It’s quite impressive, like ants transporting a leaf.
A leaf that will slice your head off if you brake too suddenly. I’m glad we’re not travelling with them.
Hang on: how are we getting home? We look at each other as the last car leaves, and realize, yup, our TV dreams have gone so badly wrong that we arrived in a mega-truck but are leaving by bus. Hello, Hollywood!
Hollywood Bowl, just off the A-road, that’s my stop.
We ride the bus in dejected silence, I’m WhatsApping Lav. As I type, something rubs against my chest. It’s my whistle tucked under my T-shirt. I hold it for comfort.
“OK,” I say suddenly. “This wasn’t our last chance. There is one more public try-out. It’s next week and we will be ready. We have one week to find a tank. We’re ready, the routine is ready. We can do this.”
The boys look doubtful, as do the people around us on the bus. So I pull out my whistle and give it a quiet but encouraging peep.
“We can!” I repeat.
“Yeah,” nods Gabriel. “OK.”
“Yeah,” says Roman, with the hint of a smile.
“Yes!” says a man sitting behind me, caught up in the mood of the moment. (He is not joining the team.)
After a pause, Pete shoots me his first smile since he saw Debs’ bloody bespoke pool.
One week: we can do this. I hold tight to my whistle. I am a coach and this is my team.
22
Lou
Oh god Lav, DISASTER at BHT. I don’t know where to begin.
Lav
I’ve got the headlines.
Lou
How do you know already??
Lav
Twitter.
Lou
AAARRRGGH!!! **Kills self**
Lav
No no it’s OK, it’s not that bad I swear.
Lou
Really? HOW?!
Lav
Most people are misspelling your name.
Lou
LOU…?
Lav
People are idiots.
Lou
Are they misspelling Roman, Gabe or Pete?
Lav
No.
Lou
I feel sick.
Lav
This will all blow over. Remember when that sixth former wet herself in assembly?
Lou
No.
Lav
Exactly.
No wonder Roman and Pete were so grumpy. They have cool to lose, unlike me. Still, this whole thing is not my responsibility. I’m younger than them and they treat me like their mum and a servant.
But I’m not going to get resentful about it: I’ve done enough feeling sorry for myself this summer. We just have to find a tank. (However many times I say that, it still sounds ridiculous.)
That night I go to bed early, tired out after the 5 a.m. start and the public humiliation. Thankfully, my parents didn’t make me go through it all again when I got in. Dad just handed me a giant Aero.
I lie in bed feeling bizarrely optimistic despite everything. At least I’m not dealing with this alone.
I wish I could talk to Hannah about it. Lav isn’t the same – she knows more than me, so it feels more like advice than conversation. Right on cue she addresses me from the opposite bed. No “Are you awake?” or any of that polite nonsense. Lav has decided it’s chat o’clock, so Chat Hats on and off we go. She looks up from her phone, musing.
“The trouble with boys,” she says seriously, “is that they will invariably try and kiss you.”
I can’t help it; I start laughing.
“Yes, Lavender,” I reply, “that is my problem with boys, they are always trying to kiss me. I am like bread in a duck pond. Also I wish they would stop writing me love songs. It gets tedious.”
There is a thoughtful silence.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Yes! Yes, of course I’m being sarcastic. Good grief, Lavender.”
“You’re so pretty,” she says.
“Don’t,” I say firmly. “Even to be nice. I am huge. My hair is mad. I am ripped with muscles. I would be scared to meet me down a dark alleyway.”
“You’re like one of those androgynous catwalk models!” she protests.
“That’s as may be, but this is not a catwalk in Milan. This is a suburban town where men yell out of cars to ask if I’ve escaped from a zoo.”
“I’m going to give you a makeover,” she says firmly. I sigh.
Lavender thinks that makeovers are the answer to all humanity’s problems. If you dropped her into a war zone she’d start shaping everyone’s eyebrows.
I feel my eyebrows. They are quite bad, actually, like slugs covered in dog hair. I try to comb them into roughly the right direction with my fingernails.
“Just leave it, Lav,” I say quietly into the darkness. I say I don’t care, but I guess I do because I feel my throat grow hot and tight.
“Come here,” she says, leaping out of bed and grabbing me by the arm. It is so scary when someone light-footed does that in the dark. She leads me out of our room and we feel our way along the hallway into Mum’s room, where she’s trying to sleep.
“Mum,” says Lav, “isn’t Lou pretty?” Mum pushes her eye mask up and stares at us groggily.
“She’s going to be,” she finally answers.
“When?” I demand.
“Soon.”
Uh-huh. I’d like a more specific time frame on that, tbh. I don’t want to die just as I get pretty with everyone at my funeral saying, “Such a shame, she finally grew into that nose.”
Lav flops down next to Mum and I crawl in the other side. Mum groans but throws the duvet over both of us.
“You’re too big for this,” she tuts.
“Mum, don’t fat-shame.”
“Shut up, Lavender,” she mumbles.
We lie still for a bit.
“Mum?” I whisper.
“Yes,” she whispers back.
“Is Dad OK?”
I know Lav is listening too.
“He will be.”
“Are you guys going to get back together?”
“No, he’ll find a pretty redhead and they’ll have lots of little sheds together.”
“Mum.”
“Go to sleep.”
23
08:30
Great performance yesterday, guys, not a single weak link. This is the strongest team I’ve ever coached. A few of you will be following Hannah soon!
Debs
08:31
Thanks Debs!
Nic x
08:33
Thanks Debs! Btw Lou is still on this group thread, can we take her off it? ;)
Cammie xxxxxx
Apparently creativity works best within constraints. I read that somewhere. I have to remind myself of this on Monday when we find that Debs has booked out the swimming pool every evening this week and we have nowhere to practise. I knew she’d do something like this.
The boys don’t always manage the final lift where Gabe is raised out of the water with Pete and Roman holding a foot each. The idea is that he balances there, leaning forward in a controlled pose before the boys throw him up into a high, graceful somersault.
Half the time they perform this perfectly, the rest of the time they slap him into the pool with a loud belly flop. Gabe says not to worry, he never wanted kids anyway.
It took me ages to get that joke.
My little emotional blackmail trick at the try-outs has backfired and Debs is now watching me like a hawk in hotpants. The situation is so desperate that Ro actually talks to me in public. Alert the media.
We’re standing next to the vending machine at break and he stares intently at the chocolate throughout the conversation so no one will think he’s talking to the big muscly weirdo two years below him.
“I don’t know where else we can go, I’m sorry!” I tell him for the thousandth time.
“Well, think,” he says impatiently. “This is you
r job.”
“No, actually,” I tell him, “my job was helping you put together a routine without you all drowning. I have done that and I have worked so hard on this … so … don’t tread on me.”
You go, girl! I’m glad I had the guts to say that. Pete and Roman can get so focused on what they want that they don’t care about anything or anyone else.
If only you could put Gabe’s sensitive head on top of one of their bodies. Mmmm. Frankensteinboy.
I get a WhatsApp message from Pete in maths, where for once I’m being left alone in my own seat. Our maths teacher loves making us pair off to do maths exercises together. Why? Pairing off doesn’t make maths more fun, like: We’re Good Cop, Bad Cop! We’re mavericks but we get results! All that ever happens is that no one wants to be my partner, so I have to pair up with the teacher. Who doesn’t help me because SHE IS THE MATHS TEACHER AND KNOWS THE ANSWERS.
The WhatsApp says: Outside the pool at 9 tonight. Wear dark clothes.
Srsly? If Mum knew a boy had sent me such a dodgy text she’d be straight down the police station! Although the thought of Roman – or Pete – thinking of me That Way is hilaire. I’m not sure either of them realize I’m a girl. I message back.
I’ll bring weapons, you sort alibis.
Roman
Cool
Pete
K
Gabriel
Oh man I am NOT going back to prison.
Two people in this team are doing all the heavy lifting funny-wise.
I’m just putting my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes with a new email from Hannah. I skim-read with one eye on the teacher. She’s starting to worry me – she sounds more and more stressed. I hope her parents aren’t giving her a hard time, or that the camp isn’t picking up where they leave off. The last thing she needs is to be tag-team pressurized.
“Lou-eeze!” snaps Ms Kearney.
“Four!” I call out. (Yell a number, it’s always worth a try.) From the look on her face it was wrong. And from the silence in the room it must have been quite funny. If I say something embarrassing, it’s like someone’s detonated a LOL bomb in the classroom, but funny gets nothing.
Lav is so right. They’re not friends I haven’t made yet, it’s just bad luck they were born near me. I moodily doodle a fish tank on my maths book. I put Cammie in it and add a shark, and leave them to it.
24
Weez, are you there? I’ve had such a bad day. My times have started getting worse. I feel really sluggish. Plus I’m homesick and eating to feel better, but that’s the LAST thing I should do. Told Mum I want to come home. She said she won’t let me make a mistake I’ll regret. So I’m stuck here. Come bust me out?! Joking not joking.
Hx
That evening I eat dinner thinking about Hannah and wondering if I should talk to my parents about her. Or maybe Lav, or Mr Peters? Debs? No way, not Debs.
I feel like showing Hannah’s emails to anyone would be disloyal. I reply and tell her to stay calm, she’s probably just having an off week (or month… I don’t add). I send her some photos of us camping, and a few badly stuffed animals. If they don’t make her smile, she’s in real trouble.
It’s only when the clock strikes seven that I remember I have a more immediate problem. I haven’t asked Mum and Dad for permission to go out tonight. How can I?
“Muu-uum, Daa-aad, can I go out late at night with three boys you don’t know? I also suspect we’re off to do something dodgy. Don’t wait up! And has anyone got money for vodka?”
It’s time to call in some favours. I corner Lav as we’re washing up after dinner and tell her the problem.
“Wow.” She pauses mid-scrub. “That almost sounds cool. Who are you and what have you done with Lou?”
“Ha ha,” I say. “But help me. You’ve sneaked out loads of times to meet boys – how do you do it?”
“Not ‘loads’ of times!” she protests.
“Lav, I used to see you walk past my window on the flat roof. I didn’t think Santa Claus had lost weight.”
“Ah, was that when we had our own bedrooms?”
“Oh yes. The glory days. Over now.”
“You tell them you feel ill and need to go to bed. You say your tummy and back hurt…” She winks at me.
I wink back.
She winks again.
“Lav, why are we winking?”
“Oh for goodness’ sake. If I have to spell it out…When’s your period due?”
“Er … the futuuure?”
“Seriously, you haven’t started yet?”
“I’m all muscly and my BMI is a bit … and shut up, yeah? Don’t make me self-conscious about it!”
“I just thought you were dealing with it without any fuss.”
“Oh no, when it happens I will make a fuss. Now go back to the winking.”
“OK, when you say your tummy and back hurt, Dad hears period alarm bells and he’ll give you a hot water bottle and leave you alone.”
“Brilliant!”
“Yes, but, Mum will become more interested in you and hover around. There’s a book called Blossoming into a Woman that is literally the worst book ever written and she’ll want to read it with you. However, she’s going out tonight, so the plan is solid.”
“What time is she heading out?”
“Eight forty-five.”
“I’ve got to meet them at nine.”
“So you’re blossoming at eight forty-six, sharp.”
It’s now 8.50 p.m. and Mum still hasn’t gone out. She’s sitting on the sofa all dressed up, but she seems pretty happy watching TV with Dad. They’re shouting insults at Question Time and laughing till they snort.
Lav and I sit stony-faced, watching them. Every time they glance in our direction we slap big smiles on our faces, like: Good one!! David Cameron, eh? (No idea. I have too many problems in my life to care about national ones.) Finally at 9 p.m. Mum kisses all of us and heads out – to meet Dan, whoever he is. Apparently he’s “in stocks”. Sounds like a man from the Middle Ages being pelted with rotten veg. Best of luck, Mum.
The moment the front door slams I look at Lav. She shakes her head. We wait, and there’s the familiar sound of Mum’s car starting up and driving off.
Lav nods. Operation: Blossom is a go.
“Ooh,” I say, “my stomach hurts.”
“Oh dear,” says Dad, eyes on the TV.
“And my back,” I add. “And I feel sort of emotional.”
Lav shoots me daggers. Too much.
Dad gives me his full attention now. “Would you like a hot water bottle?”
“I’ll get it,” Lav says, giving him A Look. “Maybe Lou should have an early night.”
“OK,” I say, like: If you think I should.
“Feel better, Goldfish!” Dad calls as we shuffle upstairs slowly.
“That was awful, just in case you were wondering,” Lav hisses, poking me in the back as she follows me up.
“Sorry, Lav, I’ve never rebelled before.”
We change pace the moment we reach the bedroom. It’s 9.03 p.m. and it takes me at least ten minutes to run to the swimming pool. Aargh!
I shake off my dressing gown. Underneath it I’m dressed like a mime, head to toe in black. Quite a nice outfit, actually, as Lav supplied most of it.
I put one foot out of the window, ready to drop gently onto the flat roof and sneak off over the garage and down via the water butt as instructed. Without snagging the clothes on anything. Crucial instruction. Lav says if I rip her clothes I should keep running, never look back and live life on the run. It’s a bit tempting given how much I hate school.
I turn back, and Lav is expertly folding clothes and pillows to stuff under the duvet. She glances up at me.
“Just in case he comes up. I’ll stay here now and tell him you’re asleep. Now hurry, you’re late. Go make a cool evening uncool.”
I drop gently onto the roof and run over the garage like a cartoon burglar, with pointed toes and fingers. H
ee hee, this is fun! When I get to the edge, I sit down and hook my legs over the side, feeling for the water butt with one foot. I have to be careful: the top is slimy with mildew. I reach down further and further but still can’t feel it. I’ve got the longest legs of anyone I know – how are they letting me down now?
I decide to drop the last couple of inches.
I let go and fall eight feet to the ground, hard.
I land on the balls of my feet then fall backwards onto my bum and elbows: classic gymnast’s dismount. So where was the water butt? I stand up quickly and bash my shoulder against it. Oh, there it is, a quarter of a millimetre to the left. Great work, Lou. That’s going to bruise.
I’m really late now, but as I step forward I crash into something big and confusing. It’s metal, with loads of sticky-out bits that hit me in the stomach, legs and face. I lose my balance and fall on top of it.
I fight it for a while; it seems to be covered in moving parts. Is Dad building a torture machine out in the middle of the garden?
I can’t believe it – he’s usually so fussy about tidying things away. And he’s not a psychopath.
I finally fight off the Machine of Pain, adding a few more bruises to the collection. It’s been a pretty unstealthy few minutes, and I can picture Lav standing at the bedroom window, shaking her head and wincing at every crash as her idiot sister pratfalls over everything she can find.
I stand and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was an upside-down bike. Of course it was. Something else that Dad’s “repairing”. Once I can see better I feel my way out of the side gate and start running.
I’m a fast runner, and without a bag full of books I make great time sprinting along the road. As I approach the pool I can just about make out the three boys loitering in the gloom, impatiently pacing around the car park. Pete’s fiddling with a cigarette packet but not smoking.
Girl Out of Water Page 11