With any luck I won’t have to even see the bridge. I can enter the woods round the back of that creepy-looking church. It’s not the fastest way to get there, but it’s my only option. It’ll be awful enough knowing it’s there, but I can’t allow myself to get distracted, not now. I’m so very nearly there.
Sasha thinks the party will be ‘good for the group’ after all the crap stuff that’s happened recently. And that was before yesterday’s little drama, when Nina finally got around to dumping Stu. I’d been getting antsy, thinking she was going to pull that ‘stand by your man’ crap. I should have trusted that she’d come good in the end.
It wasn’t that rewarding actually. I’d been hoping for screaming and shouting, or at the very least some tears. Nope. Nina was classy enough to break up with him off the school premises. They went out for coffee at lunchtime and she came back by herself, looking amazingly composed. You could tell she was upset though. Whenever anyone asked, she’d say, ‘I’m fine,’ in this clipped, tense voice that sounded like it was about to shatter at any moment. I was fairly sure I could make her cry if I really wanted to, but that wasn’t really the point of the exercise. Nina hasn’t done anything wrong – unless you count her terrible taste in boys. It was Stu I want to hurt, and by the sounds of things, I’ve done a pretty decent job. No one saw him for the rest of the day, and you could tell everyone was glad not to have to deal with him. He’s been putting on a brave face today though, and Nina’s had the good sense to steer clear. I don’t know what this means in terms of her position in the group. I wouldn’t be surprised if her time was up. Only time will tell, I suppose.
I doubt Nina will come to the party though. Which is a shame, because I actually don’t mind her that much. Not really. She’s harmless, like a little piece of fluff on your favourite top. If she’s clever enough (and I have my doubts), in years to come she might realize I did her a massive favour. She might even want to thank me, but of course it’ll be too late for that. Anyway, I’d much rather Amber was the one left out in the cold; I really don’t see the point of her. Sometimes I get caught up in this stuff, the ins and outs of the group, and then I remember I have precisely zero reasons to care. It’s as if my brain forgets that my days in the inner circle are numbered too.
Three more days as one of Them.
Three more days as Lucas Mahoney’s girlfriend.
It doesn’t seem enough somehow. I think it’s time Lucas and I paid another visit to the stationery cupboard.
I get my wish on Wednesday. We do our thing and then head up to the canteen to get some lunch. The only person who seems to realize what we’ve been up to is Sasha. She gives me a knowing, supercilious sort of look and whispers, ‘God, you two can’t keep your hands off each other, can you? How was your visit to the Stationery Cupboard of Luuuuurvve?’ I knew he’d taken her there, and it pisses me off more than I can say. I hate knowing that everything I do with Lucas is something she’s already done – and even worse, maybe even something she taught him. I debate stabbing Sasha in the eye with my fork, but decide that might get me disinvited from the party. And I really need to be at that party. So Sasha’s pretty eyes remain intact.
Today, Lucas and I arrange to meet in the cupboard as soon as the bell goes for lunch. I get there in record time and loiter around until the corridor clears. There’s a bunch of Year 7s standing outside one of the geography classrooms gibbering about some test they’ve just had that was, like, sooooooo hard. Just my luck one of the girls is the one who saw me leaving the scene of the crime. She’s not doing any gibbering though – she’s on the edge of things, listening, looking like she wants to say something if only she could be sure she’d say the right thing. And if she can’t be absolutely sure, she’d rather keep her mouth shut just to be on the safe side.
She sees me watching and is quick to glance away. Then she looks again. The other girls wander off and she follows them, a couple of steps behind the main group. Always a couple of steps behind.
I’m not worried about her. Not really. She probably looked away because that’s what you do when you’re a tiny little first-year minnow and a sixth-former looks at you. She probably doesn’t even remember bumping into me. And even if she does remember, and even if she made the connection between me and the graffiti that everyone’s still talking about, who’s she going to tell? Besides, after the weekend it won’t matter either way.
I take one last look around to check the coast is clear and open the red door. My very favourite door in all the world.
The light’s on, which probably should have lessened my shock at hearing a distinctly UN-Lucaslike voice coming from the shelves to my left. I freeze in the doorway. A man’s voice, gruff with a slight speech impediment. It takes a moment to place it. Mr Bodley, the deputy head. Married to Mrs Bodley, who I had for English in Year 8. As close to a power couple as you can get in this place. I’ve only ever heard his voice at assemblies or shouting at kids to tuck their shirts in or screaming, ‘NO RUNNING IN THE CORRIDORS!’ so it’s sort of surprising to hear him saying (with some urgency), ‘That’s right, bad girl. Suck it.’
My hand flies to my mouth, which does nothing to stifle the laughter that escapes. It’s OK though, because Mr Bodley’s revolting groans are so very, very loud. I’m just about to reverse out of the room (and scrub the hideous mental picture from my mind by whatever means possible) when I hear, ‘Ohhhhhh, Donna …’
Mrs Bodley’s first name is not Donna. It’s Betty. Betty Bodley. One of the new teaching assistants, however, is called Donna. She has ginger hair and strange teeth. She is not attractive by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. Still, she’s a good thirty years younger than Mrs Bodley, and Mrs Bodley somehow doesn’t seem the type to go down in the comfort of her own home, let alone in the stationery cupboard of seediness. I’m tempted to try and get a photo of the action on my phone, even though I really have no desire to see Bodley with his trousers round his ankles.
My phone is in my hand before I realize …
No.
Lucas comes running down the corridor as I’m shutting the door. He’s out of breath. ‘Sorry! I couldn’t get away from Stu. Man, I really wish he’d stop moping about. It’s such a downer.’ He goes to open the door and I sidestep to block him.
‘Um … there’s someone in there.’
‘Shit. Really? Who?’
‘Mrs Bodley. And she didn’t seem too happy to see me either … said something about a phantom book thief? Crazy old bitch. Anyway, I’m kind of hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s just go to the canteen.’ I take his hand and pull him away from the red door.
‘But I thought you wanted to … ?’
‘I did. And now I don’t. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
The look on his face says it’s so not OK. But Lucas thinks he’s a gentleman so there really isn’t a lot he can say about the matter. ‘Of course. I am starving. Got to carb-load for the match this afternoon anyway.’
I barely say a word at lunch. Just sit and watch as Lucas shovels forkful after forkful of pasta into his mouth. I manage two or three bites, tops. He notices and says, ‘I thought you were hungry, Jem?’
I shrug and he turns his attention back to Bugs, who’s talking about some girl (fictional, no doubt) he met at the weekend. Apparently he can’t bring her to the party tomorrow because she already has plans. None of the others call him on the fact that he’s clearly making up an almost-girlfriend to make sure those nasty rumours about him stay dead and buried. Why is he even bothering? No one’s gossiping about him any more. Possible rapist beats possible gay boy any day.
They’re all too caught up in their own stuff to notice that I’m not talking. The girls are involved in some in-depth discussion about what to wear to the party tomorrow. The forecast isn’t too bad, but it’s still October, which means their usual clothing choices may result in a touch of hypothermia. Amber isn’t going to let that stop her wearing exactly what she wants though. ‘Anyway, there’s gonna be a fire, isn’
t there? Plus, we can always find some hot boys to keep us warm … I’m totally bailing if there aren’t any hot boys. It’s all right for you, Lou, you’ve got Max. And Jem’s got Lucas. It’s so unfair. Sash, what do you say we head to Espionage if the party ends up being a bust?’
Louise ruffles Max’s hair and leans her head on his shoulder. Then she reassures Amber that there will in fact be decent boys at the party and that she reckons Max’s brother is ‘totally up for it’ if Amber can’t find anyone else she fancies.
I sit there messing around with my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I get to him. Then I scroll back through our messages, back before the video appeared. I haven’t done this yet. I’ve wanted to – so many times. Wanted to remember what it was like, how good things were. What it had been like to have someone who knew me. I’ve been too scared though. I needed to hold things together, to not let myself cry and grieve and feel. It was difficult enough opening those damn letters. But weirdly, now feels like the right time, even sitting in the middle of the hornets’ nest of Team Popular. Suddenly it seems urgent. I need to remember who I am. Because I realized something in that stupid fucking stationery cupboard, when I was ready to take a photo of Bodley and the slutty teaching assistant. I realized something that scared me more than you can ever imagine: I have no idea who I am any more.
Who I’ve become.
chapter forty-six
Lucas wants to hang out after school. He says he wants to ‘talk’, which is pretty much the last thing I want to do. For a millisecond or so I wonder if he’s going to break up with me, but from the way he kisses me I can tell that’s the last thing on his mind. It would almost be funny if he did dump me though. All that planning and scheming – for nothing. Talk about an anticlimax.
Lucas tries to persuade me to go round to his place after dinner, but it’s family night in the Halliday household, and the one rule of family night is that nobody bails. We haven’t had a proper one in ages cos Dad’s been so busy at work. We’re going back to Mr Chow’s for the first time since last year. I think Mum must have forgotten that we went there the night before he died. Or maybe she knows full well and just doesn’t think it’s a big deal. I’m sure I could have persuaded them to take us somewhere else, but it seems right somehow.
It’s a struggle to leave Lucas after a good fifteen-minute make-out session behind the science block. I think he’s as frustrated as I am after our lunchtime sexfail. ‘Tomorrow night seems a really long way away.’
I kiss him lightly on the lips. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be here before you know it. And we can “talk” then, yeah?’ I raise my eyebrows.
‘Hey! I do want to talk, actually. Not sure tomorrow’s quite the right time, but I’ll take what I can get.’
‘There’s a good boy … hmm … I’ve never had sex in the woods before. Better watch out for pine needles.’ I pat him on the bum and leave him standing there, staring after me. I mean, I don’t bother checking, but he’s probably staring, right?
I’ve never had sex in the woods before? I can’t help shaking my head at how lame I sound. Things like that spill out of my mouth so easily these days. I don’t even have to think about it any more. It’s scary.
I was already toying with the idea of paying a visit to Boots on the way home, but this makes up my mind. I should have just enough time before we go for dinner. Mum won’t be happy. Lucas probably won’t be happy. But I need to do this for me, before I disappear completely.
I look at myself in the mirror and see me looking back for the first time in forever. It’s good to be back. Poor Fernando would have a fit if he saw me now.
Mum nearly chokes on her customary pre-dinner gin and tonic. ‘Oh, Jem!’
Noah raises his hand for a high five and I can’t help but grin. Dad doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy watching the news to even notice.
I stand with my hands on my hips. ‘What? WHAT?! I fancied a change, OK?’
Mum takes a sip of her drink and you can tell she’s not sure how to play this. She’s wondering what she can possibly say to make me change my mind. In the end, she goes for silence. A sensible move on her part, I reckon.
I sit down on the edge of the sofa and pretend to watch the news. Some big oil disaster that must have happened a few days ago. The sort of thing I used to care about. I used to watch the news with Dad all the time. It was kind of our thing. I can’t remember when it stopped being our thing. I wonder if Dad even noticed. The look he gives me when I sit down next to him tells me that he did. And the guilt hits so hard it brings tears to my eyes.
Mum’s the only one who sees, probably because she’s still staring at my hair. ‘Oh, what’s the matter, love? Is it the hair? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for you to go to the salon tomorrow if you like?’
I bite back the snarky comment that would have no doubt completely ruined family night and somehow manage to focus on the TV through my tears. Lucky for me, there are some tarry-looking seabirds flapping around helplessly on a beach somewhere. Not lucky for them, obviously. ‘Those poor birds!’
Dad pats my knee in a vaguely reassuring way, and I can tell Mum’s still looking at me – not remotely convinced. Why is it that fathers are so much easier to fool than mothers?
We sit through a plane crash, a civil war in some country I’ve never even heard of and a house fire that killed a family of five. By the time Dad switches off the telly and grabs his keys I’ve kind of lost my appetite.
We sit at our usual table at Mr Chow’s and everyone orders the same thing they usually do and Noah pretends his veggie spring roll is a cigar and Mum gets annoyed and tells him not to play with his food. Mum flirts a little bit with the waiter, just like she always does. Dad puts up with it and says nothing, just like he always does. Everyone plays their roles perfectly. Everything is unbearably normal.
I’m quieter than usual, watching, listening, taking it all in. Absorbing the little things they do and say, trying to etch them permanently into my brain. Because it’s only just occurred to me that this will be the last time we’re all together like this. And I’ve only just realized that maybe I should have been spending time with Mum and Dad and Noah instead of wasting my time on this stupid revenge thing. It all suddenly seems a bit ridiculous. Like my priorities have been horribly, obviously wrong, but there hasn’t been anyone around to tell me. That’s a cop-out really. Kai’s been telling me, but I haven’t been listening. And it’s too late now.
Mum and Dad have coffee after dinner, and Noah has a hot chocolate. I have nothing. No one noticed that I barely ate any of my food. Mum’s a little bit drunk and is now focusing her flirting energies on Dad. Normally this kind of behaviour makes me want to throw up a little bit, but tonight it’s OK. Tonight I’m glad to see it, because you can tell they really love each other. And I think this means they’re going to be OK when I’m gone. They’re strong enough to get through it, so I don’t need to worry.
Who am I kidding?
chapter forty-seven
Sasha wanted to get ready at my house. I tried to put her off, but she was having none of it. When I finally agreed, she clapped her hands together and said, ‘Our very first sleepover!’ I said nothing. I was too busy wondering how someone coming over to get ready for a party automatically gave them an invite to sleep there. It must be another secret girl code no one bothered to tell me about. Anyway, I’m not going to sweat it, since there’s no way she’ll end up coming back to my place tonight.
No school today because of an Inset day (which never fails to make Mum go off on one about teachers being lazy). I spend most of the day sleeping. I can’t help feeling like this is a bit of a waste of my last day as a member of Team Popular, but I don’t want to see any of them before tonight. An hour or so before Sasha arrives I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor and get to work. It makes me think of Christmas Eve and a giggle bubbles up from nowhere. I think I am losing the plot entirely.
Sasha arrives bang on time and her eyes practically po
p out of her head when she sees my hair. She doesn’t have a chance to say anything though, because Mum’s right there asking her how she’s been and blah blah blah. So Sasha spends a good twenty minutes chatting to Mum in the kitchen. She’s so bloody comfortable with people. Mum loves her – that’s obvious as anything. She laughs at everything Sasha says, which is stupid because Sasha is not a particularly hilarious person. Even Dad decides to get in on the action by wandering into the kitchen and chipping in to the conversation every now and then. I get the feeling that if I could disappear through the wall I’m leaning on, my parents would be perfectly satisfied with Sasha as a replacement daughter.
The one redeeming thing is that I’m pretty sure Noah would prefer me as a sister, because I’m not sure Sasha would be up for beating the crap out of him in the various video games he makes me play. Correction: made me play. Thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time he asked me to play a game with him. I always used to pretend I had better things to do, but I never did. I loved it, if I’m honest. It was the perfect opportunity to teach him some pretty choice swear words to impress his friends with.
I think it’s probably for the best that I haven’t been spending heaps of time with Noah and Mum and Dad recently. If I tell myself this enough times, it might start to come true.
Mum and Dad and Sasha are all staring at me. I’m clearly supposed to say something. I suppose I could risk a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘maybe’, but I go for a confused-sounding ‘hmm?’ instead.
Dad shakes his head and laughs in that incredibly irritating What is she like? way. At least he doesn’t start singing the old David Bowie song he normally warbles when I’m not listening to him. That would be too embarrassing for words. ‘Sasha was just saying her parents have invited you to their house in Scotland for the weekend … ?’