by Day, Susie
There’s a chorus of oohing. Apparently no one else is as worried as me about what Venables’s idea of a treat might be.
“So this weekend, we’re going to fly away from the Goldfinch nest and see how the professionals do it. Not a musical version, no, but after Mr. Prowse expressed a few, uh, concerns, Mrs. Kemble is very keen to emphasize the educational aspect of this year’s performance to your parents. So we’ll be heading to the theatre, to see Twelfth Night, the original William Shakespeare, no help from me, version. Brilliant, yeah?”
There’s no oohing.
“And of course, it’ll be a late night, so we’ll be staying over in Stratford and coming back by bus the next day.”
Now there’s oohing. And shrieking, and even, from one corner, a round of applause.
Not from me, though.
I should be thrilled. This won’t be just like any other school trip I’ve been on before. Usually I’m the kid who has to share a seat on the bus with the teacher, because she’s the Mothership, or just because I don’t have any friends. This time, I’ll have someone to insist I share with them—and someone to keep my seat in the theatre, someone to sneak out of bed for once the teachers have gone to sleep, just like a real Finch: like a real girl, with a real boyfriend. I’ll be on the trip with my Mysterious E. I just wish he weren’t Simon, that’s all.
Venables is still beaming and waving his arms in front of us, flapping some papers to get us to quiet down.
“That’s not all, folks, there’s more good news! Now, I know everyone in this room is super-talented in their own way, and you know I’m proud of you all, yeah? But a lot of your work goes on behind the scenes, and on the big night it’s all about the performers, so I’m totally thrilled to have a chance to big up one of the real stars of the show. You’ve all seen our amazing costumes, yeah?”
There are murmurs of approval in the crowd as Venables flings an arm to the wardrobe racks at the edge of the stage. He grabs a curled pile of papers and waves them over his head. Teddy’s designs. I start to feel a bit sick.
“Well, I was so impressed with the work that went into these, I showed them to Mr. Bowser in the art department, and he was so impressed that he’s entered the artist into the Independent Schools National Arts Prize. Heidi? Heidi, give us a wave, yeah? Brilliant.”
Henry grabs my arm, and waggles it about, as people clap and cheer.
EEK.
ARG.
UR.
There’s a blur of people moving round me, climbing over the rows of seats, telling me how amazing I am. Even Etienne Gracey leans over to give me a quick pat on the back.
I manage to get onto my feet, and start edging my way along the row, mumbling apologies as I push past the slowmoving people on the steps down to ground level. I have to tell Venables I didn’t draw those costumes. It’ll be awful and horrible and everyone will hate me, but I can’t let them put me up for some daft art prize. I have to tell the truth.
I let the crowd sweep me out through the doors into the foyer, then duck through Music Room 1, find the backstage steps, and hurry up into the wings. Venables is at the front of the stage, kneeling down, and muttering something about spotlights to Oliver Bass.
I hesitate, waiting for him to stand, then I force my feet, one in front of the other, to move me forward, out onto the stage. It feels strange, seeing the seats all rising up out of the dark out there, all facing my way.
My feet keep on stepping, but someone has my arm, and is pulling me back. Dai. Dai, with a face like thunder.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Ryder, but you can knock it off right now, yeah?”
I blink. Does Dai know that Teddy drew the pictures? Does Dai care that Teddy drew the pictures?
“You two might think you’re being dead clever,” he says, yanking me into the wings, behind the guilt-inducing racks of costumes. “But I’m not blind. I do see things. Especially if you carry on with it right under my nose.”
Not the pictures, then. Simon. He’s angry with me about Simon. I think.
“Why do you care?” I stutter, looking round and hoping no one else is listening. I’m having a fight over a boyfriend I don’t even want. Does Dai want to go out with Simon, then?
Dai goes from looking furious to looking like a kicked puppy in the blink of an eye. His big shoulders drop. I think for an awful moment that he might actually cry.
“I really like him, Heidi. He’s the first person I’ve ever really liked, who really liked me back. At least, I thought he did. But then I started watching you, because…well, never mind why, I just knew you were looking for someone else after you’d broken up with Ed, and then suddenly you two were sneaking off together to talk, and he started being all secretive, and…”
“Wait. You think…me and Henry…?”
And I thought I was the hopeless detective around here.
“Well, why else would you be going off for your secret get-togethers?”
My mouth opens. I close it again. No, there’s nothing for it: I’m going to have to spoil Henry’s secret birthday plans.
But Dai doesn’t wait to hear the truth: He just sticks up his chin and stomps off down the backstage steps, pushing Ludo out of his way as he goes.
She stares after him, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, then hurries up them to me.
“OH MY GOD, what is HIS problem?”
I just shake my head. Explaining is a bit beyond me right now.
Ludo hovers, gazing up at the lighting rig above, the invisible audience beyond, her eyes shiny. Her painted fingers walk along the row of hanging costumes, toying with the dangling ribbons.
“OK, like, this is probably a totally weird question,” she says, looking strangely shy. “But, like, I just wanted to check that it would be OK with you first, because…well…you’ve got a new boyfriend now, right?”
“Um…kind of?”
“I totally thought so. Which is, like, yay Heidi! So, you know, you won’t be getting back together with Ed?”
The sick feeling comes back.
“Because, if you aren’t going out with him, then I thought maybe I might go out with him? Actually, we’re sort of going out already. Or, you know, talking about it. Kind of?” She flips her glossy hair back and gives me a nervous little smile. “He’s really sweet, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “He’s…um…”
“I’m so happy!” she says, wrapping her arms round my neck. “Because I totally wouldn’t if it wasn’t OK with you, and I would totally understand if it wasn’t, because, you know, friends don’t do that to each other. But if you’re OK with it, then everything’s, like, totally perfect!”
And she goes pirouetting off down the steps, leaping over the last couple in full view of a loitering Peroxide Eric, with a look of gleeful don’t-care upon her face.
Evasive maneuvers, Captain. Abort, abort! Engage the hyperdrive immediately.
I peer out from behind the sleeve of Viola’s blue jacket, looking for an escape route. Venables blocks my way, holding up Teddy’s sketches for the band, showing off the details to Etienne, and the Illyrians, and…the Mothership.
I retreat backward, into the scratchy silvery safety of the Niteclubbers clothes rail, enveloping me like some kind of spandex route to Narnia. I can’t do this now. I’ll fix it later. I promise I’ll come back and sort it all out, when my head isn’t spinning around with all the craziness of Dai and Henry, and Ludo and Ed, and Simon.
Simon, who I can see heading directly for the clothes rail, right toward where I’m hiding.
Simon, smiling his watery smile.
Simon, who’s holding hands with Yuliya, wispy silent blond Yuliya, who is smiling, too.
They giggle as they slide between the two rails of clothes, sneaking out of sight of the crowd. I feel the clothes sweep over my head as they pass; see their shoes interlock; hear more giggling, following by snoggy noises.
I should be relieved. Mysterious E isn’t Simon.
But I’m not sure it matters. I’ve messed everything up. Gingerbread Ed, and E. D. Hartley, and the Leftover Squad: It’s all gone too far. I don’t belong here, with them. I’ll never belong here.
Message from: gingerbread_ed
hey,
i’m going away on an exchange trip to peru where i hear they don’t have the internet probably. so i guess i won’t be around much because it is a very long exchange trip. sorry about everything.
ed
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
dear fili,
i’m sorry, but i think i have to stop writing to you. i can’t really explain properly, and i really hope you know you have other people around you who would love to be able to talk with you like the old days. but with me and heidi not being together and everything, now seems like the right time to call this a day.
ed
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dear Ed,
It’s perfect timing. I’m leaving, you see. Flying the nest. Escaping from it all, the very next time they open the cage. Running away, to where they’ll never find me.
Fili
Recipe for The End of the World
INGREDIENTS:
No friends
No life
No hope
METHOD:
• It is too late.
• There is no method.
• Just stand back as everything falls apart.
An attic. Ridiculous fictional detective Mycroft Christie is inexplicably present, talking to the unfortunately not-imaginary Miss Heidi Ryder.
HEIDI: I don’t know what to do.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Nonsense! There’s always a Plan B.
HEIDI: Yes. And a Plan C, and a Plan D, and Plan Z, and all of them will be stupid, like making up people who don’t exist, and handcuffs, and thinking I’m a detective when I’m too stupid to notice anything at all, and all of it is no use anyway because there’s actual real proper difficult life stuff happening to actual real people. I don’t need a Plan. I need to help my friend Fili. Go away, please?
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I’m afraid I can’t. I’m your subconscious mind’s default response whenever faced with a crisis.
HEIDI: Can you fix the crisis?
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I can defuse nuclear weapons with a fountain pen?
HEIDI: Nice. Can you help Fili?
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: (smoldery eyebrow, seductive nostril flare, manly yet vulnerable teardrop on brink of falling)
HEIDI: That’s really helpful, thanks.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: At least I’m here for you to talk to. After all, you aren’t exactly blessed with potential alternatives. Betsy is somewhat preoccupied with moving. The Mothership would have to involve the school: perhaps not the most diplomatic choice? And as for friends…Young Dai seems to be under the impression you’re rather devious: I doubt he’ll want to listen. Dear Ludo is unfortunately besotted with…well, you, not that she knows that: more than a little awkward. Then there’s Simon, who doesn’t love you after all: how tragic, to be disappointed about someone you never even wanted. I imagine he’s rather busy with his new girlfriend anyway…
HEIDI: It’s not them I want to talk to anyway. It’s Fili.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: But Miss Heidi Ryder knows nothing. Fili didn’t choose to tell her: She told dear, kind, sensitive Ed.
HEIDI: It doesn’t matter. If people find out about Ed, it doesn’t matter, not now. I don’t care.
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Don’t you think Fili might care? Don’t you think Fili might be even more hurt, to learn the one person she thought she could trust was nothing but cinnamon and dust?
HEIDI: So what am I supposed to do?
MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Don’t ask me. I don’t exist.
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
dear fili,
are you serious? where would you go? please don’t do anything drastic right now.
ed
to: [email protected]
from: gingerbread_edfrogmail.com
dear fili,
i don’t know what to do. do you want me to tell someone about this? do you want me to help?
ed
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
dear fili,
i wish you’d talk to me.
ed
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest Heidi,
Patient as I am, I find myself feeling dreadfully neglected of late, and contrary to popular song we do not have all the time in the world. Might I beg for a fragment of your kind attention? Or should I fear your attentions are truly swayed in the direction of another?
Rest assured, you continue to have my
love & affection,
E
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dear E,
Look, now is really not a good time for all this stupid messing about pretending to talk funny, all right? Some of us have more important things to worry about.
Just forget about me, please? Because, whoever you are, I’m really not worth it, and I totally don’t have time for this.
Heidi
to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
Dearest Heidi,
How terribly intriguing you are determined to be. But please, leave the noble sacrifices to the gentleman of the party? I can’t play my part if you steal all my best lines, after all.
As ever, I am at your service.
love & affection,
E
(P.S. Seriously, you OK? I can’t ever tell when you’re kidding.)
“If you don’t want to go on the theatre trip, babes, you don’t have to.”
The Mothership stares anxiously at my untouched plate of mashed up butternut squash and pumpkin seeds, which I probably wouldn’t have wanted even if it didn’t feel like I have a canoe in my throat.
But I shake my head, and tell her I want to go. Fili has been skipping classes. Yuliya’s been telling everyone Fili’s got a cold, but I bet she’ll be well enough to come on the bus. I’m just scared she’s not planning to come back.
Which is how I end up on my way to watch a comedy about cross-dressing shipwrecked twins when reality is roller coastering its way off a cliff: not in space, not in a pirate ship, not with any monkeys or explosions or leather trousers. Just an ordinary cliff, with ordinarily hard, pointy rocks at the bottom.
I try to sit next to Fili on the bus, but Ludo spotwelds herself to my elbow and talks Ed all the way there.
I try to snag a shared room with her in the hostel they’ve booked for the overnight stay, but Prowse has allocated the rooms, and Fili’s down the other end of the hall.
I try to sit next to her in the theatre, but Henry grabs my arm and forces me to sit between him and Dai, to Dai’s obvious irritation. I shoot out of my seat between acts to see if I can sit next to Fili for the rest of the play.
But she’s not in the bar, not in the toilets, not in the theatre at all.
I can hear Venables yelling after me as I sprint down the stairs, but I’m not stopping for him, or anyone. I run back the five-minute walk back to the hostel, heart pounding. We’re in funny little dorms in an annex round the back of a hostel, the kind that knows what teenagers smell like and doesn’t want us to puke on the proper paying customers over their bacon and eggs in the morning. Girls on one floor, boys on the other, two bunks to a room. I hurry past the room I’m sharing with Ludo, past all the others, hoping I’ve remembered the number right. Hoping I’m not too late.
Fili’s at the other end of the hallway, sharing with Yuliya. Room number 13. An omen. Just has to be.
I hammer on
the door.
Silence.
I hammer again, dropping my hands to rest on my knees, resting my head against the door to catch my breath. Then there’s a click, and I’m falling forward, knocking her back onto the lower bunk.
She’s still here.
She’s still here.
She looks cold and sort of angry. Fully dressed, eyelinered, boots on.
Her suitcase is on the floor by her feet, zipped up, waiting.
“Aren’t you missing the play?” she says, quietly.
I get this spooky little flash of us, together, perched on the end of the balance beam for the first time all those months ago. All I’d known about Fili before that was her amazing ability to say Go Away, loud and clear, with just a flick of her eyebrow. And suddenly there she’d been, swinging her boots and sharing her music: a friend for the Frog Girl. She wasn’t just this little black cloud, anymore than I was just this faculty brat. She was dark and funny and interesting and odd, and the only time I saw the Go Away look was when she was defending one of us from some Finch meathead.