Super Awkward (8 page)

“Yeah . . . exactly.”

If she had a mirror on the ceiling, I'd have been able to check if she had anything crossed. On the flipside, she'd also be really creepy, so I probably wouldn't be
lying
here in the first place.

It was annoying, but the thought of Luke being all over Purple Hat Girl in front of my friends did sting a bit. Is it factually impossible not to care a bit about ex-boyfs' new girlfs? Hopefully they both got a waft of Mumbles' wee mid-snog and thought it was each other.

“So then what?”

“Well, not much. I left them to it, as I figured that was what you'd want.”

Phew. It was. No drama.

“. . . until I got your message with that pic Luke had sent.”

Uh-oh. This sounded very much like it might be drama.

“Which kind of annoyed me. Big style.”

The drama dial shot up.

“. . . so I kind of showed Dan.”

One hundred per cent deffo drama. Dan was Rachel's law-studying, eye-wateringly-hot, rugby-playing brother whose arm was the same width as Rach's head. We'd made him measure.

“Rach, don't leave me hanging.”

“And then Dan kind of threw Luke out.”

SOUND THE DRAMA KLAXON.

This
was exactly what I didn't want. Actual Luke drama. Because of me. ARGH! Mouth, brain, do NOT freak out. Yet. Maybe nobody saw? Rach carried on.

“Luke made a right scene. I didn't know faces could go that red. He looked like the Rothko on my wall!” Rachel gestured at the picture of a red square that she was given a print of on her ninth birthday. It was the same year I was given a second-hand horse pyjama case that neighed when you pulled its tail. “Honestly, it was like a film!”

OPTIMUM DRAMA ACHIEVED. The backfire was complete. My ‘invite Luke to the party to show I wasn't bothered' had ended up with me sending him snarky messages and then getting him kicked out – just like someone who was completely and utterly bothered. ARGH! And now I'd got Rachel and Tegan dragged into it too.

“He's SUCH an idiot. Why can't he just get on with his own life, instead of messing with everyone else's?! And what's he got against Tegan?! I mean, if he was going to talk rubbish about anyone, why make out he was making out with Tegan – who never makes out with anyone, or makes out that she does?” None of this made sense. What was I missing? “Any ideas?”

Rachel shrugged apologetically. I carried on thinking out loud.

“
AS IF he thinks I care who has the misfortune of snogging him. I feel
sorry
for them if anything.” A tiny white lie, as much to Rachel as to myself.

EURGH. My tired brain couldn't handle this conundrum. I splatted, starfish-shaped, across the duvet, getting my phone out to look back over his messages. Stupid Luke. Stupid Purple Hat Girl. Rachel titled the screen towards her, looking for clues too.

“OK, Bells. The thing we
do
know about Luke is that his brain doesn't work in normal brain ways. That's quite something coming from Rach, who once dislocated her shoulder trying to prove you could lick your elbow. “So it's hard to know why he does
any
of the weird stuff he does. Remember that time he put loads of pegs on his face and leapt out of a cupboard in the middle of maths? That isn't normal behaviour. So we have to think un-normal to even get close. . . I reckon he was just trying to get into your head while you were away.”

“But at that point I was having the worst holiday in the world?”

“Yeah, doofus, but that's not what friends say to ex-boyfs, is it? We kind of made out it was the party capital of Wales, with a hot-boy-to-Bella ratio of 100:1.”

I smiled – good friends really were the best liars.

“
Bella, darling. . .”

I froze. Why could I hear my mum's voice?!

Was she here? Had she taken to hiding under my friends' beds for one of her mother-daughter bonding exercises? I peered over the edge of the mattress.

“Hello? Hell-oh-oooo. Daughter! Is that you?”

Rachel gestured at my jeans. I'd not only bum-answered, but bum speakerphoned too. Cheers, bum, you refuse to enable me to do a squat without wobbling over, but you have mastered basic technology.

“I'm just at Rach's.” I used my ‘don't forget I'm still in a mood with you' voice.

“Hi, Ms Fisher,” Rachel shouted at my bum.

“Hi, girls,” my mum/bum chirped back. I couldn't be bothered to fish my phone out of my pocket. There was nothing she could say that Rachel couldn't hear (although the denim had muffled her a bit).

“What do you want?”

“Glad to see you're still a ray of sunshine, darling.” Eye-roll at Rachel. “Now, I know you're out, and having lots of fun with your friends, but please can you get back here in the next half an hour? I'm on my way out to Pilates with Puppies and noticed you'd left your keys at home, so I want you back before I go, OK?”

“But, I'm just...”

I
didn't get to finish. She interrupted with that unfair mum tactic – pretending not to hear and talking over you in a voice that says ‘this isn't a question, it's a fact'.

“Greeeatt. I
knew
you wouldn't mind. Anyway, I need to get the kohlrabi out of the oven, so must dash. See you in fifteen, lovely. Bye, daughter, bye, Rachel! YOLI!”

Mum always liked to end phone calls with motivational thoughts. I found getting my mum off the phone motivational enough.

A confused Rachel waved at my bum. My bum didn't wave back.

“Er, YOLI?”

I was hoping she hadn't noticed that.

“Don't ask. Mum's going through a reincarnation phase. You Only Live Infinitely.”

Rachel laughed but I wasn't in the mood to find anything funny. Except maybe baby pandas sneezing.

So that was that. One bum-move and my last night of holiday freedom had disappeared. I pulled on my jacket and shouted my goodbyes to Rach's fam in the kitchen, accidentally yelling “Bye, HOB” at Dan, as I'm too used to referring to him as Hot Older Brother. He looked at me like I was saying an emotional goodbye to their cooker. Hurrying to the door, I got Rachel to agree to convince him I didn't have feelings for
appliances,
and also to promise to urgently ask him about emigration laws for my potential relocation. I trudged home, thoughts of Luke, purple hats, kitchen appliances I
would
say goodbye to, and hot guys called Zac all swashing round my head.

When I finally closed my bedroom door for the last time this holiday, I should have dealt with the homework I'd been putting off all week. But instead I used my last moments of freedom much more wisely, alphabetacalizing (new word, look it up in the alphabetacalized dictionary) my books, painting rainbow stripes on my toenails – and accidentally some carpet too – and re-reading some magazines. Time flies when you're procrastinating.

If only today had worked out differently, I could be reliving my second date with Zac, instead of wondering how on earth I could make up for my shameful sister summoning and subsequent disappearing act.

But there was
one
thing I did still have. I opened up
PSSSST
. Wow, fifteen likes on my Jo comment! That was more than my picture of Mumbles dressed as a gherkin got on Instagram. What if one of the likes was from Zac?! I should post again. I racked my brains. It was a bit sad to realize I had way too many things to choose from.

MY
MUM BEGGED ME TO SHOW HER PHOTOS OF

A BOY FROM UNI MY SISTER LIKES. SO I SET HER

UP AN ACCOUNT, SEARCHED FOR THE GUY AND

LEFT HER SCROLLING THOUGH THE PICS. I DIDN'T

REALIZE SHE KEPT TAPPING AWAY, TRYING – AND

FAILING – TO ZOOM IN. WHICH ENDED UP IN

HER ACCIDENTALLY LIKING OVER FIFTY OF HIS

PHOTOS. FROM THREE YEARS AGO. UNDER HER

REAL NAME. MY SISTER IS YET TO FIND OUT.

Jo was going to kill me for allowing this to happen. But it's not my fault Mum can't even use a phone and calls likes ‘hearting'.

I scrolled through all the new
PSSSST
s, willing, hoping something to pop up on my timeline that I could trace back to Zac. Maybe he'd post about Jo's totally embarrassing display yesterday? But there was nothing.

Disappointed, I plugged my phone in to charge, and flicked on the torch under the covers. The inevitable had arrived – a long night of pretending to be asleep, while doing my homework under my sheets. But with what school was about to throw at me, beauty sleep was going to be the very least of my worries.

CHAPTER

NINE

Isn't it weird that the second your alarm goes off for the first day back at school it feels like you were never not at school? Parents moan about going to work, but they're obviously forgetting lessons are way worse – and we don't even get paid for being there. If I could buy two hundred and fifty Toffee Crisps for every day I dragged myself to St Mary's then it really would be much more worthwhile.

Getting ready today also took way too long, as I wasted fifteen minutes pulling everything out of my wardrobe searching for my jumper only to discover it in the bottom of my school bag, along with two unsigned letters and a really miserable looking apple. The good news was I must have looked so miserable in my
gone-
off-fruit-scented crease-ball uniform that Mum ended up giving me a lift.

“Here you go, chick-a-dee, door-to-door service.”

I opened the car door quietly trying to make a quick escape before anyone spotted me. Keeping a low profile and a brown car that has a sticker saying ‘Hippies do it braless!' didn't really go together. Mum leaned over.

“Now, remember what Jo says, ‘Believe and achieve!'”

I grunted.

“I
believe
today will be awful, and I will definitely
achieve
it.” I slammed the door shut. “Bye.”

Beeping, she drove off. At least she'd got through her phase of replacing the horn with an electrical cow moo. Small mercies.

I hoisted my school bag on to my shoulder and walked towards the big wooden double doors. Positive-thought time. All I had to do was get through the next eight hours with the required mix of attending lessons, seeing Rachel and Tegan, eating lunch, and not seeing anyone else – especially, definitely not Luke. Simple. I could do this. Game-face on, Bella. Maybe no one will even be thinking about the party, let alone talking about it?

“Beelllllllllaaaaaaa.” I jumped as unexpected arms
threw
themselves around my back. I didn't need to see a face to know that gentle voice. My long-lost friend had just become un-lost. And she sounded pleased to see me.

“So you're alive then?!” I turned to face Tegan, who had chosen to ignore the five per cent annoyed-ness in my voice. Her new braids had been pulled up into a bun, and they looked even better in real life than in the photo she'd sent last week. Whereas I looked like a human jumble-sale stall, she looked like every single bit of clothing had been perfectly placed. Although how her skin glowed so much without make-up was the kind of thing I wish we could study for GCSE.

“Yes, I am. Sorry about that. Although teaching that gymnastics class yesterday, with a nine-year-old boy who already fake tans and plucks his eyebrows, almost finished me off.” She put her arm around me (2.2 centimetres away from where Zac's had been) and gave me a squeeze. “We've missed you. Pleeeease
never
go away on a family holiday again without inviting us?”

Tegan is one of the most uncomplicated people I know – in nothing but a great way. I always know where I stand with her. And right now it was arm-in-arm. Lots of people in our year think she's too serious, maybe even intimidating, but if she's your friend, you
see
a whole other side of her. As we walked, linked-up, towards our lockers, I felt part of a team again.

“Next time, Tegan, I'm putting you in my suitcase, OK? You're bendy, you'll fit.”

“Er, well last I heard Black Bay was basically the Black Death, so can we negotiate on the destination before I'm human hand luggage please?”

The moment I'd been waiting for. Telling her all about Zac and getting to relive it all over again. I pulled her to a standstill.

“Stop. Right. There. I have big things to tell you. Black Bay turned cray!” I couldn't help throwing in one last dig before we were quits. “Although if you'd bothered to reply to any of my messages in the last day and a bit, you'd already know all about it.” I pulled my best angry teacher face.

She wrinkled her nose.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can explain!”

“And the party?”

“That too. It's all no big deal.”

Her sorry-ness was like a reassuring blanket giving my worry-brain a cuddle. Yes, Rachel had explained what happened, but hearing Tegan back it up was the final thing I needed to stop worrying.

Tegan and I met at playgroup, a few weeks after
her
family had moved from Zimbabwe. It's a matter of dispute between our mums, but apparently we persuaded our class to pour all of our break-time milk into the teacher's bag as a present for her. That was probably the first and last time Tegan did anything really naughty. Out of everyone I knew, she had life figured out. Which is why I turned to her for advice on anything, and everything. And why she was going to be the one to make me feel better.

Rach popped her head over Tegan's locker door, her perfect hair in those waves you only see on magazine covers. How do people know how to do these things? I have zero hair skills, so had guilt-tripped Jo into helping me put my short hair up this morning to try and look a bit more mature and fearsome just in case I did see Luke, but I'd just achieved Swiss goat herder instead. Still, goat herders must be scary to goats at least.

I beamed at Rach.