by Lucy Cuthew
Table of Contents
Part One
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Part Two
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
Sunday
Monday
Part Three
Tuesday
Wednesday
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
To Bronwen, Helen,
Kirsten and Rachel.
PART ONE
SATURDAY
A SLICE OF NIGHT
I perch on the bench in
the planetarium staffroom
and take out my phone
with its smooth black and gold
star-spangled case and
read all the messages
from today while I wait
listening to the silent room,
checking it’s empty
before I get changed.
There’s a message from Dad
and a ton in the chat
with the girls called
BEANS ON TOAST
(the only thing
any of us can cook).
Dad
I will be the one in the
white ford behind the trees
at five past zero
hundred hours. D x
I think he’s being funny,
but I don’t get it.
He’s on another planet.
At least he’s agreed
to pick me and Harriet up
around the back,
and not inside
the ice rink,
like he wanted to.
I open BEANS ON TOAST.
Harriet
Just getting ready!!
Bethany
Remind me why we’re going
to an *ICE RINK* birthday party.
Are we ten again?
Leylah
Apparently it’s free cos
Jackson’s on the ice hockey team,
but it’s totally so he can show
off to everybody.
Harriet
He can show off to me.
Apparently he’s amazing.
Bethany
I thought you fancied Lee?
Harriet
I can multitask.
Bethany
Lol.
I’m secretly quite up for it.
Marie
I’m openly up for it.
It’ll be fun.
Harriet
What you all wearing?
Leylah
Shorts and a crop top…
And a massive hoody,
to get past the parent police.
Marie
Erm … Ley, *ICE* skating…
I’m wearing two pairs of leggings
and a vest under my dress.
Leylah
Ugh. Changing now.
Warm clothes are so
unflattering on me.
At least I’ll be allowed out.
Harriet
You always look lovely.
Has anyone heard
from Frankie today?
Me
I’m here!
Just finishing work.
Tell me when
you’re there. XX
I finish typing,
then take off my uniform
and let my dress
slink down over my
not completely flat
(but also not yet
satisfactory) chest.
A dab of concealer,
a sweep of Benefit tint
on my cheeks
and I’m good to go.
Jackson Twigger’s
Sweet Sixteenth
at the Ice Rink Disco.
(Although…
Jackson Twigger.
Sweet?
LOL.)
While I wait for the girls,
I scroll on my phone.
Harriet’s posted a photo
of herself in our tree house.
#GettingReady #InstaMakeup
#Starlight #Stargazing #NightsOut
She looks really pretty,
her eyes all smoky,
but I know
the photo
is from
ages ago.
It shouldn’t annoy me,
but we’re not getting ready
in our tree house tonight
and I hate when
she’s being fake.
Under the photo
Jackson’s replied,
ur hot.
Harriet’s written
thanks babe and
done a winky face.
(Does she actually like him
or does she just like flirting?)
Harriet
We’re here!
Bring it, biatch.
I pull on my trainers,
then open the door
to the atrium
where Vidhi is
putting away a wooden box
of sparkling meteor rocks.
I wish I’d waited here
chatting to her
about astronomy
instead of looking
at what Harriet’s posting.
“Have a good time,”
Vidhi says.
“You were great today.
You’re clearly
really
into this.”
“Thanks,” I say,
her compliment
blazing inside me
incandescently.
“And send me
your application for the
summer programme.
Or you can
just bring it
next Saturday.
I’ll make sure
Elaine gets it.”
“Thanks,” I say, again,
a flutter of nerves
at the thought of her
and the director
of this whole place
reading my essay.
“Thanks, Vidhi.
See you next Saturday.”
“I’ll be rooting for you!”
she says,
which means
the World
to me.
Vidhi did the exact same
summer programme when
she was sixteen,
and now she’s got a
PhD in astronomy.
#LifeGoals
I push open
the double doors
and breathe in
the street-light night.
Over the buildings,
the crescent moon
is a sharp, bright slice
of other-worldly light.
I snap a quick picture.
The moon comes out tiny,
all of its majesty
lost by my phone’s
complete inability
to take a picture of something
so far from me.
I know Harriet
will find it funny.
Me
Took this and thought of you.
#ShitPicturesOfTheMoon
Harriet
LOL. Get your ass in here.
Skating’s starting soon.
SWEET SIXTEEN
“Frankie!” Harriet screams,
waving at me,
bracelets jangling,
as I walk into the chilly
and unnecessarily
brightly lit room.
The music is loud,
and our crowd
spills out of a booth
near the rental boots.
I climb over the back
of the seats
and slide in between
Harriet and Marie.
Jackson is already strutting
in front of the group,
talking loudly
as though we’re
his own personal audience.
There’s Bethany,
Leylah,
Marie,
me,
Harriet (laughing loudly),
Dev,
Lee,
and Charlie.
Jackson is telling everyone
how last weekend
he got a new mountain bike
on his actual birthday.
He went out riding,
and met two girls
who were all over him
because
chicks dig bikes.
Then he tells us how
he ended up
shagging
them both
as a birthday present.
(Yeah, right.)
He shows us all
a picture of him
straddling his bike,
with two girls kissing him,
one on each cheek.
“How long do we
have to listen to this?”
I mutter to Harriet,
but she doesn’t
answer me,
and Jackson is still going,
gesticulating grotesquely
with his over-mobile groin.
Harriet grins at me
and fans her fanny
then rolls her eyes
like she’s about to faint.
I whisper to Marie,
“Is it just me,
or is Jackson
disgusting?”
but Marie’s not listening.
Then Jackson looks at me
scathingly.
Maybe he heard me.
I hope he did.
I don’t care if he hates me.
Harriet’s eyes stay
fixed on him.
Then she laughs
at something he says,
and throws back her head,
like a wolf howling at the moon.
As she does,
her tilted-back head
leaves a gap
under her chin and
I notice someone I hadn’t
previously seen:
Benjamin Jones.
He’s sitting between
Dev and Lee
in a leather jacket,
looking explosively cute.
He turns his eyes to me,
and right then
something physical
happens
down below.
He’s so good-looking
I can feel the photons
bouncing off him
and colliding
with me.
#InstantCrush
NOTICING
The next time Harriet laughs,
mine and Benjamin’s eyes meet
in the tiny bit of space–time
her thrown-back head creates.
I smile at him slightly.
He smiles back at me.
I don’t know when
we last spoke
but recently I have noticed him
noticing me.
Only now it’s not just
noticing each other,
or looking at each other.
We’re really
seeing each other.
BLUSHING
“What are you
blushing about?”
Harriet’s whisper
is like sandpaper
on my eardrum.
“I’m not!”
I squeak,
my voice high,
my larynx tight.
I thought she
was too busy
watching Jackson
to notice the colour
of my cheeks but
she’s staring at me,
a single raised eyebrow
grilling me.
My cheeks grow redder
under the heat.
I could tell her
I’m giving Benjamin
the eye,
but I quite like
the privacy of
realizing
I fancy Benjamin
and not telling her.
I usually tell her
everything.
“Fine, ignore me,”
she says, clambering over me.
“I’m going to talk to Lee
while my hair still
looks amazing.”
(Which one is it?
Jackson or Lee?)
Then she leans back in.
“By the way,
blushing fact:
apparently
it’s not just your cheeks
the blood rushes to
when you’re embarrassed.
It’s your lady lips too.”
She nods at my crotch
and grins
and I whack her.
“Harriet! Ugh.
You make everything
disgusting!”
“That’s why you love me,”
she smirks
as she leaps off the bench,
sticks the landing,
and flicks her hair back
like she knows
she looks amazing.
Her skirt is hitched up,
stuck on her tights,
and I try to tell her
but the music is so loud.
And anyway,
right then I catch
Benjamin’s eye again
and am presented,
instantly,
with confirmation
of her blushing fact.
MILKSHAKE
Harriet squeezes on
to the end of the bench,
leaning in to whisper
something to Lee,
and pushing Benjamin
one person closer to me.
I listen to him
chatting to Dev,
wondering how
I might join in.
Then the waitress
brings our shakes.
No one can remember
who ordered which flavour
so she dumps them all
in the middle
and everyone l e a n s
across the table,
milkshake spilling
and finger licking.
I scrunch up my face
at the stickiness,
and pull my elbows away
from the mess.
Harriet catches me,
rolls her eyes at me.
Then slides the last shake
slowly towards her saying,
“Ooh, it’s got a flake,
my absolute fave.”
“Really,” says Marie,
sarcastically.
“You never mention it.”
Harriet nibbles
her chocolate gleefully
and finishes it
ridiculously quickly.
She licks her fingers
and shrugs as she says,
“I know what I like.”
Jackson leans in and says,
“Want some of mine?”
and picks his flake
off the top of his shake
and leaving a trickle
of strawberry syrup
across the table
offers it to Harriet
to lick off the cream.
I turn to Marie,
so I don’t have to see
Harriet’s tongue
near Jackson’s fingers.
(It’s so unnecessary,
the
flirty,
touchy,
licky
publicness
of what they’re doing.)
When I look back,
Dev’s getting up,
and
Benjamin
&
nbsp; is
right next to me.
I sip my milkshake,
wondering how
to talk to him
without anyone
noticing.
And even though it’s obscene,
I can’t help wondering whether
he’s watching as
I put my lips to my straw
and suck.
And there I go again.
I’m blushing,
but just then
Benjamin’s arm
brushes my elbow
and I’m about
to speak when
the music gets louder
and Jackson shouts,
“Let’s do this!”
Everyone stands up
to go and get hire skates
and our moment
is bro
ken.
ON THE ICE
The girls and I
do swooping laps
under the disco ball,
which spins in circles,
shedding sparkles
in time with the beat.
We laugh at the boys,
who can’t all skate,
and watch Jackson
zigzag backwards,
like the show-off he is,
pulling Harriet after him
holding her hands,
her hair flying behind her
and her laughter erupting
in flirty explosions
over the music.
And
a l l n i g h t
I try to get
near Benjamin.
Just
before midnight
the lights go low
and a slow
song comes on
and there he is,
in front of me.
“Hey,” I say,
over the bass.
“How are you?”
“Good, thanks,”
he says,
sliding closer.
“You?”
“Good,” I say.
Then he slips
and wobbles a bit
and his hands shoot out,
so I take his fingers
into my palm,
helping him
balance.
We’re skin to skin.
His hands are warm.
And I’m worried
I’m going to say
something stupid,
or weird,
which is weird,
because stupid
is so not my thing,
so I say,
“Shall we skate?”
He nods and gives me
a sheepish grin.
“Sure thing.”