by Davina Bell
But before I even have time to put down the drinks, someone comes up behind me and says, ‘Hey, everyone.’
I turn around to see a girl, tall and blonde, with smiley brown eyes and this incredible baggy peach jumper that has a wedge of Swiss cheese stitched onto the front. A girl Belle and I had a huge fight about last holidays when Belle wouldn’t stop talking about her and it got super annoying. My heart sinks. It’s Belle’s friend from boarding school. It’s –
‘Matilda – hi!’ I say, handing her a hot chocolate. Even though a part of me feels sulky that she’s gatecrashing tonight’s precious friend time, she looks a little nervous, so I give her a big smile. ‘How are you going?’
‘Hey, Lola. No, that’s OK – you keep that one for you,’ she says, waving away the ho cho as she realises I only have four.
‘You can have mine,’ calls Maisie, who prefers caramel to chocolate any day of the week.
‘Thanks, Mais,’ I say, handing the rest around and sitting down next to Soph. Togsley looks up at me like he’s saying, ‘Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while!’ I scratch his ears. ‘What’s up, Togs?’ I ask him. ‘What’s up, guys?’
‘Matilda’s staying for the holidays,’ Belle explains.
(WHAT?! The whole holidays?!?)
‘Thanks for the drink,’ she says, ‘though maybe next time you could bring your own mugs because –’
‘Disposable cups are killing the planet!’ we all finish together, because we’ve heard it so often. Belle’s right (she always is), but when it comes to saving the planet, she is intense.
Matilda laughs and, no joke, her laugh is like money dipped in honey – tinkling and rich.
‘So, um, you’re staying the whole holidays?’ I ask her. Usually Belle’s embarrassed to have anyone even visit her house, which is tiny and could do with a few repairs. She and Matilda must be really tight if Belle’s OK with her staying for two weeks straight.
‘Yeah,’ says Matilda. ‘I hope that’s not a hassle. I promise I’ll try not to be in the way.’
‘It’s great to have you here,’ says Soph as she tries to stop Togsley licking her cup.
‘Loles, can you take a picture of me doing this?’ Maisie asks as she does a pull-up on the gazebo roof beam and scissors her legs into splits between the loops of fairy lights. Since she broke her ribs, Maisie has been posting photos of her recovery to her Instagram to inspire other gymnasts who might be injured.
‘Sure.’ As I climb the steps, I notice Belle is wearing a T-shirt from a very cool band that Tally loves – the Huckle Roses. WHOA. This is like being in a national park and stumbling across a wombat wearing a tiny cowboy hat. My mind is blown.
‘Nice shirt,’ I say as I snap Maisie from lots of different angles. Boy, Maisie is strong!
‘Matilda got it for me. I’ve been listening to this band a lot,’ Belle says.
Since when does Belle have time to listen to music?! Every second of her day is scheduled, divided into blocks for studying and doing extracurricular activities and waging war on climate change. And how does Matilda know about the Huckle Roses?! A sour feeling rises at the back of my throat. It’s a feeling I have a lot when I’m around Tally. I try to swallow it down because, as my mum always says, jealousy is not a productive emotion.
‘They’re awesome,’ I say enthusiastically. ‘In, like, a gloomy way. And the lead singer has those amazing zombie contact lenses.’
‘I’ve been listening to RexRoy’s new album nonstop,’ says Sophia. ‘It’s so good.’
‘WHAT?!’ Maisie and I say together.
RexRoy is my brother’s band and, TBH, lots of people are listening to them right now because they have a song on the radio. But even I haven’t heard their new album, which they still haven’t finished recording. And Sophia is usually clueless when it comes to music. I didn’t even know she owned headphones. This is totally weird.
‘How did you get a copy of it?’ I ask. ‘It’s not finished yet.’
‘Patrick and I ran into Rishi at the shops and he sent me the latest version,’ she says.
Patrick was Gracie’s best friend. Between you and me, he’s kind of dreamy.
‘And then she sent it to me,’ says Belle. ‘I’ve been listening, too. I like the songs based on those Edgar Allan Poe poems. Very deep.’
‘Well, nobody sent it to me,’ I say hotly.
‘Dude, he’s your brother,’ says Maisie. ‘Why didn’t he send it to you? Did you ask?’
‘No …’ I say defensively. ‘I’ve been kind of busy.’
‘Oh yeah! How did your big end-of-term project go?’ asks Sophia.
I pause. Should I … do I dare? Do I tell them about what I did at Clives last week?
Turns out, I don’t dare. I’m never telling anyone. Ever. Full stop.
‘OK, I guess.’ I shrug. Yick. Liar! ‘Guys, let’s do a selfie,’ I say as Maisie drops down off the roof beam. ‘Someone put a beanie on Togsley.’
Belle whips off her beanie to put on his head, and I get the second massive shock of the evening …
She’s cut her hair!
This is truly monumental. Belle has had the same haircut since she’s had hair, and that haircut is ‘long and straight’. Is it possible … has Belle the mega-nerd suddenly become cool? Is that why she hasn’t been in touch as much this term? It kind of fits with the whole Huckle Roses thing. Is she too cool to be friends with us anymore, now that she has Matilda?
‘Say gorgonzola!’ says Soph as I angle the phone and click away.
When I’m done, we all jostle to see ourselves. Belle is tucking her hair behind her ear, looking proud of her haircut. Maisie is crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. Togsley is licking Soph’s face. Matilda’s smile is a little shy, like she’s not quite sure if she belongs. And me? I’m frowning, like I’m literally, that second, figuring out that my lifelong best friend has become a completely different person, and it doesn’t feel good.
‘It’s called a lob,’ Belle says, seeing me gawking at her hair. ‘That’s a long bob.’
‘I know what a lob is,’ I say frostily – and then catch myself. ‘It looks really good,’ I tell her.
It looks way beyond good. It looks incredible – chic and sophisticated. It frames her face and sits in this perfect way that makes her look older. It looks grown-up. It looks expensive.
‘Who did it?’ I ask, wondering, because Belle and her mum don’t have a lot of money. Belle’s mum is quite a well-known artist, but she’s what Belle would call ‘irresponsible with her finances’. That means that when she gets money for one of her paintings, she spends it straight away.
‘Matilda’s mum took us to a place,’ Belle says, and as I look at Matilda, she seems kind of embarrassed.
Here’s the thing about Matilda: one of her mums (she has two) is a famous movie actress. Like, super famous – the kind who has people hiding in her bushes to take photographs to sell to trashy magazines. Every movie she’s in is HUGE, and she gets the best part – well, the best part for a woman, which isn’t always the best part. (I know about how unfair that is because Belle did an assignment on it in year six.) When there was a new movie version of The Sound of Music last year, MATILDA’S MUM WAS MARIA VON TRAPP!
I think how beautiful that hair salon would have been, and how my own curly hair would never sit as straight and perfect as that lob, and how they were there together, Belle and Matilda, and I feel envy crackling in my heart. I try desperately to push it down. Our group isn’t jealous or bitchy like some snooty girl gangs. We support each other. We LOVE each other! It’s our thing. And even though she’s crashing our BFF time, Matilda is nice. Argh! Conflicted. This isn’t how I imagined our reunion at all.
‘Guys, I’ve missed you,’ I say as I plonk myself onto one of the little benches in the gazebo. ‘Whose dumb idea was it to go to different high schools?’
‘You’re the one who convinced me to apply for that scholarship to Hollyoakes,’ Belle points out, sitting down on
my right. The others squish in around us. Maisie has to sit on my lap because there aren’t enough seats with Matilda here too.
‘And you’re the one who said that I’d have better access to tech stuff at Cloud Town Girls Grammar,’ says Maisie, ‘so I shouldn’t make a fuss about going there. Even though I wanted to go to Sunnystream High with Soph. You were right, by the way,’ she adds.
‘And you’re the one who went away and left me,’ says Soph. ‘And promised to come back every weekend. Which you definitely have not.’
‘I know, I know,’ I groan. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m just joking,’ says Soph. ‘Except I really do miss you.’
‘Sounds like the situation is all your fault,’ says Matilda with a wink.
‘It always is,’ I tell her. ‘OK. Holiday tradition: one line of family gossip.’
I go first. ‘It’s our family’s turn to look after Pony Soprano these holidays! Starting tomorrow.’ (He lives in a stable in Corner Park, and each school holidays one family brushes him and feeds him and all that jazz. Gwynnie and Pop have been waiting for this moment for practically their whole lives. They’re going out of their tiny minds with excitement.)
Soph: Her mum and dad are back together FOR REAL (it’s complicated, but they were sort of split up for a while after Soph’s sister died). They renewed their vows on a beach in New Caledonia last week, which is why Soph has so many more freckles than usual. She doesn’t mention her birthday’s next week. Maisie already messaged me and Lola to say Sophia misses Gracie too much to celebrate it, so we don’t mention it either.
‘Is that all you want to say?’ says Maisie a little slyly, like she has a secret. ‘Nothing else you want to share?’
‘Shut UP!’ says Sophia, who, even under the fairy lights, is clearly glowing red with embarrassment.
‘About what?’ I ask.
‘Someone has a cru-ush,’ Maisie says in a sing-songy way.
‘Ooooh!’ we chorus – except Belle, who just frowns. Maybe she’s too cool for things like crushes now.
‘On who?’ I ask.
‘She won’t tell,’ says Maisie, ‘but she has definitely been writing love poetry. She’s always texting, or smiling to herself, or disappearing somewhere.’
Soph buries her head in Togsley’s fur. Cute!
‘Well, good luck with that,’ Belle says swiftly, like thinking about boys is a waste of time.
I give her a look, like, Be supportive! After everything Soph’s been through, she deserves all the good things in the world. ‘A mystery romance!’ I say. ‘Love it. And we’ve got two whole weeks together. We’ll get it out of you by the end. Maisie – family gossip?’
Maisie: Her parents have started an Instagram account called @gymcrazymaisiescrazyparents
‘That’s kind of a long name, isn’t it?’ I ask doubtfully. I spend a lot of time on Instagram, so I know this stuff.
‘That’s what I told them,’ says Maisie. ‘It’s the internet! Everything’s got to be bite-sized so you can read it in three seconds.’
‘You’re just saying that because you don’t like reading,’ teases Sophia, who loves reading. She always knows what the good new books are before anyone else does. Kind of like our family knows the good new things on TV and the cool bands before anyone else, and Maisie knows when new emoji are released, and Belle knows all the depressing new statistics about how long we have until the planet overheats and we have to live on Mars.
‘How did you convince your parents to let you do gym again, anyway?’ I ask, remembering how they freaked out about her injury and tried to pull the pin on the whole gym thing.
Maisie doesn’t say anything for a moment, just fiddles with the zipper on her puffer jacket. Soph reaches over and squeezes her knee.
‘When I couldn’t train for all those weeks, I got kind of … down. Depressed, I guess you’d call it. That’s what the doctor did call it. And I guess my parents saw how much gym meant to me.’
‘Oh, Maisie,’ I say, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing, feeling as if I could cry. Maisie is so chirpy and positive and steady. She must really have been in a bad place. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise. I’ve been on another planet this term. I haven’t been a good friend.’
‘That’s OK. I’m just glad I can train again. Hey, thanks for those graphic novels you sent me when I was recovering,’ Maisie says to Matilda. ‘They were awesome, and Soph’s right – I usually hate books.’
‘That’s what Belle told me,’ Matilda says, ‘but I thought I’d send them just in case. Raina Telgemeier’s my favourite. Glad you liked them.’
Now I really do nearly cry. Even an almost-stranger has been a better friend to Maisie than me. I vow in my heart to make it up to these guys next term.
‘You didn’t do your lines of family gossip,’ Maisie says to Belle and Matilda.
‘Oh – umm, my mum’s away filming. Again. And my other mum’s gone too this time,’ says Matilda. ‘So that’s why I’m here.’
‘My hair’s my gossip,’ Belle says briskly. ‘There’s nothing else to tell.’
Matilda coughs – that kind of fake cough you do when you’re saying something’s bull-shirt. Belle glares at her. Matilda raises an eyebrow.
‘Fine,’ says Belle. ‘Pete and I aren’t together anymore.’
Pete was her tall, gorgeous, one-eyed boyfriend, who she’d had a fifteen-year plan to marry.
‘WHAT!’ I say. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Why did you break up? Who dumped who?’
‘I didn’t feel ready to be in a relationship,’ Belle says.
Matilda raises her other eyebrow.
‘OK, fine. He beat me on our Chinese exam and I threw a waffle at his head,’ Belle confesses.
‘You didn’t!’ says Soph.
‘In his face?’ asks Maisie.
‘The waffle hit his hair, the syrup slid down his face,’ Matilda tells us, ‘and he had to go to sick bay because it also had peanut butter on it and he gets an anaphylactic reaction.’
‘What’s Anna-Phil-whatsit?’ asks Maisie.
That’s the thing I love about Maisie – she’s never afraid to ask when she doesn’t know something, like whether there’s a bridge between Hawaii and the mainland of the United States. Everyone at Clives pretends like they know everything, so it makes it scary to ask questions when you don’t have a clue what’s going on. You feel as if you’re the only dunce.
‘Anaphylaxis is when your body goes into shock and you have to use an EpiPen, which is basically a syringe full of medicine,’ Belle explains. ‘Anyway, we broke up.’
Matilda clears her throat. She might have muscled in on my friend territory, but I’m kind of loving the fact that there’s someone at Hollyoakes who’s keeping Belle in line.
‘Fine. He dumped me,’ says Belle. ‘But I’m over it now. Mostly,’ she adds quickly, before Matilda can do the eyebrow thing again. And suddenly it all makes sense – the new hair, listening to the Huckle Roses (whose most popular song is ‘Misery Love’), missing our FaceTimes, seeming distracted. She’s not too cool for us. She’s not coping because she’s having feelings. Sweet relief!!
‘Do you have a broken heart?’ I ask gently. Boys and romance are two of my top twenty-five areas of interest.
‘Of course not,’ she says immediately. ‘But, um, if I did … how would I know?’
‘Well, do you think about him all the time?’ I ask.
‘I think about the two marks higher than me that he got on that Chinese test. Is that the same?’
‘For you, it could be,’ I muse. ‘Have you written anything – a poem about him, an email begging him to get back together, a song?’
‘I emailed asking if he wanted to join a group who are committed to spending next term memorising the digits of pi to twenty thousand places,’ Belle says seriously.
‘Sure,’ I say, trying really hard not to poke fun at that. I can’t believe two seconds ago I was worried she was too cool to be ou
r friend.
‘And I dream about him,’ Belle says quietly in a voice I have literally never heard her use before – sad and still. ‘I dream about him every night. And from a distance, I think every boy is him, coming towards me. But it never is. He’s avoiding me at school. I haven’t seen him for fifteen days, nine hours and thirteen minutes. Approximately.’
We’re all silent for a moment. None of us has ever had a boyfriend so it’s hard to know what to say.
‘We’re here for you,’ I tell her. ‘And these holidays are going to be epic. Tomorrow let’s have breakfast and plan what we’re going to do each day, starting with –’
Soph’s phone starts to ring. ‘Sorry – one sec,’ she says, ‘but I can’t do tomorrow. I’ve got a Girl Guides first aid thing. And later this week I have – hello?’ she says into her phone, running away to have some privacy. (Totally a boy call!)
‘I’m so sorry too, guys, but it’s past eight-thirty and I really have to go,’ says Maisie, jumping off my lap. ‘I’ve got training tomorrow at six.’
‘Even over the holidays?’ Matilda asks.
‘Especially over the holidays,’ says Maisie.
‘Are you free after that?’ I ask, but I bet I already know the answer.
Maisie looks pained. ‘I’ve got a leotard fitting at ten and choreography at two. State Champs is only two weeks away. But I’ll see you on the Snaps?’
‘Sure,’ I tell her, keeping my voice light and breezy, like I really don’t mind, even though I really do.
‘We should go, too,’ says Belle as Maisie runs off.
‘Already? I thought … I thought we’d all be hanging out tonight,’ I say. ‘I thought we’d be hanging out all holidays.’
‘Yeah, well, between Sophia’s new boyfriend and Maisie’s gym and my commitment to memorising pi to twenty thousand places, that might not happen,’ says Belle flatly. ‘Sometimes life doesn’t go how we planned.’
‘I could help you memorise pi,’ I offer. ‘I could, like, test you.’
‘Matilda’s already taught me a great technique called the memory palace,’ Belle says. ‘Hey – you should go call your mums,’ she tells Matilda. ‘You promised you’d ring to say good morning, or whatever it is where they are now.’