues, though, saying he really means they test for honesty.

  “You and Miss Mint need to talk. If she’s cheated, Alicia needs handling like cutlery: carefully, correctly and very politely.”

  He’s lost it, I think. If Alicia cheated, that’s her deal, not mine. She’s made herself dirty. But what about my life? Has she muddied waters for Miss Mint and me to swap back after all? There’s just one day to go. Less than that. And my brain starts to wash up; go dry. Do I tell or protect her? What’s the thing to be done? Should I lie? But then surely we’re back to square one. The sky’s black. I say ‘bye to the Morlis, put up Miss Mint’s hood and go home on the bus. There’s no fussing or pointing: the kids have gone home long ago.

  Kai’ll be waiting with pizzas. I get off the bus early: need time to think.

  The sky’s orange now. Neon haze ebbs and flows on and on, on and off round the soldier-like rows of the street lights and small fairy lights in the trees.

  I want my Mum.

  I walk carefully, inching my way round the street corner. The railway bridge beckons and soon I’m on top, where I stood with a man who helped me to drop my defences. I walk on, past the cars that I’ve passed on my bike and my own, and my house is just here and my wonderful mum’s coming out with a man. It’s Dad.

  She’s kissing him, slowly and gigglingly, quick now, then a c h i n g l y slow; pulling his hand as he turns to go and then turns back.

  He gives her a smack on the arse and she’s fast: she slaps him on the thigh and he grabs her quite hard round the waist with both hands. But she’s vanished. She’s air, like a girl aged fifteen could be on a first date: a bit late back, not caring though; sharing the night with a man who makes everything right.

  I blink and it’s gone. The fairy lights shine but the fairy tale’s shone. That was Mum and Dad then.

  This is now.

  And the banging upstairs is not them.

  * * *

  It’s Mum sewing. She’s not spent a fortune; just being ‘resourceful,’ Pheebs says on the phone later on.

  Miss Mint’s up in her room/my room, trying on things for tomorrow’s Review. She’s ecstatic.

  Mum’s unpacked the ancient, half-working machine and been shirring and smocking with tape and elastic. Been at it for days. “Your mum’s so clever ,” she says. I look awesome!” And she gabbles and chuckles and I learn that Mum’s made them outfits. Courtney and Rach and Miss Mint. Outfits that say the word, ‘street’. With cross stitch bears on the butt cheeks.

  I’m serious. There’s an embroidered soft toy motif plastered on each of my friends’ backsides and Miss Mint thinks it’s cool. As we get into the finer deta
il, denim hot pants seem to have blinded her to the fact that she’s asking for people to tell her she’s got Pooh on her bum. Oh, Mum.

  But really I’m glad. Mum’s found something she’s good at and everyone’s pleased. Plus, I still get to wear a nice dress.

  * * *

  Late that night, just before I’m asleep, Kai pops in. He’s been sleeping in Miss Mint’s spare room, which is cold. Standing in the door, he’s sleek, warm; full of pizza. Like poppies in sun or a puppy whose fun has run out. He’s all Snoopy-sleepy.

  I say, “you can get into bed if you like.”

  He smiles and says, “no. ‘Cos I want to but it’s not our time, Lise. Not quite yet.

  ‘Night.”

  And I yawn like I’m cross in a good way and turn over.

  I know he doesn’t go straight away.

  Chapter 20: Friday, twelfth night

  I wake to the last day of term. The twelfth night since we swapped. I’m still in Miss Mint’s head and body. The soft bedroom light fills the room and there’s a hint of a Christmassy, mulled winey tang in the air, along with the nerves, but I’m trying to not think too far ahead. So I just lie in bed and don’t look at the wig on my pristine, white safe bedroom chair, ‘cos I’ll deal with whatever comes next when it comes. And this morning’s a text. It’s from Kai: it says,

  Meet me downstairs.

  The cream butter carpet’s all sprinkled with red. Looks like blobs of jam missed where they should land: on bread. And he’s standing there, Kai I mean, holding a tray of crepes, sprinkled with feather-light sugar. He’s not even gay.

  I say thank you.

  He hands me a fork and a knife and I look down at the paper petals, scattered like shells, from Remembrance Sunday assembly.

  “They’re leftover. The poppies. No one wanted them. Use that knife carefully. It can be quite sharp.”

  I perch on Posy , politely accept and we munch and get strong on delicious French crepes. ‘Cos today, we both know, is our D-Day.

  * * *

  “I’ll see you at one at school. Meet you there.”