Rebel with a Cupcake

by Anna Mainwaring

  Izzie looks confused. “What does that even mean?”

  “I don’t know — I just thought it sounded good. What else am I supposed to say? Hannah, words of wisdom?” I’m really hoping Hannah will come through for me here because I have all these feelings and no words to express them. If I could eat life, I would.

  “Sorry,” Hannah says. “Strangely enough, Jane Austen doesn’t always have wise words to say on how to survive in a multimedia world …”

  At this moment, there is a knock on the door. The inside door, not the outside one that everyone uses. No one uses the inside door except Hannah, and she’s sitting here with us. Hannah’s family never comes down — that’s why we like it here.

  We look at each other. Hannah yells, “Come in!”

  Through the door comes Hannah’s brother Alex and, with him — pinch yourselves cos it’s true — Matt Paige. Yes, that Matt Paige, the one I have a huge and secret crush on, the Matt Paige who’s in my head every night as I go to sleep. The one I’ve been on numerous dates with, the one I’ve kissed, gotten married to and had three children with (all girls, if you’re interested). But also the Matt Paige who I’ve never actually spoken to before. Never been closer than twenty feet to before. And here he is. If I reached out, I could almost touch his thigh. I really, really want to touch his thigh.

  “Hi,” says Alex.

  “Hi,” says Matt.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to look cool, but suddenly I’m aware that I’m running a temperature of 104 degrees, and my heart has decided to do a drum and bass rhythm with a dubstep vibe. I sit on my hand so I don’t do anything really stupid like touch him without meaning to. I think I might start giggling. All this emotion and all anyone has said is hi. Who says romance is dead?

  He’s just a boy.

  But he is lovely. I could just lie down at his feet and tell him I love him.

  Did I actually think that? Have I just broken every rule I hold dear, for a BOY? It’s a good job Gran’s not dead, or she’d be turning in her grave to hear me talk like this.

  So, I pull myself together — I will not be so pathetic! I smile a bit to look friendly, but not enough to show how much I like him. I end up grimacing like a constipated baboon. A badly dressed, constipated baboon because now I’m horribly aware that I threw these clothes on to be comfy. Why did I leave the house like this? I mean, clothes are important, right?

  “So, Jess,” Alex says, “what exactly have you been up to?”

  I’ve known Alex since I was six. He’s skinny and a bit ginger. Whereas Hannah looks like some kind of artist’s model, Alex looks like a slightly more attractive Ron Weasley. I think I can speak to him without my voice wavering several octaves.

  “Oh, you know, the usual,” I say, aiming to sound bored. “Attendance, two altercations with Zara Lovechild, getting into a confrontation with a teacher,” I say. “Oh yes, and becoming a YouTube sensation. Nothing special.” That was a great humblebrag, I tell myself. Ten out of ten, there, for cool.

  I’m not so cool the moment I realize that Matt’s burnt-caramel eyes are locked on me. It’s like I’m the cupcake and he’s about to eat me. Suddenly, I feel incredibly hot. And very, very visible.

  “That was quite a lot of sass for one day,” Matt says.

  Sass? Is that good? Is that bad? What does he mean by that? I will have to analyze every possible interpretation later — I don’t have time now.

  “I think you’ll find I’m the queen of sass, generally.” I just about manage to keep eye contact without dying.

  He’s still looking and still smiling. “Queen of sass? I like it. I thought you were queen of cakes.”

  I’m taking this all in my stride. “I can be queen of both, you know. Next cake, I’ll combine both my talents and I’ll bake the sassiest thing you’ve ever eaten.” Hannah is looking at me with her mouth half open, which is fair enough, cos what does that even mean? I have metaphorically just tripped over my tongue. I am an idiot.

  “So what actually happened? What did the lovely Zara do to make you so angry?” Matt asks, his hair falling down over his eyes. It’s only the Zara comment that stops me from sweeping his hair back from his forehead.

  “Zara isn’t so lovely to me, I’m afraid. She committed the worst crime of all — she said I couldn’t bake.” No need to mention that the fight was all about her calling me fat. Now is not the time to draw attention to that.

  “Zara is such a cow,” Alex says with surprising anger.

  “Cheers, mate,” I say. “I’ll make you some of your favorite brownies if you like.”

  “You can make brownies?” Matt says. Like I am some sort of genius.

  “Only sassy ones,” I reply. I am on fire today. I’m beginning to enjoy myself. And I rather think from the way he’s staring back at me that he’s enjoying himself, too.

  “Jess should be on TV,” Alex says with pride. “Have you seen this?” He pulls out his phone and shows Matt a photo of my gingerbread school. How has he seen that already? I’ve only just posted it.

  I’m just about to ask him when Matt looks at it and looks at me. “You did that?” he asks.

  I blush. “I was bored,” I say.

  “The girl who eats life? Cool.” I think I might melt under the weight of his approval.

  “Look at the detail,” says Izzie.

  “Yeah, I see it,” Matt says. He smiles at me still.

  I allow myself a small smile back.

  “You’re Cat Jones’s little sister then?” he continues.

  I wait a second for him to make some comment about not believing that we’re sisters or that I’m not in fact that little at all. He doesn’t do either. Score!

  “You can tell by your eyes.” He noticed my eyes (and I think that they are quite nice, actually).

  “The name’s Jesobel,” I say. “Jess for short.”

  “You should just go by Jesobel,” Matt says. He says my name slowly so the s sound drags out forever like a kiss. “It’s a cool name. No one would ever forget a Jesobel.”

  “I like to think I’m unforgettable by any name.” Hannah is giving me a death stare. Too much? I change the subject. “Cat is short for Caterina but you’re not supposed to know that. She’s going out with Jack Armstrong from your school,” I drop in.

  Alex and Matt exchange glances.

  “What?” says Izzie. “Is he up to something?”

  Matt shrugs. “No … He does seem to hang out with his ex a lot. But then, that’s not a crime.”

  Alex changes the subject. “Good work there — you did well with Zara and the infamous Mrs. Brown, but she’s gonna want your head on a spike. Come on, Matt, we need to practice. The band’s waiting.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you’d joined the band,” I find myself saying. “What kind of music are you into?”

  “Mostly guitar stuff from the nineties. I’m a big fan of your dad’s, actually,” Matt answers.

  A light bulb goes over my head.

  I have never thought that having a dad like mine was much use. It might sound glamorous, but the reality is he’s hardly around. All of a sudden, I see an opportunity opening up in front of me.

  Alex says, “You know, you could come and listen to us rehearse if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much.” I’m about to jump up and follow them out the door, but I find a firm hand on my arm and a voice saying, “Thanks, but we’ve got stuff to do.”

  The tone of Hannah’s voice means that I mustn’t argue back, for reasons I don’t understand. The guys start to go, but Matt stops in the doorway and turns. “My parents are going away in a few weeks’ time, so of course, while it’s predictable, it has to be done. I’m having a few friends over. You wanna come?” He smiles and takes us all in: the fat girl, the bookworm and the witch. “I mean all of you. I want a house full of people.”
r />   “Great,” I croak. “We’ll check our diaries.”

  “Just make sure you’re there,” Matt says as he stands in the door, framed by light. “I’ll be looking out for you, Jesobel Jones.”

  The door shuts and he’s gone. Anxiety drains away, but so does the buzz that’s been making my brain and body blaze.

  I recline on the non-reclining recliner. My heart really is going to pop this time. I want to be independent, mature, follow my own path. But then the second this guy, this one guy, talks to me, it’s like I’m going to explode.

  Izzie mutters, “Not sure that I want to go.”

  Hannah stares at her. “Well, you might not want to but a certain somebody does!”

  Izzie’s head does a tennis swivel from me to Hannah. “What, have I just missed something?”

  “Only the most enormous amount of sexual tension,” Hannah says.

  Izzie looks closely at me. “You fancy Alex?” Her voice goes all strange and wavery at the end.

  I spit out my hot chocolate. “No,” I say.

  “Okay, keep your hair on,” she says. “Well, that leaves Matt.”

  “Yes,” says Hannah, “it does.”

  And they both look at me.

  That secret crush that I would die before revealing? Seems it’s not so secret now.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Invisible Rule #6:

  In this enlightened age, girls are still not allowed to ask guys out. You have to wait for them to make a move. Otherwise you’re “pushy.” Or “easy.” Either way, it’s not cool.

  I sigh. Time for the truth to come out. “I just think he seems nice.”

  Nice seems a very bland word for all the emotions that swept through me a few minutes ago. I mean, my heart is only just returning to a normal beat. In fact, I’m not even sure that my heart is still inside me. I think it’s following Matt up the stairs into the house, whimpering like a lonely puppy.

  I try to pull myself together.

  “Hannah, surely you realized before — I asked you all those questions about him.”

  Hannah shakes her head. I really don’t like this silence. I mean, we do talk about boys all the time. Which ones are okay, which ones are not. But it is a bit of a touchy subject as Hannah was going out with Lucas Harrison for three months until he started giving her grief for not sleeping with him.

  So she did.

  And then he dumped her anyway.

  So, you know, it’s easier sometimes just to ask her about what she’s reading.

  I’ve kissed and been kissed. I mean, I go to parties. At the end of the evening, you can normally find someone who’s not paired off and is happy to snog (and the rest) for a while. Dom and I had a thing for a bit where we tried stuff out on each other. But I’ve not really had a boyfriend. Not a proper public one. I don’t know if it’s Gran’s influence or too many silly rom-coms.

  “Is he unbelievably out of my league?” I ask.

  They look long and hard at each other.

  Ouch. These are good friends. Hannah starts slowly. “His last girlfriend was … a bit different from you.”

  I nod. This could be helpful. I don’t know any of this. “So, two things, a) is he single now? and b) how was she different?”

  Hannah takes her time on this one. “She was … high maintenance.”

  “You mean she was difficult, or she took great care of herself?”

  Izzie chips in here. “I saw them in Starbucks sometimes. She ordered extra hot, skinny macchiatos, easy on the syrup. And then she only drank half. I’d say both.”

  I swallow. I have to say this and I have to hear their answer. “So she’s prettier than me, thinner than me and better dressed than me. And knows when to stop eating.” This is why Hannah held me back. She thought that I’d be making a fool of myself if I showed any interest. Matt’s too hot for a fat girl like me.

  Izzie and Hannah shrug and a painful silence grows.

  Hannah tells me the truth. “Yes, she’s thinner than you. But, Jess, you’ve always said you don’t care about that. You’re pretty, she’s pretty. You don’t care about fashion, really, and she does.”

  “I know what I’ve said,” I say. “But I do care about clothes. I just find them difficult. I mean, shop girls give me the evil eye every time I walk in. And do you want to try going to the back of the store every time, because they put all the smaller sizes up front?”

  Hannah moves toward the little stove. “Time for more hot chocolates, I think.”

  Things are that bad then.

  I just wanted to believe that I had a chance with him.

  We drink our hot chocolates in a rare awkward silence. All I think about is how I looked in the YouTube clip. Fat. Yes, I had attitude and I’m sure I could find other positives if I thought about it. But my mind is just fixed on one thought. All of a sudden, my hot chocolate tastes far too sickly and sweet.

  “I’m off,” I mutter, putting down my unfinished drink.

  Hannah looks at me with surprise. “Are you okay? You’re not worried about this, are you?”

  I smile a big, fake smile. “’Course not. What have I got to worry about?” Not like I’ve got a meeting with the Head, my mum’s furious with me and I’m too fat for leggings and too fat for Matt. “See you tomorrow.”

  Ever-faithful Izzie says, “I’ll message you later.”

  I nod and dodge out through the door. But where do I go? I don’t want to go home. So I drift down the street, trying to make sense of all the thoughts that fizz through my mind. Part of my mind is cheering: you had a conversation with Matt. He invited you to a party. The world has seen that Zara is a bully. But the drumbeat underneath those thoughts goes Fat. Fat. Fat. I find a bench next to a small patch of grass surrounded by trees. It’s not such an awful place to sit, so I slump down and stare at the leaves in the sunlight. Anything to stop thinking about everything else. I sit there for a very long time and the shadows of the trees start to lengthen. If I stay a bit longer, maybe ivy will grow around me, and I’ll just have to stay here and become one with nature. Then a small dog runs past me, and I realize that every dog in the neighborhood will wee on me.

  As I sit there, pondering whether I am actually capable of movement, or whether I should just wait until a dog gets suspiciously close, he walks past.

  Yes. Him. Matt.

  I’ve only spoken to him once in real life, and here he is again.

  For a moment, I just enjoy watching him. He sort of slouches along with his shoulders bunched, as if to walk at his full height might give him an unfair advantage over the world. He’s so lovely. Do I let him walk by? Do I call him over? Why would I do that, given that I’ve just been told by my friends that he’s far too hot for me.

  So I just let him walk on. If you love something, let it go. Or something like that.

  But then something happens that is equally magical and terrifying. Matt sees me and smiles what appears to be a genuine smile. I find myself grinning at him like an idiot as he crosses the road and throws himself down next to me on the bench. He’s sitting right beside me. Maybe six inches apart? Does that mean he likes me? My brain cannot cope with this calculation. He crossed a road to be with me, risking life and limb. Have you seen how badly rich people drive in their huge black SUVs round here? He could have been killed. My friends were wrong — we are destined to be together.

  But destiny or not, my brain is letting me down. There are words buzzing round my head but none of them seem to make any sense. He’s not saying anything either. Who comes over to a girl and then says nothing? It’s not as if my very beauty has struck him dumb.

  Eventually, I manage, “How did band practice go?” Lame but at least it’s words.

  “Okay,” he says. “Alex’s got homework so we had to finish early. God, that boy’s a nerd. But we’ve got a gig coming
up. And, in fact, we’ve just been booked to play at your Leavers’ Ball. Your pal Zara organized it.” Then he winks at me. What does a wink mean? I think desperately. Is that a sign of flirtation? Maybe he’s just got something in his eye.

  “The ball. How cool,” I find myself gushing.

  And then there’s a silence. I don’t want a silence. I’m scared of silence. Silence means we’re not compatible. Silence means he’s going to walk away from me and then I won’t feel that glorious energy that buzzed through me when we were talking before.

  My poor brain twists itself in knots. Then I remember. He said he liked my dad’s music. That’s my way in. “My dad’s first-ever gig was at the Scout hut, down the road, you know. He was about twelve at the time.”

  “Twelve? Really?” A raised eyebrow tells me he doesn’t believe me.

  “Really. He wore sunglasses all the time and his collar turned up to hide how young he was.”

  Matt’s giving me his full megawatt stare. “So that’s how his look started?”

  I nod, beginning to feel much more confident. “All about hiding how young he was. And he just stuck with it. All these years.”

  “His playing was immense. Probably the best thing about the band. What’s it like to have a rock star for a dad?” he continues.

  “He’s not really a rock star. More of a rock twinkle, really,” I say, thinking of how useless Dad is at anything dad-like. “When Cat goes out dressed in a few wisps of material, he doesn’t yell, ‘I’ve seen handkerchiefs bigger than that. No daughter of mine is going out like that.’ Instead, he’ll just go, ‘Cool.’”

  Matt appears to be laughing. “Rock twinkle. I like it. Maybe that’s my life ambition right there.”

  I glow in the moment. Maybe I am too fat for him to like me, but at this precise moment, he seems to be enjoying my company and I am going to savor every minute.

  “He’s not the only eccentric in the family. You should meet my baby sister. She’s bullied by her imaginary friend.” Now Matt’s brow crinkles as he tries to process that one. “Weird? I know,” I continue. “And then there’s Gran. How many grandmothers do you know who live mostly on gin and illegal drugs?”