“We were waiting for you, mate,” Danny says.
In an effort to make us look like a proper couple, I grab hold of Danny’s hand. He manages to keep hold for almost a minute, but lets go to tell some joke with accompanying animated gestures.
It doesn’t take long to get to Jamie’s; it’s round the corner on the fancy estate and is our favourite place to hang after school. Because Jamie’s parents work late a lot – they run their own design business and are never around – the four of us often go to their massive house on the premise of doing ‘homework’. It would be the truth, too, if homework ever involved watching the world’s largest TV and eating our own body weight in junk food. Jamie’s parents always have in the best snacks.
“I’ll grab some drinks,” Jamie says, heading into the kitchen. He grabs Millie’s wrist and pulls her after him. “You’re coming with me.”
“You’re so bossy,” says Millie, but follows after him happily enough.
As Danny and I make our way through to the lounge we can hear Millie screeching, “Don’t you dare! Not the ice…” followed by a loud shriek. Then there’s lots of laughing before it goes quiet. No prizes for guessing what they’re up to.
Again.
Danny flicks on the TV and comes to sit next to me on the sofa. He immediately becomes engrossed in some dumb cartoon. My mind drifts off and I’m back in the dinner queue talking to Zach.
Those long eyelashes. His dazzling smile. That adorable floppy hair.
No! What I am doing? I give myself an annoyed shake. I have got to stop thinking about Zach.
Danny taps me on the leg. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve got a weird expression on your face. Like you’re constipated or something.”
Well, that’s charming. Thanks a bundle, Danny. Way to make a girl feel good about herself.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
But Danny’s not listening. He’s staring at the screen, where a pretty TV presenter in a tight T-shirt is talking excitedly and bouncing all over the studio. My boyfriend’s tongue is practically hanging out. Why doesn’t he ever look at me like that?
“Er, do you want to be any more obvious?” I say.
“Shhh,” Danny says, flapping his hand in my direction.
“Now the moment all you fans of The Drifting have been waiting for,” the girl squeaks. “We’ve got four tickets for their upcoming tour in London to give away to one lucky viewer, plus an extra ticket for a parent or guardian. The prize includes travel costs from anywhere in the UK. Lines close at the end of the week, so get texting the number at the bottom of the screen if you want to win this amazing prize.”
“Remember the number, remember the number,” Danny yells, diving across me for his rucksack. He roots around for his mobile. As Danny pulls the phone from his bag, he frowns at the screen and presses a couple of buttons.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Danny says. “Just a text.” His thumb stabs the delete button.
“Who from?” I ask, curious.
“Nobody,” Danny says hurriedly. “Um, I mean not nobody, obviously. It was just Dad, asking what time I’m coming home for dinner. What was that number for the Drifting comp again?”
“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” I grumble. “Those things are a complete rip-off. It costs loads to enter.”
“But someone’s got to get the prize,” Danny says. “And it might as well be me. Besides, you’ll be grovelling when I get those tickets. Wouldn’t it be cool to see The Drifting live in a massive stadium?”
“Yes it would, but you’re not going to win.”
“I might,” Danny says, keying in his text and pressing the send button several times.
“Except you won’t.” Ugh, he’s being so annoying. Those things are such a waste of money.
Jamie and Millie interrupt our bickering, handing out chocolate milk and dumping bowls of nachos and dips onto the floor.
“So is everyone excited about the party at the weekend?” Millie asks after she’s cosied up with Jamie in one of the big, comfy armchairs.
“Hadn’t thought about it much,” I lie, reaching out for some corn chips. I’ve only spent the last week rummaging through my wardrobe, trying to figure out what I should wear.
“Here’s hoping Barnes and Lewis stay off the dance floor this year,” Jamie says.
We all shudder. The memory of those two tangoing traumatised everyone for months.
“If there’s a repeat performance, I’ll hurl,” Danny says.
“You’re talking with your mouth full and nobody wants to see your half-chewed food,” I say narkily. For some reason, I’m finding him really irritating today. In fact, everything’s annoying me. I’m just so prickly at the moment.
Danny swallows with a loud gulp.
“That’s seriously gross,” I tell him.
“Wrong. This is gross,” Jamie says, opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue, revealing a pile of chewed nachos.
“Ewwww!” Millie and I scream together. Millie thumps Jamie’s arm, but she’s giggling hysterically.
I smile weakly, trying to fight the urge I have to walk out of the room, out of the house, and not come back. What’s wrong with me? Since when did I become the Queen of Flouncy Over-Dramatic Exits?
I’m trying my hardest, but I’m just not having fun. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be here.
Millie squeaks as Jamie wrestles her onto the floor, threatening to drop stringy cheese over her face.
“You’ve got salsa by your mouth,” I tell Danny.
“Huh? Oh. Where?”
I don’t attempt to wipe it off for him. “It’s there. On your chin.”
Mille and Jamie have now moved on from play fighting and are snogging again.
“Oh, get a room, you two,” Danny says, throwing a cushion at Jamie’s head. They don’t pay any attention.
I watch them together and chew at the inside of my cheek miserably. Where’s that passion in my life? Sure, Danny and I kiss and stuff, but it never seems to be, well, all that sexy.
“Hey,” Danny says, poking me in the side with an odd expression on his face. It’s then I realise I must look a right perv gawking at my mates getting off with each other.
“Guys,” I say loudly, “do you want to watch a film or not?”
Millie sits up quickly, looking startled.
Oops. Maybe I sounded narkier than I intended.
As Jamie grabs the remote and flips on the movie channel, Millie snuggles up to him. He drops an arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her head.
I can’t help comparing them with me and Danny again. The differences couldn’t be more obvious. Danny’s moved to one end of the sofa, staring intently at the screen, and I’m curled up at the other. All of a sudden it feels as though there’s miles of space between us.
CHAPTER TEN
I’ve still not found an outfit for the party. Since I got home from school, I’ve managed to scatter the entire contents of my wardrobe over every available surface in my bedroom. There are clothes I’ve tried on and discarded all over the floor, my desk, my bed, hanging from the lamp, thrown over the iPod dock… and still nothing feels right.
I’m getting seriously stressed, because I’ve promised myself I’m going to wear something stunning, go to the party where I will ignore Zach all night and have an utterly amazing time with Danny.
Unfortunately, there’s no way I’m wearing any of these clothes, so my plan has crashed and burned at the very first hurdle.
“Suzy, phone!” Dad yells up the stairs.
“Coming,” I shout back.
Slight problem. Exactly how am I going to get to the door?
“Suzy!” Dad bellows again.
“All right, all right, I’m coming!”
Dad’s leaving the hall as I get to the phone.
“That girl is mad,” he grunts, as I pass.
“Huh?”
“Millie,” he says.
“She’s yabbering on about some clothes thing. I don’t know what she expects me to do about it. And where’s your mobile? After all the moaning and wailing you did to have one, you never seem to use the damn thing.”
I rack my brains. It’s probably buried somewhere in my bedroom underneath all those clothes. Dad thrusts the receiver at me and stalks off. At the other end of the phone, I can hear the tinny sound of Millie talking.
“And you see, Mr Puttock, that’s why the top won’t work with that skirt. So I thought maybe I could wear the electric blue one, but then I’ll have to rethink my accessories—”
“Mil?”
“And I haven’t got any other shoes so it’s a total nightmare. What do you think I should do?”
Millie finally pauses for breath.
“Hey, Mil, it’s me.”
“Oh, Suze, hi. Where did your dad go?”
“He left. You scared him off.”
“Really? Oh well, never mind. You’ve got to help me. I have absolutely nothing to wear to this stupid party. At the moment, I’m seriously considering that naked might be the way to go.” Millie sighs dramatically.
“Yeah, I hate all my clothes too,” I say.
There’s a long pause, then Millie gasps.
“I know,” she says. “Bring your stuff round and we can have a kind of mix and match fashion show. Bring make-up too.”
“Brilliant idea,” I say. “See you in five.”
Upstairs, I grab the suitcase from the top of Mum and Dad’s wardrobe before racing back to my room and haphazardly stuffing my clothes into it. There’s quite a lot of them, and after I’ve added accessories, jewellery and make-up, I’ve got a bulging suitcase I have to sit on to close, plus four overflowing carrier bags.
Once I’ve dragged it all downstairs, which takes ages, I realise with dismay I’m never going to be able to carry everything to Millie’s. It’s not all that far, but even pro weightlifters would get a hernia.
“Harry, the monster truck mega marathon is about to start!” calls Dad, walking into the hall. “Are you leaving home?” he asks when he sees me, a little too hopefully for my liking.
“Oh, ha ha, you’re hilarious. Will you give me a lift?”
“Where to? What’s all this?”
“Clothes. I need to get to Millie’s. Please, Dad.”
“Not a chance. I’m about to watch something on TV.”
“But how am I supposed to get all these bags there?”
“Why on earth would you need to?” Dad says, looking bewildered. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’ll never understand you females. You’re all bonkers.”
“I’ll take her,” Amber says, wafting down the stairs in a long skirt and floaty peach top, “if you’ll let me borrow the car. I can drop her off on the way to pick Mark up from work. We’re meeting the wedding photographer tonight.”
The blood drains from Dad’s face and he gulps.
He does have quite the dilemma.
If he lends Amber the car, I’ll leave him alone and he gets to watch his monster trucks.
On the other hand, it’s highly likely he’ll never see the car in one piece again, because Amber is the worst driver in the history of the world. In the year since she got her licence, she’s already had six accidents – the most memorable being when she drove into a wall trying to avoid an already squashed squirrel. Mum and Dad have resorted to hiding the keys from her.
Part of me hopes that Dad will refuse. Driving with Amber is way scarier than any roller coaster, but there’s no other way of getting this stuff to Millie’s. Desperate times, and all that.
“Please, Dad,” Amber says.
“Pleeeeease, Dad,” I join in.
“Pleeeeeeeease,” we chorus.
“Oh, all right then,” Dad says reluctantly. “The keys are hidden under the potatoes. Just be careful.”
“I always am,” says Amber, kissing Dad on the cheek and heading towards the kitchen.
“Ready?” Amber says, jamming the keys into the ignition. She reverses backwards at speed, and then there’s a huge crash.
I make an instinctive grab for the door handle.
“Oopsy,” Amber says, leaping out of the car. “Who left that wheelbarrow there?”
“You’re halfway across the lawn,” I say, but Amber ignores me, heaving the wheelbarrow out of the way.
“Let’s try again,” Amber says. This time she makes it out of the drive and onto the road.
“Mind that cyclist!”
“Calm down, Suze, I’m miles away.”
Amber misses the bike by millimetres. In the wing mirror, I watch the cyclist wobble into the kerb and fall off. He leaps to his feet and angrily gives us the finger.
“Watch out!” I cry, as a car stops abruptly in front of us. I fly forwards as Amber hits the brakes. Good job our car’s ancient, or I’d be getting intimate with an airbag right now.
“Gosh, Suze, you really need to chill. You’re so tense.”
Anyone would be tense in my situation, faced with their imminent death. Keep talking, Suze. Distract yourself. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?”
“Fine,” Amber says, but her voice sounds flat.
That’s weird. Usually Amber’s bouncier than Tigger when she’s asked about wedding stuff and will waffle on about it for hours.
“Got much left to do?”
“Not much.” Amber shrugs. “Everything’s booked. Dad’s nearly convinced it doesn’t mean he’s gay if he wears a cerise cravat. We’ve just got to find a pink suit for Mark now. In fact, most things are nearly organised, but I’m wondering…” Amber’s voice wobbles.
“Wondering what?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Amber says, shaking her head violently. “I’m fine. No problems at all.” She smiles brightly. “Shall we put on some music?” Amber leans over for her handbag, which is down by my feet. “I know I’ve got some CDs around somewhere…”
“I’ll find them,” I say hastily, trying not to panic. Fortunately Amber straightens up and beams her thanks. I’m the one who should be grateful. At least now she can see the road.
“Could you pass me the crisps from my bag, please?” Amber asks.
I pull out and open a family-sized bag of Kettle Chips, which Amber grabs from me. She tucks them between her legs and starts munching with gusto.
“These would be so much better with some coleslaw,” she says.
“I thought you were on your pre-wedding diet, Amber?” I ask. After she got engaged, she started exercising like crazy and existed pretty much on fruit and vegetables, determined to be as thin as Conni G on her big day. Although, come to think of it, I’ve not seen her doing her workouts in the lounge for a while.
“I am, but I’m starving and it’s ages until tea,” Amber says, screeching to a very delayed halt at a red light.
By the time we arrive at Millie’s, my knuckles are white from gripping the seat. We’ve narrowly avoided collisions with a moped, a pensioner and a double-decker bus, mainly caused by Amber’s inability to eat, talk and drive all at once.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say shakily, unpeeling my fingers and gathering my things together.
“No probs,” Amber says. She waves out of the window as she zooms off, then swerves wildly and nearly hits a parked car.
As I drag the bags towards Millie’s, I can hear shouting coming from an open window in their house. When I get nearer I can see Millie’s big sister, Sophie, and her dad having a row. Murphy seems to be joining in, howling loudly at the top of his doggy voice.
“Young lady, what do you look like?” Millie’s dad is shouting. “You’re not going out wearing that. You’ll catch your death of cold and you look like a… well, I’m not going to say what you look like.”
“What do you know about fashion? Your idea of an on-trend outfit is making sure your shirt’s not tucked into your pants,” Sophie screams back.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You’re grounded. Where are you goin
g? Come back here. I said, you’re grounded…”
Sophie charges out of the house wearing tiny black hot pants and a skimpy fuscia halter-neck that shows off her naval. She slams the door and barges past without saying a word. Within seconds the door flies open again. Millie’s dad stands in front of me, red-faced with fury and hanging onto Murphy’s collar for dear life.
“I swear I’ll kill that girl… Oh, er, hello, Suzy.” He focuses on my bags. “What’s all this? Millie didn’t mention you were coming to stay.”
“Erm, I’m not. These are just a few things Millie wanted me to bring over.”
“Really? That’s a lot of bags. Well, she’s upstairs. Go on up. You didn’t see which way Sophie went, did you?”
“Er, not exactly,” I say as I stagger inside. “Maybe in that direction?” I gesture vaguely. I’m staying well out of it.
As I approach Millie’s room, I can hear her singing very loudly – and very, very badly – to the newest Drifting song.
“Girls walk past me on the street,
But all I can think about is you,
All I can think about is yoooooooooooooou…”
Her voice cracks as she attempts – and fails – to hit the high note.
I knock and stick my head round the door. Millie’s leaping around on her bed, singing into her hairbrush. Millie’s room is just as messy as mine is, but much cooler because it’s decorated in this amazing deep purple colour, and is like a twinkle palace, with fluffy fairy lights draped over every surface. The walls are covered in posters of The Drifting, especially ones of the lead singer, Nate Devlin, who Millie adores.
“You’re finally here!” Millie squeals. “I’ve been waiting forever. Did you bring the clothes?”
“Course,” I say, dragging my suitcase and collection of carrier bags into the room. “Your hair looks great, by the way. Love the colour.” The original purple streak now has a bright pink one next to it.
Millie dives right in, throwing clothes out behind her like Murphy digging a hole in a sandpit. “This could work… This is a definite no… How do you still have this?… Oooh, this is gorge!”
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