Super Awkward (17 page)

Without time for a proper goodbye he jumped on-board. “I'm so sorry to run off like this. It's been great seeing. . .”

The
beeping of the train doors drowned out his words, so instead he waved and walked down the carriage. He sat as near to where I was standing as he could, settling in beside an old lady who seemed to be reading a tutorial on knitted seagulls. I threw her a look to say ‘hands off he's mine', with a bit of ‘and also I didn't know you could knit a bird, that's quite impressive'.

Seconds later the train roared into action, and with no words left to be said, Zac smiled and waved. So did the old lady. Probably trying to get him on her good side before she made her move. I used both hands to wave them both off, and carried on waving until the lights of the train disappeared into the distance. I felt as empty as the platform.

I stomped back down the steps feeling sorry for myself. Everything here already seemed so boring without him, and he'd only been gone seventeen seconds. I wished he hadn't gone, but stealing people isn't legal. And I'm not good at carrying.

My phone buzzed – probs Mum wondering where I am.
Open message.

There it was. Me all in all my pre-bird-poo glory.

Hey Poohead. My new fave pic. Z x

And
this was now my new fave message. I wandered to the bus stop, thinking of how to reply. But despite missing him already, I couldn't help but smile. Against all odds, had I managed to undo my cereal-box/Jo damage and make Zac like me? I'd even trebled my TSS (time spent snogging). Maybe something more
could
happen between us? Maybe he
might
want to see me again? Maybe getting him to prom
wasn't
such a crazy idea?

A light flashed in my face as a car screeched into the bus stop. It was Mum and Jo. Good timing. I jumped in the back.

“Darling. What are you doing?! You know I don't like you hanging round bus stops late at night.”

“Maybe you could increase my allowance so I don't have to?”

“Maybe you could come home earlier so it's not an issue?”

I quickly moved the convo on. I didn't want to dwell on the details of this evening.

“So, er, how was soap making?

“Oh, Bella – it was excellent. Which was just as well, as we've had the most dreadful evening. Jo and I went to see a truly terrible film. Not only was it really unfunny. . .”

Jo
interrupted.

“As in, a-hamster-going-to-a-hairdresser-unfunny.”

Wait. As in – the-exact-same-film-as-me-unfunny?!
Where was this going?!

Mum carried on.

“. . . but there was this couple in the second row who spent the whole film kissing.”

What the what the WHAT?! Seeing as Zac and I were sitting beside a Scout trip, SHE COULD ONLY MEAN US. How could this be happening?! Had we really been that noticeable?! Actual inward spew. I spluttered some words out.

“That. Sounds. Awful.” Not a lie. It was
entirely
awful that the two people I was most closely related to had been less than two metres away from the most romantic encounter of my life. Thank goodness I'd had that hoodie up, if they worked out it was me, I'd be in deeper poo than I had been earlier.

Jo twisted round in her seat and peered through the headrest.

“Srsly. Mum's not even being mum-ish. They slurped the entire way through the film.” I felt dizzy with bad luck. Had we really been ‘slurping'? This could not be happening. Did Zac think I was a ‘slurper'?

“Jo's right. The only good thing was that when the
boy's
mouth was covered it stopped his horsey laughing. It was positively a bray. I mean, who finds a cat falling into a bin funny?”

Should I set a phone reminder of ‘Never let Zac meet and/or laugh/bray in front of my family'? Thank goodness there had been nothing funny when Jo kind of met him, so she didn't recognize his unique sound.

“Still, we did treat ourselves to a pizza before. I can't believe they now do ones with hamburgers in the crust! What's next, fish fingers instead of straws?”

That made no sense, but relieved that the conversation had moved on, I let Mum chat away, as I zoned out, staring out of the window and thinking about Zac. Maybe he could be the one thing in my life that could finally go right? The one plan that goes to plan. All I had to do was not mess it up – and stay away from all birds. And somehow get a second opinion on my ‘slurping'.

But my plan had forgotten the one thing that could derail it most of all. Luke. And in less than two weeks I was going to find out just how much damage a loser ex-boyfriend could do.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

It turns out that a substantial part of the fun of a date is the telling other people every sordid detail (date-tail?). So, in the days after what I now refer to as ‘Love Zac-tually', in the absence of best mates, I told pretty much everyone else. Including a girl who I only knew because I once got my fringe caught in her rucksack buckle.

Zac had mentioned he didn't use
PSSSST
any more, so I'd even been sharing details on there. Seven posts later and my likes were still going up. WORLD BE ON ALERT. One of the basic laws of existence was turning on its head. I, Bella Fisher, might potentially be rebranding as a fit-boy-snogger, normal-life-haver and internet-sensation. Hold on to your hats. Gravity will be the next thing to go.

I
leaned against my locker and scanned the corridor for teacher danger. All clear. Perfect for a check on this morning's Zac date post – it was on track to break my PB with 250 likes.

WHEN IS A DATE NOT A DATE? WHEN IT'S A

RAISIN.SRSLY, THOUGH. HAVE YOU NEEDED

TO PLAY IT EXTRA COOL ON A DATE WITH A

MEGA HOTTIE? WHEN YOU'RE NOT EVEN SURE

IS TECHNICALLY A DATE? WELL, IMAGINE THAT.

THEN IMAGINE SHOWING THE MEGA HOTTIE THE

TIME ON YOUR PHONE – JUST AS A MESSAGE

POPS-UP SAYING ‘HOW'S YOUR DATE WITH THE

WORLD'S FITTEST MAN????'

WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

I cringed at the memory. I should never have given Sarah my number. Zac had been sweet about it, though, and pretended not to notice.

I scrolled down. Better than I'd even hoped. 400 likes. And quite a few comments.

LILDRUMMERBOY: I CAN GO ONE BETTER.

IMAGINE BEING ON AN ‘IS THIS A DATE' DATE,

WHEN YOUR EX COMES OVER TO THE TWO OF

YOU
AND YELLS, ‘I THOUGHT YOU

SAID YOUR DATE WAS HOT?'

I nose-snorted. How reassuring that other people were also a danger to society. And a boy too.

“Ms Fisher. Is there a rrreason you think you're exempt from the rrrrule of not using phones? Or is ‘chatting with online friends' now an emergency?”

Wow. Misery magnet strikes again. Could my timing be any worse?

“Sorry.” I stuffed my phone back in my bag. “It won't happen again.” Well, it definitely would, I'd just be more careful not to do it in plain sight.

“Glad to hear it. And to help you rrrremember, I am taking away two prom points.”

As if! Then I'd only have twelve left. And that was only two away from prom exile.

“But, Mr Lutas. I
swear
it was an emergency.”

Mr Lutas flashed his coffee-stained teeth at me. I only ever see his smile when he's ruining someone's day. Although recently I had witnessed one extracurricular smile – when he saw Mrs Hitchman. What
was
the deal with those two? Last I heard she was happily married – and Mr Lutas was happily totally alone.

“
Swearing is also not allowed. So let's make it three. Now, I suggest you move along.”

Eurgh. How dare he! Eleven points was major danger zone, I could not risk losing a single point more, so I moved along. There was no way
I
wasn't going to prom when I'd made such good progress on getting Zac there. It's been four days since the date, 15.8 (he pressed send too soon on one) messages, one photo of his dog, Keith, and I
still
seem to not have put him off. This is extra remarkable as one of my replies was meant to be a picture of Mumbles, but ended up being an accidental under-the-chin selfie. I'd even plucked up the courage to ask where he was going to college, but he'd turned the tables and told me it was my turn to wait and see. And that he'd tell me on our THIRD DATE?! I'd rolled off my bed and plopped on to the floor with uncontainable glee.

Smiling to myself, I rubbed the large bruise I'd got on my elbow as a result and headed towards my only school safe haven – the library. There was something comforting about being in a place where people were actively forbidden from talking to me. But when I got there, there was no one on duty, meaning everyone was chatting at full volume, so instead of a library it was just a normal room, but with a lot of shelves.

I
searched the rows looking for books on French cinema but couldn't tell if I was having any luck as the titles were all in French.

CRUNCH.

I stomped on something that wasn't carpet. It made the same crunching noise as when I'd once stepped on a dead pigeon in the dark. I looked at what I'd just crushed. A pile of books on a bag.

“Sorry – I totally didn't see your bag LYING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR.” I hoped the owner would pick up on my sorry-not-sorry subtlety. But it wasn't a regulation school bag. It was the really expensive leather version that nobody had. Nobody, that is, except Rachel. Who on cue appeared from around the corner.

“Don't worry about it. It's full of junk anyway.” She swung it off the floor and on to her shoulder. She smiled. I didn't. “I shouldn't have left it there.”

I'd been trying so hard to not care about my ex-friends any more I was surprised how much hurt flooded back at seeing her.

“You're getting pretty good at bad decisions lately, aren't you?”

She flinched. But what she did expect? I didn't want to speak to her. Not now. Not here. Not ever. Over the
last
few weeks I'd proved to everyone – not least of all me – that even after all these years, I didn't need them. I didn't need to be in a group any more. I could make it through the day without them. What they'd done was unforgiveable, and it didn't matter how much they begged me to accept their apologies or promised to make it up. Which they'd done on a daily basis.

I grabbed a book dramatically, and stormed off to my table-for-one where I'd spent most of my recent breaktimes. I stared out of the window that overlooked the playground. Some Year 8 girls were walking towards the wall that Rachel, Tegan and I used to sit on. The place we'd claimed since we'd first arrived at St Mary's. The placed we'd talked through every detail of Rachel's first kiss like it was our own, cried together when Tegan's dad got ill and a year later cried with laughter when Mikey debuted his first Taylor Swift routine. And as the Year 8s sat in the exact spot, something nagged at me. Something I'd been trying to pretend I wasn't thinking. But it was sometimes hard to ignore myself, as I spend a lot of time with me.

I was so
sure
of how cross I felt with Rachel and Tegan that I'd been ignoring how I felt about
me
. I took a deep breath and faced up to the thing I'd been trying to bury. As I'd settled into my new routines, my new
places
to sit and my new people to speak to, I'd started to feel unsettled about something else. Was pushing the others away actually making me any happier?

“Room for another?”

Without looking away from the window I shook my head at Rachel.

Being an independent woman was tiring. Beyoncé doesn't mention that in any of her songs, does she? Or maybe that's just like how no one ever has a wee in
EastEnders
.

Rachel ignored me, and crouched down resting her hands and chin on my table. She looked like a very odd table ornament.

“Can we talk?” She glanced at the teacher who had just walked in and lowered her voice. “Well, whisper. Please?”

“I've got nothing to say slash whisper to you.”

“Well, I've got loads I want to say slash whisper to you. So maybe instead of talking, you'd be up for listening instead? I'll only be a min.”

I thought about doing what I normally did. Walking off. But something made me stay where I was. The nagging feeling I'd been trying to ignore.

I stayed because, however mad I was, and however much I'd found new routines, I missed her. I missed
my
friend. I missed having someone in the world who knows what is happening in your every day. Who knows that you cross the street to avoid cats (that you have identified as having an attitude problem). Who knows that you wear an extra pair of knickers over your tights ever since they once fell down when you were walking up the stairs to a history lesson. Who knows that you when you're feeling happy, or sad, or poo-ed on by a pigeon, or like your heart has exploded on the second row of Screen One, you need someone to share it with. Who knows how you feel when Mr Lutas docks you three points.

“OK, here goes. . .” She paused, bracing herself for me to listen. “We're sorry. So, so, so sorry. We made the WORST decision ever. Sure it
was
Tegan's idea, but I went along with it, and that's no better.”

Figured. Rachel can't even follow the plot of Disney movies without asking what's going on, so I didn't ever consider she'd orchestrated the deception. That's probably why I still felt the maddest at Tegan.

“We just knew how rubbish you'd been feeling about Luke, and how hurt you'd been about the whole Blobfish thing.”

Oh yes. When we came back to school in January, Luke had got his techy friend to change my name to
Blob
Fisher on the internal email system.

“So we didn't want him having any more ammo on you. On us. It was meant to prove how little we all cared, not create the world's worst pic of him and Tegan. They really did only kiss for like two seconds. And when she realized what she'd done, she was mortified. You know when Tegan gets a fright and loses her voice? Well that happened.” I did know it. I'd seen it once before when her mum had been using her dad to help her pin a dress she was sewing, but Tegan had walked in and thought he was a secret cross-dresser.