by Lil Chase
What does that mean? He scrawls the line across the page. I want to ask him about it, but the scariest thing about Luke is that I have no idea what will make him flip.
‘Err … um … L-Luke?’ I start.
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I say, losing my nerve.
‘Say it,’ he says.
‘No, it’s nothing. It’s OK,’ I say.
He pauses before asking, ‘Maya, are you scared of me?’
I stare at the page and mumble a ‘No’, hoping that’s the answer he wants me to give.
He leans his head over to one side and tries to get under mine so he can look me in the eyes. ‘Maya,’ he says, ‘I know you saw me and Angus McAllister the other day …’
I shake my head and keep my eyes on the page. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He sighs. ‘It wasn’t what it looked like.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ I say quickly. ‘I didn’t really see anything anyway.’
He smiles. ‘Good. Because I wouldn’t want a square bear like you to snitch.’
He called me a square bear, which is only one step up from tragically uncool. ‘Why do you think I’m a square bear?’ I ask.
‘It hovers around you like a stink,’ he says.
‘Thanks very much!’ I reply.
He’s grinning and I wonder if he thinks being a square bear is a good thing. I don’t understand this boy.
‘Square bear,’ I repeat with a smile. ‘Stop showing off your rhyming skills.’
He smiles back. ‘So you’re not a square bear and you’re not going to tell on me?’
I shake my head. ‘No, and no,’ I say.
‘Good, because I don’t want to be excluded from yet another school. Not when I’m starting to really like this one.’
I think I’m blushing.
‘Right,’ he says, ‘you try—’
The bell goes for the end of class. Luke pushes back his chair, puts on the scowl he seems to wear for everyone but me, picks up his backpack and walks towards the door.
‘Sit down, please, Luke,’ says Miss Draper.
Luke continues walking.
‘Luke! Come back here now,’ says Miss Draper.
But Luke doesn’t stop. He walks right out of the room.
Zeba runs over to me and stares after Luke. ‘Are you OK?’ she says. ‘What was that about?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know,’ I say.
How can someone who is so nice with me be so horrible to everyone else?
Chapter 18
‘So I was looking back over the secrets and I think I’ve solved one.’ I’m lying on my bed, talking to Frankie down the phone, staring at the piece of paper in front of me.
‘Ooo, which one? Do tell,’ she says.
‘It’s the one that says, I didn’t do what they think I did, but I’ll let them think it. Everyone in this school’s going to be afraid of me. Starting with the freaks who are completely uncool. Raphael deserves it.’
‘The cryptic one!’ says Frankie, and I know her so well I can just imagine her placing her forefinger on her chin as she thinks. ‘Who is it?’
I’m tempted to string it out and make her wait but I can’t stand the suspense myself. ‘Luke Marino!’ I screech.
‘Who?’ she asks. ‘The school bully?’
‘That’s just it,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure he is a bully.’ I roll over on my back and gaze up at the ceiling as I run through my own thinking. ‘The secret was at the top of the pile, so it’s newish. He’s so nice when it’s just me and him – really sweet, and funny too. I don’t think he can be the big bully that we all think he is.’
‘But you saw him hit that boy,’ Frankie reminds me.
‘He didn’t actually hit the boy; he was just threatening him.’
‘Oh, well, that’s perfectly all right then,’ she says. ‘Maya, you don’t think—’
‘When he says that Raphael deserves it, maybe he means deserves in the nice way. I think he lets people think he’s a bully to help himself, and Raphael … whoever that is.’
‘Hmm,’ Frankie says. ‘Raphael is not a common name, so it should be fairly easy to track him down. But I think it’s a bit far-fetched.’
‘It’s not, I have proof!’ I pull my bag over to the bed, get out my English exercise book and find the page where Luke wrote his lines of our poem. ‘I’m going to send you two photos, then I’ll call you back.’
Using my phone I take a photo of the secret and a photo of the poem, then send them both to Frankie. I wait two minutes for the photos to go through – which feels like ages – then call.
‘See?!’ I say, before even saying hello.
‘Hmm, the “them” on both is pretty similar, I’ll give you that.’
‘Luke isn’t a bully after all!’ I yell. ‘That explains why he’s so lovely to be around when it’s just me and him but why he’s hideous to everyone else.’
‘It could do,’ says Frankie.
‘And do you see the line he wrote about having to pretend to be someone he’s not. That’s clearly what he’s doing! He’s a nice guy, trying to protect this Raphael person. Now I can’t wait for our next English class!’
‘There could be another explanation.’
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Maybe he fancies you.’
‘Do you think so? No, he can’t. Maybe he does. But I doubt it. Why would he like me? Do you think he does?’
‘And do you know what else, Maya Louise Andrews?’ she says, and I pick up a smile in her voice.
‘What?’
‘I think you fancy him too!’ she says this like she’s a detective who’s just outwitted the master criminal.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I say, giggling. ‘I do not fancy Lucas Marino.’
‘Oh really,’ says Frankie. ‘But he’s nice and funny and you can’t wait for your next English class with him.’ She puts on my voice as she says all this.
‘I can’t wait for my next English class because I like English, as you well know.’
‘And because you heart Luke Marino!’ she gloats.
‘I do not heart Luke Marino!’ I say. ‘I heart Ben Sands.’
‘Whatever you say, Beffy.’
‘Why would I fancy Luke, who looks like a thug and spends his time terrifying people, when I could fancy Ben Sands, who is gorgeous beyond all measure and is one of the most popular people in school?’
‘Who are you trying to convince, Maya?’ Frankie says, a little too smugly for my liking. ‘Me, or yourself?’
Frankie’s thrown doubt on my brilliant theory. Luke probably is a bully. And I’ve seen him bullying with my own eyes. Then why do I have this feeling he’s pretending to be someone he’s not, like he said in his poem?
But Frankie’s crazy if she thinks he fancies me. And even crazier if she thinks I fancy him back!
Chapter 19
Mum comes in from work and drops her bags in a heap on the floor.
‘Don’t just leave them there for me to trip over!’ I say.
‘You sound like your gran,’ Mum says with a sigh.
‘Well … she has a point.’ I don’t mean to be grumpy with Mum, but it’s almost nine o’clock and I’m starving.
‘How was your day?’ she asks, coming over and kissing the top of my head.
I shrug. ‘OK.’
‘Are you liking it better at Mount Selwyn? Have you made any cool friends yet?’
Images of Zeba – crazy, fun Zeba flash through my mind. My friend, but she’s certainly not cool. I see Ben Sands and his chestnut-brown eyes. Weirdly, I also see Luke Marino.
‘It’s OK.’
‘See! I told you that moving was the right thing to do. Away from the bullies at St Cecilia’s. And away from You Know Who.’
Suddenly I burst into full on tears. Which surprises me as much as it seems to surprise Mum.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Mum asks, wrapping her arms round me.
‘Everything’s so difficult at Mount Selwyn,’ I cry. ‘I’ve tried to make friends with the cool girls and ended up being mean to Frankie. I told the cool girls I have a boyfriend, when I don’t, obviously.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I’m always alone when I get home from school. And—’
‘I …’ Mum takes a step away from me. ‘You said you didn’t mind being alone for a few hours.’
‘Well, I lied! To be nice!’ I cover my face with my hands.
Mum pulls me forward again and I mush into her round stomach. ‘I’m sorry, Sweet Dream,’ she says, and strokes my hair.
I pull back and look up at her, my tears making her blurry. ‘To be honest, I’d even prefer to have Dave around. With his rubbish dinners and stinky socks. At least then I wouldn’t be by myself.’
Mum’s face falls. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve messed up again.’ She sighs. Her eyes are welling and I realize that I’ve made her cry too.
Now I feel bad. I take a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Mum, it’s not your fault.’
‘You have nothing to feel sorry for, Sweet Dream. I’ve been really stupid recently, but it’s the hormones. Once the baby comes I’ll be back to normal. I promise.’
She hugs me again, but I don’t feel better. Normal for Mum is still not normal. We used to joke about how I was the adult and she was the child. We’ve done it for years. She’s always been like this, even before the hormones.
It’s after ten now and me and Mum are sitting side by side in front of the computer, both of us armed with virgin strawberry daiquiris and bagels. Mum gets Facebook up on the screen.
‘OK,’ she says, ‘what is your boyfriend’s name?’
‘Hitachi.’
Mum raises an eyebrow.
‘Don’t ask,’ I say with a smile.
Mum laughs. ‘OK then!’ She types in ‘Hitachi’ to the profile set-up page. ‘What else?’
I have to remember all the lies I have told about him. ‘He’s Japanese.’
‘Ooo, I like exotic men.’ She types away.
‘He’s in Year 12 and he’s the captain of the rugby team,’ I tell her.
‘I would expect nothing less for my girl!’ she says. ‘Oh, and let’s make him a Sagittarius – they are so sexy!’ She adds his date of birth, and rugby into interests.
Next we search Google images for a cute picture of a Japanese boy wearing a rugby shirt.
‘Perfect,’ I say.
‘He is perfect,’ says Mum. ‘But perfect is still not good enough for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say.
‘Now all we need to do is press in a relationship with … Maya Andrews.’ She links his page to mine and I quickly confirm that we’re in a relationship.
‘Hey presto – you have a boyfriend!’
And I realize that my mum can be the best sometimes.
‘Oh, look,’ Mum says. ‘You have a friend request from someone called Lucas Marino.’ She peers at the photo. ‘He looks nice.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I say. I saw this friend request before, but I’m not being Facebook friends with him. Everyone says he’s the school bully, it’s only me who’s stupid enough to doubt it.
Mum takes the mouse. ‘Just press not now then.’
‘No!’ I yell. Where did that come from?
Mum looks at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I just … I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ I tell her.
‘OK.’ She grins at me and I know she’s about to do something awful. She leans back, then quickly lurches forward and presses the button to accept him as a friend.
‘Muuuuum!’ I wail. My mum is the worst sometimes.
‘What? If you’re not sure about him, just defriend him later.’
But I don’t want to do that either.
Chapter 20
Me and Zeba are looking over the secrets after school. My room is getting too small for all these pieces of paper.
‘It might be easier if we did this at your house,’ I say to Zeba. ‘Bring the box of secrets there and—’
‘But we never have chocolate at my house. You always have chocolate,’ says Zeba.
She makes a good point.
We look at the secrets and Zeba picks one up and reads it out for me to type into the spreadsheet.
‘Are we sure we haven’t had this one before?’
I look back over the list. ‘No, we had: I wish I was normal. Also one that says: I wish I was like everyone else.’ I pick up another piece of paper from the floor. ‘And this one says: I am an absolute freak.’
‘Are they written by the same person?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘They all have different writing.’
While I think about that for a second Zeba makes a hmm noise.
I look up. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she says. But subtlety has never been Zeba’s strong point.
‘Come on, out with it.’
‘Is Frankie all right?’ she asks.
I cough. ‘Yes.’ I cough again. I can tell what’s coming so I don’t ask any more.
‘I get the feeling she’s angry with me.’
I’ve been meaning to explain to Frankie that it wasn’t Zeba’s fault that we left her at Starbucks, but I haven’t had the chance.
‘Why would you think that?’ I ask.
Who am I kidding? I speak to Frankie three times a day. It’s not that I haven’t had the chance – I’m just a coward.
‘She hasn’t been replying to my texts,’ says Zeba. ‘Even the hilarious ones.’
‘Hmm,’ I say. I’ve been hoping this will blow over.
‘Do … Do you think she’s jealous of our friendship?’
‘What? No!’ I say, trying to reassure her. ‘Frankie’s better than that.’
When I asked Frankie if she wanted to come over tonight, she asked if Zeba was coming. When I said yes, she suddenly said she needed to finish some homework.
‘Well, good then,’ says Zeba. ‘It just feels a bit wrong filling in the spreadsheet without her.’
‘Like listening to VDP without you. Come on,’ I say, desperate to change the subject, ‘back to the secrets.’
I pick one up from the pile.
And another.
And the next.
One after another; every one written by a different person, every one saying the same thing. ‘They all feel lonely and weird and sad and wish they could tell someone about it,’ says Zeba.
‘And the saddest thing is that everyone is feeling the same way,’ I say. Me included; I’m always wishing I was more like everyone else.
‘I don’t!’ says Zeba, ‘but I guess that makes me weird.’ She grins. Trust Zeba to be the weirdo who revels in being a weirdo.
‘What can we do to help all these people?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Zeba. ‘It’s so tragically sad.’
Tragically. The word that was used by the person who passed the note about me.
‘What did you just say?’ I ask her.
‘What?’
‘Tragically.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, with a shrug. ‘It’s so tragically sad.’
‘Does everyone say that at Mount Selwyn?’ I ask.
Zeba starts rifling through the secrets again. ‘I suppose,’ she says. There are two A4 sheets of paper folded together and Zeba picks them up. ‘It’s like you and hideous; it’s just a word we use.’
I try to think whether I’ve heard anyone else use it.
Zeba unfolds the A4 sheets. ‘How many secrets can one person have?’ she says, ‘OMG!’ she squeals, and flips it round to show me.
It’s a poem! ‘Read it out!’
Zeba stands up, ready to make a dramatic performance of it. Honestly, she could make a dramatic performance out of the back of a cereal packet. She clears her throat. ‘It’s called, “L Is Hell”.’
‘L is hell?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Now don’
t interrupt.
L.
L is heLL.
Neither first to be caLLed
nor best saved tiLL Last
aLways Lost in the middLe.
If I couLd I wouLd
change my name to Ackerman
or Adams or Anderson
waLk up to the podium
and start with a bang.
If I were Zuckerman
or Watters or White
the grand finaLe
their Lasting impression
wouLd be me.
They’d say,
‘She was good, that Last one,
reaLLy rounded off the show!’
But they’LL never know
cos I’m Lost in the middLe
where L becomes heLL
and Least and aLone.
They chose that moment to go
for refreshments.
They’ve never heard my words.
Zeba puts down the paper and she and I stare at each other in silence for a moment.
‘That was really good, wasn’t it?’ Zeba says finally.
I nod. ‘And yet another person who feels sad and unnoticed,’ I say.
Zeba picks up the papers again and flips them back and forth. Then she gasps. ‘I don’t believe it – Maya, look!’
She thrusts the paper in my face. I see the word I least expect. ‘Karmella.’ I cannot stop staring at the word. ‘Karmella can’t have written this, can she?’
Zeba is doing a weird mixture of shaking her head and nodding at the same time. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
But there’s her name.
‘Karmella’s last name is Loughton,’ she reminds me. ‘Begins with an L.’
‘We need to do this poetry competition,’ I say. ‘Let’s get the plans to Miss Draper asap.’
If everyone knew that we all felt the same way, that we are all as sad and weird as each other, then we’d all be a lot happier, wouldn’t we? If a problem shared is a problem halved, what would happen when everyone shares with everyone? So many people would be fixed.
Zeba looks at me and nods. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’
So Zeba and I get to work.