c) or they’re magic and I’ve got a place at Hogwarts.
Gabe comes back a few hours later with Pete (broken fingers), Roman (bruised ribs, cut legs), and Lav (absolutely fine.) The boys weren’t on bed rest, so they’ve been more active than me and have been picking up all the news that we missed after we DESTROYED Britain’s Hidden Talent.
Pete is very excited. “So apparently, while there’s no chance we’ll make it onto the show because the studio cameras got water damage, tons of people filmed us on their phones and put the videos on YouTube, where the views have already overtaken our first video!”
Ro is adamant that this is way better than being on the show, because we get all the fame but also a kind of underground edgy vibe. Good, I’m glad, I say vaguely, that’s exactly the sort of vibe I’ve always wanted.
I’m distracted—Lav is sitting a little too close to Roman on my bed. I give her a narrowed-eyes look.
Later, when the boys leave, she preempts me—“But he’s so lovely!”
“I know!” I say. “That’s why you’d better be nice to him.”
“He was so worried about you. He wouldn’t get in the ambulance until he saw you were OK.”
That is very sweet. And I’m happy for the two of them. I wonder if Ro does the tongue worm thing? I smirk to myself. It’d be funny if Lav got the bad kisser out of the family and I got the good one. Rude to brag about, though.
Lav hops off the bed to leave. “Did you get the bag of underwear I left you?” she asks.
The smirk droops on my face. “Uh. Yes, thank you,” I reply, smoothing my blanket and avoiding eye contact. “When did you leave it there, out of interest?”
Lav checks her watch. “I’m not sure. What time did you start kissing Gabe? I got here about a second before that.”
I stare at the duvet, feeling the blood rush to my ears.
“Thank you for stopping by, Laverne.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Please go, I’m very ill, I need my rest.”
“This is adorable. Gabe!”
I put my head under the pillow until my ears cool down.
the end 2
I race toward an unfamiliar sports center, taking the steps two at a time.
“Come on!” I yell over my shoulder.
I run inside and look frantically around. Ah, that way! I look back and point. “I’m going this way, come on!”
Gabe staggers through the door after me, panting. “Yelling ‘come on’ doesn’t make my legs longer. If it did, I’d shout at them too.”
I feel a stab of guilt and maybe love (or a stitch). I grab his bag from him to lighten his load.
“I can carry you if you’re tired.”
“Shut up and keep moving.”
We had to take three buses to get here. We’ve been rushing for about two hours and we’re still late. The chlorine smell is getting stronger as we power walk along the corridor, and I push through a set of heavy doors to find myself in the viewing gallery of a huge glass-roofed space with four swimming pools in it.
I flop down on a bench and start scanning the swimmers for a familiar face. A second later Gabe lands beside me with a thud. We both glow with sweaty heat. Gabe pulls off his sweater. I don’t, not yet.
“I’m glad your dad got a job,” he grumbles, his sweater halfway over his head, “but I do miss the free taxi service.”
“The food’s gone downhill too,” I tell him. “Mom fried pasta leftovers the other day. Oh!” I spot her and pinch Gabe accidentally hard.
“Ow! Good!” He rubs his arm and we both wave.
Hannah is standing by the side of the blocks, getting ready for her race. I’m so glad we made it in time. I wave frantically to get her attention. The family behind me tuts, but I don’t care. She spots me and gives me an aggressive thumbs-ups in return.
I unzip my hoodie to reveal my T-shirt.
It’s bespoke. (Up yours, Debs.) It’s got a giant photo of Hannah’s sleeping face on it—I stand up and point at it. She looks subtly delighted. To the untrained eye she looks annoyed and embarrased.
I settle down next to Gabe and we lean forward, watching intently, no more joking around. Hannah’s competing to get into the High Performance Training Camp again. I know she can make the times, and she’ll deal better with the pressure this time. Especially since she had a Firm Word with her parents.
I see Debs talking to her. She’s coaching her again. Hannah nods, listening. Debs’s team, Pretty in Sync, made the semifinals of Britain’s Hidden Talent. When they were eliminated before the final, Debs stormed the stage and had to be dragged off the judges’ table by security. She became briefly notorious.
I think public shame has been good for her. Character building or something. All I know is, I loved it. I watched that video a lot online. Along with lots of other people.
Hannah gets up on her block; the room calms down. Hannah stops looking at the other swimmers now. She looks straight ahead. You swim no one’s race but your own.
I hope she knows that if she hates the camp this time around, I’m always available for prison breaks.
She bends and wraps her fingers around the edge of the block. There’s a pause, then the starting pistol bangs, and she dives, hard.
I watch Hannah, and Gabe watches me. I feel his eyes on me and I smile and grab his hand. I’m swimming my own race.
acknowledgments
Thanks Mum and Dad! Top billing for long service.
Thanks to my tenacious and brilliant agent, Hellie Ogden at Janklow and Nesbit—for finding me in the aftermath of disaster and insisting that NOW was the perfect time to write this book. You were right, you’re always right!
The original Lou—Lu Corfield, for letting me live and write in your house when I had nowhere to live! (This happens to me far too often. Must concentrate.)
My wonderful UK editor, Emma Lidbury at Walker, for her support, encouragement and—most important—great notes. Thanks for your patience with my chronology, sometimes in Lou’s world it’s always Tuesday and then we lose a month. No one knows why.
Love and thanks to Walker Books, which is exactly the sort of place you imagine the books get made. And where everyone is always welcoming even when I’m annoying Jack Noel about the cover and stealing books.
I’m very grateful to Jessica Fullalove, an awesome British swimmer who patiently answered all my divvy questions about her job.
I’m very excited to be published by Macmillan in America, thank you so much Jean Feiwel for making that happen, Anna Booth for the awesome cover design, and Anna Roberto for ensuring that Lou makes sense when she travels! The whole pants/pants thing was a minefield.
Thank you to my European publishers—Gallimard Jeunesse in France, cbt Verlag in Germany and Piemme in Italy—I’m delighted that Lou is becoming more well-travelled than me! And to Rebecca Folland and Kirsty Gordon at Janklow and Nesbit for all their skill and patience. International tax is a world of pain that I won’t ever understand but hey, at least we TRIED? (If HMRC is reading this … I swear—I paid.)
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about the author
Nat Luurtsema is a BAFTA-nominated screenwriter, stand-up comic, BAFTA Rocliffe alumni, member of the sketch group Jigsaw, actor, author of Cuckoo in the Nest, and writer for BBC Radio 4, BBC3, and Channel 4. Great driver, average waitress, terrible singer. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
The end
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
The end 2
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Nat Luurtsema
A Feiwel and Friends Book
An Imprint of Macmillan
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
macteenbooks.com
All rights reserved.
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at [email protected].
First hardcover edition, 2016
eBook edition, June 2016
eISBN 9781250089199
Goldfish Page 18