SweetFreak

  ‘And then put it in Amelia’s school locker?’ I say. It’s hopeless. When Taylor hears all the details he’s going to think I’m as guilty as everyone else. Better to leave right now, before I see the look of disappointment on his face.

  I get to my feet.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ Taylor says.

  But I’m already heading for the door, cheeks burning and stupid tears bubbling up out of my eyes.

  I only get halfway down the high street before Taylor catches up with me. Breathless, he spins me round to face him. A soft rain is falling like a mist. It has settled on his long lashes, making them seem even darker than usual, the perfect frame for his eyes.

  ‘Why are you running away from me?’ he gasps.

  I shrug, feeling embarrassed and stupid. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘Now you know about SweetFreak . . . the messages . . . the death threat . . . that stupid pigeon . . . you’re going to think the same as everyone else, that I’m guilty and—’

  ‘I don’t think that.’ Taylor tugs at my arm and I let him draw me into the shelter of a shop doorway. A couple of elderly ladies glance at us as they pass by and roll their eyes. ‘If you say you didn’t do those horrible things to Amelia, I believe you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ Taylor frowns. ‘For a start, how do you know Amelia didn’t send herself all the messages, including the death threat.’

  ‘My mum asked the police the same thing,’ I say. ‘The earlier messages were all deleted, but they found out exactly where and when the death threat was sent and it couldn’t have been Amelia.’

  ‘They were sent from your laptop?’ Taylor says.

  ‘Yes, they were posted at the exact time Amelia was halfway across Cornmouth waiting for me at a bus shelter. Nowhere near my laptop. The police tracked her movements through her phone. Unfortunately my phone was switched off at the time, so I couldn’t prove it wasn’t me.’

  ‘I see.’ Taylor leans back against the wall. ‘So definitely not Amelia, then. There’s no way she could have hacked your laptop. Still . . .’

  There’s clearly something he’s not telling me.

  ‘Why did you even think Amelia might have sent the messages to herself?’ I ask. ‘Because she was really freaked out over them . . . it seemed genuine to me.’

  There’s a pause, then Taylor blows out his breath. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Well from the time I spent with her, I got the impression she’s not really the person she pretends to be.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was at this party we went to,’ he says. ‘There was a girl there from Amelia’s school. Your school. I can’t remember her name, but Amelia was really annoyed about her being there, said she couldn’t stand her.’

  ‘Really?’ I wrinkle my nose. Amelia was always very easy going about people – a bit quick to take offence maybe, but also quick to forgive and forget. ‘You’re sure you don’t remember who it was?’

  ‘No, but Amelia was convinced this girl hated her as much as she hated the girl.’

  This sounds even more unlikely. Surely I’d have noticed that kind of bad feeling? ‘She never said anything like that to me.’

  Taylor frowns. ‘Really? But you’re her best friend.’

  ‘Was her best friend,’ I correct with a sigh. ‘So what did Amelia say? What did this girl do to her?’

  ‘It was more what Amelia did to the girl when they were at primary school.’ Taylor runs his hand over his cropped hair.

  Now it’s my turn to frown. I’m certain Amelia never mentioned knowing anyone from her old primary school. Most of our class, including me, went to Cornmouth Primary, the same as Jamie and Taylor’s brother Blake. But Amelia had gone to a tiny primary school way over on the other side of the town.

  ‘Amelia was upset when she told me, it was . . . like a confession,’ Taylor explains. ‘I think she wanted me to say it wasn’t so bad, that she’d just been a little kid at the time, that she hadn’t realised how hurtful she must have been.’

  I stare at him. ‘How hurtful she was?’ It doesn’t make sense. Amelia was . . . is . . . a gentle person: neither outspoken nor mean.

  ‘Amelia admitted that she made this girl’s life a misery – pretended to be best friends then ignored her, told lies about her, said a bunch of stuff behind her back. I don’t remember the details. To be honest, I wasn’t really interested, but Amelia was upset so . . .’ Taylor rubs his forehead.

  The rain is getting harder, drumming down on the pavement. The high street is virtually empty. Most people have, like us, taken shelter under doorways and in shop entrances.

  ‘Do you remember anything about the other girl?’ A gust of wind whips a damp curl across my face and I shiver. ‘Was she pretty? Dark hair? Blonde?’

  ‘Dark hair I think.’ Taylor smooths back the curl, his finger soft on my cheek. I shiver again. This time not from the cold. ‘I remember noticing that she was pretty, but there was something else too . . . something to do with the girls she had come to the party with.’

  ‘Were they from my school too?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ There’s a short pause, then Taylor’s eyes widen. ‘Hang on, maybe she’s in one of the pictures.’ Taylor digs his phone out of his pocket. I glance up and down the high street. The pavements are glistening, wet under the street lamps. Cars whoosh by. The rain patters down all around us. A pair of older teenage girls hurry past. One of them clocks Taylor, then glances at me, a look of naked admiration on her face.

  I blush, glad that Taylor is still absorbed in his phone and can’t see my red face.

  ‘Look. She’s in this one.’ Taylor holds the mobile so I can see the screen. We huddle together, watching the little video of people dancing. The camera pans around the room, from a clearly drunk Amelia, stumbling about as she tosses her hair wildly, to the other girls with their short skirts and their waving arms. ‘There she is,’ Taylor says as the little clip zooms in on a slim girl with a long brown bob. She’s wearing a long-sleeved top with cutaways at the shoulders. Two girls sway beside her, also with long bobs and dressed in similar style tops.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  It’s Rose.

  16

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ I gasp.

  ‘Do you recognise her?’ Taylor asks.

  ‘Yes, that’s Rose from my school.’ My mind races. I can’t get my head around it: Rose and Amelia were at primary together? Amelia pretended to be best friends then was horrible to her? Yet neither ever mentioned that they knew each other?

  How is any of that possible?

  ‘I remember noticing the girl, mainly because those two . . .’ Taylor points at Minnie and Molly, ‘. . . had obviously copied her look, but she was clearly the one in charge. And I remember thinking it was weird when Amelia told me how mean she’d been to her, that girl – Rose – just didn’t look like a victim of bullying.’

  ‘She isn’t one. At least she isn’t one now.’ I draw in my breath sharply, an idea occurring. ‘Do you think she could be SweetFreak?’

  ‘I guess,’ Taylor says.

  My head spins. On the one hand it makes perfect sense that Rose might have sent Amelia nasty messages as revenge for what Amelia did when they were younger. And when it comes to the pigeon – Molly and Minnie, the Rose Clones, were both in the locker room just before Amelia arrived. They could easily have planted the dead bird on Rose’s behalf. Framing me for everything makes sense too, from Rose’s point of view. Quite apart from the fact that she envied me over The Sound of Music, it would have added a particularly satisfying twist to her revenge: breaking up my friendship with Amelia would be a great way of getting back at Amelia for ending her friendship with Rose.

  On the other hand . . .

  ‘No,’ I say, my heart sinking. ‘It’s crazy. I mean why would Rose wait over three years? If she wanted to get back at Amelia for the bullying surely she’d have done it in Year Seven, not waited ’til the start of Year Ten? And, anyway, Rose and Amelia are fr
iends now. Why would Rose want to be mates with her if she hates her so much?’

  Taylor shrugs. He pockets his phone.

  ‘It’s more likely it was Amelia’s brother, George,’ I carry on. ‘Me and Amelia upset him just before the messages happened.’

  Taylor snorts. ‘I’ve met George. He’s way too thick to think it all up. Anyway, nasty messages and dead birds are more girl things to do, don’t you think?’ He peers out at the high street. The rain has worn itself out and shoppers are starting to emerge from their shelters. ‘All Rose needed to do was hack your laptop and—’

  ‘It wasn’t hacked,’ I interrupt. ‘My sister wondered about that too, but the police were adamant. They said the death threat was inputted in person – and that mine were the only fingerprints on the keyboard.’

  ‘What do the police know about it?’ Taylor scoffs. He wanders onto the street and takes a deep lungful of damp air. I hurry after him. ‘Seriously, my dad’s an IT consultant. He’s always saying that the public services are light years behind the private sector, that the police are way too easy to fool on stuff like that.’

  ‘OK, but I’m pretty certain Rose isn’t capable of that level of hacking. Certainly not of covering her tracks afterwards so no one even realises the laptop was hacked.’

  ‘You can’t know that for sure,’ Taylor insists. ‘Seriously, there are a couple of geeks in my IT GCSE class who could easily do that stuff. Amelia couldn’t, for sure, but maybe Rose is a secret IT genius.’

  Or maybe she knows someone who is and who is prepared to do her dirty work for her. I fill up with fresh hope. If Rose really is guilty then maybe I’ll be able to clear my name at last.

  ‘Whatever.’ Taylor takes my hand, drawing me out to join him on the gleaming pavement. ‘I don’t believe you did those horrible things, not for a second.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, beaming up at him. It feels so good to have a friend again. Maybe more than a friend from the way he’s smiling back at me.

  ‘Hey, do you fancy going park?’ he asks. ‘You can give me your phone number on the way.’

  As we stroll to the park, I explain how Mum is still making me use one of her crappy old phones. I feel hot under his gaze, embarrassed about the phone, and fall silent as we reach the swings. They’re empty, thanks to the recent rain. It feels like a million years since I waited here for Amelia last September. I lean against the metal post, lost in memories.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Taylor asks, then groans. ‘Sorry, that was such a girly question. It’s just . . .’ He pauses.

  ‘What?’ I straighten up. The wind gusts past, bitingly cold on my face.

  Taylor slides his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me awkwardly towards him. My heart pummels at my ribs as Taylor pulls away and looks into my eyes. ‘I didn’t expect this,’ he says.

  ‘Expect what?’ My voice is barely audible over the sound of the wind in the trees. Taylor bends closer to hear me, his face just centimetres from mine.

  ‘How you make me feel,’ Taylor says, his breath hot on my ear.

  I shiver. ‘How . . . how do I . . . ?’

  ‘Like I want to kiss you,’ he says softly. He winds one of my curls around his finger.

  My stomach flips wildly over and over. A little voice in my head is screaming that this is Amelia’s ex and by all the rules of friendship ever invented it’s wrong for me to get involved with him.

  She’s your best friend, the voice shrieks.

  Not any more, I reason back. And they broke up months ago. And Taylor never led her on, he’s told me. And Amelia doesn’t care what I do anyway. She hates me.

  It’s this last thought that finally does it, as Taylor’s hands run down my arms, pulling me closer. His lips hover over mine. Amelia already hates me. Kissing Taylor can’t possibly make her hate me any more than she already does. And pushing all thoughts of my former friend finally to one side, I stretch up to meet Taylor’s lips and give in to the long, lush kiss that follows.

  Of course I feel guilty again later. But when Taylor sends me a text, complaining he wants a pic of me, which of course my rubbish phone can’t provide, my heart still skips a beat.

  I shouldn’t like him. He dumped Amelia and she was . . . for all I know, still is . . . heartbroken. Anyway, he was hers, which means he mustn’t be mine.

  Except . . . except . . . he likes me. And I like him. And after months of having no friends and no one to talk to outside my own family, it’s bliss to have Taylor calling me, eager to see me.

  I meet him in the park on both the Saturday and Sunday of that first weekend. It’s still only early February, the weather is cold and there’s no one else much around, but we huddle under the shelter of a tree and make out and talk.

  I ask more questions about what Amelia said about Rose. Taylor answers as best he can, but all he really adds to what he’s already told me is that after Amelia met me at secondary school she was ‘inspired’ to reinvent herself. It sounds far-fetched, but Taylor insists it’s true. ‘She told me that she turned over a new leaf when she met you, that you inspired her to be a better person.’

  His words fire a mix of pleasure and pain inside me: delight that my friendship with Amelia meant so much to her and fresh misery at its loss.

  My mood improves when, amazingly, Taylor gives me a PAYG smartphone that he’s loaded with credit. ‘It’s an old one of my dad’s, so we can private message on NatterSnap or whatever,’ he says, nuzzling into my neck.

  I can’t believe it. I mean I know that Taylor’s family lives in a massive house in the posh part of town – East Cornmouth – but even so giving me a phone is beyond generous.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I gush. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he says, running his hands down my back. ‘You’re worth it . . . you’re amazing.’ And he kisses me again and I squirm with delight.

  By the time Monday morning comes I’m full of confidence, determined to find out if Rose really is SweetFreak. I march up to her in our form room as soon as she arrives.

  ‘Can I talk to you outside?’ I ask.

  Rose looks me up and down coolly. ‘S’pose.’ She saunters out into the corridor.

  I follow, my heart beating fast.

  There’s no point beating about the bush so I launch straight in.

  ‘Did Amelia bully you back at Primary?’ I ask.

  Rose instinctively recoils, clearly shocked, then she recovers herself.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Is it true?’

  Over our heads the first bell screeches out.

  Rose tilts her head to one side. ‘Why are you so interested, Freak?’

  Now it’s my turn to recoil. It’s the first time she’s used the name directly to my face. Part of me itches to tell her to take it back, then it occurs to me this is probably what Rose is hoping I’ll do, so that she can avoid answering my questions.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ I say. And the flicker of fearful annoyance in Rose’s eyes tells me I’m right. ‘So I’m guessing you don’t like Amelia very much?’

  ‘Actually I do. We’re good friends now, whatever happened in the past,’ Rose says.

  ‘Right,’ I say. Is it possible that Rose sent the nasty messages not just to get back at Amelia and to break up her friendship with me, but also to become BFFs with her again?

  The second bell goes, as Mrs Marchington appears at the end of the corridor. Two boys rush into the form room past us. Rose takes a step towards the door. ‘Wait,’ I say.

  Mrs Marchington’s heels tap towards us. Rose looks around.

  ‘Are you SweetFreak?’ I demand.

  The slightly fearful look vanishes from Rose’s eyes, replaced by naked contempt. ‘You’re pathetic,’ she says.

  She disappears into the form room as Mrs Marchington strides up, chivvying me inside.

  I take my seat, lost in thought.

  Rose had the motive and the opportunity to post the messages and organise the
dead bird in Amelia’s locker.

  I think Taylor is right. I’ve been looking in the wrong direction all along, Amelia’s brother, George, isn’t the one behind everything, it’s Rose.

  17

  I rush out of school at the end of the day. Taylor has promised to meet me in the park again, and I can’t wait to tell him how my confrontation with Rose went, how I’m sure she’s the one who set me up.

  But Taylor doesn’t come and I end up shivering under the trees for ten minutes before I receive his apologetic message telling me he can’t make it. He can’t see me the next day, either. Which is Valentine’s Day. I pretend I’m cool about the whole thing – after all it’s very early days for us to be thinking about Valentines – but I’m still a bit gutted.

  Taylor insists we’ll have more time the day after, Wednesday, when we’re due to pick up our little brothers from Cornmouth Primary together. Mum is delighted that I’ve volunteered to collect Jamie from after-school club again and happy for me to take him to play at Blake’s for a couple of hours – which means of course hanging out at Taylor’s house for a bit.

  After his sketchy behaviour earlier in the week, I’m reassured by how into me he seems that Wednesday. I try to get Taylor to open up about his dad leaving, but he says it’s too painful to talk about. I almost feel I could talk about my dad – certainly more than I can with Sonia – but before I can say very much it’s time to go home. I’m really looking forward to seeing Taylor the next day, but he cancels again and on Friday tells me he is really sorry but he has a family supper he can’t get out of.

  It’s hard to hide my disappointment, but at least we meet on Saturday – this time in the woods near the park. Taylor tells me about an abandoned hut he’s discovered on the other side of town.

  ‘It’s a couple of miles from anywhere, past the industrial estate down a dirt track,’ he says, eyes lighting up. ‘I reckon it’s haunted. I can’t wait to show you. The Haunted Hut, like the Shrieking Shack in Harry Potter.’ He laughs.