Truly Madly Awkward

by Beth Garrod

  JO: AND YES, I DO STILL KNOW YOUR INSTA LOGIN.

  No – she only knew my parent-friendly account login, but that was bad enough.

  ME: YOU WOULDN’T

  JO: Try me.

  JO: Evil cackle.

  JO: And screenshot or it didn’t happen.

  Was she SERIOUSLY serious?

  JO: 270 seconds.

  OH MY DISEASED HISTORICAL MOUTH. She was.

  I grabbed my phone and opened Notes.

  Oh hai! Want to hang out Saturday?

  WHAT WAS I?! The annoying star of an American teen drama?

  Saturday. Free? You and me? Some fun?

  DELETE!!! It sounded like a dodgy webcam ad.

  JO: 155 seconds.

  JO: Oh – and good luck tonight.

  Unexpected nicety.

  JO: Mum tells me the entire town is going berserk over the competition, and if you don’t get St Mary’s through she’s going to rent your room out too.

  Ah. The comfort of the familiar had returned.

  ME: Stop trying to distract me. I know your game.

  JO: 122 seconds.

  I returned grimly to my phone.

  Hi Adam. Hope you’re guuuuud. You free on Saturday?

  The pic of my fake mouth pustules popped up on my laptop screen. Jo had already tracked it down. She was the Usain Bolt of the embarrassing photo finding world.

  JO: 80 seconds.

  ME: SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH

  I had another attempt.

  I had a lot of fun not seeing a film with you. Wanna not see another one with me on Saturday?

  No. Anything that sounded like it should end with a winky face was not good enough for this sitch. I needed more casual. More not-datey.

  JO: What’ve you got?

  ME: A dictator of a sister?

  JO:

  I stared at my screen. None of the words seemed right. None of them seemed to say, “Don’t freak out, but I really like you. And would like to see you more, just in case you like me in any sort of more-than-friends way, although no pressure if you don’t, but I owe it to Tegan to be doubly sure.” Which was a good thing, as he’d sue me for crimes against lame-ness. (I’d deleted my fourth attempt which just said “LOOOVVVVEEEEEEEE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” just in case my phone ever fell into the wrong hands. Or just my own hands, which had an equally risky track record).

  JO:

  JO: 40 seconds.

  I wasted ten more seconds finding a reply.

  ME:

  Jo sent me an even more zoomed-in photo of my mouth.

  DAMN HER AND HER REIGN OF VIRTUAL TERROR.

  I had to send something. I chose option three.

  THIS WAS TERRIFYING.

  Shaking, I pressed send.

  And immediately realized the only thing scarier than sending a question like this was the horror of waiting for a reply. And who knew when this was going to end? Damn my sister and her “just ask him” ways.

  My fingers were trembling so much it took three attempts to get the screenshot. But when I did, Jo replied with ten hand claps and disappeared offline.

  I was still a bit leg wobbly by the time I dashed out to Rachel’s, not helped by having to sprint-walk the whole way as I’d managed to make myself late. By the time I got to her front door, I was sweating like when Mum makes me do hot yoga in the lounge (she doesn’t like wasting money turning up the heating, so forces me to wear woollen accessories instead – though scarves are banned after I almost garrotted myself during warrior pose). I rang Rach’s doorbell, wiped off as much face-sweat as I could, and willed it to be her who answered (or anyone other than Hot Older Brother).

  The door opened.

  It was HOB.

  Yelling hello so he didn’t have time to fully survey the disaster that was my face, I scurried into Rach’s bedroom (no knocking needed) and leapt beside her on to her mega beanbag, causing her to drop her battered copy of The Goblet of Fire she was reading.

  I loved being in her room. It was the size of the whole of the upstairs of our house and had a range of seating (not just bed or floor). And where there weren’t shelves of books on the walls, there was actual art.

  But we weren’t staying inside. It was one of those weirdly warm, late-summer evenings, and she’d already set up a massive cushion camp in her garden. We hurried out and I carefully positioned myself to get an excellent line of sight of HOB and his boyf who were in the hammocks at the far end of the garden.

  As Rach shuffled on her beanbag (this was an outdoor AND indoor beanbag kind of house) I spotted her nails. She’d had them done pastel.

  “Nice… And totally coincidentally just the same as Modger’s?”

  She waggled her fingers at me. “Tooootally coincidental.”

  Yeah, right – Rach and Shay had been sub-posting each other all week, all up in each other’s comments. It probs helped that Rach was just as effortlessly stylish, and even more beautiful. But right now she looked sad.

  “You know it’s just us tonight?” I didn’t. “Teeg got a last-minute all-day training session booked in.”

  “Way to spend your last night of freedom.”

  “I know.” Rach scrunched her mouth up like she was chewing on a bad thought. “She’s really freaking out about this try-out. She’s convinced that she won’t get a place – and that’ll be her only chance for the national team gone. Mikey had a day of fun planned for them and everything – all cancelled last minute.”

  “Lucky he’s Patron Saint of Understanding Boyfs.” I was joking, but it was met with silence. Maybe Rach was thinking the same as me – that Tegan just wasn’t herself these days. It really wasn’t like her to cancel on her friends. Again.

  But we understood. We’d known her for long enough to know how much she wanted to get a place on the training camp. So if Rach wasn’t going to bring up Tegan’s recent personality transplant, I certainly wasn’t either.

  “Shay says hi, btw.”

  Rach fluttered her eyes like she was being slightly electrocuted.

  “Tell her hi back. And that new silver top she Snapchatted last night is,” she kissed her fingers, “ICONIC.” Weird that Rach knew more about the person who lived on the other side of a wall from me than I did.

  “I’m sure the same one will end up in your wardrobe soon.”

  She threw a cushion at me, deliberately missing.

  “Anyway…” I gave up on trying not to talk about my woes. Rach was my best friend. Unfiltered convo was our duty. “News. I’m only running at 10% thinkingness cos… OH GUESS WHAT – DESPITE WHAT HAPPENED ON FRIDAY I MESSAGED ADAM TO SORT OF ASK HIM BACK OUT AND HE HASN’T REPLIED AND I’M GOING TO BE SICK.”

  Rachel’s already massive blue eyes doubled in size. Her face was a permanent meme waiting to happen.

  “YEAH LIKE NO BIG DEAL EXCEPT MY LIFE IS JUST BUFFERING UNTIL HE REPLIES.”

  She fake-fainted, and then unfainted to see what I’d written. And was still zooming in and out of the screengrab of it saying “waaaaaah” when Jaz’s ever-enthusiastic voice chimed over the radio.

  It was time.

  “So if everyone’s set for round two?”

  I couldn’t help but “pah”. If by “all set” she meant “so stressed I might have to go and have a quiet lie down for the next two-and-a-half years” then, yeah, sure.

  “It’s time to whittle ten down to five.”

  Rach held her phone out. “Bella, I don’t know if this helps, but look. EVERYONE at school is totally fired up to start voting.”

  I looked at the stream of comments popping up on every network – and wished I hadn’t.

  “It helps me want to bury myself in your extensive garden and spend my life living entirely in burrows.”

  Rach looked hurt. But it was Tegan who liked to rise to challenges. I liked to run from them. Still, I didn’t want to upset Rach, so pulled my game face back on just in time for Jaz to hit us with the question.

  “So here’s today’s big d
ilemma. Remember, these quessies are all to do with the band – and it’s up to YOU at home to decide which top five answers make it through to the semi.”

  I was so nervous I didn’t even vaguely snigger at the use of “semi”.

  My phone lit up. Tegan.

  GOOD LUCK. MESSAGE ME AS SOON AS YOU KNOW ANYTHING!!

  Jaz started playing a thumping tension track – but it wasn’t half as loud as the one running through my own body.

  “So tonight’s question is all about … Lis.”

  Rach held her fingers up in a heart shape and mouthed, “K-ween.”

  “As you know, she had a much publicized break-up with the lead singer of Smashed Avocados.” How she could ever have gone out with anyone who thought that was a good band name was the biggest horror to me.

  “And we ALL saw what he said in the press.” Rach snapped her hand-heart in two. “But these last weeks it’s taken an EVEN MORE dramatic turn, as his new girlfriend’s claimed he only ever went out with Lis to get his band noticed.”

  Jaz’s studio crew group “oooh”-ed. I’d half-seen the stories, but had glossed over them, not wanting to give them the time of day. Tbh, I was kind of surprised Jaz had gone there, considering this whole comp was for fans of the band – and we were more into their music than slagging off their exes.

  “So, in the next minute we want our finalists to answer this question: in one sentence only… If YOU were the Helicans’ manager, what would YOU tell Lis to do? GO, GO, GO!”

  Rach full-on huffed. “Eurgh. How dare they bring up Lis’s love life – I bet she’d never agreed to it.”

  I was equally as annoyed. “And how dare they have made me speak to Luke for such a rubbish question?”

  But regardless of our feelings about the question, we still wanted to win. Or more specifically, if I wanted to survive tomorrow/the rest of my life – I needed to win. I began to type.

  “Hi, Jaz!!!”

  (Rach: Three exclamation marks is too keeno.)

  “Our.”

  (Rach: MY!!)

  “… advice is IGNORE, IGNORE, IGNORE. In fact ignore SO MUCH that you don’t even listen to this advice, cos you’ve already moved on … and have got back to making the next album.”

  (Rach: Nod of approval.)

  It wasn’t great, but it was the best I could do. So we sent, and immediately began nerve-chomping our way through an entire bag of Percy Pigs until Jaz read out the entries. They were all kind of similar except the one from James Owen Girls’ School (JOGS) who said Lis should “dish the dirt on her ex and get more publicity than he could have ever hoped for, cos it worked for me and made my itsyergirlletty blog go viral.”

  Totally gross answer – and weird that as a fan of the band, she didn’t get that Lis hated talking about her personal life. But the vote wasn’t up to us (other than the eighty-three we sent between the two of us and Mikey). Ten minutes later, once the lines were closed, all we could do was wait. And eat crisps. Till the ever-perky Jaz was back to happily ruin someone’s dream.

  “So, guys, it’s time to say bye to five of our finalists. Are you ready?”

  Rach was holding my hand so tightly I could no longer feel fingers three or four.

  “Let’s count down from ten…”

  But before Jaz started my phone buzzed. A sweaty Tegan popped up on screen, leaning against a bus stop.

  “I MANAGED TO DUCK OUT EARLY.” She was mega panting. “WHAT’S HAPPENED???”

  “Putting you on speaker. About to find out.”

  I pressed speaker just as Jaz got to “seven”.

  Seven seconds can pass by at two speeds. The speed of your morning alarm clock (which makes you time-travel forward, it’s so quick) or the speed of a YouTube ad (aka two days). This seven seconds felt so slow it was like every YouTube ad ever made in one continuous loop. But Jaz finally got to zero.

  “So, without further ado,” said Jaz, the QUEEN of a-doing, “today we’re saying goodbye to … St Mark’s, Worcester City, Blossom Park, St Christopher’s, and one more …”

  You could have heard a pin drop, if anyone carried pins, and we weren’t on a lawn.

  “… Glyn Wood.”

  I couldn’t tell who whooped more. Rach, me – or the phone. We were in the final five!

  My phone pic went all blurry as despite being on a street, Tegan was waving her arms around in celebration, yelling, “You diiiiiiid it!!!!”

  Rach was chanting, “We love Bella! We love Bella!”

  HOB was chanting back, “We love peace and quiet.”

  I went horizontal, wibbling all of my limbs in the air. But I didn’t care. We’d done it! We were through!

  I could survive school tomorrow after all!

  A message popped up over Tegan’s face. Rach saw my Adam-radar beep.

  “It’s Mikey,” she said, trying to soften my disappointment (I said a mental sorry to Mikey), before reading it out in her best Welsh accent.

  I OWE YOU A PINT! (OF CHIPS). CONGRATS XX

  A video message then came through of Mum singing, “Simply The Best” by Tina Turner. She was doing an alarming sort of sexy-chicken-strut at the camera, while blowing kisses and saying, “So proud of my darling daughter! Living the dreams!”

  When we switched back to Tegan she was squinting at the screen. “OK, I spy a foot. Are you doing your upturned ladybird, Bells?”

  Rach tilted the camera towards me.

  “You know me toooo weeelllll.” There really weren’t any flies on Tegan (which makes no sense, as people who aren’t clever don’t exactly coat themselves in honey, or pollen, or whatever it is flies like. Sexy other flies maybe?)

  “Sure you two are OK?” A male voice interrupted. HOB. He looked at Rach doing her one-person Mexican wave, and at me, who looked like a sloth dangling from an imaginary branch, and shook his head and went inside, without waiting for an answer.

  Normal abnormal behaviour resumed.

  “Soz, just my brother being annoying.” Rach handed me back my phone.

  “No worries.” Tegan looked behind her to check for the bus.

  Woah. As she moved Rach and I spotted a Jaden Smith-alike behind her, leaning against the tree, looking all moody-filter. She got the best bus stop strangers. I only ever got old women.

  Although – wait. Was he waving – in Tegan’s direction?!

  But as Tegan moved her phone, he disappeared from view.

  “Better go anyway.” Was it my imagination or did she suddenly sound shifty? “So see you tomorrow, at…”

  Together we all wailed: “Schooooooool.” And with the same gag-face we waved bye.

  As soon as I put my phone down, it started vibrating like when I use my broken charger. Messages from randoms and notifications were coming in faster than I could read them. Eurgh. Tomorrow was going to be overwhelming.

  “Turn off alerts.” Rach pressed the power button making my screen black. “And listen!? Jaz is talking about the semi-final…”

  “This next round is going to be from the fandom. That’s right, Amil himself is going to pick one of YOUR dilemmas for the final five to answer… So if you’ve got a question, head to the thread on the thehelicans.com forum, and you could get your quessie on air! Maybe even bag some merch?!” The people in the studio whooped more than they should do about a message board.

  “OK, Rach.” I sat back up. “Here’s a dilemma. Reckon I could send in a question asking for the best advice to help me survive this competition?”

  She looked baffled. “Mind. Blown… Talking of which, did you finish up that maths homework?”

  I shook my head. All the homework we’d been set roughly equalled the same amount as all the homework I hadn’t done. Which equalled me now having to head home to ruin my own life.

  But when I was back in my room, scribbling away, resenting that numbers had ever been invented (there’s only ten of them, so how much can there really be to know?) something happened that rocketed straight into the Worst Thing To Happen Toda
y hotspot.

  Something so bad that I had to give up on finishing any of my homework, immediately crawl into bed (bra on, teeth unbrushed) and resign myself to getting a future yelling-at instead. Something so bad, I wasn’t sure even the greatest minds in the world (aka Tegan, Rach and the internet) were ever going to be able to fix it.

  It was Adam.

  He’d replied. And he’d turned me down.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Monday morning went like this.

  •LOUD NOISE!

  •House fire! House fire!

  •BRAIN THUD. The realization it’s my alarm.

  •But what ungodly hour is this?! There must be an error.

  •Pillow on head. SOMEONE MAKE THAT NOISE STOP.

  •Ewwww. Why does my mouth taste of dog breath?

  •BRAIN THUD. The realization no one is going to make that noise stop for me.

  •Put my hand out to hit phone. Phone falls on floor. I now have to move entire body and open one eye.

  •INTENSE SELF-LOATHING.

  •Worst day ever and it’s only one minute in.

  •6.55 a.m. 6.55 A.M.?!

  •Tell me it’s NOT the start of term?! Holidays have only just begun. Haven’t they?!

  •BRAIN THUD. The realization I set my alarm early to try and look decent for today (esp. critical as last night I’d discovered my skirt in my bag from when we’d had a sleepover at Teeg’s on the last day of term. It smelt of swimming-pool changing room).

  •Thinkofsomethinggood. Thinkofsomethinggood.

  •Adam.

  •THUD. The realization of last night’s message.

  •HE HATES ME.

  •Pillow back on head.

  •Searing light burning through my eyelids.

  •“Bells, you’re going to be late for schooooool.”

  •Prise one eye open to communicate to Mum that I blame her for this nightmare.

  •“It’s 8.30, and we need to leave in ten minutes.”

  •She lies! She lies! I pick up my phone. SHE TRUTHS!!

  •Shouts of “WHY DID YOU LET ME SLEEP IN?”

  •The world’s quickest shower (not helped by losing three mins waiting for Shay to finish perfecting her eyeliner). (It did look increds, though.)