Double Dates & Single Raisins
Page 5
“Green.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! And don’t you dare say I’ve been gazing into my friends’ eyes to tell, or I’ll let Jordy know how much you lurve him!” He fidgeted, clearly wanting to get off home.
I wanted to go home, too – I didn’t care what he thought was acceptable to wear on a date (trademark band tee and baggy black trou, no doubt), but I wanted to be out of school uniform and into something identifiable as fitting. I had the fidgety feeling too – a fidgety feeling that this was a dumb idea…
* * *
All too soonly, we were shivering outside bLIMEy, the new smoothie café on the high street. I knew I should’ve worn a jacket, but it had been misleadingly warm on the way back from school.
The shop was still. An elderly couple sat at a window table, and one teenage waiter bumbled over with their drinks. Maybe it was him? He seemed way older than thirteen; old enough to serve bacon rolls and sundaes for a living, anyway. Brown hair. Brown eyes. But knowing Charlie…
I was in my favourite old T-shirt (orange and stretchy with a lighter orange traced pattern of sunflowers on that I’ve had since I was Kit’s age), and my (also über-stretchy and super long-lasting) pale jeans with the studded flowers all up one side.
It wasn’t exactly high fashion lad-alluring datewear (or whatever Chan and Keisha would call it), but all the magazines advised to wear something I feel comfortable in. My clothes don’t get much more comfortable than too-short tees that give me kidney chill, without going full pyjama.
Things seemed to catch up with Charlie all of a sudden. “Oh Go! I’ve never been a date before!” he panicked.
I laughed. “I wouldn’t call what I’ve had so far a date on any level.”
Blindfolded with a bandana, Charlie led me into the café. (I was the one blindfolded, I mean. If Charlie was blindfolded, I’d never trust him to lead me through a doorway.)
We sat down opposite each other at a table with squishily squashy seats, and ordered up some smoothies. I chose a sensible strawberry and vanilla shake, and heard my brother ask for the odd concoction of blackberry, lime and Coke. Bleurgh and double bleurgh alike, but anything with lime as an ingredient, I overheard, was half price.
I heard someone enter the shop. A bell on the door ding!s unmistakably as you open it. The person wobbled into the seat next to me. A male someone, judging by the feel of his army pants which brushed against my hand as he sat. It must’ve been The Guy!
“Just putting my blindfold on!” Charlie reassured the guy from across the table. “Don’t let my girl come in yet!”
The door ding!d again and I heard a female voice in the distance. “Hey, watch out!”
“I’m trying,” said another male voice. “How can you even walk in those platforms? They make you as tall as college guy!”
Maybe this was him…
The boy beside me shuffled, and accidentally jostled my arm.
The girl spoke again. “Smell ya later, Ben!” I could practically sense a stuck-out tongue and silly wave to go with the deliberately cliché phrase.
“Orders?” said the male voice. Definitely the waiter, still. This was good, ’cause he was certainly not Jordy. He seemed to be Ben, and was probably the college guy in question.
The boy sitting beside me ordered up a chocolate shake, and obviously mishandled it the second he went to take a sip. It spilled all over the table, slopping over my arm and dripping gently into my lap. Maybe he was wearing a blindfold too?
I began to understand. The guys knew who each other were; they’d set us up. Us girls, however, had no idea what was going on. But I’d finally twigged.
“Three… two… one… blindfolds off, and meet your Halloween dates!!” announced the Ben Guy.
I removed my blindfold, but was scared to let myself glance right.
Sat across the table was Charlie, opposite me, and a scary-looking girl next to him in garish clothes. It was then that I dared glance at the lad next to me. I took in: floppy, strawberry blonde hair, green eyes and a baggy skater tee with a large, ominous-looking stain on it, which was obviously the knocked-over shake.
Of course. It was Andy.
Andy who (accidentally) covered me with paint at Primary. Andy who always flicked rubber bands at me in Tutor. Andy who walked in on me in the loo at our eleventh birthday party. Our Andy, allergic old friendy-friend Andy. The Andy. Andy, Andy…
Everyone else at our table was wearing the same bemused look. I was not alone. But I caught sight of us all in the wall mirror when I checked myself out, and realised something else: there actually was further I could sink out of style.
Compared to Charlie’s date, there was no way any guy would mind whether I ironed my hair. Underneath the lilac granny-style cardi (with sewn-on daisies) and bright red sarong skirt, she probably had a great body. Under the green, star-shaped sunnies and straw hat (with daffodil on top), she probably had a beautiful face. But I got the feeling that it would take a really special boy to appreciate those things without turning away dizzied by all the colours.
“I’m Kay.” She smiled as she spoke. “I just moved here. The waiter guy’s my brother Ben.”
“…cool.” It was all I could manage, honestly.
“I invited her,” explained Andy. “Me and Ry helped them move their stuff in the other afternoon, and since I’d had this disco date idea, I thought Kay seemed perfect. For… for Chaz, I mean.”
Why was it important that she was perfect for Charlie? I hardly assumed she’d been there as my date. I’d been promised a boy, for starters. Andy seemed stupidly nervous considering he’d known everyone in this café barring Kay and Ben (the old couple had left) for years. Maybe he liked her really and was just trying to be a friend, bless.
“Move in where?” asked Charlie, with interest.
“Our road, of course,” teased Andy. “You know that house that was up for sale? The one joined to yours?”
Oh right, that made sense. Our abilities of observation had been somewhat stunted by the sudden stepfamily scenario, but most other people in our street must’ve noticed the For Sale sign come down, or the moving van, or people going in and out. So these were our new neighbours – neighbours in the mirror-identical house attached to ours on one side. Thinking about that, it could’ve been so much worse…
“Oh, that’s you?” gushed Kay. “You’ve got those sweet little guinea pigs in the garden, and two dogs!”
Err, stalker?
“It’s both of us,” I pointed out, in case it finally wasn’t exactly obvious that me and Charlie happened to be related.
“Oh wow!” (Was there anything she didn’t get excited over? Uh, probably not, given the sort of clothes she’d picked out.) “Are you twins?!”
Well. It would be fair to say that my brother and I left the café with matching boosts to our self esteem. So what if she thought it was AMAZING!! that we’d once shared a womb? The bottom line was that for the very first time, someone who met us together didn’t assume we had come together.
#12 Dippyfoot & The Custardy Confusion
I could hear screaming and shouting downstairs. A regular but still not good thing in our house. The fact that it was neither of my brothers, but actually Kitty, made my protective older sister gene jangle.
“Harley!!” I could hear Kitty call from the kitchen. “HARLEEEEEEEEEY!!”
Fearing the worst, with tidal jelly wave and guinea pig birth still in mind, I was already halfway there.
“Harley, help! There’s a cat in the custard!” came a panicked voice (hers).
To my horror, there was a cat – front two paws in the custardlike gloop panned on the switched-off stove, tail swishing with confusion. And that cat was Diptail, who is not even our cat.
Not pausing to wonder why Kitty needed to heat her Ambrosia, or the reason she’d let in a waif while preparing food, I lifted Dippy and began towelling off his feet while he mewed in puzzled protest.
“Kit,” I reminded her. “You can eat that
cold or ask me, next time. You know you’re not supposed to use the cooker. Why custard for breakfast, anyway?”
“We’re out of porridge!” she whined. “Zak was going to do it, but then there wasn’t any porridge and he said ‘have custard then’.”
I gave Diptail a scratch behind the ear and gardened him. “Zak!” I yelled across the grass. “Explanation?!”
“What?” he snapped.
“Don’t give me ‘what’,” I giggled. I felt just like Mum, back when she was being a mum. “Kitty’s been in there trying to cook custard while you were out here mucking around. Didn’t you hear her shouting?”
“I meant she should have cold custard.” He shrugged. “I’m practising my lines.”
Oh, his space cadet assemblypiece. What with the whole talent show thing, I could see how that might be stressful. Our group was already out of rehearsals, and we had to be ready for Friday…
* * *
Kay was wandering up the road right when I was, accessorised with the star sunglasses, dark brown hair twisted into two crimpy pigtails, completed with sunflower hair bobbles and a maroon beret. That was above the coatline. Below the coatline, she had on sparkly black leggings and a pair of cherry red patent combat boots.
I opened my mouth to say something about how none of our local schools currently had a hat with their uniform. I could just tell from under the coat that she was otherwise dressed in the dark blue sweatshirt and plain black skirt of our rival school, and I heaved an internal sigh of relief that it would not be down to me to introduce her.
Charlie pushed past me at the gate, his Bullet For My Valentine messenger bag hitting me on the leg as he went. “We’re so late!” he moaned, as if I hadn’t noticed and had a cure. As if he’d spent the last half hour tidying up after a messy miniature cook and going over lines with a nervous Zak. As if it even mattered…
“How come you’re even late?” I asked, falling into step with him. It wasn’t often that we walked together, but I had a suspicion that even my friends would deign to head for the gates before we reached that neighbourhood. “If you were in, why didn’t you help out?”
“Did you know Harry was here yesterday?” he asked, instead of getting a move on. “He’s fixed my stereo, so it works again!”
I narrowed my eyes. “You were in enough of a rush to shove me, and not enough of a rush to spare me that?”
He looked at Kay and ignored me. “Those are very nice…”
“Huh?” she asked, suspiciously. She even looked down to check for undone buttons, before remembering she was wearing a pullover sweatshirt and faux fur coat.
“Your boots!” He reddened. “Not- uhhh…”
I prodded his back so he walked in the direction of school. “Go now,” I hissed. “Be free. Stop humiliating yourself.”
Sure, I thought she was dolled up a bit much for school – a bit much for a school trip to a 90s clubnight, even – but I couldn’t fathom why she had this effect on Charlie. To think Andy might actually be a good matchmaker! So much could be said for my twin…
#13 Ganguro
“Granny, don’t fuss!” screeched Kay. “I want to go to school!”
A day later, a lot of things had changed. Somewhere between us parting ways to walk to school, and finding ourselves once again on the same street in the afternoon, Kay had decided I was her new best friend. Why? I really couldn’t say, but it likely had something to do with how on multiple occasions I had stood in the vicinity of her and not died laughing at her fashion sense.
“Not looking like that, you don’t. Do you really think it’s for the best?” tutted her grandma, clearly convinced that there must be no limits to her granddaughter’s self harm after what she’d done last night. “And don’t call me Granny; it makes me look old!”
“Well, I’m going!” Kay flounced, shutting the door not in her gran’s face, but pretty close to it. Then, she winked my way and stormed off up the road.
Amidst the checked bows, miniature bowler hat and tiny sparkling beads in her hair, the large, annotated plaster on her nose was certainly the star of the above-neck show. And while any sane person would jump at the chance to skip, for Kay’s plan to work, she had to go in, and looking like this exactly. She’d explained clearly to me the night before – if she took any pity time off for her accidental injury, she might risk getting away with it all.
The problem? Since she’d realised she wasn’t going to the same school as me and Charlie and Andy, she’d got the distinct vibe that she may be at a disadvantage in the friend stakes. Two days only in that place had convinced her that alternating afternoons in detention and the laughing stocks were to be had for the entire next three years of her life.
The solution? Seeing as she’d been in so much trouble after it occurred to her teachers that Monday had not been a mistake of the wardrobe kind, she planned to keep at it. Last night she’d attempted to pierce her own nose, and made a bit of a mess of it – hence the doodly bandage with additional silk ribbon edge gently sewn on. (“Everything should be made pretty! Why is a medical coverup any different?” Erm, because it’s disposable…)
“But Kay!” her gran shouted after her, having wrestled the door open again. “You’ve forgotten your school uniform!”
This was true. She’d taken particular pains to challenge every single rule in the prospectus: Only one stud earring per ear? Erm, try two sets of black feathers that almost reached her shoulders, and a botched nose piercing. Hair of a natural colour? Hat-shaped fascinator and synthetic neon rainbow extensions. NO makeup? She’d plastered her already-tan skin with orange foundation. Her eyes were painted with white gauche and outlined in black, and her lips coated in pale concealer. To top that off, she even wore special contact lenses to expand her iris area, which truly gave the alien effect.
Where she should’ve worn a navy aertex shirt and sweatshirt with black or grey skirt or trou, her alteration to the style was a huge and frumpy ruffled dress, patterned at the hem with lilac felt teapots. (“It says nothing about any kind of dress being OK!”) In place of sensible flat black shoes, she wore sparkly wedge sandals (with pink tights). I absolutely did not doubt her chances of instant exclusion, but I definitely doubted her intentions. The thing is, I’d just had the biggest brainwave about how to rescue our talent piece from being the unfunny kind of weird…
* * *
After school, we all headed to Chan’s for a final runthrough of our contest entry. When I say all, I mean that Charlie was there too, it being all in the verbal contract for my “date” with Andy.
“I’m gonna warn you, and warn you only once,” I said to my plus one. “Keish and Chan have an atypical style radar that stretches as far as the nearest catwalk, so I’d suggest you remove the sunflower bobbles now and put on my jacket.”
I thrust my sensibleish sports jacket (actually Zak’s, and only a tad too small) Kay’s way, so she could cover up her Crazy Frog tee, which had been the relatively sensiblest piece of clothing we could find in her room. Her hair, still in those ridiculously colourful bunches, bobbed as she took it. (She’d refused to drastically alter her hair in front of me, despite appearing earlier to have absolutely no shame.) “Bobbles are staying,” she insisted. “At least I took the fascinator and bows off. So what’re the others like?”
Kay looked even more uncomfortable than she had upon realising she’d won that Halloween date with my metalhead, noodlebrain brother. The same noodly brother who was getting fidgety beside us. I abandoned my attempts on the hairbands – she’d really been very good about scraping off the makeup I now understood was known as “Ganguro”, and changing out of her “school” clothes as soon as she was sent home at the grand count of 9:05am.
“Just wait and see,” I said with a quick smile, reaching to ring the doorbell to Chan’s mum’s.
The door opened, and we found ourselves face-to-face with Chan and Keisha’s mocking kohl eyes. Ray-Ray, Dani, Rindi and Fern were there before us, all crowding round to see w
ho I’d brought.
“This is Kay,” I announced to everyone, though I’d explained my idea already at school. “And Kay, this is Chantalle.” (I nodded at my redheaded friend, who raised her eyebrows disapprovingly.) “And Danielle – they’re cousins.” (I gestured; she waved from inside her favourite white and pink turtleneck.) “This is Rachel.” (Rachel was stood, arms folded across her well-loved monkey-in-photo-booth tee. Obviously not happy.) “And Rindi in the Eeyore socks.” (I pointed carpetwards.) “And the loud one is Keisha. The quiet one is Fern.”
“Um… hi,” said Kay, obediently.
“Hi, er, Kay,” snarked Keisha, already. “Been hearing stuff about you.”
“Uh, she’s joking…” I whispered, as we entered the house. I was suddenly mortified at the not-so-nice things I’d had to say about Kay to sell her to my friends, and vowed inside to never be such a cow again.
“OK… Kay,” Rachel sniggered. “D’you wanna see something really, really daft?”
I momentarily wondered if she was going to revert to the total tomboy status of when we’d met in Year 7, and exhibit her long-secret talent for turning her eyelids inside out, or try to burp the alphabet. There was a reason behind Rachel’s perpetual sulkiness, and it had to do with no one accepting her actual sense of humour.
“It’s our act for the Halloween talent show,” Rindi reassured.
#14 Jet-Balls, Butterflies…
“I’m coming to see the show! I’m coming to see the SHOW!!”
I eased my eyes open, accustoming to the light of day. Kitty was jumping up and down on my bed, pumping nausea into me at equal measures to the imminent humiliation that was our comedy sketch act.
The Primary had broken up for half term on Thursday, much to the celebration of Kitty – and Zak, who’d presented his space cadet project with four other Year 6 kids in Whole School Assembly, and earned a Passport Sticker for being so well-versed that he’d had to prompt others on their lines. (Prying Aussies should note that Passports are a merit system they use at our local Junior school – you get this cute little book filled with stickers and stamps for outstanding achievement.)
They were both desperate to see the skit. Zak in his coolly “unbothered” way, and Kitty still riding a wave of proud, devoted excitement at getting to see every one of her siblings go up onstage.