For once, it wasn’t a tactless comment. Mum and Harry had finalised our arrangements for Jersey, and everyone was bringing a friend. Charlie had picked Andy, natch, and I was bringing Devon. Zak had chosen Ryan, and we were just waiting on Kitty’s friend Emily to get permission. Bringing friends on holiday was something I’d never dreamed of being able to do, at least until university, but when Harry was being stingy, Andy’s dad had threatened to fork out for it himself.
“Well, we’re all going to Jersey to see the twins’ folks, and then my dad’s taking me and Ry to the South of France. I should just swim,” Andy joked.
“Oh ha ha,” said Rachel, who was a Geography buff due to her parents’ jet-set habits. “What about you, Dani?”
“Me and my mum were going to Magaluf again, but now Chan’s mum wants us all to go somewhere in Italy instead and we don’t know if we can afford it.”
“Tell her you’re not going unless they pay for it,” snorted Andy. “Worked for Charlie’s stepdad.”
“Come on; that’s not even remotely what happened,” I pointed out. “I think your dad just wanted to get rid of you for a week.”
“I think all of our parents wanted to get rid of us for this week,” suggested Charlie. “Bet they’re regretting that with Zak gone too.”
There was a silence. Everyone knew the deal with Zak. I could see him lounging at the Godfreys’ until the very last minute, and then just as Harry was about to rip up his ticket, haring back home for the free holiday.
“Why does your dad put up with that?” asked Dani.
I had been about to correct her on the stepdad thing, when I realised that she’d been speaking to Andy, who’d wormed his way even closer to me.
“He’s a doctor. Seen worse than Zak’s floaters in the morning.”
“Hey, we didn’t send him to yours to live off McDonalds,” snickered Charlie.
“Gross!” I groaned.
“Is he getting pocket money yet?” asked Dev.
Andy tensed up. He looked like he’d been accused of luring in the neighbour’s cat with Waitrose salmon. “No, not really, but he does get dessert.”
Well, that was good enough to rent him for the rest of his life. Zak’s favourite tuck as a little kid had been Andy’s dad’s triple chocolate cake with chocolate custard, but at our place, an after-dinner treat was more likely to be hot chocolate powder mixed with icing on bread – Nutella if it was a good wage week. Even now, we weren’t exactly in caramel fountain territory, seeing as Mum and Harry preferred us to eat healthy.
“So have you spoken to Chan this week?” I asked Dani.
“No. She’s still in a huff about Italy. I don’t see why I should have to be there. It’s not like I can fit on the back of a moped, a la Lizzie McGuire.”
“That’s French,” said Rachel.
“How old was she supposed to be anyway?” asked Charlie. “Twenty?”
“Hot though,” said Andy. “That’s always the point with Disney.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t always been the point with Disney,” I pointed out, narked.
“So you haven’t noticed Nala’s sex face in The Lion King?” he joked.
“Again, gross.”
“Sex isn’t gross; sex is natural,” Devon piped up.
“Not when it’s animated lions,” I rebutted.
“Oh hey, I think I found the socket Asta was after!” announced Rachel, who had trailed a hand down the back of her old iron bed.
Dev beamed. “And that’ll be our best kept secret.”
#11 Ithinkyou’recute!
Near-on everyone was playing rounders with the teachers, but me and Devon and Charlie and Andy were allowed to sit out with Rachel, as part of our ongoing blackmail of Mr Ball.
The sun bore down on us in today’s über-chav borrowed clothes. Dani was in leopard print leggings and a sleeveless hoodie, Dev was in pink trackie bottoms and an ill-fitting white crop top, and I was in black leggings and a long silver tank top, bound by a black belt. Ordinarily I would’ve found it degrading, but Asta’s outfit was actually nicer than a lot of my own stuff. Charlie had offered to swap clothes with both of us, but we decided that would turn out even worse, no matter who obliged.
Speaking of; there was no sign of the pair of them, nor Rachel, who still didn’t have any crutches. She had to have either carefully rolled away, or quietly disappeared with Dani, who had volunteered for rounders but was now nowhere to be seen. It was just me and Andy, or so I thought…
“Charlie, ugh – what the-?!”
“Wha-at? It happens all the time…”
We both span around to see what the commotion was. As it turned out, Charlie had got one of his famous heat-induced nosebleeds.
“Just nipping back to the hut!” shouted Devon, instead of, y’know, notifying a teacher or something normal. “Look after Himself!”
Charlie ambled over to us, nostrils still torrenting. “Weird that you can bleed so much and not even be in pain…” he said, meaning by “you”, humans in general.
“Wish I could,” I muttered, in what I hoped was an offhand manner.
Andy laughed. “Well you know what they say about anything that can bleed for a week and not die.”
“What?” asked Charlie, stupidly.
“Have dinner ready when I get home.”
Andy noticed my cold look, but didn’t have the chance to apologise because Devon had darted back with a couple of tampons.
“Oh no. Ohhhh no!” protested Charlie. “That’s weird; that’s gross!”
“Not as weird or gross as expecting to get any kisses dripping like that!” she countered, chasing after him.
“He’s such a Ginger Stepchild!” snickered Andy, who himself was, obviously, strawberry blonde.
I didn’t get it. “What does that even mean?”
“He’s whipped. Oh come on, Harley, laugh!”
“Why are you so intent on entertaining me with your Jordy humour?”
“Well that’s just it, isn’t it? You liked Jordy, and Jordy liked my sense of humour.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, seriously.
“Well… you weren’t a good match for Jordy anyway, because of his sense of humour.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“His… hair?”
“More than that.”
“His bum? He’d be glad to hear someone likey.”
“Andy, what are you getting at?”
“Gay joke.”
“No, rewind,” I groaned, now annoyed. I had to know if all this meant what I thought it meant. “Why are you trying so hard to be nice to me?”
“How am I trying hard?”
“Well it’s not exactly coming off naturally.”
“I’m not a very natural person. I need a steroid inhaler every day to live. I wouldn’t have died on the battlefield in World War I; I would’ve died in the nursery.”
“Oh my God, you’re as bad as me.”
“You don’t have asthma, Huffy.”
“I mean… you know what I mean.”
“Why are you getting so het up over a joke?”
“Why are you?”
“It was my joke! Well, Otter’s.”
“And it wasn’t funny!” I insisted, not even sure why I was carrying on.
“You’re not funny!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, you’re grumpy!”
“And you’re cute!”
“I’m what?”
“Cute!” I squeaked. “Ithinkyou’recute!”
“What, boyfriend cute, or ferret cute?”
“Ferret cute, you numpty.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Then the weirdest thing happened… Andy just scooted towards me, and kissed me full on the lips.
When he pulled away, he mumbled, embarrassed, “That was weird.”
I looked towards Devon and Charlie, and they were falling about laughing, clutching eac
h other’s sides. But Charlie had tampons up his nose, so we were OK.
#12 U.T.: The Unattainable Twentysomething
At some point while I was lost in Andy-land, Devon and Charlie stopped “making out” (a loosely-used phrase, usually loosely-used by Keisha), and started giggling about something.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, from my position on Andy’s lap.
“Mickey!” they shrieked in unison, like cartoon schoolgirls.
“Mouse, or ‘Hey’?” Andy snorted.
“Mickey the Hickey, of course!” Devon informed us, with a shake of her head. “How can you not know Mickey?”
“Because he’s attached to you, right?” I said, sickly. Now that the excitement of having a sort-of boyfriend had subsided (and boy did that happen quickly), traumatic thoughts of what came next had caught up with me. “Charlie, leave that girl alone!”
“He’s actually attached to me,” he boasted, insufferably, pulling back his hair to show off his neck. “She did that to me!”
“And it looks like Mickey Mouse,” explained Devon. “I’ve always been an artist, eh?”
I actually dared peek. There was indeed a quite large purplish mark, made up of three nasty-looking blood bruises, a head and two ears. Three hickeys on my biggest baby brother.
“Keep it above the waist,” I grumbled, hoping Andy got my subtle message.
“Your things are clean and dry,” Mr Wordsworth butted in, not remotely fazed by the icky evidence on my twin’s skin. “Ready for a trek to Management to pick them up?”
It wasn’t really a choice. We’d arrived with two bags each; one for clean clothes and toiletries and one for used. He couldn’t be expected to lug it all, and besides probably didn’t fancy a reputation as a knicker-sniffer.
I stood up first, still kind of eager to please the Unattainable Twentysomething. I wasn’t sure why, but now that I was so close to Andy – admittedly in a really benign way compared to what Chantalle had got herself into the other month – I longed for distant approval instead. That had been what I was after when I pressed him for compliments; not… not a relationship. I’d never even said yes, or been asked as such, but already I felt like I’d done something regrettable. There would be all kinds of adult I-told-you-sos hissed over the tops of our heads once we arrived back at home, like this was some sort of “marries the childhood sweetheart” storybook ending. I knew better than to think that, and it wasn’t even what I wanted. Unless the coach tipped over into a ditch tomorrow, killing all of us, I had to sit down and analyse the bigger picture.
Because now I was going out with Andy, which meant that I couldn’t ever convince you that it had meant nothing when I accidentally said his name back in September. My stomach kicked itself over and over for forgetting the obvious, definite, ONLY reason you could’ve stayed so mad at me for so long – and I was without the tiniest of hopes that you’d ever read this and understand.
I’d propelled myself halfway to HQ with those thoughts, silent by Devon’s side while she nattered away about bands Charlie liked and movies Charlie wanted to see. I should’ve been talking to Mr Wordsworth – I liked him as a person, and she only saw him as a teacher, the same way that she only saw a ladder as a ladder as long as Charlie was in front of her. The monkeybar days seemed to be gone.
“What about you, Harley?”
“Sorry?”
“I asked, ‘What about you?’” repeated Mr W. “Have you been enjoying yourself other than the tent flooding?”
“Uh…” I finally knew the meaning of scatterbrain. I was so out of touch with the conversation, and the true purpose of this camping trip in general, that it was as if every atom of my grey matter would squeal and run off in a different direction when pressed with any more questions or decisions. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s been great. I really liked… the part where…”
What could I even say? The coach ride up had been sicky beyond belief. Abseiling was torrentially rained off, and then I had been far too tired and uncoordinated to participate in the raincheck. Orienteering had seen one of our only real adventurers sprain her ankle and become confined to the hut for the week, and plus it hadn’t really been any fun. Hanging with Andy, Charlie and Devon had been OK, but I didn’t really treasure the memories, and Rachel was pretty much still a pain. The highlight of my holiday had probably been witnessing Dani force her way to the bank of a moderately rushing river, when I’d previously had her down as a worse rush decisionmaker than me.
I must’ve looked pretty serious as I gathered my thoughts, because Mr Wordsworth chuckled and kicked a rock in solidarity. “Don’t worry; it was shite.”
“For you?” I asked, sort of surprised at his language. I mean, we’re talking about one of the most philologically creative members of staff in the entire school, resorting to swearing.
“For everyone.”
I nibbled my lip, wondering how true that was.
“I got what I deserved for leaving my phone out all night – it was irreparably soaked just hours later when I went to the shop. I’ve had it in a bag of rice ever since, but it’s one of those mad gadgety ones and I don’t think there’s anything I can do with it. I shouldn’t speak for anyone else, because it wouldn’t be polite, but not one person has had anything good to say about the trip.”
“Fudge it!” said Devon, who rarely cursed at all. “We left Dani behind in the hut!”
Between the three of us it was no trouble lugging the bags, but that just set me off again about Dani. If it wasn’t for Chantalle’s domineering qualities, forcing her cousin into every conversation, I was starting to think that Dani might be the most overlooked member of our friend group. Devon focussed on me and Charlie, and now so did Andy. Rachel squawked the loudest and was always heard. Chan and Keish went without saying, and Rindi and Fern always looked out for each other. I wondered if she ever felt left out, or maybe like her opinion didn’t matter. I thought about Italy, and how in reality she probably hadn’t had a bad word to say about it to Chan’s face. We had more in common than I’d realised.
When we got back to camp, Mr Wordsworth slung the bags down in front of the hut and made for the kitchen area, probably for his zillionth cup of coffee. Andy perked up the second he saw us, but I zoomed straight past his collapsi-chair and hugged Dani instead.
“What’s all this about?” she asked, accidentally spraying biscuit crumbs into my hair.
“Nothing,” I managed, letting go and subtly shaking my plaits over the grass.
Andy shot up behind me and grabbed me around the waist. “Am I invisible?” he asked, much too loudly for someone so close to my ears.
“Easy, tiger!” spluttered Dev, but it turned out she was talking to Charlie.
If I was going to have to learn to say that kind of thing, I was certain I’d rather be a nun.
#13 Having A Ball, & A Windy To Boot
With Jordy gone, we had more space. We could’ve had the back seat, but that meant somebody would be left out, and not to be horrible, but it was definitely going to be Rachel. Andy and I took a pair towards the back, far, far away from the remote sight of Devon and Charlie getting snuggly. I’m not sure where Rachel and Dani sat.
“What about the prizegiving?” I heard Asta moan from somewhere in the middle rows.
“Yeah!” shouted one of the Matts. “We found the flag in Orienteering – where’s my medal?”
“Uh-this hazzz been an exercise in real life,” slurred Mr Ball, who I was certain had cracked open a beer or so for the ride home. “You don’t get prizes for participating. Yousually, y’don’t get them for winning! If you want a medal, try zz’joining za football team.”
Andy snickered and tapped his fingers against my palm where we were holding hands. “Twit,” he whispered into my ear, or something like it.
“When I was a young boy…” Ballsy continued with his demotivational speech.
“-my father, took me into the city! To see a marching band!” warbled Charlie, obnoxiously, and I suspec
t that Devon joined in.
“Not that emo bollocks!” protested someone from the back.
“Let’s have something traditional!”
“Wha’ ’bout McFly?”
“Yeah, boy!! DON’T!! STOP ME NOW!!”
“’Cause I’m having such a good time!” chanted several others, who may or may not have realised that it was a cover.
I leant my head on Andy’s shoulder, this time deliberately. Events since last year’s Sport Relief suggested that “Don’t Stop Me Now” was going to be the unofficial theme song of every single return journey from a boring Constantly High school trip until my children had children. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from the past three years at this school, it’s that when you can’t beat them and don’t want to join them, it’s time for a nap. (That is, if you trust the person next to you to make sure that you don’t wake up with your eyes superglued shut.)
* * *
“You couldn’t have puked up just a little bit, could you, Charlie?” muttered a mock-irritated, possibly slightly a bit tipsy Mr Wordsworth. “I had to sit next to him the whole way back, to keep his hands off Jan. I mean, Miss Winterbottom.”
“You wasted your time,” chuckled Andy, nodding down the street towards the couple who’d already taken off hand-in-hand, with their military-grade rucksacks, unwilling to stay and find out whether any of us unfortunates had chosen to squeal to our parents or the Principal. “At least the dried-up old prune doesn’t stand a chance of bringing any more Balls into the world.”
“Hey, maybe we should let them go,” suggested Devon. “Perhaps we can even blackmail them if we get put in their classes again next year.”
Charlie looked uncertain, but agreed. “Well, I hope so.”
Mr Wordsworth frowned. “Not feeling peaky now of all times, are you?”
“He is a little pale,” said Dani, edging away.
“No, a big one,” Andy argued, pointlessly.
“A big headache,” Rachel groaned. She was kind of a captive audience, because she’d had to slump down on the pavement for lack of walking aids. I could just picture her uncle grumbling about having to pootle down to the school in his teeny-tiny cab because for once she couldn’t walk home. “Tell Andy to stop being so cocky just because he’s got a girlfriend. It’s not like he couldn’t have had her all year.”
I huffed quietly to myself, annoyed that with Andy still so annoyingly by my side, I couldn’t protest about how wildly untrue that had been.
Ging Gang Goo Page 6
