“Don’t be a knob—go on!” says Chloe, nudging me out from the safety of the wall with her elbow.
I try to catch his eye as he walks past to see what he’ll do, but he doesn’t spot me. Or perhaps he pretends not to. No, no, I’m sure it’s just that he doesn’t see me.
And then, just as he’s past us, Chloe, with one hand on her hip, yells in her most flirty voice, “Hi, Leo!”
“Shh!” I whisper-shout to her.
“What?” she hisses back. “You’re friends with him now, right?”
He turns. I look at him hopefully. His eyes flick to mine and then immediately away, settling instead on Chloe as he casually says, “Hi, girls,” before carrying on down the hallway.
His friends laugh as they walk away, one of them slapping him on the back and saying, “That your fan club?”
He laughs. “Yeah, you know it!”
Great. That’s just bloody great.
Once he’s disappeared out of sight, the disappointment and embarrassment that he didn’t say anything to me, coupled with annoyance at myself for not having the guts just to say hi, and the nerve of my so-called “best friend” for giving him the full-on flirty treatment, get the better of me. My heart starts pumping fast as I explode at Chloe.
“Why did you have to be all flirty with him? Why can’t you just let me have a boy to myself for once?”
“What? I wasn’t being flirty! I was just being friendly. And anyway I thought the whole point was that you’re friends with him now. I mean, you’re writing his comedy stuff, so the least he can do is say hi to you in school, right?”
I sigh a “gah” of frustration at her. “Look, he doesn’t want everyone to know I’m helping him, so we agreed I wouldn’t talk to him at school or anything, okay?”
“Well, that’s hardly fair of him, isn’t it?” says Chloe indignantly.
“It doesn’t bother me, so why should it bother you?” I fire back.
“Just seems like he’s using you, that’s all. I mean, he wasn’t too embarrassed to talk to me the other night.”
Argh! She’s so full of herself sometimes, it drives me crazy.
“Oh, so now you’re saying he’s just too embarrassed to talk to me, is that it?” I say.
“No! Don’t be stupid, Pig. I didn’t mean that at all!” says Chloe.
Oh she totally did mean that.
“Well, what did you mean then?” I say. “Because I’m clearly too ‘stupid’ to work it out.”
“Calm down, Pig. No one’s saying anything, all right?” says Kas.
Argh! Grow a pair, Kas! I swear, if another country dropped a nuclear bomb on ours, she’d probably say, “I’m sure they didn’t mean to—they just let it go by accident. Let’s give them another chance, yeah?”
“Look,” says Chloe, facing me squarely now, her arms folded tightly over her chest, “I’m just saying that if a boy has you over to his house, doing his homework—”
“Comedy set actually.”
“Whatever. If he does that and then doesn’t even look at you when he’s with his friends, let alone talk to you, that’s messed up, okay?”
“But if I’m okay with it it’s not messed up, is it? What me and Leo have is special. We’ve spoken more to each other than you ever have with Stevie or any of your supposed ‘boyfriends.’”
And that’s it: now I’ve pushed her well and truly over the edge and the she-beast is fully out to play now, fangs bared.
“Well, at least they’re proud to be seen with me,” she says.
Oh my God, can you believe this girl? I mean, this is completely out of line, right?
I move toward her, an angry frown plastered across my face as my hands gesticulate wildly to make my point. “Well, maybe what I’ve got with Leo is about more than just looks. Maybe, Chloe, just maybe, the world is about more than just looking ‘hot’ and having slutty nails, but of course, like most things, you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
I’m breathing loudly through my nose now, possibly actually sounding a little bit like an actual pig, and after a second I step back from her.
Oh crapballs. I’ve gone way too far. But she did push me. I mean, what did she expect?
Chloe unfolds her arms and scowls at me and, for a moment, I’m not sure if she’s about to cry or throw a punch at me. I brace myself.
“Well, if that’s what you think of me,” she fumes, “why the hell are we friends at all, Pig?”
“Sometimes I have NO IDEA,” I hiss back.
I immediately regret it. But it’s too late. It’s out there now.
“Erm, I think what Chloe’s trying to say is that she’s concerned about you, Pig, in case he’s just using you, you know?” says Kas pathetically.
“He’s NOT using me. You guys just can’t imagine that there might be a boy out there who actually likes me. Me, not you two for once. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
Now I’m really fuming. So much for them understanding.
“Well, maybe if you had told us earlier, we could have actually helped, given you some advice, you know, talked it through. I mean, best friends are supposed to tell each other everything,” spits Chloe, refolding her arms across her chest like a barricade against me.
“Well, maybe I didn’t want your advice, and maybe I don’t want to tell you guys everything because I know you’ll only laugh at me and tell me I stand no chance with any guy ever.”
“We wouldn’t say that!” says Kas.
“Shut up!” both me and Chloe say to Kas at the same time.
“When have we ever said anything like that to you? It’s all in your head, Pig. And that’s not our fault,” says Chloe.
Then there’s an awkward silence as I try to fold my arms over my chest like Chloe. But my arms either have to go above my boobs, making me look like I’m doing one of those Russian Cossack dances, or below them, so I look like I’m doing the actions to “Miss Polly had a Dolly.” I unfurl them and carry on steamrolling.
“Oh, come on, admit it, you don’t think I stand a chance with someone like Leo because I’m not thin and beautiful and preened and plucked and painted up like a trashy fairy on top of a thrift-store Christmas tree.”
“Hey!” says Kas.
“You’re just jealous because me and Kas care about what we look like—I mean, you could too! If you want to be thinner, you could lose weight, you know. Isn’t that right, Kas?”
Oh, I cannot believe she’s played the fat card.
Chloe looks at Kas with an expression that says, “If you don’t agree with me I will boil your family alive.”
“Erm…” says Kas, looking confused and terrified like a child who’s just been told to choose between her deranged mum and violent dad in a divorce.
Chloe rolls her eyes at her and tuts as I boil over with so much anger, it’s a wonder I’m not breathing fire.
“I don’t want to lose weight! Can’t it cross your tiny mind that I’m happy with the way I am and maybe Leo is too? And that perhaps it’s a real shame that my so-called ‘friends’ don’t feel the same way,” I blaze.
“We’re not the ones who go on about how ‘fat’ you are, Pig—you are. So, if you’re really happy about your weight, STOP WHINING ABOUT IT!” says Chloe.
Kas, meanwhile, has her hands on her cheeks and the expression of someone who’s watching the gross bits from a horror film she really doesn’t wanna see, but can’t quite turn away from.
“Do y’know what? Maybe you’re the jealous one,” I hit back at Chloe. “You couldn’t stand that Leo knew me on Friday night, which is why you were all over him like cheap perfume instead of watching your friend onstage.”
“Jealous! Of you! Hardly!” yells Chloe, looking me up and down. “I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ve got Stevie, an actual boyfriend, not just some dude who uses then ignores me.”
“Stevie is an upturned toilet brush with about as much personality as a damp rag! I’m sure you’ll both be very happy together!” I yell b
ack.
“We are actually, thank you, and Kas is going out with Stevie’s best friend Isaac now, so you might have to find someone else to hang around with at lunchtime. Maybe Leo? Oh no, hang on a minute—he doesn’t even want to be SEEN with you.”
I scowl at Kas. “You are?”
She shrugs and says sheepishly, “Well, yeah, I think so. He got Stevie to give me a ruler and on it he’d written ‘u + me =’ and then he’d drawn a heart with a smiley face on it. At least I think it was a heart… It may have been a bum.”
“Wow, that’s romantic,” I scoff.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Pig,” says Kas.
“No, that’s fine. You guys go off and be your little love quartet—don’t worry about me.” I knew this would happen. They think I’m holding them back and were just waiting for a chance to get rid of me. Well, fine.
“Right. I’ve had enough of this. C’mon, Kas,” says Chloe, turning on her heel, linking her arm through Kas’s, and dragging her down the hallway. Kas turns back to me and shrugs as they leave.
“FINE!” I yell after them before storming off in the opposite direction.
I keep walking until I get to the girls’ toilet. There’s no one else in here. Everyone’s in class. Still absolutely furious, I thump my hands down next to the sink, then go into a stall and sit on the closed lid of the toilet.
And, as the adrenaline-fueled anger fades, the tears come. Thick and fast.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
That afternoon in roll call, Kas tries to smile at me, but Chloe elbows her in the ribs, making it clear that’s not acceptable and then carries on pretending I’m invisible.
I don’t want to sit with them anyway. Right now it makes me angry just knowing they’re in the same room as me. And they’re wrong about Leo using me.
Just. Plain. Wrong.
So I look around the room and see Grace, Poppy, and Fajah, a group of girls I’ve barely spoken to before, but always seem friendly enough. Who needs Chloe and Kas? It might be nice to hang with a different group for once, and these girls look all right. If you squint. They’re flashing their phone screens at each other and giggling as I sit down next to them.
“Oh, hey, Pig!” says Fajah.
“Hiya. Do you mind if I sit with you guys?” I say.
“No, that would be fab!” she says.
Dylan is on the next table, and he leans back on his chair and says, “Admit it, Pig, you just want to sit closer to me, right?”
Why is he always on my case?
“Shut up, Dylan,” I say and thankfully he does.
Grace puffs on her inhaler and giggles, and Poppy carries on biting her nails. “So what are you guys chuckling about?” I ask.
As they start showing me the latest “hilarious” memes of pets falling off tables, I get an unwelcome insight into what a slow death might feel like.
Then they talk about their latest crafting adventures, showing each other their recent creations on Instagram: Grace has knitted some butterflies, Poppy’s made candles in old yogurt cups, and Fajah’s recently painted some pebbles to look like the members of some boy band called Boy Zinc.
When I ask why, they all look at me as if I’ve just punched a puppy in the face.
Truth is, I don’t get the point of humorless, light conversation. I only want conversation that’s meaningful or funny. Not the stuff in between. I can’t do small talk. I can’t talk about the weather or TV or what you did at the weekend. I don’t give a rip, and I’m only interested in talking about those things if they’re a vehicle for the funny. I might look like I’m listening, but I’m just thinking about turning whatever you’ve just said into a joke. Which, now I come to think of it, must be quite annoying. I guess Kas and Chloe put up with a lot. Anyway, aim for the laugh or aim for the interesting. Anything in between is just pointless arse-drivel.
At lunchtime, with nowhere else to go and trying to avoid Chloe and Kas as they stand in the corner of the field, silently holding Stevie and Isaac’s quivering hands, I find myself hanging with the cat-meme trio again. They sit cross-legged on the steps of the science block, droning on about their favorite TV shows from last week—soap operas and reality shows I’ve never seen before because I’m too busy watching comedy shows and stand-up routines. True, Kas and Chloe watch these shows too, but when they discuss them it’s with the full expectation that I’ll be sarcastic about them and make us all laugh. These guys, however, don’t seem to understand sarcasm. Or wit. Or possibly even fun.
“Yeah,” says Fajah as she froths with excitement over last night’s dramas that they’ve already been blabbering on about for a full twenty minutes, “and did you see when Craig came in and found Ruth kissing Lisa? I was like. Oh. My. Giddy. Gosh.”
“Right! And neither of them know about the baby he’s just had with Neesha!” adds Poppy, her freckly cheeks glowing red with anger at the unfortunate “Craig.”
Grace says nothing, just continues to grin while staring at the ground and sucking one of her plaits, which she’s evidently just dunked in her yogurt. On purpose.
“And there he was last week having a go at Duncan for his affair!” says Fajah.
“Well,” says Poppy, “as my mum always says, ‘People in glass houses should not throw—’”
“Nude parties?” I offer, trying to inject a bit of humor into this rotting corpse of a conversation.
They all look at me with bewildered expressions on their faces.
“No, I think it’s ‘stones,’ Pig.”
“Oh right,” I say, the will to live draining from my body. “Of course.”
The school day drags on until it eventually claws its way across the finish line that is the final school bell. I gather up my things and leave quickly so I can avoid Chloe and Kas and also get home as quick as possible before Leo arrives. At my house. Yay!
I get Noah home and find that Mum’s still asleep in her room after her night shift so I quietly fix us a snack, tidy up by piling the crap everywhere into large teetering crap mountains, and get changed before he arrives.
Then I just stand in the hall, facing the front door, waiting for his knock. Like a complete saddo. My heart pounds.
Leo’s actually going to be here, walking through that door, my door, any minute now!
Maybe I should message him? No, don’t message him, you desperate freak!
Any minute now…
Really soon…
Twenty minutes later and half my brain is shouting at the other half that of course he’s not coming. I embarrassed him in the hallway the other day—well, Chloe did—and now he doesn’t want anything more to do with me. But the other half of my brain, my favorite half, is convinced he’ll be here because obviously he’s falling in love with me. Because that half of my brain is stupid and blindly optimistic, like a cow packing a picnic for a lovely day out at the slaughterhouse.
Noah comes and stands next to me, shoveling Cheesy Puffs into his mouth.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asks.
“Just waiting for Leo. He’s coming over. Should be here any minute.”
“Leo, Leo! I love Leo!” says Noah as if he’s reading my mind.
“Just be cool, Noah!” I hiss as I check my refection in the hall mirror yet again. Not to see how good I look, just to reassure myself I don’t have eye bogeys or a Jaffa Cake stuck between my teeth.
I face the door again. Willing its frosted glass panel to be filled with the blurry shape of Leo.
We stand in silence, just the crunch of Noah’s little teeth chomping on the chips and his hands rummaging around the bag for the next one. When it’s empty, he casually chucks it on the floor.
“Why’s he not here yet?” he asks, spraying the hall with bright orange crumbs. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“He’ll be here, all right, Noah!” I crouch down to his level like Mum says we should when we have to tell him off. “Pick the bag up and put it in the trash, don’t talk with your mouth full, and go and clean yo
ur hands before he gets here. I can’t tell what’s Cheesy Puffs and what’s your fingers any more.”
Then Leo knocks on the door. And my internal organs somersault into each other.
“Yay!” Noah squeals with delight, clasping his orange fingers around my face and squeezing. “He’s here!”
“Argh, Noah!” I spring to my feet and look in the mirror again. An angry Oompa Loompa stares back at me.
“I’ll get it!” chirps Noah as he waddles toward the door.
“Wait! Noah, no!” I say, desperately scrubbing at my cheeks with my sleeve, and only managing to spread the disaster zone further.
But of course Noah ignores me and opens the door.
“Hey,” says Leo as casually as ever.
“Hello!” I say, hoping his eyes haven’t yet adjusted to the dim light in our hall, but of course they have.
“Wow, you trying out a new tan? It’s very…erm, Trumpesque,” he says.
“Thanks, yeah, I’m going to run over a guinea pig and wear it as a wig tomorrow just to complete the look.”
He laughs and my embarrassment fades just a bit.
“Do you mind if I just go and…” I mime wiping my face.
“No, sure—you do what you gotta do.”
I run to the kitchen and violently scrub at my cheeks with a scourer.
“Hey, little dude.” I hear Leo say to Noah, as they walk into the living room. “Wow you’re strong. Like a little Hulk. So how’re you doing?” By the slow thudding scrape of Leo’s footsteps I conclude that Noah has clamped himself around one of his legs for a ride, like a maniac.
“Sorry about him!” I call back to Leo.
“I’m jolly today!” squeals Noah. “My jolly knows NO END!”
“Good to know,” says Leo.
“I’ve drawn a picture of you—you wanna see?” says Noah.
“You have?” I say suspiciously, emerging from the kitchen with the slight improvement of bright red cheeks rather than bright orange ones.
Noah pounds his way up the stairs to retrieve his drawing as Leo slumps down onto our embarrassment of a sofa.
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