‘Nothing can,’ I shrug.
‘It’s your dream, I suppose,’ Alfie says quietly. ‘Dancing.’
‘Totally. Major dream. Always has been …’
‘I’m not sure I have dreams like that,’ he says. ‘I used to want to be Superman, when I was a kid. Then I thought I might be a stand-up comic, have my own show on the TV and all that. Not sure about that either any more. I’m fed up of acting the clown.’
‘You get trapped,’ I say. ‘People start to see you a certain way. They get so used to it that they stop actually looking, even if you’re not that way any more.’
Just like I dismissed Alfie years ago as the most annoying boy in the western hemisphere, and never bothered to check that the label still fitted. It doesn’t seem to, not any more. I wonder what people see when they look at me. Little Miss Perfect, Tia once called me when we’d fallen out briefly over a team project at school. At the time, I’d been torn between hurt that she was angry and pride that the word ‘perfect’ could be applied to me, even as an insult.
Is that what they think? That it all comes easily?
‘I’m considering alternative careers,’ Alfie says. ‘I was thinking maybe a TV chef, but after the eyeliner experience, I’m not sure I’m cut out for the cameras. Maybe I’ll just run a very cool organic restaurant or something.’
‘Are you kidding?’ I ask.
He holds his hands up. ‘Deadly serious,’ he says. ‘In fact, I made something I thought you might like … just a little sweet treat …’
No, no, no, roars the voice in my head.
‘Alfie,’ I say carefully, through gritted teeth. ‘You were kind to me the other day, but really, I promise, I’m fine. I don’t need you or anyone else to look out for me.’
Alfie shrugs. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘I can’t stay anyhow … but I may as well leave this. No worries if you don’t like it. It was just a thought.’
He takes a small Tupperware box out of his rucksack and hands it to me, getting to his feet. ‘See you around, Summer.’
He walks away and I fight the impulse to throw the box at the back of his head. Just when I was starting to see him as a friend, I can see that he is no friend at all – he’s just like Jodie, a busybody trying to sabotage my eating.
I rip the lid off the box, expecting to see chocolate cake, trifle, sticky toffee pudding. Instead, I see chunks of pineapple, halved strawberries and dark red raspberries sprinkled with fresh mint. My mouth waters, and I start to smile.
21
I force myself to start eating three small meals a day, fruit for breakfast and tuna or chicken or cottage cheese salad for lunch and tea. It’s worth it if it keeps people off my case, and the fancy dinners I am preparing to help Grandma Kate out are a pretty good distraction too. Nobody seems to notice that I’m not eating anything much myself, or that Fred the dog is getting podgy on all the extras I feed him under the table.
The dizzy spells stop, so I push myself harder. I plough my energy into my dancing, and find that the fog has lifted and I can move freely again, spin and leap and pirouette. The fear of failure begins to retreat slightly.
I try yet again to choreograph my expressive dance. I think myself into the mind of one of the enchanted creatures bewitched by the firebird, dancing madly to their destruction, and this time, finally, the sequences flow. Miss Elise says the dance is starting to come together, and relief floods through me. If I practise, work really, really hard, I might still manage to do this. I cross the days off the calendar: twelve, eleven, ten.
Mum texts from Peru to say that she and Paddy have left Cuzco and are trekking up to Machu Picchu. Hard work, she says. But amazing views. How is the practice going? Everything OK?
What can I say? I wouldn’t even know where to start.
All well, I text back. Don’t worry – everything is under control.
Well, almost.
Honey has discovered that her geek-guy mate, Anthony, is home alone for the whole weekend while his parents visit an aged relative in Wales. She swings into action, planning a party.
‘He lives out on the edge of the village,’ she says, ransacking the freezer for burgers and frozen bread rolls. ‘No neighbours … we can really let loose!’
‘Does Anthony actually know?’ I ask, as my big sister sneaks a bottle of fizzy wine out from the rack and drops it into her bag.
‘He suggested it,’ she shrugs. ‘At least he said I should come over for a barbie, and that’s just about the same thing …’
I raise an eyebrow. Anthony came to my birthday party in February and trailed around after Honey while she flirted with every boy in the place. She threw him just enough smiles to keep him sweet, and I am guessing she will twist him round her little finger this time too.
‘Come on, Summer,’ Honey says. ‘His idea of a good social life is playing non-stop online war games with other random geek-boys. He needs a bit of real-life fun for a change. I’ve asked everyone. Apart from Aaron – I told him not to show his ugly face!’
‘Thanks,’ I sigh. ‘But are you sure you want us there, Honey? You never used to invite us places.’
‘It’s different now,’ Honey shrugs. ‘You’re more grown-up. Besides, if we all go, Grandma Kate won’t start thinking I’m up to something!’
‘Are you up to something?’
Honey’s eyes widen. ‘Of course not!’
Anthony’s party is in full swing. The garden is stuffed with people – someone has opened a window and set up speakers on the sill and the thud-thud-thud of R & B booms out above the smell of charred meat and smoke.
I should be practising, I know, but my friends and sisters have dragged me along and now, to top it all, Alfie appears at my elbow.
‘You again,’ I sigh.
‘Me again,’ he grins. ‘How’s the practice going? Not long now, right?’
‘A week tomorrow it’ll all be over,’ I say.
Anthony ushers us over towards the barbeque where JJ and Honey are cooking sausages, burgers and sweetcorn cobs cocooned in foil. ‘Enjoy yourselves,’ he gushes. ‘Honey’s awesome – she organized all this! I didn’t know how many friends I really had until now!’
I am not sure that the kids crowded round the barbie are Anthony’s friends, though. They don’t seem to notice him at all.
Honey waves and hands me a burger loaded with salad and relish and melting cheese, wrapped in a soft, white roll. ‘Ditch the diet, little sister,’ she whispers. ‘Live a little.’
I flinch at her words. So even Honey has noticed I am eating less? That’s worrying. I abandon the burger on a nearby picnic table when nobody is looking.
‘It goes to show,’ Anthony is saying, looking round the garden. ‘You don’t have to be one of the cool kids to have friends. Who’d have thought that someone like your sister would want to be mates with me? OK, I’m just helping her with schoolwork, but still, people sit up and take notice. Some of the lads used to pick on me, but now I’m friends with Honey, all that has stopped. Look at me now!’
I look at Anthony, a small, stocky boy with pasty skin and glinting eyes that look a little too intense behind thick horn-rimmed glasses. His gaze drifts over to Honey with that same puppy-dog loyalty I noticed back in February. She has him dangling on a string like a human yo-yo. One minute she is reeling him in with a winning smile and a flutter of her lashes; the next minute she lets him go again and he crashes to the floor.
‘Well, you’re very welcome to come along to ours some time,’ I say politely. ‘We have beach parties now and then. You’d like it.’
‘Thanks!’ he says, puppy-dog keen.
‘Any more punch, Anthony?’ Honey calls, and while he bounds off to fetch her a drink, my big sister pulls JJ close for a big smoochy kiss.
‘Is she going out with JJ?’ Alfie asks. ‘Only Anthony’s pretty smitten, isn’t he? And I thought she fancied Marty from the crew field. They were pretty flirty at the beach party the other weekend …’
‘That’s
Honey,’ I shrug. ‘She’s kind of hard to pin down.’
There’s a whoop of laughter from the doorway as Chris, Marty and a bunch of younger people from the crew field spill out across the grass, drinks in hand. Honey pulls them into her circle, and they clump round her like planets orbiting the sun.
I spot Finch with his arm round Skye’s shoulder, whispering into her hair. I wave them over, but they just smile, their eyes sliding away from me. Nobody much exists for them right now except each other, and dark resentment bubbles inside me. I am happy for Skye, and I like Finch, but I can’t help thinking he’s taking my twin away from me, just when I need her most.
On my other side, Shay and Cherry are laughing and Millie and Tia are chatting up a couple of high school boys. I try to join in with the chat, but they are talking about last weekend’s filming, days at the beach I haven’t shared, shopping trips to town I’ve missed out on. Ballet practice has eaten up my days lately, my life, left me stranded on the edge of things with nothing to say.
I watch my little sister Coco with her friends, looking very grown-up for just-turned twelve. I am so used to Coco looking small and young for her age that it’s a shock to notice that she’s not a little girl any more. She’s wearing lipgloss and sparkly eyeshadow, and blushes furiously every time a good-looking boy walks past. I must be some kind of freak because I don’t think I want anything to do with boys, not ever again.
It’s as if growing up is a sickness, spreading faster and faster like a flu bug in winter, turning everything upside down. Right now, I feel immune to it, an outsider looking in, slightly horrified at the chaos it can cause. Sometimes I think I’d like to freeze myself in time, or pedal backwards a little to when I was nine or ten and things weren’t quite so complicated.
‘Is that a trampoline down at the bottom of the garden?’ Alfie asks brightly, tugging me back to reality. ‘Didn’t have you down as a gymnast, Anthony?’
‘It’s my sister’s,’ he shrugs. ‘She never uses it any more. She grew out of it.’
‘Cool,’ says Alfie. ‘Like I grew out of practical jokes and jelly and ice cream and pedal cars.’
But I can’t help thinking it’s not cool at all that we have to grow out of the things we love.
22
I slip away from the crowded patio and down through the apple trees, through the cool grass to the trampoline. I look at it and smile, thinking of long ago times in Tia’s garden, laughing, jumping, reaching for the sky.
I clamber up and get my balance, bouncing experimentally. Then I am jumping, big joyful leaps, stretching and curling, making my own rhythm, letting the trampoline take me higher and higher. The jumping becomes a dance, a meditation, as natural as breathing.
The light around me fades and darkens, and someone changes the R & B soundtrack for something indie. Through the apple trees I can see tea-light lanterns glinting. If I tilt back my head and stretch my arms up high, I could almost snatch a star out of the sky.
‘Room for one more?’ a voice asks, and Alfie Anderson hauls himself up beside me. He starts to jump and straight away the rhythm changes, throwing me off balance. Alfie crashes into me, howling, and I push him to arm’s length, laughing in spite of myself. This is how it used to be in Tia’s garden when we were little – me and Skye and Tia and Millie all jumping together, a mess of bodies colliding and crashing into each other, screams of laughter, fun.
‘Alfie!’ I screech. ‘Watch what you’re doing!’
‘Can’t!’ he yelps. ‘Can’t even see! This is crazy!’
His hand latches on to mine in the dark and finally we are jumping in time, mouths stretched wide with laughter, my long hair snaking out to brush his face as we jump. And then the rhythm collapses into chaos and we stagger and yell and fall down in a heap, breathless. I try to scramble up, but Alfie pulls me down.
‘Leave it, Summer,’ he says. ‘Let go. You’ve been exercising for ages … you must be tired.’
Never enough, the voice in my head insists. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Push harder!
I try again to get up, but Alfie holds on tightly to my hand.
‘It’s OK, Summer,’ he says. ‘Really. It’s OK.’
And part of me believes him, so I stop struggling and lie back, catching my breath, feeling the ache of tiredness in my muscles, the springy stretch of the trampoline beneath my back. My fingers seem to burn where they are touching Alfie’s. I sit up abruptly, breaking away, moving to the edge of the trampoline so I can let my legs dangle. Alfie crawls over to join me.
‘That was fun,’ he says, still breathless.
‘Yeah.’ I rake a hand through my hair and rescue the flower clip which has slipped down behind one ear, fixing it back in place.
‘I like the flower,’ Alfie says.
‘I like the flower too,’ I echo. ‘Aaron gave it to me, before we were going out. It was a Christmas present – he left it in my locker at school with an unsigned card. Romantic, right?’
‘Are you sure it was him?’ Alfie asks.
‘Had to be,’ I shrug. ‘He never talked about it, but … who else would it be?’
‘Who else?’ he echoes sadly. ‘Obviously …’
‘Anyhow, I’m through with romance,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going to concentrate on my career instead. I mean … it’s just hormones, shaking us all up, causing trouble, wrecking everything. Girls want love and stuff, boys want … well, boys want something else.’
‘Not always,’ Alfie argues. ‘Not all boys are like Aaron. And not all girls are looking for love either.’
I think of Honey, who flutters from one boy to the next like a butterfly moving from flower to flower. I think she might be looking for love actually. She’s just looking in all the wrong places.
‘Whichever way you look at it, growing up sucks,’ I say. ‘It’s like some joke nature plays on us, the whole stupid mess of it.’
Through the trees we can see kids dancing in the flickering lantern light. We can hear the bass beat of the music, laughter, squeals, chat.
‘It might seem that way sometimes,’ Alfie says. ‘Anthony is mad about your sister, isn’t he? And she just sees him as a friend. Smart, useful … but just a friend. That’s gotta hurt.’
‘Surely he can see she’s not interested, though? He needs to accept that.’
‘Not easy, when you’re mad about someone,’ Alfie points out.
‘I suppose. How about you then? Are you crushing on anyone?’ I ask. ‘Millie maybe?’
‘No way!’ he protests.
‘You seemed to like her back in February, at the birthday party Skye and I had?’
Alfie is indignant. ‘She jumped me!’ he argues. ‘One minute I was walking across the dance floor, the next she had me in a headlock. Well, a lip-lock actually. She’s fiercer than she looks!’
I laugh.
‘Millie is great, don’t get me wrong,’ Alfie says. ‘But I like someone else …’
I bite my lip. ‘Is it … is it Skye?’ I ask. ‘Because you’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately. Until Finch arrived on the scene anyhow.’
‘It’s not Skye,’ he says.
‘Tia?’ I guess. ‘Am I warm?’
Alfie shakes his head. ‘Stone cold,’ he sighs. ‘Miles out.’
‘Well, who then?’
Silence falls between us like a curtain, a wall.
‘C’mon, spill!’ I tease, elbowing him in the ribs, but Alfie just shrugs and stares out across the garden, refusing to meet my gaze. Something like fear begins to unfurl inside me. Suddenly, I don’t want to know the answer. I really don’t.
‘She doesn’t know,’ Alfie whispers. ‘She has no idea.’
Maybe she is just starting to work it out.
‘What if she doesn’t feel the same way about you?’ I whisper. ‘What if she’s not looking for a relationship?’
‘I’ll wait,’ he answers. ‘I want her to know that. I’ll wait, for as long as it takes.’
My face floods with colour in
the darkness.
‘Maybe … maybe she just sees you as a friend?’
‘Maybe,’ Alfie shrugs. ‘Maybe she just doesn’t see me at all.’
He jumps down from the trampoline and walks away through the trees, leaving me shell-shocked. I think back to that time in the school dinner queue, aged five, when Alfie asked me to be his girlfriend and then spoiled it all by blowing a raspberry in my ear. What if he really did like me? What if he still does?
Skye comes out of the darkness, hand in hand with Finch. ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s nearly eleven, and that’s our curfew. Coco went a while ago, she’s staying at Linzi’s in the village, and Shay’s walked Cherry home already …’
My twin leaves something unspoken. ‘So … what’s up?’ I ask, sliding down from the trampoline.
‘Honey is what’s up,’ Skye says. ‘She won’t come home … she says Grandma Kate won’t mind if she stays over. I’ve told her she has to come, but she won’t listen to me. We promised Mum, Summer – Honey promised!’
Of course Skye doesn’t know the half of it. I’m certain Honey has been sneaking out after curfew, probably to be with JJ. I lie awake at night and I hear every movement, every squeak of the floorboards. My big sister is kicking over the traces again.
‘I’ll talk to her,’ I sigh.
Honey is holding court beneath an apple tree hung with tea-light lanterns, JJ’s arm twined round her waist. I tug at her sleeve. ‘Honey – it’s almost eleven, time to go!’
‘Go?’ she echoes. ‘Why? Will I turn into a pumpkin?’
‘It’s our curfew,’ I remind her. ‘Grandma Kate’s expecting us back, and Mum made us promise …’
Honey untangles herself from JJ and pulls me into the shadows. ‘Look, Summer, I’m not going home yet,’ she says. ‘I was grounded for months … I’m going to make the most of my freedom now! We’re not little kids, you know! Make an excuse for me. Tell Grandma Kate I’m staying with a friend.’
I frown. ‘What friend?’ I ask, and Honey rolls her eyes.
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