Friends Forever!

by Grace Dent

  What the hell did that mean?!

  The second we rejoined Claude and Fleur, she’d be charm personified, wowing them with tales of crystals and hot stone therapy.

  Was I just being paranoid?

  Maybe I was so pathetic and needy I just couldn’t cope sharing the LBD with anyone? Let’s face it: I couldn’t even handle Fleur visiting another girl’s house for a healing session! Ugh! How freakish and clingy was that?

  I vowed right then to try harder to be friends with Cressida Sleeth.

  bad vibes

  It was a fortnight later, early last December, and the LBD were gathered in HQ, Fleur’s bedroom, to discuss some ultra-hot topics, namely:

  a. Jimi Steele being really distant and buttmunchy lately. Fleur reckoned he had Asperger’s syndrome.

  b. Claude’s mum’s boss, Mr. Rayner, running away to Bermuda with his twenty-seven-year-old big-boobed legal assistant, leaving Gloria Cassiera out of a job. And . . .

  c. Fleur’s new boyfriend, Thurston Barron, who was turning out to have very wandering hands and spent most dates, it seemed, trying to knead Fleur’s boobs into one big central one. Not nice. He had to go.

  So, with all this business to deal with, why were we talking about Cressida?

  “Hang on! What do you mean, I give out negative energy to Cressida?” I fumed as Fleur and Claude gazed at me sympathetically.

  “Mmm, well, she wasn’t really specific,” Fleur mused. “Something to do with your chakras being out of alignment.”

  “Oh, for the love of God,” I sighed, feeling my cheeks flush with anger.

  “Hey, hang on, Ron, you’re taking this all wrong. Cressida wasn’t being bitchy,” Claude reassured me. “She wants us all to be friends. She just has a few issues with the, er, darker side of your aura.”

  “Darker side of my aura? But I’ve been really nice to her!” I said vehemently. “I’m always nice to her.”

  Why was I defending myself to my two best friends?

  “Awww, Ronnie, chill out,” Fleur laughed, leaping over and giving me a hug. “We’re not getting at you. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “That’s right, Ronnie,” whispered Claude, grabbing my hand. “Don’t get upset. It’s just that, well, you have to admit Cressida must be lonely spending every lunch hour studying in the library.”

  “And when we invited her to eat with us,” continued Fleur, “she said . . . well, she said she didn’t want to increase the bad vibes.”

  “There aren’t any bad vibes!” I said.

  “We know,” said Fleur. “It’s just a silly misunderstanding.”

  “Y’know what Cressida’s like—she’s just really sensitive,” Claude said rather fondly. “Let me talk to her.”

  One week later, with our “silly misunderstanding” ironed out, the LBD swept into Blackwell’s lunch hall with Cressida Sleeth tottering daintily in our wake. Claude and Fleur were soooo happy. We had truly been honored, in their eyes. They didn’t raise an eyebrow when Cressida rejected 99 percent of the food offered because of her lacto intolerance, wheat allergies or vegetarian beliefs. Or when she bitched at Dolly the dinner lady about the “seventy-two different pesticides on a nonorganic apple,” or moved us from our usual LBD lunch table by the window because direct sunlight made her “sneezy.” She even began telling us how her dad worked alongside Panama Goodyear’s father at the pharmaceutical factory and that she’d started playing tennis with her!

  “Wow! We’ll get all the insider gossip on Panama and her gang,” laughed Fleur. “It’ll be like having a double agent!”

  “How cool is that?” beamed Claude, who I’d never had down as prize chump before.

  As Fleur yaddered excitedly about the invites she’d bagged for all four of us to Miles Boon’s birthday party, I pushed mashed potato around my plate, trying to appear chock-full of happy-happy-joy-joy vibes. This worked at first, but when the conversation flipped over to Cressida and Claude’s jam-packed study schedule, I started to feel rather hot and nauseated.

  Because things suddenly became crystal clear.

  Fleur Swan was one of the most beautiful, well-known girls at Blackwell School (after Panama Goodyear, of course, who is stunning yet clinically evil). Claudette Cassiera was the brainiest, most dedicated GCSE coach a pupil like Cressida could desire.

  Of course Ms. Sleeth wanted to hang with them both. But what did I have to offer?

  Nothing.

  Suddenly I was on very shaky ground.

  I was being phased out.

  “Well, she sounds like a right manipulative little madam!” Nan says, throwing handfuls of plump sultanas into the mixing bowl. “There’s one around every corner, unfortunately. What happened next?”

  “It got worse,” I say. “Much worse.”

  the witch

  February came around way too quickly.

  Now, you could barely go five minutes at Blackwell without a teacher bumming your life out with a GCSE reminder.

  Thankfully, however, Mistress Minny III: The Witches of Philadelphia was finally hitting cinemas that Friday the 13th, and the LBD had a big girlie night out planned. Claude just loves Mistress Minny. She has read all the books ten times over and lurks about on the web message boards analyzing subplots and symbolism. What a geek! She even harangued Fleur and me to dress up like Mistress Minny for the screening! Luckily, we presented a united front against the plan, although Claude still wore a green pointy nose and stick-on face boils for the ticket line. She looked really funny.

  It felt just like old times, just me, Claude and Fleur. Yet annoyingly, just as we were finding our seats in the dark, a dismally familiar voice shattered my good mood.

  “Sorry I’m late, ladies,” Cressida Sleeth announced. “Dad was late home from the factory, so I had to beg a lift from . . . er, the girl down the road. . . . Hey, Claude, loving the nose!”

  “Cressy!” Fleur and Claude said, laughing and giving her hugs and air kisses. They’d started air kissing lately. It made me queasy.

  “Cressida,” I said, nodding acknowledgment.

  “Hey, Ron! Fabby jeans,” said Cressida, pointing at my new indigo hipsters before kissing the nothingness past both of my ears.

  My skin crawled.

  It seemed there was nothing I could do to stop Cressida from infiltrating the LBD . . . well, without me simply looking insane. Worse still, Cressida was finding out more private, personal bambino business every day.

  She knew that the Cassieras were broke and getting really worried about it.

  She knew that Jimi and I kept arguing about the fact that I wouldn’t lie to Mum and sleep over at his house.

  She knew Fleur had been getting overly freaky with Baz Kauffman from Chasterton School and had taken to perusing Your Body, Yourself lately with a worried expression.

  She’d even been shown that shameful home movie of the LBD, in our underwear, performing various hits from Moulin Rouge, filmed during Fleur’s birthday slumber party. That Moulin Rouge tape needed to be burned, not shown to Cressida Flipping Sleeth!

  My instinct shouted that letting Cressida so close was a mistake.

  During the film, Fleur was her typical hyperactive self. She yaddered incessantly on her mobile phone, began an interschool popcorn battle with some lads from Lymewell Academy, shouted out plot spoilers . . . and probably worst of all, right at the most touching, serious part of the film, let out a long squeaky bottom explosion, before shouting, “Oooh, Ronnie Ripperton! That stinks!” The entire theater erupted in laughter. I could have strangled her!

  As we filed out of the multiplex afterward, Baz Kauffman sped up in his VW Golf, wearing sunglasses at night and too much hair wax for my taste, blaring bad 200-beats-per-minute happy hard-core music through his sunroof. He looked ridiculous, but Fleur still climbed inside the car, begging us to cover for her until 9:30 P.M.

  Claude and I just rolled our eyes and nodded.

  “C’mon, girls,” smiled Claude, linking arms with me and Cressid
a. “Let’s go and get coffee at Ruby’s Cafe.”

  “Great!” smiled Cressida.

  “You okay, Ronnie?” asked Claude.

  “Fine,” I said. Cressida put her head down, stifling a smile. We walked in silence.

  About ten minutes farther down the road, Cressida eventually spoke. “Fleur was a live wire tonight, wasn’t she?” she said matter-of-factly. “That usherette was so angry when she spilled her Pepsi!”

  “Oh, that’s our Fleur for you,” chuckled Claude fondly. “Acts like a chimpanzee in public. We’re constantly embarrassed by her, eh, Ronnie?”

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  Cressida smiled and said nothing. “So that was Baz?” she asked. “The one she’s been snogging?”

  “Mmm . . . yeah, think so. Looked like him,” said Claude, distracted by her watch. “She’s got a different lad slobbering after her every week. She’s probably lost track herself by now. Hey, anyway, come on—Ruby only serves until 9 P.M.”

  “But are the smoothies and cakes organic?” asked Cressida.

  “Not sure,” said Claude. “We can ask.”

  I watched as they wandered off, giggling merrily.

  round one

  The following day, Saturday, I didn’t hear a word from the LBD. I assumed everyone was working on GCSE projects, what with the deadlines being near. But by Sunday night when Fleur ignored my third totally hilarious text message, I decided to call.

  “Yes,” Fleur said rather oddly.

  “All right, babe?” I chirped. “Why’s your phone off? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she clipped.

  “Er . . . been busy?”

  “Just studying,” she said. Fleur sounded angry. “Oh, and Cressida popped by with a biology textbook for me last night. We made brownies together.”

  “Right,” I said. There was an awkward silence. “You sound weird, Fleur, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” said Fleur. “Gotta go.”

  “Fleur!” I shouted. “Tell me what’s up!”

  “Hmmm . . . well, okay then!” Fleur said, taking a deep breath. “I just think that if you and Claude find me such an embarrassment in public, then I won’t come out with you ever again!”

  “Eh?” I said.

  “So I act like a chimpanzee, do I?” she yelled. “Well, thank you very much! Some friend you are. At least I’m not uptight and paranoid like you!”

  “But, I . . . ,” I stuttered.

  “And I’ve just phoned Miss Claudette ‘acts like a forty-year-old woman’ Cassiera and given her a few home truths about herself too!”

  “Oh God,” I groaned.

  “And FYI, I’m not such a cheap tart that I can’t even remember who my current boyfriend is!” shouted Fleur.

  “Fleur!” I yelled. “That’s not what—”

  “I can’t believe you’d both slag me off like that,” said Fleur, her voice crackling into raw tears.

  “Cressida told you all this, didn’t she?” I screamed. “Well, what a shock! Fleur, you have to listen to me about Cressida—”

  “Cressida accidentally told me a little bit of it,” sniffled Fleur. “And don’t you start blaming this on her just because you’ve never liked her. Don’t turn this back onto her!”

  “Fleur, it wasn’t like that!” I protested, but on the other end of the line I could hear the usually brash, fearless Fleur Iris Swan sobbing her heart out.

  And that’s when things started to go downhill.

  Silences, gossiping, arguments, mistrust.

  It took me two hours to calm Fleur down and explain the perfectly innocent context in which Claude had made those silly remarks. Claude was pretty upset too, especially as Fleur had called her “tedious” and “big-headed.”

  By midnight, we were all cool again. But I was determined to hear Cressida Sleeth’s explanation for this.

  showdown

  That Monday, I spent my entire German class drilling holes in the back of Cressida’s head with my eyes. When the lunch bell sounded, I let Frau Chalmers and the other pupils file out before cornering Ms. Sleeth in the classroom all alone.

  “Right, you little tofu-munching freak,” I began. “I want a word with you!”

  Cressida lifted her gaze and smiled at me serenely. “Darling, I don’t speak to you, remember?” she said, shooing me away with her tiny hand. “You’re the dull one.”

  I have to say, that sort of floored me. Turning on one rib-boned pump, Cressida made for the door.

  “Oh? Erm, right! You admit that, do you?” I yelled, following after her, grabbing her hair and yanking her blonde tresses backward. “You’ve tried pushing me out. Now you want Fleur and Claude at loggerheads! What are you getting out of this . . . you total weirdo?”

  Cressida stopped in her tracks and smirked. “Well, at the moment, sweetheart, I’m being taken to all the best parties by Fleur and I’m getting my geography and history homework done for me by Claude. While you . . . well, let’s see.” Cressida placed one finger to the corner of her mouth to ponder. “Oh, yes, you’re getting cheated on by Jimi Steele with Suzette Laws because she doesn’t squeal like a pig every time he puts his hand up her T-shirt. Ha ha ha!”

  “What?” I said, my face crumbling.

  “Oh, sorry!” said Cressida patronizingly. “Didn’t you know that? Me and my big mouth! You should play tennis with Panama—she knows all the best gossip.”

  “You . . . evil cow!” I shouted as Cressida sped out of the room heading for the Year 11 lockers with me on her trail. “You won’t get away with this, Frodo!” I yelled. “I’ll die stopping you!”

  “Lay one grubby unmanicured finger on me again and my daddy will sue you,” Cressida laughed over her shoulder as she bustled away, her gray muslin skirt billowing behind her, with me close at her heel still baying for blood. Then, just we turned the corner into the locker area where Claude and Fleur were chatting, Cressida let out this weird theatrical moan followed by pitiful blubbering.

  “Claude! Fleur!” Cressida whined, wrapping her sweater sleeves over her hands and dancing from foot to foot like a smacked toddler. “Waaaaahhhh! Ronnie is being so negative and aggressive with me over this silly misunderstanding!”

  Thick streams of tears were trickling down Cressida’s cherubic little face. “I’m so sorry if I’ve accidentally caused bad karma. So vewwwwy sorry!”

  I knew, in a flash, that no one would believe me about Cressida’s evil little outburst. In fact, within seconds both Fleur and Claude were hugging the little minx, trying to calm her down.

  By the end of lunch break, it was agreed that to solve further problems, we should all have our astrological charts cross-referenced.

  hell

  Silly old Panama Goodyear! Apparently she’d got it “all mixed up” about Jimi and Suzette Laws. They hadn’t been getting together twice weekly since January for clandestine groping and snogging sessions.

  No, of course not!

  Jimi assured me, amid all the crying and screaming, that he and Suzette were “just really good friends” who’d “grown closer” during the stressful run-up to the A-level exams. This led to them “hanging out” in each other’s bedrooms late into the night, “studying” and “chatting.”

  Something I wasn’t allowed to do.

  Weirdly enough, however, the very moment I went crazy and dumped Jimi over this . . . he and Suzette announced they were going out together!

  But remember, Jimi hadn’t cheated on me and broken my heart. No, he’d waited until we’d “officially had closure” before getting freaky with another girl.

  Oh, purrrrrr-leeeeeease! Which Christmas tree did they both think I’d fallen off?

  After all the sobbing and hurling subsided, I just felt angry and stupid. I began staring into the mirror for hours at a time, imagining parts of me I’d alter if only Magda and Loz would buy me a birthday gift voucher for the Transform Clinic.

  New nose? Yes, please.

  Perkier bum? Absolutely.


  Bigger boobs? Yes, big humongous boobs, definitely. Not tiny little feeble swellings that sit there adding nothing to my shape.

  I hated Jimi Steele for making me feel so ugly and charmless. (Okay, I didn’t hate Jimi Steele. I felt like I’d love him forever. Mum, on the other hand, truly hated Jimi Steele and had to be physically restrained from giving him a backhander across the face in Safeway.)

  The only good thing about splitting with Jimi was that Cressida Sleeth got out of my face for a couple of weeks and let Fleur and Claude get on with making me feel better.

  If I’d not had the LBD during that fortnight, I don’t know what would have happened. I never wanted another boyfriend as long as I lived.

  The GCSE exams began five weeks ago in May. It was around then that Cressida phased out Fleur.

  Fleur had served her purpose. Nowadays, Cressida knew all the hottest people to know at Blackwell. She played tennis with Panama, had several hot boys sniffing round her, and got personal invites to all the best parties. She just didn’t need Fleur anymore. She was perfectly civil, but the texts, the calls, the Reiki sessions, the past-life therapy, all that just stopped.

  At first I was chuffed. Now Fleur would see Cressida for the freak she really was—but it didn’t work out like that. Instead, Fleur got angry with Claude for not dropping Cressida in protest. Things got weirder, more complex, more subtly nasty.

  A distinct crack began to form right down the center of the group. Fleur was bitching about Claude and Cressida “leaving us both out of things” while Claude and Cressida spent their days in the library cramming for the GCSEs like weird book-ogling Siamese twins.

  I don’t blame Claude for being flattered by Cressida’s undivided attention. Let’s face it, we’ve both played second fiddle to Fleur right through Blackwell. And Claude truly believed that Cressida liked her the best.