by Cat Clarke
It’s surprisingly easy – and very enlightening – to sit here and just listen. The thing that does my head in is that so much of what’s said are things I’ve thought to myself or things I said to Kai a hundred times. I can’t bear the idea that I’ve ever had the same thoughts as these people. Like the fact that Bella Colgan has an unusually large head. Or that Caroline Forrest’s eyes are so close together it makes her look like a giant spider. Or that Marnie Dent’s breasts are so big they don’t look like they belong on her body. Amber nods away as if this isn’t the biggest pot/kettle/black situation the world has ever seen.
And then Stu throws a new name into the mix. Jasmine James. Shit. I feel guilty every time I see Jasmine – throwing away that sympathy card she gave me was a crappy thing to do, pure and simple.
Everyone’s quiet for a minute, weighing up Jasmine’s attributes or lack thereof. They’re all taking this very seriously – really getting into it.
Amber’s just about to open her mouth when I speak without even thinking. ‘Hermaphrodite Girl?’ They all turn to face me and I can feel my cheeks start to burn. Stu barks out a laugh and Bugs reaches over to high-five me. Nina gives an ugly snort and immediately puts her hand to her face as if she can stuff the snort back up there if she’s quick enough. Amber smiles and takes a sip of her drink. They approve, clearly. Lucas is the only one who doesn’t show any visible reaction.
I don’t even know why I said it. I’ve no idea which ugly dark place in my brain the words came from. Obviously it’s not true. Sure, Jasmine maybe looks a little masculine if you ignore the long shiny hair – broad shoulders, no boobs to speak of. And her voice is maybe a bit deeper than most. But not so much that anyone would ever notice . . . until someone drew their attention to it, that is.
I feel sick, but everyone’s laughing and joking and taking the hermaphrodite idea way too far, so no one notices that I retreat into myself. Lucas is the only one who doesn’t join in. He picks up the Sky magazine on the coffee table and starts flicking through the pages.
I have to get out of here. I can’t listen to Stu speculating about what genitalia Jasmine might or might not possess. Please forgive me, Jasmine. It’s part of the Plan. They have to believe that I belong.
I mumble something about helping Sasha and escape into the kitchen. She’s standing in front of the open fridge, staring into it like she’s trying to memorize the contents.
‘Hey, need a hand with anything?’
Sasha doesn’t seem to hear so I repeat the question. She turns and blinks exaggeratedly. ‘Oh, hi. No, I think I’ve got everything covered, thanks.’ She peers into the oven, then turns to face me. ‘By the way . . . sorry about the ambush.’
I wasn’t going to mention it; I didn’t want to sound ungrateful or pathetic. And I should be glad that I’ve been thrown into this situation unawares so I didn’t have time to get all worked up about it. Playing dumb seems like the best tactic. The person Sasha thinks I am wouldn’t bat an eyelid at the change of plans. The more, the merrier – that’s what Sasha’s version of me would think. ‘Ambush?’
Sasha does that extreme blinking thing again. It reminds me of a robot, even though as far as I know, robots don’t need to blink. She waves an arm in the direction of the living room. ‘I should have told you the others were coming too.’
I shrug and run my fingers along the worktop. No crumbs or tea stains or stray milk-bottle tops here, just shiny perfection. ‘No worries.’
‘I’m just sorry it’s not a girls’ night in like we planned.’ This is surprising.
I smile. ‘I don’t mind at all – the more, the merrier, I reckon.’
Sasha hops up onto the worktop next to me and folds a pair of oven gloves on her lap. ‘He likes you.’
My heart performs an anxious somersault. ‘Who?’
‘You know who.’ A sly smile.
I swallow. ‘Stu?’
‘Ha! No! You’re not exactly his type – and trust me, that’s a good thing. Am I going to have to spell this out for you? Name starts with “L”, ends in “ucas”? Ringing any bells?’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘What are you on about?’
‘He likes you. I can tell.’ She looks awfully pleased with herself. The cat that got the cream, with a side order of dead mouse.
‘You’re out of your mind. Why would he . . . ? You’re kidding, right?’
‘Nope. That boy is so easy to read it’s not even funny.’
I don’t know where to look or what to think. She’s watching me, waiting to see how I react. But how the fuck am I meant to react in this situation? What are you supposed to say when a boy’s ex-girlfriend (very recently ex) tells you he likes you? And how are you supposed to feel?
‘I . . . You’re wrong.’
Sasha shakes her head and smiles. ‘Ah, Jem, you have so much to learn. I’m never wrong about things like this. Never. It’s a gift. So what do you think? Reckon you might go for it?’
‘He . . . I mean, you and him were . . .’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Ancient history! Well, not exactly ancient, but you know what I mean. I’m so over that – and clearly Lucas is too. No need to be awkward and weird about it.’ She places her hand on my head and puts on this deep, solemn sort of voice. ‘By the power vested in me as The Ex-Girlfriend, I hereby give you permission to do whatever the hell you like with Lucas Mahoney. I give you my blessing.’
I giggle and scoot out from under her hand. ‘You’re crazy. People at school have no idea how weird you truly are, do they?’
She pulls a face. ‘Nope, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much! Now, seriously – Lucas . . . yay or nay? On the pro side, I can tell you that the sex is exceptionally good. I’ve trained him well – you can thank me later.’
‘Ewww! I don’t want to hear it!’
‘On the con side, he spends far too much time in front of the mirror. And his obsession with football might get on your nerves a bit. Any questions?’
I’m blushing, I can feel it. The redness must be powerful enough to break through the layers of makeup. ‘Why are you telling me all this? It’s . . . kind of weird, isn’t it?’
‘Here’s the way I see it. I like Lucas and I want him to be happy. I like you and I want you to be happy. Lucas fancies you but it remains to be seen whether you fancy him. So . . . ? Do you?’
‘I–’
An insistent beeping sound comes from the oven timer and Sasha leaps off the counter, brandishing the oven gloves. ‘Saved by the bell!’ She goes to open the oven, then changes her mind and turns to face me. ‘Actually . . . I’m not going to let you squirm out of it that easily. I’m not getting those pizzas out until you tell me. If everyone has to eat burnt pepperoni I’m blaming you, so you’d better spill . . . What do you think of him?’ She flicks the oven gloves over her shoulder, then crosses her arms looking as smug as you like.
Something tells me that Bugs wouldn’t be too happy if I ruined his dinner, and Sasha’s clearly not budging, so I have to say something. My mind flits between all the possible things I could say, before eventually settling on the truth.
‘I have no idea how I feel about him.’
I’d forgotten what it feels like to tell the truth.
Sasha narrows her eyes and she’s about to say something when Bugs comes barrelling into the kitchen shouting, ‘I WANT MY PIZZA, WOMAN!’ He picks Sasha up, hoists her over his shoulder and proceeds to circle the kitchen making an assortment of unappealing grunting noises.
For the rest of the night I do my best to make sure I’m not left alone with Sasha, and I watch Lucas for any signs that she could be right. But it’s so far outside the realms of possibility that my brain has difficulty taking it seriously. Still, Sasha seemed so sure, and why would she say something like that if she didn’t think it was true? And Lucas has been friendly to me – way friendlier than I would have expected after observing him from a distance all these years. But this is ME we’re talking about. I may loo
k different now, but underneath it all I’m still Jem Halliday. And Jem Halliday is definitely not the sort of girl to catch the eye of someone like Lucas Mahoney. Stand me next to Sasha and it’s not even a contest.
But I can’t seem to silence the tiny stupid voice in my head whispering, What if it is true? What would you do then? There’s no doubt that getting in with Lucas would give me more options when it comes to the Plan. Some very interesting options. It’s got to be easier to humiliate someone you’re really close to – especially if they tell you their secrets, their hopes and dreams. Of course, you’d usually care about someone you’re close to, so humiliating them would be the last thing on your mind. But the beauty here is that I don’t care – not even a little bit. I keep coming back to Sasha breaking up with Lucas and him not wanting anyone to know that he was the one who’d been dumped. This useful little nugget of information is firmly lodged in my brain.
But could I do actually it? Could I pretend to like Lucas, for Kai’s sake?
Finally a question I know the answer to without even thinking.
Of course I could.
chapter twenty-six
I didn’t have much time for plotting before GCSEs crept up on me. Exams are pretty much all I can think about right now, which is strange, because I’ve never really cared about this stuff before. But now I’m actually studying and it’s sort of nice to have something else to focus on. Of course I’ve been complaining to Mum and Dad every chance I get. They’d think there’s something seriously wrong with me if they knew I was enjoying revision.
I’m pretty sure I’ll do better than my teachers are expecting, but not as well as Dad thinks I will. He seems to think that hard work should mean top marks, but he should really know better. Life’s not like that. Some people don’t need to lift a finger and they’ll get more A*s than any one person could possibly need. And some people will sweat and toil away for weeks on end and come away with mediocre grades at best. Life isn’t fair. It’s the same with popularity, if you think about it. You can’t make it happen by being nice and friendly and kind – otherwise Jasmine James would rule the school instead of having to deal with the repercussions of rumours started by yours truly.
I’ve been trying to tell myself it’s not my fault, but it’s clearly my fault and I feel horrible about it. I really do. I don’t know for sure which one of Team Popular decided it was perfectly OK to start spouting off about it at school, but it doesn’t matter. The fact is, I should have known this would happen.
I’ve overheard at least three people talking about it already this week, and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure Jasmine knows. Yesterday in history I had this awful feeling that she wanted to talk to me about it. I could sense her glancing over at me way more than she normally does. I’ve never stared so hard at a textbook before. It must have done the trick; she didn’t say a word.
Hopefully everyone will forget all about it soon, what with the exams and everything. If not, all I can do is hope that Jasmine’s strong enough to weather the storm. Unlike Kai.
I devour the May letter far too quickly. I’ve got a maths exam today; I hate maths more than anything. My head is swimming with formulas and right-angled triangles. I stuff the letter under my pillow and promise myself I’ll read it again as soon as I get home.
Jemster,
Sorry about the last letter. And I’m sorry about all the apologizing I seem to be doing. It must be rather irritating, but I can’t seem to help myself. Sorry.
I’ll keep this brief, because you must be in the middle of your exams and I’d hate to be the reason for you failing. (Not that I think there’s the remotest chance of you failing. Failure is NOT an option, my dear.) I hope you’re not missing your study buddy too much. Not that I was ever much use – more of a hindrance than a help really. Too easily distracted - that’s always been my problem.
My three top tips for getting through these trying times are as follows:
1. Steer clear of caffeine late at night. Caffeine will drive you crazy. Trust me. (I’m surprised I’m still able to form coherent sentences right now... or maybe I’m just babbling incoherently and I can’t even tell.)
2. Rest your brain every so often. It’s a little-known fact that watching horror films is almost as good for the brain as eating oily fish. (I’d recommend something on the sillier end of the spectrum? Friday the 13th Part VIII: Janson takes Manhattan, perhaps?)
3. Try not to get too nervous- they’re only GCSEs, for God’s sake. Life’s too short to.
I’m going to leave you in peace. Go do some revision... Now. Step to it, soldier! And get your mum to test you - you know how much she loves playing quizmaster.
Good luck, pickle. Break a leg and all that.
Love,
Kai
xxx
Today’s the day. Bugs passed his test without even a single minor fault. I even hugged him when he told us the news.
Mum’s been nagging me about revision, but she eventually came round to the idea that a day out might be just what I need. Plus I told her I’d work extra hard as soon as I get home this afternoon – I said she can even test me if she likes (Kai was right – it’s one of her favourite mother–daughter activities). Besides, she’s over the bloody moon about my ‘new friends’ as she keeps calling them. She’s always asking questions about Sasha.
I went to the shop first thing this morning. Right on the other side of town, of course. There was an old lady behind the counter and she gave me the longest, hardest look. The old Jem would have crumbled and mumbled and reddened under the gaze of her watery eyes. I just stared right back at her, daring her to say something. She was the first to look away. When it comes down to it, most people are weak. Too afraid to say what they’re really thinking – especially to a stranger.
I shoved my purchases into my bag, looking over my shoulder to check no one was watching. Which is exactly the kind of shifty behaviour that makes people notice you.
I breathed a shaky sigh of relief as soon as I escaped from the shop, swiftly followed by a giggle that bubbled up from nowhere. Also the kind of shifty (or deranged) behaviour that makes people notice you. Sure enough, a kid leaning against the shop window looked at me strangely. Normally I’d ignore it and scurry away like a particularly pathetic mouse. Not this time though, this time I told him to fuck off. His eyes widened and he looked embarrassed. I felt bad; I wanted to apologize. But I didn’t. I walked away feeling ashamed of myself. He was just some poor kid, who happened to look at some mad girl who was laughing to herself. What was wrong with that?
What was wrong with me?
*
I couldn’t resist taking a peek at what I’d bought as soon as I got home, especially since I didn’t exactly take time to study them in the shop. It was more a case of grab whatever I could off the shelves as quickly as possible. There was no more giggling. Looking at them made me feel beyond uncomfortable, and of course Noah chose that exact moment to burst into my room without knocking. Lucky for me he’s so spectacularly unobservant I was able to cover up the evidence with a pillow. He narrowed his eyes, dived under my bed and stayed there for a second or two before scrambling out again. ‘Good. No zombies. You’re safe. As you were, soldier.’ Then he did what I can only assume was some kind of commando roll, saluted me and ran from the room, ignoring my shout to ‘CLOSE THE BLOODY DOOR!’ My brother might just be even weirder than I am.
They arrive thirteen minutes late. No one bothers to ring the doorbell. Instead the car horn toots some annoying unplaceable tune and I hurriedly shove things into my bag and run down the stairs, nearly spraining my ankle jumping the last four steps in one go. I shout goodbye to Mum and scarper before she can ask me where I’m going and who with and what time I’ll be back.
The car is as ridiculous as I expected. It’s white, for a start. What kind of an idiot chooses a white car? Especially when you’re as slobbish as Bugs. It has this weird sort of wing thing on the back, which is supposed to make it look more aero
dynamic, I guess. The windows are tinted and the rims are super-shiny. But take all that away and you’re left with a car your mum would drive.
This is the first official outing for what Stu has christened ‘The Pussy Magnet’, in typically revolting fashion. Bugs has been dreaming of this car for years. I assumed his parents had bought it for him, but he took great pride in telling me that he’d saved up every penny. Three years it had taken him. I’m more impressed than I’d like to admit.
The pavement is practically vibrating with the thumping bass. I can only hope my ears make it through this experience intact. The tinted windows make it impossible to see who’s in the car, so opening the door is a little like dipping your toe into water you’re pretty sure is infested with sharks.
Bugs is in the driving seat, his big moon face looming between the seats, meaty arm slung over the passenger seat. Sasha’s sitting next to him, and you can just tell by the look on his face that this is a dream come true for him. Well, it would be if it wasn’t for the boys in the back. I squeeze in next to Stu, which I definitely wouldn’t have done if the stupid windows hadn’t deprived me of the choice. Getting up close and personal with Lucas would have been a far more attractive option. There’s only room for five in the car, so that means no Amber, no Nina. I can’t help thinking this could be significant – am I higher up the pecking order already? Or am I reading too much into things, as per usual?