by Beth Garrod
Great. Another chance to not be a total weirdo around him, and I’d blown it. I had to get it together. Next time I HAD to be normal. Be in control.
But next time came quicker than I wanted. Because at the exact moment Adam hoofed the ball back to the goalkeeper, Mumbles spontaneously found all her energy and pelted straight after it. And with her lead wrapped around my wrist, she jolted me along with her.
I would like to say nowhere near Adam.
I would like to say, at the worst, lightly into Adam’s back.
But, oh no. My dog ran with such force, I positively flew up and on to Adam’s back.
Oh. My. Holy. Whatballs.
I, Bella Fisher, was mounting the man of my dreams.
SOMEONE CTRL-Z THE WORLD RIGHT NOW.
The force of the impact – grim-pact – was so brutal he fell forward.
With no idea what’d hit him, he spun round, startled, only to discover me bent double, trying to regain my breath after that full body blow. Was I repeating the word “no” in my head – or out loud?
“You all right, Bella?”
Correct answer: OBVS NO COS I JUST SEMI-RUGBY TACKLED THE MAN OF MY DREAMS, AKA YOU.
Luckily all I could manage was a “Sorryyes” and a point at Mumbles who was now panting so hard she had a dribble of spit going all the way down to the floor.
But Adam just laughed, ruffled Mumbles on the head, and ran back to his friends, as if he hadn’t just been the unwitting victim of a drive-by piggybacking.
Well, THAT was a disaster. Again.
Tegan gave me a supportive smile. “At least you don’t need to stress about what to do if he tries to instigate a hand hold any more – you skipped that base entirely.”
She was being too nice for me to point out that hand holding wasn’t a base, unless bases came in quarters to help absolute novices like me.
Rach nudged my arm. “Exactly. A unique-yet-effective approach. And anyway, Bells, life is going to be OK! Remember – the Helicans.”
I raised an eyebrow, seemingly the only bodily muscle I could rely on. “Yes, Rachel Waters – maybe Adam’s votes swung it?”
“Ahhhh… I meant to say I’d mentioned the competition when we bumped into him in the shop the other day, but I, er…” Rach chewed her lip. “I, errrr… Anyway, look, SORRY. I’m an idiot. But every vote counted… And he didn’t seem to mind.”
I raised my other eyebrow. “He also didn’t seem to mind me doing a rucksack impersonation on him.”
Rach nodded firmly. “And THAT is why he puts the F in Fadam.”
She had me. I couldn’t help but smile. My friends were the best.
Rach clapped her hands. “Anyway … mooooving on. Radio Shire have just posted that the first round of the competition to win the gig for the school is gonna be…” She dramatic–paused, ignoring the sound of Mumbles trying to lick up her own slobber. “Tonight! Eight o’clock, to be precise.” Rach looked at her wrist even though there was no watch on it. “That’s TWO hours’ time.”
I gulped. Mikey OTT-gasped. But Tegan muttered an, “Oh, sssshhh…” – as close as she ever came to swearing. She swung her kit bag up over her shoulder and gave Mikey the quickest kiss on the cheek, like they were impersonating parents. Weird.
“Guys, sorry, but I have to go. If it’s six I’m already late for gymnastics.” Tegan was never late for anything, let alone training. That’s what having a choking, leaping best friend does to someone’s punctuality. “Bells, you wanna walk with me?”
Obvs. The first bit of the journey to Tegan’s sports hall was also the way to my house, so I’d get company and not break my promise to Mum to be back for tea. With Rach saying she’d message our group with full deets for tonight, I scurried after Teeg.
We chatted about the comp the entire way. Things like this never happened here. Tegan calculated there must be about a hundred and thirty-five schools in the area, which meant … some sort of percentage that St Mary’s, our one, could win the gig. Which was the biggest percentage we’d probably ever have of seeing the Helicans – especially if I had to exist on a lifetime allowance of 10p a week.
Now that it was just the two of us, Tegan admitted that she probably wasn’t going to be able to help us take part tonight because training was going to be one of her mega-long sessions. But I got it – and Rach would too. Tegan’s try-out for a place on this gymnastics training camp was only four weeks away. It was the gateway to the national team, aka her life dream, and she’d been putting in more hours than ever.
She was so talented she’d definitely get a place, but in all the time I’d known her (since my memory began) I’d never seen her so stressed. Or even stressed at all. I used the walk to try and hint again that I was worried she was doing too much. But as usual she subject changed like a pro and headed off to do some stretches that sounded like a form of torture.
I messaged Rach to give her the heads-up that it would just be us doing the competition tonight. In her usual positive Rach way, she replied with a stream of motivational gifs of power women. She was fired up.
And she was right – winning the gig for St Mary’s would be a TOTAL dream. But with Tegan out of the picture, that’s probably all it would stay.
CHAPTER
TWO
Thanks to my double-speed walk home I made it back on time. Annoyingly, that also meant Mum roped me into vegetable peeling. It got less annoying when I beat my previous best-ever single potato-peel length by four centimetres. (Mum offered to pin it on the noticeboard next to Jo, my wonder-sis’s certificate for “Outstanding Citizenship”, but I declined.) I’d got more practice than ever now Jo was staying at uni for the summer. She’d probably done it just to avoid peeling things.
After a surprisingly filling dinner of “Carrot-sserole” (Mum’s casserole that consists only of carrot), I headed up to my room to tune into the competition.
JO: Tell me I didn’t spot Mum in that photo of the Naked Swimming protest????
Her message popped up on my laptop.
ME: I totally COULD tell you that.
I pressed send then waited for just a second too long before following up.
ME: But I’d be lying.
I felt Jo recoil, even though she was a hundred and thirty miles away. Her response took a while.
JO: Just wiping vom off my keyboard.
ME: As if?! I’m the one stuck here with people recognizing her. You’re freeeeeeeeee!
JO: If by free you mean spending summer working in a garden centre where my boss hates me and makes me hand-pick slugs off manky plants? Yeah! Freeeeeee’s GREAT.
ME: Sludder (Slug-Shudder). Do the managers pay extra $$$ for crustacean trauma?
JO: They’re molluscs.
ME: That’s no way to talk about your bosses.
JO: Ha. Very ha.
She paused.
JO: Sorry, Peahead. I sound like a right moan.
I couldn’t help but admire her effective apology/insult combo.
“…” appeared and disappeared as she typed and deleted what to say next.
JO: Just uni stuff isn’t so good at the mo.
Woah, role reversal. It was never Jo who came to ME with problems. How could I cheer up her up?
ME: But … you get to eat Dairy Milk sandwiches as an actual meal?
It had been the one thing Jo had told me about uni life that had made me think further education was the right choice for me.
JO: Plus I have zero time for running training.
This also sounded like a positive.
But hearing her worry was weird. Through all her exams, athletics meets, and family drama (even that time Mumbles put the neighbours’ tortoise in her bag and we didn’t discover it till we were midway through a film in the cinema) I’d never seen my big sister even the tiniest bit flustered. This had to be a blip.
As I went to reply, my door banged, and then flew open. Mum doesn’t understand knock and wait. It’s a knock-and-walk single fluid motion with her. Ins
tinctively I pulled my laptop in tighter and sat upright on my bed. Mum’s eyes lit up with excitement that I might have something to hide.
“Oooh, chatting with friends?” Mum thought that anyone below the age of twenty only used the internet to talk to mysterious hot strangers around the world. She didn’t understand I mainly used it to chat to the two people who I spent most of the rest of the day chatting to. Or looking at slow-mo dog videos.
“Messaging Jo, actually.”
She mouthed an overly large, “HOW IS SHE?” as if Jo could hear. I glanced down.
JO: I seriously hate my life RN. Might jack it all in and live on a commune.
I gave an overly enthusiastic “GREAT!” back at Mum and tried to waft her out of my room. She mouthed, “SEND HER MY LOVE,” and walked out backwards, sort of weirdly bowing while blowing kisses. It’s such a worry that we’re related.
As a deterrent to her coming back in, I flicked my speakers up a couple of notches.
ME: Mum says hi. And is being weird.
JO: It would be more weird if she wasn’t.
Ouch. I shifted around on the mattress, as I’d developed a weird bum twitch.
ME: She also said (with her eyes)(probably) tell Jo not to run off to a commune cos then I can’t 24/7 brag about my favourite child.
Jo sent back a cry-laugh face, but I could tell she didn’t mean it.
I must have something that could help? Anything?
ME: Look, Josephine.
That wasn’t her name, but it was harder for her to interrupt me when I could type faster than her.
ME: What would you say if it was the other way round?
Excellent question from me – her big-sis ego loved nothing more than dishing out words of wisdom, whether I wanted them or not. (I never did.)
JO: I’d say – woah! You actually managed to hold down a job?
ME: And I’d stab you with a pencil.
ME: But then what would you say?
JO: Stop stabbing me?
ME: Y’know what I mean.
JO: I’d say…
Yesssss. Actual thinking. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist being wise and knowing.
JO: Hang in there… Life’s always up and down. Getting qualifications and getting paid both take effort, ’specially at the same time. But you get out what you put in.
Man, my sis was fluent in Mum-Speak. I highlighted the text.
ME: OK, Jo. So now I’ve had a think, I know what I want to say.
I pasted and sent her advice right back at her.
JO: OHWOWLIKEURSOFUNNY.
ME: Finally, something we agree on!
My bum twitched again. At least I had a muscle in there somewhere.
JO: Gotta go. House viewing of University Challenge.
ME: Forget the degree. THAT’S what you need to stay for.
JO: Good point. Sis done good. Seeya xxx
Being reminded of all those fam evenings in front of the TV (Jo shouting right answers, me shouting abuse at how the words in the questions didn’t even make sense) made me want to flick University Challenge on too. Not that I missed her or anything.
Although… WAIT. EIGHT P.M.?!
AM I OFFICIALLY THE WORLD’S BIGGEST IDIOT?!
If it was almost eight, that meant…
I ran to my radio, and scrolled up to Radio Shire. How did I almost miss this?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN?!
“So, after the MAH-OO-SIVE news that it’s US, Radio Shire, who’ve won the Helicans gig…” A loud whoop went up from the studio. Jaz, the presenter, giggled. “Kind of amazing, huh? Big thanks to all you guys who voted…”
Rach had probably sent half of them. Thank goodness her parents aren’t into phone-bill tracking. “It’s now time to follow up on what we promised.” Dramatic pause. “One of YOU GUYS winning the gig for your school.”
This was met with general whistling and cheering.
“So … here’s how it’s going to work.”
Positive thoughts it was going to be something Rach and I could be good at. Jumbled-up lyrics, or a crisp-eating contest.
“As you know, the band’s new album – and lemme tell you, I’ve heard it and it’s EH-PICK – is called Take Our Advice (Don’t Listen to a Word We Say). Soooo, we’re going to get you lot to battle it out with our very own … advice showdown.”
An “oooooh” went up. But my heart went down.
Advice was NOT my forte.
“Tonight we’ll kick things off with our first question to choose which ten schools will be in the running. Then there’ll be two more rounds to whittle it down for a head-to-head final!”
Another “wooooo” went up in the studio. I wish paying people to react well to everything you say was a service they offered IRL.
“And, not to give any spoilers …” (One of the studio team hollered “Spoiler!” but it was met with a silence that sounded like a full on Jaz glare) – “the band themselves might even be joining us to help along the way!”
The studio cheering hit new levels, like it was news they were hearing for the first time, not written on a script in front of them. I was too nervous to feel anything except stomach cramps.
Could it really only be four questions that stood between us and the best thing that could ever happen to us?
“So – are you ready for round one?”
I shouted “NOPE” back at the radio, but Jaz cared not for my woes.
“If YOU want to be in with a chance of getting YOUR school into the final ten, all you need to do is help us out with this dilemma. Emails to the usual address.”
Oh phew, email. Tegan could send over some ideas after training, and we could make it decent together. Maybe Jo could even help?
“And you’ll have until the end of the next song to send it in…”
Or not. I leapt back on to my bed and grabbed my laptop, only to see the gazillion messages from Rach on my phone (that I’d been sitting on, thinking it was a bum twitch). I messaged back, “Sorry,” and, “On it,” (literal) and listened back in. Jaz was fake-chuckling.
“OK, guys – confession time. When I said we might have the band to help us along the way, it was a tiiiny bit of a lie. Cos it’s a DEFINITE. Aaaaand we have Lis on the line right now, all the way from their hotel in Tokyo. Lis, are you there?”
“Sure am – hi, Jaz; hi, everyone at Radio Shire.”
The studio shouted “Hi” back. Lis laughed awkwardly. Yes, she was a lead singer, but she was always shy doing interviews.
A message from Rach pinged up – every single variation of heart emoji.
“Can I just say congrats to everyone listening for winning the national competition? We had SO many stations enter, but you guys blew them all out of the water. We cannot WAIT to come to Worcester.”
From Japan to my hometown – I bet she couldn’t wait. Still, reality didn’t stop my heart flipping a bit at her just saying the name of where I lived, like now we officially had something in common because we’d shared a word.
“And we can’t wait to have you.” Jaz put on her serious voice. “So – are you ready with round one?”
“Yeah – apparently you guys are going to be giving us some advice?”
I spluttered at the ridiculousness of Lis even saying that – she was the one on a world tour right now, and I was the one wearing novelty horse slippers panicking about writing an email, but hey-ho.
“So, the question is…”
Suddenly, there was a loud snuffle into the mic. Lis laughed. “Sorry, that was Pastry. You might have caught me FaceTiming her in the background?! We always have her on it on tour!”
There was a sound of licking. Hopefully also Pastry.
“Anyway, the question is … when we first started the Helicans we were at college, playing to crowds of three people – one being my dad! – and we really, nearly quit.”
Jaz made a way OTT “Noooooo”. Lis replied with a polite “Yes”, which clearly meant, “As we just discussed in rehearsals.”
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br /> “Soooo, the question is: what advice would you give to someone in that position now?”
Great. Life advice for successful people. Something I’m doubly unqualified in.
The only advice I could legitimately give to people would be to never take advice from me. I waved a mental bye to my dream of helping St Mary’s win as it sped away – and tripped down a manhole.
But terrible or not, I needed to send something. Rach wouldn’t forgive me if I just gave up. And I needed to do it fast, cos Jaz had started playing the song and we had to email before the end of it.
I really hoped Rach, along with every single other person at our school – teachers included – was currently in the process of sending something dazzling in.
“Annnnd – sixty seconds left. Tick tock – the clock’s ticking.”
Thanks for the reminder on how time passes, Jaz. JUST WHAT I NEEDED.
What could I write?!
RACH: Done!!!
Phew. At least St Mary’s had one entry.
To try and kick-start my brain I opened a blank email and went to copy in Radio Shire’s address. But when I pasted it, it didn’t copy at all. Instead an actual miracle did. The last thing on my clipboard – aka the advice I’d copied from Jo. AKA THE EXACT THING I NEEDED FOR THIS SITUATION RIGHT NOW.
Yes, sister dearest!!!
Jaz started counting down from ten.
My fingers were wobbling all over the keys.
FIVE SECONDS.
I grabbed the email address.
THREE.
Pasted.
TWO.
Wrote name.
ONE.
And sent!
Just before Jaz hit zero.
YEEEHAAAA! I’d officially achieved sending an email!
One small step for man, one giant leap for me-kind.
I looked at my handiwork. Well, fing-iwork. If entering was a competition (it was) I’d win (I probably haven’t).
But after a few songs, instead of putting us out of our misery, Jaz dropped the bombshell that as there were so many entries, we’d have to wait three whole days to find out who was through. Seventy-two unbearable hours of tension. But it was because the band wanted to read them all themselves. Which was ridic. The Helicans reading something I/Jo had written? SQUEE. This was like being 0.000000001% friends with them.