I add another line quickly.
Joking. We’re just friends, right?
An answer comes back almost at once.
Friends? You kidding me? I do not set my alarm to five in the morning to talk to my friends. Just sayin’.
Relief washes over me as I type back.
Hey. There was me thinking you were playing hard to get …
xxx
I wait for a reply, but nothing arrives.
I smile, imagining Riley stretched out on his student bunk, still in his party clothes, drifting into sleep as the Sydney dawn drags its finger along the windowpanes. I imagine his laptop glowing bright in the half-light until, finally, it blinks and sleeps too.
Just so’s you don’t forget … your big movie debut is almost here! Scarlet Ribbons is on TV here at 8 p.m. on Wednesday. You should be able to get it on Watch-Again from the day after. So excited! Finch says you’re in loads of the fairground scenes!
Skye xoxo
10
At Tara’s sleepover, sometime after eating the home-made funny-face pizzas and watching the first slushy DVD, talk turns to makeovers. We sort through Tara’s wardrobe, discarding the worst atrocities and updating others. Tara hands me a pair of dressmaking shears and I set to work turning jeans into shorts, a knee-length skirt into a mini, a T-shirt into a crop top.
‘Your mum will kill me,’ I say, snipping the lace collar from a prissy little print dress and holding it against a plain black T-shirt. ‘But you’re going to look amazing, I promise!’
‘How d’you know what to do with all this stuff?’ she asks. ‘You should be a fashion designer or a stylist or something …’
‘No, my sister Skye’s the stylist – she loves vintage and she can make something beautiful out of almost anything. A charity-shop dress, an old sheet … She’s awesome, I kid you not. She helped with the costumes for a film a little while ago, and it’s going to be on TV in the UK on Wednesday night!’
‘A film?’ Bennie echoes. ‘Cool!’
I shrug. ‘Me and my little sister Coco are in it as extras,’ I say. ‘Just in the background.’
‘Serious?’ Tara gasps. ‘You’re in a film?’
‘I guess I am,’ I say. ‘It’s on Watch-Again from Thursday. I might have a look …’
‘You have to!’ Bennie tells me. ‘We will too. I can’t believe you never mentioned it before!’
‘It’s no big deal,’ I say, watching Tara lean in towards the mirror, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She frowns, rolling her eyes.
‘Hey, film star, any advice on what I can do with my hair?’ she asks. ‘It’s just so … yuk. And I can never figure out what suits me.’
I narrow my eyes. Tara’s hair is a startling shade of auburn, but it’s too long and too lank, held back with little-girl hairslides decorated with polka dots.
‘Have you tried an updo?’ I ask, and I open my laptop and find a YouTube tutorial. Bennie and I set to work with hairspray and backcombing to create a towering beehive-style bun, but the end result is ridiculous, as if Tara is balancing a small cushion on her head. We try French plaits next, but that looks too severe. I demonstrate making ringletty waves with a hair straightener, but this just makes Tara look like a lovable spaniel with extra-cute ears.
‘I think it’s too long,’ I declare finally. ‘It’s nice enough, but it doesn’t flatter your face – you have great bone structure, Tara. What would really, really suit you is one of those short, sharp bobs, like Amélie from that French film, only … well, you know. Auburn.’
Tara folds her hair up short to make a mock-bob, and her face lights up. ‘Maybe!’ she says. ‘With a cute little fringe? I’ve always wanted something like that, but every time I go to the hairdresser I get cold feet and ask for a trim instead.’
‘Hairdressers are overrated,’ I say rashly. ‘Anyone can cut hair.’
Tara and Bennie turn to look at me. ‘You think?’ Bennie asks.
‘Sure,’ I say confidently. ‘I cut my own hair. How hard can it be?’
‘That settles it,’ Tara says. ‘Because your hair is gorgeous!’
She hands me the dressmaking shears and I try not to panic. I did cut my own hair, sure, but only because I was really mad after that whole Cherry and Shay nightmare, and decided to hack off my waist-length blonde waves in favour of a skinhead crop. It was more self-harm than high fashion, and it took ages to grow out again. My hair is shoulder length now, but yeah, scissors and me can be a very dangerous combination.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
‘Certain!’ Tara insists. ‘Chop it all off!’
I start very carefully, trimming one side to chin length and working my way round while she holds perfectly still. Slivers of auburn hair drop to the floor as I snip. When I get all the way round, I discover I’ve cut the hair shorter on that side than where I started, so I have to go back again, combing and frowning and pretending it is all part of the plan. Eventually, everything is the same length, but then Tara reminds me about the fringe.
‘Fringes are hard,’ I say. ‘But I’ve seen this trick where you stick a piece of Sellotape across the hair and cut along that. Can’t go wrong.’
I comb Tara’s newly short hair down across her face, administer a strip of Sellotape, then start to chop. ‘See?’ I declare, admiring the neat edge I’ve created. ‘Foolproof!’
Bennie tears the Sellotape away, which makes Tara yell, and as if by magic her fringe readjusts so that it’s all jagged and uneven.
‘It’s probably my fault,’ Tara says. ‘My hair has a mind of its own …’
By the time I have the fringe straight, it has shrunk back to just a few centimetres long, giving Tara a permanently startled appearance. Her new-look bob is dramatic all right, but miraculously, it seems to suit her. She twirls and pouts in front of the mirror and finally adds the little-girl hair-slides again, and they actually look good this time.
‘Wow,’ she sighs. ‘I look much more grown-up and intellectual. Maybe boys will notice me now. Ash, maybe?’
‘I doubt it,’ Bennie cuts in. ‘He fancies Honey.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘I don’t fancy him,’ I argue. ‘At least … only a little bit. He’s very cute, but not really my type.’
‘What is your type?’ Bennie demands.
I shrug. ‘I like bad boys … boys with a bit of edge, a bit of danger about them. The thing is, Tara, I don’t think you fancy Ash either. Think about it. Did your heart beat faster when you spoke to him? Did you blush or stammer or feel awkward?’
‘No,’ she admits. ‘But it was nice to find someone who’s actually heard of Nietzsche!’
‘Who?’ I tease. ‘But anyway, that’s not the point. Fact is, there was no spark! Remember you told me about the boy at the bus stop who asked you for a pencil?’
‘I went crimson,’ she remembers. ‘I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. It was awful!’
‘That’s because you fancied him,’ I explain. ‘There was a spark – chemistry, if you like. That’s good! It means you’ve hit on a chocolate boy. Once you learn to control all that and get talking, you’ll be fine! What was his name?’
‘Joshua McGee,’ Bennie chips in. ‘He lives on the corner of my street.’
‘I can’t talk to him,’ Tara wails. ‘It’s impossible! I’ll just make a fool of myself!’
‘You won’t,’ I promise. ‘You can control the panic – we’ll work on it. Wait till he sees your new haircut!’
Bennie grins, wrapping herself in a corner of duvet. ‘You are all kinds of awesome, Honey Tanberry,’ she says. ‘I bet we’ll find ourselves some cool boys now that you’re here. So, are you going to tell us about who you fancy? If not Ash … then who?’
‘OK, OK, I’ll tell you …’
Tara turns the lights low and I plug my laptop into the speakers and set my music on to shuffle, and we snuggle down under duvets, eating TimTam biscuits and sipping home-made milkshakes. I feel about five years old, but it’s a nic
e feeling, warm and safe and good.
I tell Tara and Bennie about Riley, about the day at the beach and how the air practically sizzled between us, there was so much chemistry, but that the minute he heard my age he lost interest. When I tell them about the SpiderWeb add and the pre-dawn flirting, their eyes widen.
‘Like a fantasy romance,’ Bennie says.
It has occurred to me already that an Internet romance could be a lot less trouble than a real-life one – when you’re chatting online, things can’t escalate the way they do in the real world. I don’t want my friends to think that Riley is just some kind of fantasy, though … that makes me look kind of sad.
‘He’s not a fantasy, he’s real,’ I point out. ‘I’ve met him, remember?’
‘Right,’ Bennie says. ‘And he’s a student – how old, exactly?’
I shrug. ‘Eighteen or nineteen, maybe? And gorgeous!’
‘What’s he studying?’ Tara chips in. ‘Which uni is he at?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘We don’t talk about stuff like that. Is there more than one uni?’
‘There’s a whole bunch of them,’ Bennie says. ‘You’d think he’d have mentioned which. I wonder why he changed his mind about the age gap, decided it didn’t matter after all?’
‘He just did,’ I say, irritated. ‘A few years shouldn’t make any difference. It’s not like he’s ancient!’
‘No, obviously,’ Bennie persists. ‘But … a student wouldn’t normally bother with a schoolgirl. Or have the patience for an online relationship, when he lives close by and could just meet up with you in real life if he wanted. It’s a bit weird. You don’t think he’s got something to hide?’
My irritation gives way to unease. Is Bennie right? Could Riley be playing games with me? I may have a thing for bad boys, but I don’t want to be messed around.
Tara nudges Bennie in the ribs sharply.
‘It’s not weird, it’s lovely!’ she exclaims, flicking her newly short hair so that it swings around her face. ‘A hundred years ago he’d have been wooing you with poems and flowers, and now it’s SpiderWeb messages – it’s just a different way of being romantic. I bet he does ask you out!’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll ask him,’ I decide. ‘I’ll soon find out if he’s serious or not!’
‘Look,’ Bennie says. ‘I didn’t mean to be negative. It just seems odd, that’s all. And I was pretty sure you had a thing for Ash at the cafe because he definitely likes you!’
‘He’s cool,’ I say. ‘But so is Riley, and he’s more of a challenge!’
Bennie shakes her head. ‘I think you’re crazy,’ she says. ‘Ash is gorgeous … and available! Still, your choice, obviously!’
I laugh and roll my eyes. ‘Who knows, you could be right,’ I concede. ‘My taste in boys hasn’t always been good, but I’ve had a lot of fun learning from my mistakes!’
‘Have you been in love lots of times?’ Tara asks. ‘Did anyone ever break your heart?’
‘It goes with the territory,’ I admit. ‘Shall I show you some of my exes?’ I reach across to the laptop and open up a new window, clicking through the photos I’ve uploaded from my iPhone. Tara and Bennie see split-second images of JJ, Marty, Phil, Joey, pictures of me before I scrubbed up and turned good-girl.
‘Whoa,’ Tara gasps as a photo of Kes comes up. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Just an ex,’ I say, rolling my eyes. ‘He was trouble …’
‘And you like trouble,’ Bennie says with a grin.
‘I’m trying to change,’ I declare.
‘Stick with us,’ Tara says. ‘We can keep you on the straight and narrow!’
I laugh because I know that actually nobody can keep me on the straight and narrow. God knows, Mum tried hard enough.
‘What about the boy, though?’ Bennie wants to know. ‘Did he cheat on you? Did he break your heart?’
‘He didn’t cheat,’ I explain. ‘He didn’t break my heart either – it was pretty much broken to start with. Kes was just one of a whole bunch of no-goods. I had a serious boyfriend a couple of years back, though … his name was Shay.’
I find a picture, an old one where he’s laughing into the camera, beanie hat askew, guitar in hand.
‘Awww,’ Tara whispers. ‘He’s lovely!’
‘What happened?’ Bennie prompts.
I shrug, looking into the distance for maximum dramatic effect. ‘My new stepsister stole him from right under my nose,’ I say. ‘She’s still dating him. Can you imagine? I guess I lost my way for a little while. I made some bad choices, went off the rails, messed up at school. I’m not proud of it.’
My new friends are open-mouthed, soaking up this information. It’s all true – it’s just not the whole truth. Looking back, I know I took Shay for granted, but still, I loved him. I just didn’t show it. As for the rest, the full details of my fall from grace at Exmoor High School are dull and sad and sordid. Even I don’t blame Cherry for that. I close down the photo album abruptly.
‘Whoa!’ Tara says. ‘I can’t believe it. Who would do a thing like that to their own stepsister?’
‘You had to live with this girl?’ Bennie checks. ‘Without actually strangling her? Nightmare! Is that why you’ve come to live with your dad?’
‘I couldn’t stand it any more,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t stay there.’
‘No wonder!’
‘That’s why I’m taking things slow with Riley,’ I add. ‘And so an online flirtation seems … well, better, for now. I’m through with heartbreak.’ Plus, of course, Dad has made it very clear he doesn’t want me seeing anyone. I don’t mention that bit, though.
My new friends nod, a little awestruck, as if I am some exotic creature that escaped from a zoo, dangerous, fascinating, unpredictable.
The haircut verdict is almost unanimous. Tara’s mum does not approve, but hey, it’s only a haircut. She’d faint clean away if she knew just how much of a bad influence I could be if I really tried. Maybe she can sense it because she makes cinnamon toast for us the morning after the sleepover with her nostrils flared as if fire might blaze out of them at any moment. Truth is, though, Tara looks amazing; cute and quirky and mysterious, as if she has grown up overnight.
At school on Monday, the compliments come thick and fast. ‘You look so different. Bet it cost a fortune! Where did you go? It totally suits you!’
Tara just smiles and flicks her hair and walks away, a new confidence wrapped round her like an invisible cloak. Best of all, Bennie reports that Joshua McGee walked up to Tara at the bus stop and said he liked her hair.
‘It was the best moment of my entire life,’ Tara breathes.
‘She turned the colour of a beetroot,’ Bennie adds. ‘But she didn’t run away. Progress, right?’
‘Definite progress.’
What can I say? I am a genius.
Hi there, big sister.
It was so weird to see you on Skype the other week. It was like we could just reach out and touch you, only of course we couldn’t. I miss you. December is not the easiest month for me; the kitchen smelt amazing tonight because Mum has been making Christmas pudding and Christmas cake and home-made mincemeat to give away as prezzies. I was helping and pretending to take it all in my stride but I don’t like it – it’s stressful, scary.
Why does Christmas have to be about selection boxes and chocolate yule logs and eating until you could burst? I am dreading it, Honey. I wish it could be how it was when we were little, when the only thing we worried about was whether it would snow or not, and whether we could stay awake until Father Christmas came. I really miss those days.
Summer xxx
11
I read Summer’s message on my iPhone at lunchtime on Monday and my heart flips over. There are times when being in Australia feels like being on a whole different planet, and this is one of them. My sister needs me and I’m not there to help – that sucks. I tap out a quick reply.
Summer, you are beautiful and clever and strong an
d you’ve come a long way since August. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you, but I am … so proud.
Christmas is going to be stressful. Food’s everywhere, right? But food can’t hurt you, little sister. It’s not the enemy. This is just a wobble – everyone has them, even me. You think I’ve turned over a new leaf, ditched the drama queen strops? Think again. I mess up sometimes – lots of times. But I am trying, and that’s what counts. I won’t stop trying, and I know you won’t either because you are not a quitter, Summer Tanberry.
Love you lots,
xxx
After school, I stay back at study club with Tara and Bennie, then waste a couple of hours window shopping and drinking smoothies in the local mall. It’s a welcome distraction. I need to speak to Mum alone, to tip her off that Summer is struggling, but the time difference means I can’t call yet – everyone will be sleeping, and later my sisters will be getting ready for school and it’ll be chaos.
I miss that chaos sometimes. Back home I often had to barricade myself into my bedroom to get a minute to myself – you never knew what to expect from one minute to the next. Skye might be making a dress out of the bedroom curtains or playing crackly, ancient jazz records on her gramophone; Summer could be practising grand jetés in the hallway and Coco might be playing violin dirges in the nearest treetop. Dad’s house is quieter. He doesn’t get home till past seven o’clock and twice last week he worked really late again. I felt a bit sorry for Emma, but let’s face it, I did not come to Sydney to hang out with my dad’s girlfriend.
By the time I get home, Emma is setting the table and lighting candles in the dining room as Dad decants takeaway Indian food into fancy dishes and sets them in the oven to stay warm. Both of them are dressed up, Dad in a sharp suit and Emma in a blue satin slip-dress with a collar of pearls.
‘Swit-swoo,’ I say to Emma. ‘What’s going on?’
Dad glances up, frowning slightly, as if he’s forgotten my existence. ‘Client dinner,’ he says. ‘All very last minute. We need to just make one last push to clinch the deal, and I’m hoping that a friendly, family setting will help them see that we’re the company to trust. I thought you were at a sleepover?’
Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey Page 7