SweetFreak

by Sophie McKenzie

  I stroll around for a bit, bitter with loneliness, then return home in a grumpy mood.

  I’m dreading the start of term, but in fact when school resumes a few days later, it isn’t as bad as before Christmas. Perhaps I’m just used to being alone now, but I no longer feel picked on or pointed at.

  It’s more like I’ve become invisible, one of those girls nobody takes any notice of, who slinks around in the background of everything. People talk to me, but only superficially. Rose drops a few asides now and then about how awful I am, not just to hurt Amelia, who is still away from school, but also to attempt to blame George for what happened. But most people just act like I’m not there at all, leaving me hovering around the edges of school existence. If anything, what I sense off them is a slightly haughty indifference. They’re all better than me, I can see them thinking: I’m the girl who gave her best friend a breakdown.

  News filters through that Amelia is being homeschooled by a series of expensive tutors. It seems that she and Rose have become good friends and, along with the Rose Clones, have formed a little social group that I am entirely excluded from. Whenever I’m close enough to hear her, Rose takes great delight in talking about how she and Amelia hang out together.

  It hurts. A lot.

  Occasionally someone forgets my lowly status and asks if I’m going to some activity or other out of school. But mostly I’m left to my own devices, too self-conscious now to speak up much in lessons and in the habit of taking my sandwiches outside where I can huddle under the eaves at the very back of the school and spend my lunch breaks alone.

  Perhaps the single worst thing is watching as rehearsals for The Sound of Music become more frequent. Mr Howard pins notices every week, saying who is required for each of the three weekly sessions. By the last week in January, I’m sure most people have forgotten I was ever involved but every time I see the call list on the board I feel a fresh twinge of resentment.

  Especially when I see Rose’s name.

  Yep, guess who got upgraded to the part of Maria once I was chucked off the show? That’s right. Rose was the first person to approach Mr Howard – at the time frantic with worry at not having a Maria – and told him she already knew most of the lines. He saw a few other girls, for appearance’s sake I reckon, but there was never any doubt that Rose would get the role. And no doubt in my own mind that she’s the most grasping, manipulative chancer I’ve ever met. It even crosses my mind that she could be the one behind the nasty messages and the dead pigeon in the locker. The only problem is, I can’t for the life of me see why she would go so far. She wasn’t ever really part of Amelia and my friendship group – though we all got on well enough – and it’s not as if Rose is envious and unpopular. She’s always surrounded by the Rose Clones, is generally liked by everyone and usually seems to have a boyfriend. She even dated Heath Sixsmith at the start of term – proving I was right about her being after him. But, according to the snatches of conversation I overhear, they fizzled out pretty quickly.

  So I don’t think she set out to wrangle the part of Maria from me, she just took the opportunity to grab it with both hands when it became available. She’s a nasty piece of work, but more into conniving behind people’s backs than the deep secret of anonymous messages and fishing dead birds out of wheelie bins.

  By the beginning of February I realise that my situation, though hard, is at least livable with. And when I leave school the following Wednesday I’m not, for once, thinking about how I’ve been abused and tricked. I’m wondering instead if I have time to pop into the chemist for a new nail varnish on my way to pick up Jamie from his after-school club. Mum is at a late meeting and Poppy has a guitar lesson so I’m in charge of my little brother and I really want that pot of polish. I’ve taken recently to making an effort with cheap, but time-consuming beauty routines – nails and hair are something to do at least.

  I take longer in the chemist than I expect, so I’m now hurrying down the road towards Jamie’s school, my scarf and coat flying out behind me, when a male voice calls out.

  ‘Carey!’

  I spin around. A boy wearing the smart black blazer and red tie of Bamford House, the local private school, stands in front of me. He’s tall with extremely close-cropped hair. If he was frowning he might look intimidating. But his eyes are soft – a beautiful shade of green with velvet black lashes – and there’s a huge smile on his tanned face.

  I have no idea how he knows my name. Perhaps he’s a friend of Poppy’s. I nod, feeling embarrassed, and quickly turn away.

  ‘Hey, Carey!’ The boy’s tone shifts from amazement to consternation. ‘Aren’t you going to even say hello?’

  I turn back and look at him again. Which is when I recognise him at last.

  It’s Taylor, Amelia’s ex, the one she was so upset over when he dumped her, only with far shorter hair than he had last autumn.

  ‘Taylor?’ I stammer. ‘Er, you cut your hair.’ I blush, embarrassed to have stated the blindingly obvious and expecting him to either point this out or else roll his eyes.

  But instead Taylor nods, clearly delighted. ‘Yeah, buzzcut. Soldier style.’ He grins, and I notice how white and even his teeth are. My stomach does a weird little skip. ‘You like?’ he asks.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It looks great.’ How bizarre is this: me standing in the street giving my opinion on a virtual stranger’s hairstyle? I only met Taylor a few times when he was linking with Amelia, and then just in passing. Years ago I used to see him sometimes when I’d go with Mum to pick up Jamie from playdates with Taylor’s little brother Blake, but really I barely know him – just what I’ve heard from Amelia. Which, let’s face it, hardly adds up to a flattering personality profile. I bite my lip. Amelia would hate it if she knew I was talking to Taylor and though she might have walked out on our friendship, I still feel loyal to her.

  ‘I have to go,’ I say, shuffling my feet. ‘I’ve got to pick up my little brother.’

  ‘You mean from Cornmouth Primary?’ Taylor asks. ‘Yeah, that’s where I’m going too. To get Blake.’

  A memory of a heartbroken Amelia asking me to fix a playdate between Jamie and Blake to give her an excuse to go round to Taylor’s house flits through my mind.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right.’

  Taylor falls into step beside me, chatting away, asking me a million questions about where I live and whether I’ve heard a new band called Bon Wheel and how my hair is amazingly, wonderfully curly. I’ve never met a guy who talks as freely as Taylor does. He never seemed to notice me much when Amelia and his friends were around, but now I’m getting the full force of his attention I’m starting to see why Amelia liked him so much. He’s charming and . . . just so interested in everything I have to say.

  After three months of being virtually ignored by almost everyone, his attention is like water on parched earth. And by the time we reach the school gates I realise that I’m actually enjoying myself.

  And then I remember Amelia again. Taylor hasn’t mentioned her, hasn’t even asked how she is. Does he know what I’m supposed to have done to her? Surely he must. OK so he wasn’t going out with Amelia when it all kicked off, and he doesn’t go to our school, but the scandal was all over NatterSnap and he’s got to be on that.

  We stand together, like a ludicrously young couple alongside all the mums and dads, as the kids in Blake and Jamie’s year swarm out of after-school club and into the playground. Maybe Taylor’s talking to me so he can go gossip about me to his friends.

  ‘So how come you’re here?’ I ask, as Taylor falls silent at last, his eyes roaming the chattering kids, looking out for his little brother. ‘I mean you don’t normally pick Blake up from school, do you?’

  ‘Nah, it’s . . . family stuff,’ Taylor says awkwardly. He hesitates a moment. ‘The truth is that my dad left home a few weeks ago – he’s splitting up from my mum – and he used to pick up Blake on Wednesdays but now he’s gone so I’m just trying to help out.’

  I st
are at him, aghast. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s awful.’ I grimace. ‘I had no idea . . .’ I trail off, my cheeks burning.

  Taylor looks at the ground, clearly as embarrassed as I am. I feel horrible.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again. ‘I know what it’s like. My dad left years back. We never see him now.’

  ‘Oh, my dad’s still around,’ Taylor says with real bitterness. ‘He can’t do Wednesdays any more, but he takes Blake every other weekend.’

  Around us children are milling and chatting. I catch Jamie running across the playground out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my focus on Taylor. ‘What about you?’

  Taylor looks up and his eyes glisten with angry tears. ‘I don’t want anything to do with him.’

  I nod. ‘I get it,’ I say.

  ‘Do you?’ Taylor asks. ‘Really? Because everyone else keeps telling me I should keep seeing him, as if nothing’s happened. Like, they’re all, “he’s still your dad, Taylor”, but he isn’t. At least, he isn’t the dad I thought I had.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I say, as Jamie runs up and hurls himself at me.

  I stagger backwards, returning his hug.

  ‘I forgot it was you, today, Carey. Can I play with Blakey? Can we go to woods, Carey? Please?’

  I glance across at Taylor. He’s rubbing furiously at his eyes, clearly upset over his dad. My heart goes out to him.

  ‘Another time,’ I say, but Jamie is not so easily deterred. He turns to Blake, now trotting over to us. He’s a smaller, rounder version of Taylor with an equally dazzling smile. ‘D’you wanna go to Bow Wood, Blakey?’

  ‘Yeah! Yeah!’ Blake leaps up and down.

  ‘It’s February,’ I protest. ‘It’s too cold and it’ll be dark in an hour.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Carey.’ Taylor looks at me and smiles. ‘We can use our phones as torches. How about it?’

  My stomach gives that weird little flip again. Not only is Taylor gorgeous and nice, but he really doesn’t seem to have any idea about the SweetFreak messages or the fact that I’m supposed to be behind them. I’m tempted to go to the woods with him. Seriously tempted.

  I sigh. Which is all the more reason why I shouldn’t go. Amelia was heartbroken when Taylor dumped her. It’s one thing chatting to him while we’re picking up our kid brothers, but quite another to extend the chat into an impromptu playdate.

  ‘We can’t,’ I say, trying to inject a note of regret into my voice. I guess I must sound like I’m making an excuse because Taylor’s face falls and I say without thinking: ‘But maybe we could do something next Wednesday after school?’

  ‘Next Wednesday?’ Jamie grumbles. ‘That’s years away.’

  ‘Yeah, like light years,’ Blake adds.

  ‘Like a million light years,’ Jamie says.

  ‘I think next Wednesday would be OK.’ Unlike our brothers, Taylor is grinning, the cloud lifting from his face. ‘See you then.’

  I bustle a still complaining Jamie away. Once I’m home and Jamie is settled with a snack and a cartoon on the TV, I lie on my bed and think about what just happened.

  I shouldn’t have arranged to see Taylor next week, but at the same time I’m excited that I have. It’s confusing. I feel guilty that Amelia would hate me spending time with Taylor, but also resentful that I’m worrying about her feelings, when she’s cut me off so easily.

  ‘It’s just a kids’ playdate,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Taylor’s going through a hard time – one that I’ve been through too. Why shouldn’t I talk to him about it? Why shouldn’t I talk to him about anything? It’s not like he’s asked me out or that we like each other.’

  But, as the light fades outside my bedroom window, I know that somewhere inside me I wouldn’t mind it if Taylor did like me.

  15

  At least I’ve got a week to prepare for seeing Taylor again. Well, that’s what I think on Wednesday evening. Two days later I’m trudging out of school and there he is, all handsome in jeans and a black leather jacket, leaning against the iron gates.

  ‘Hi, Carey,’ he says, a big grin on his face.

  ‘I thought we were meeting next week,’ I stammer. He looks sooo gorgeous.

  ‘Mmn,’ he says, his eyes glinting with excitement. ‘I couldn’t wait until next week. Do you want to get a coffee?’

  ‘Oh.’ I remember Amelia telling me about his leather jacket, gushing about how fit he looked in it. The thought of her makes me squirm with guilt. I really should say ‘no’.

  I open my mouth. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘That would be cool.’

  We walk along the street. Taylor’s far longer legs mean he can saunter while I have to hurry to keep up. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one from my form has seen us – this really is the last thing I’d want getting back to Amelia.

  Taylor chats away like he did before, all easy and funny and charming. By the time we reach the high street I realise I’m no longer feeling guilty.

  There’s no room for guilty. I’m too excited about what Taylor said outside the school gates:

  I couldn't wait until next week.

  Which means he is interested. And, as we settle ourselves down in a booth at the Cornmouth Corner Café and Taylor brings over two caramel frappuccinos, I admit to myself that I’m seriously interested back.

  Taylor’s as chatty as he was before, asking questions about my day at school and getting me to listen with him to a couple of tracks on his phone. Sharing earbuds with him sends a shiver down my spine. What is happening to me? I remind myself this is Amelia’s ex and we still haven’t mentioned her, which means she’s kind of overshadowing everything we do and say.

  I can’t let anything happen between us. I mustn’t.

  And then Taylor stops talking and runs his finger along the inside of my arm, resting his hand on mine. My heart bumps against my ribs as his green eyes fix on mine.

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he says, his voice all husky and serious. ‘You look amazing: it’s everything, your face and your eyes and your hair.’ He smiles. ‘Your hair is beautiful. I’ve never seen curls like those before.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I shift awkwardly in my seat, giving my unruly hair a self-conscious pat. It’s no good, I’ve got to say something. ‘Amelia.’ I squeak out her name at last. ‘What about Amelia?’

  Taylor frowns but he doesn’t take his hand off mine. ‘Amelia was months ago,’ he says, as if baffled why I’ve brought up something from the distant past. ‘I know she’s a friend of yours but we only hooked up for like, ten minutes or so.’

  I meet his gaze. Emotions collide inside my head: mostly I feel an awkward sadness that Taylor clearly felt so little for Amelia when she was so loved-up over him. But mingling with the sadness is delight that he likes me and (though I don’t want to admit this to myself) a small, mean, relieved feeling that he’s obviously way more into me than he was into her. He certainly doesn’t seem to know about SweetFreak. Or that Amelia and I don’t see each other any more.

  ‘She was bare upset when you dumped her,’ I say, determined to at least try to stay loyal to my friend. Taylor is still holding my hand. Part of me wishes he would stop. Most of me is glad he hasn’t. ‘Devastated in fact.’

  Taylor wrinkles his nose. ‘I don’t see how she could . . .’ He sighs. ‘Look I didn’t realise she was taking it all so seriously. I told her that I wasn’t looking for a relationship.’

  ‘You did?’ This is news to me. Amelia always made it sound like they were desperately in love.

  ‘Yeah, I mean, I thought Amelia was nice but I always kind of wished . . .’ Taylor looks away. ‘I wished it was you.’

  My mouth gapes. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, don’t sound so surprised. I mean, Amelia’s pretty and fun to be around, but next to you she’s like . . . like I dunno, a thumb.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know.’ Taylor’s tanned cheeks are pinking. He picks up the café menu and points to the picture of the Cornm
outh Cornerburger Deluxe, complete with cheese, tomatoes and brioche bun. ‘She’s like a bit of gherkin while you’re the actual steak.’

  I burst into giggles and now Taylor does remove his hand. He looks embarrassed – which I didn’t mean him to be. Buoyed with confidence, I grasp his fingers and squeeze. ‘I’d be happy to be your hamburger.’

  I don’t know what makes such a stupid line fly out of my mouth, but Taylor’s grin is back on his face in an instant.

  ‘Really.’ He leans forward and it’s as clear an invitation to kiss as I’ve ever seen.

  I want to lean forward too and just let it happen, but there’s something I need to say first, something that has to be said, if Taylor is going to be any serious part of my life.

  ‘You need to know . . .’ I trail off under the intense gaze of those green eyes.

  Taylor raises his eyebrows. ‘Know what?’ he whispers.

  The hum of the café fades as I keep my eyes fixed on his. ‘Maybe you haven’t heard, but last September someone called SweetFreak sent horrible messages to Amelia, including a . . . a death threat. Then a few weeks later they left this disgusting dead pigeon in her locker. She really flipped out over it all, hasn’t been at school since.’

  Taylor nods slowly. ‘Yeah I did hear something,’ he says. ‘Not from Amelia though.’ He grimaces. ‘I hope it doesn’t sound mean but I blocked her when she started messaging me all the time after we stopped seeing each other . . .’ He frowns. ‘Why? What does all that have to do with you?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Almost everyone thinks that I’m SweetFreak, but I’m not. Honestly, I didn’t do any of it.’ My voice rises as I realise how vital it is Taylor believes me. ‘I couldn’t do any of it, especially not to Amelia. But she thinks it was me. So do the police. And my mum. She grounded me and took away my phone and my laptop.’ Tears prick at my eyes as I speak. I blink them away. ‘I swear I didn’t do any of it, but the messages came from my laptop and the pigeon came from our wheelie bin which—’

  ‘Which proves nothing,’ Taylor interrupts. ‘Laptops can be hacked and your bin would have been in your front garden, so anyone could have raided it.’