by Beth Garrod
I could have sworn Shay had pointed at that plug and told me to use it. But she swore she hadn’t. For a change Jo was on my side, but I think that’s just cos she was mad at Shay for not doing more to help when it all went wrong. The atmosphere at home was frostier than the non-selling ice cream. The only time I saw Mum smile was when I offered to work Saturdays for free as a way of saying sorry. I didn’t tell her it was Jo’s idea, and that I was really hoping she’d say no.
At home, everyone hated me.
At school they loved me too much.
And both sucked.
But here I was, back at my desk, trying to survive the last day of the first week of term. Tegan was late again, as with only nine days left before the audition she’d moved on to pre-school gym practice (how she could function pre eighty-thirty a.m., let alone spend it exercising, I would never know), and Rach was in the library, scribbling away on that English coursework.
So, unless I wanted to speak to someone who only wanted to ask whether I’d “hook them up with a meet with the band when I won” I was stuck with me, myself and I. And I was rubbish company, because when I wasn’t worrying about how to make it up to Mum, I was worrying about what would happen if my brain never stopped thinking about Adam. Wasn’t this phase meant to be over? It’d been almost five whole days since I’d said no to Hillfest. We’d never even kissed but he seemed to have permanently taken over an entire lobe of my brain. Maybe it was a good job I’d found out about Molly when I did, in case he’d taken over the other lobes too. Also, lobe is a really weird word.
THUD.
I lifted my head up off my desk to see the scrunched-up bit of paper which had just landed.
GOOD LUCK FOR SUNDAY! YOU ROCK
LIKE JELLY TOTS. LOVE LOZZA XXXXXX PS. REMEMBER WHO LENT YOU
THEIR MATHS HOMEWORK IN YEAR
8??????
Oh good. I’d file that away with the other twenty-three notes from randomers who all wanted something. To keep life simple I gave Lozza a half-hearted smile. She returned it with a thumbs up like a deal was done.
But it wasn’t just her. The whole school was in a frenzy about Sunday. It was like they’d forgotten not-winning was even a possibility.
Posters had gone up all over school saying “Yes We Heli-CAN!” (creepy), “Belican’s Got The X Factor” (think they’d got confused with which competition I was in) and the plain scary “VOTE BELLA OR DIE”.
It was the only thing anyone was talking about – terrible for me, but a big relief to Boxer Boy, who had returned from holiday with a henna hand tattoo of a phallus (as our biology teacher described it) that wouldn’t budge.
This morning I’d got so distracted by Mrs Hitchman pinning up yet another “Vote for the Helicans!” poster (she’d stuck it over the fire-drill instructions, proving winning was officially more important to her than avoiding multiple deaths) that I tripped into a bunch of “Vote Bella!” balloons tied to a radiator.
Yup, after eleven years of school wilderness wondering what it was like to be popular, I knew. It was awful. So awful that I’d secretly wondered about the plus side of not getting through the next round. Going back to being invisible. But … but, the Helicans playing here, and making Rach for ever happy, and Mum proud of me and basically being a general total hero, still won through. Just.
As usual, lunchtime couldn’t come quickly enough. I swung myself on to a stool next to Rach and opened up my Pokémon lunchbox. It was meant to be ironic, but I did think Jigglypuffs were pretty excellent. Rach’s mum had got their family on a new Cavewoman-eating delivery programme – which is why her food was unopened and she was eating three Dairylea Dunkers.
I picked up the container. It seemed to be 90% garden.
“And you’re sure this is meant to go in a stomach, not a vase?”
“Alledge,” Rach replied through a cheesy mouthful. “Not my stomach though. It only recognizes things that are at least 40% beige.”
Tegan laughed, which said a lot considering she was the healthiest person I knew. “It looks like something my nan would wear in her hat at a wedding.”
Yup, even on my worst days, my friends could make me laugh when I didn’t think it was possible. It was nice to see both of them a bit happier than they’d been lately. Tegan was exhausted from training, and when she wasn’t there she’d taken to going in deep on the national squad’s personal Instagrams. Even I felt on first-name terms with them (although four of them were called Katie). And Rach was putting on the worst-ever brave face about maybe being moved down a set in English. But she was easier to read than a book – a book with really large font. Maybe even an audiobook.
Still, whatever our own stuff was, we always looked out for each other. So if anyone could find a positive for me having zero fun tomorrow, it was them.
“Guyyyyys, it’s my first shift at Give A Dog A Cone tomoz.” I was dreading it. I’d bartered with Mum that I should have a day off school a week in return, but she made some comment about “Just wait till you’re my age”.
“Ooh, exciting.” Tegan was genuinely enthused. Did she not understand how boring it was going to be?! “Want any visitors?” I considered replying with a “More than anything, I love you, and please bring snacks” but knew she needed all the spare time she could get her hands on.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.” I slurped some Ribena. “How was training this morning?”
Tegan shrugged. “You know.”
I didn’t. The only thing I’d ever trained for was a sponsored crisp-eating marathon for Comic Relief. I shrugged back.
“Not really.”
Rach waved her cheesestring contraband. “Nor me.”
“OK. How do I describe it?” Tegan scrunched up her mouth. “Well, put it this way, I’m trying really hard, but am not sure I’m getting anywhere.” She crunched a piece of cucumber. “And I have just over a week to become so good they think I’m worthy of one of the ten places. Or I can basically wave goodbye to any hope of ever making the national squad.”
I hated her being so down on herself.
“Oi. Enough of that. You’re MORE than worthy.” Wow, so that’s what my stern voice sounds like. “You’re basically an Olympian, but are too nice to bang on about it.”
“Hey, guys.” Mikey threw himself on to the chair next to me, all out of breath. “Now don’t freak out buuuuut Jay just gave me this.” He slapped a postcard down on the table. The entire front was just two words: “VOTE LETTY”.
Tegan’s face hardened. “She’s the JOGS finalist in the comp, right?” Rach and I nodded in unison.
“The one who, and I swear I’m not being bitter, has honestly had THE worst entries so far.” Woah. This was the most angry I’d ever seen Rach.
“Gross, huh?” Mikey flipped it over. “Look – all the deets of how to vote for her. Apparently some ffff” – he stopped himself saying fit in front of Tegan – “ffriendly girls…” he held his hands up, “Jay’s words not mine! Were giving them out in town last night.”
“The cowbag?!!” Tegan was almost as cross as Rach. “Is that even legal?”
Mikey shrugged. “Annnnd they were giving out free chocolate with them.”
Woah. This was TOO far. “So what?! I’m meant to compete with food bribery?! How can we do that?”
Rach looked desperate. “Mum could buy cake? Lots of cake? Everyone loves cake, right?”
But I shook my head. I wasn’t ready to stoop to Letty’s level. Not yet. Plus, I bet Letty didn’t live with an actual friend of the Helicans. Not that I was going to say that out loud.
Instead I went with something less dodgy.
“We’re just going to have to remind everyone to vote for St Mary’s – again.”
Tegan nodded firmly. “I’ll remind everyone at gymnastics tonight – whatever it takes to beat Letty.”
“Aka Queen of Evil,” Rach interrupted.
“Aka Queevil,” I rounded off.
“Anyone sitting here?” A voice cut
through our rally cry. Ava.
I shook my head, trying to not let her see how surprised I was. “All yours.”
She was normally in and out the canteen in under a minute. Maybe she felt less weird around us now she knew we’d been lunch loners too.
Her fingernails were all bitten right down and she was struggling to get her Diet Coke open. Should I offer to help?
“Need a hand?” Tegan beat me to it. She reached over and flicked it open. But as she did, the entire can completely exploded. It sprayed evverrryyywherrrre.
Tegan leapt back but not before getting absolutely soaked. A loud cheer went up, along with a heckle of, “Wet T-shirt!” (obvs from Luke) which made no sense as Tegan was wearing her school jumper, and wool is not notoriously see-through (sheep do not look naked when it rains).
Had Ava done it on purpose? I was NOT going to let her get away with this.
But when I turned to say something, she looked horrified. Woah. The first emotion I’d ever seen her have.
“Oh my God. I’m SO sorry. I did. Not. Know. That was going to happen.” She reached in her bag and pulled out the band T-shirt she’d had on the other day. “Here, use this.”
It was neatly folded, but she didn’t hesitate to use it to mop up the spillage.
Ava wouldn’t stop apologizing – it was clear it had been an accident after all. I downgraded my loyalty rage and let the conversation move on to Mikey’s discovery about Letty. Ava told us she’d help get more support, and had already roped her friends in from the county’s Youth Orchestra to vote for us (online, phone AND text – triple threat), as they’d all already had their schools knocked out. Rach, Tegan and I kept giving each other what the what?! looks. Ava spoke? She played the oboe? She had friends? In the two minutes we’d learnt more about her than we’d done in the last three years – which I totally didn’t want to admit, but ended up telling her. She laughed (she laughed?!) and said it was the longest she’d spent in the canteen since starting, so no surprise. We carried on chatting till the bell went.
The Ava-speaking revelation was so good, that Tegan, Rach and I talked about it the entire walk home. By the time we were on my driveway it was five p.m., exactly when I said I’d be back. If you can’t be on time – choose friends who can.
“Hiya, girls!” Mum flung the door open with a massive wave. She loved my friends almost as much as I did. It was nice seeing her happy. Had today finally been a good day at GADAC?
“You’re more than welcome to stay for some chickenless kievs, you know! We don’t mind sharing, do we, Bells?” I shook my head. “I’ve even made my famous pink potato.”
It was famous among my friends for being one of her worst creations – mashed potato with Thousand Island Dressing stirred in. Weirdly, coloured carbs weren’t enough to tempt them out of their own plans, and soon it was just Shay, Mum and me sat around the table.
Mum proudly plonked a blob of mash on my plate so large it made the noise I imagined a cowpat would. Dilemma – smile enough to make Mum happy, and risk her thinking it was actual joy at her famous creation, risking more regular appearance of it at mealtimes; or, look as scared as I felt, and save me being served this in the future, but upset Mum even more.
“MMMMM, looks delish.” I swallowed down a forkful – and said a mental sorry to future-Bella. Shay went for the other option, but Mum was too distracted trying to wipe up a blob that had splattered right between Mumbles’ eyebrows. It must be SO annoying not having hands, although it would be pretty cool not having school and for “lying down napping” to be a legitimate way to spend a day.
“So…” I held my breath, and swallowed the second potato globule with zero chewing – a technique I’d perfected over the years. “How’s the shop?”
“Looking forward to doing your first shift tomorrow?” Mum flashed a smile. My innards whimpered and said, “What is this pink floof you have bestowed on us?”
“It’ll be a blast,” Shay said in the weirdest voice, giving away that she was holding her breath too. It really did make anything taste better.
“We have SO many followers on Instagran, you know!” Mum looked dead proud. Oh good – I was making redeeming-myself progress. “Twelve now!”
DO NOT MOVE, FACE. KEEP THAT SMILE. THINK SUPPORTIVE THOUGHTS.
“That’s great news.” I hoped I’d sounded convincing. Twelve followers was less than the account Mikey made on behalf of his big toenail, charting it going black and falling off. “I’ll put up some more stuff tomoz.”
“And how are things with you, Bells?” Mum stroked the back of my hand in that weird way mums do, like you’re a human cat. Still, at least she wasn’t as mad at me any more. “Anything to tell us about your Pelicans thing?”
I could start with the fact they’re called the Helicans. And end with how being at school was stressing me out more than the actual competition. But I went with a no.
I foraged in my brain for something, anything, to change the convo from “the life and times of Bella”. It ended up being a question: did Shay and Mum know that cows had best friends? This was met with even more silence. I dug even deeper for another fact morsel. And hit them with how some turtles breathe through their bums.
Mum said I sometimes spoke through mine – Shay laughed too much for my liking. So I shut up for a bit, which was good timing as Shay was tackling the subject of putting away Mum’s life-sized Benny from ABBA cardboard cut-out and replacing it with a Swiss cheese plant (which blew my mind, until Shay pointed out that it doesn’t grow cheese, just looked like one. But green). Mum wasn’t sure until Shay pointed out how helpful its aura could be to our happiness. I then zoned out even further as Shay started talking about a work meeting, and I only tuned back in when I was looking for a way of asking to leave.
“And that’s why I said to them, ‘You’ve just got to spice the branding up. You can’t be everything to everyone. Cos then you’re nothing to no one.’ Know what I mean?”
Mum murmured a noise which Shay took to mean “Deffo, you are so right”, but I knew meant, “I have no idea what this woman is on about, and think I’ll go make a cup of tea as an excuse to leave.”
“Want a cup of tea?”
I nodded at Mum and, after helping wash the dishes, headed upstairs. I sat on my bed looking through my phone – amongst all the messages from school peeps was one from Jo asking if Mum was still mad at me. She said she’d put in a good word for me if I helped soften Mum up about paying for her athletics tour.
But I didn’t have time to talk to anyone. With working on Saturday, and the competition on Sunday, I had to use any spare time to relax to the max.
So I spent the next thirty-five minutes having a surprisingly long wee, squeezing three-and-a-half spots, and discovering what I think is a bona fide toe hair (I tried to pull it out with my fingernails, but ended up curling it like a ribbon on a present). I then spent the next hour playing Puppy Dash Saga, taking selfies with a dolphin filter on, and googling “How to get rid of toe hair”. I then found a man who got such a long one wrapped around his toe that the blood stopped and the whole thing fell off.
But I knew I should be using my time more wisely, like looking at the posts on the Helicans forum. Any prep meant more chance of beating Letty – of getting into the final. But after reading page after page of posts I had even less idea what question Amil might pick. So, I did the next best thing: scrolled through Instagram looking at everyone’s way better Friday nights till I fell asleep.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Was there an emergency downstairs?
I’d never heard a noise like it.
I pulled my pillow back over my head.
Yes I was due to do my first shift at Give A Dog A Cone later BUT it was a SATURDAY.
I needed sleep.
An emergency could wait.
But even two pillows couldn’t block it out.
It sounded like an Olympic opening ceremony, played entirely with pieces of metal.
<
br /> FINE, EMERGENCY. YOU WIN.
I crawled out of bed and stumbled downstairs, shouting as I went. I think I resembled – in both hair and movement – a bear that has just been released from a small box after a five-year sleep.
“EVERYONE ALIVE?”
“Yes, darl!” Mum called back from the kitchen. Phew. One human ticked off. “Didn’t think you’d be awake at this time!”
I ran in to see what the crisis was.
And discovered the crisis was Mum putting away the draining board with absolutely no regard to resting warriors who had endured five days of new term and needed serious sleep.
“I THOUGHT SOMEONE HAD DIED?!”
She lunged at me with the utensil in her hand. Like a medieval knight, but with no horse, and wearing a tie-dye romper instead of armour.
“No whisk of death here!” Amused by her own joke she pointed at the kettle. “Tea?”
I nodded but she’d already poured the water. My pink-floof eating had obviously worked – she seemed almost back to normal with me. Well, as normal as she could ever be.
“Where’s Shay?”
“At work prepping for her big thing. I said I’d pick up some plant-based snacks.”
“Sounds good.”
“You can come?”
“I meant the snacks.”
“Company would be great. Thanks, joint-favourite daughter.”
I obvs hadn’t been clear enough.
“I meant the snacks sounded good.”
“I’m setting off in thirty, so you’d better get a move on. And deep breath. We’re going straight to the dentist after your shift.” She winked. “Filling time!”
It was like we existed in two parallel universes. One where I said things that made sense. And the other where Mum heard what she wanted and jousted with kitchen utensils. And delivered terrible news with a smile.
In fairness, I was so petrified about having fillings (three?!) I’d told her not to tell me when it got booked. I assumed she’d forget for ever and I could just slowly lose my teeth, phase out speaking and communicate by text, which seemed less hassle.