‘OK,’ I say.‘I’ll ask Max to ask Rufus to ask them for you.’
‘Cool. So have you talked to Vix yet?’
I sigh.‘Not today. But she’s barely speaking to me. It’s horrible.’
‘I know,’ she says.‘She mentioned it last night. She’s not so much upset about Max, she’s hurt about the way you told her. Or didn’t tell her for so long. And she’s mad you dropped us all last night to go to Rufus’s. She thinks you’re being really shallow.’
That hurts, even though I already know what Vix thinks. For some reason, hearing it from Sky makes it feel worse. ‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘Honestly. You know that, yeah? I wouldn’t normally do that – it was just an amazing opportunity. And as for not telling her, I was just trying not to upset her. Now I’ve got to tell her we’re actually going out, it’s gonna be even worse.’
‘Hmm, glad I’m not you,’ Sky says, unhelpfully.
‘Cheers, Sky!’
‘Sorry,’ she says.‘But what can I do? I’ll stick up for you as much as I can, but in the end it’s between you and her, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah…’
‘And I’m off to India next week, remember, so I won’t be around to help.’
Sky’s mum is taking her whole family to a yoga retreat in Goa for a month. Sky doesn’t want to go. She says it will be all meditation sessions at five a.m. with nasty smells, weird noises and hideous food. She asked if she could stay with me instead, and my parents were OK with it, but her mum put her foot down and said she had to go. Apparently, it will be good for her spiritual growth, whatever that means. Sky says it will serve her mum right if she runs off with a gap-year hippy. On an elephant.
‘Bummer.’
‘Yup. So when are you seeing Max again?’
‘I dunno. I guess he’ll call me.’
‘Ooh, stop it, Rosie, I can’t take your enthusiasm! You’re, like, soooo excited!’
‘Don’t be sarcastic. I just need to get used to the idea.’
‘He’s a hot guy, Rosie. It shouldn’t be that hard.’
‘I know. I’m getting there.’
‘OK. But I probably won’t buy a hat yet. Or a turban, in Goa.’
‘Eh?’
‘For your wedding.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Please don’t do that. Anyway, I don’t think Fieldstar play weddings. And I’m not planning to get married until I’m at least thirty-five.’
I see an image of myself walking down an aisle somewhere, wearing a vintage beaded wedding dress that, naturally, I picked up in the market. Rufus is the best man, Amy Winehouse organised my hen night, and the paparazzi flashes are popping so manically they’re blinding me. ‘Rosie Justice’ has a nice ring to it, I think. The only problem is that I can’t ever imagine wanting to marry Max. Not unless I could just shake his hand after the vow part.
Vix isn’t around when I call her, so I leave a message asking her to ring me back. I’ve told Sky not to say anything; I don’t want Vix to think she’s the last to know again. Then I decide to call Max. I should show willing, right? As the phone rings, I repeat the words ‘Max is my boyfriend’ out loud, to try to drill the idea into my brain. Sky’s mum calls that a mantra. Apparently, if you say a phrase enough times, you can make anything seem normal.
‘Max is my boyfriend. Max is my boyfriend. Max is my boyfriend. Max is my boyfriend. Max is my boyfriend. Max is my boyfriend. Max is my …’
Max is picking up the phone. ‘Hellloooo,’ he says, sounding incredibly pleased to hear from me. ‘How are you? Wasn’t last night great?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It was. I had a brilliant time.’
‘Great! The Fieldstar crew all really liked you,’ he says. ‘You fitted right in.’
‘Really?’ I am beaming.‘That’s amazing.’
‘Yeah. So, they said, if you want to be my “plus one” at any of the after-show parties at the gigs this summer, starting with the G Festival in a few of weeks, you’re in.’
‘Fantastic.’ Oh my God! ‘Definitely.’
I haven’t asked Mum and Dad if I can go to the G Festival yet, but I’ll worry about that later.
‘Listen,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘I hope you weren’t embarrassed about the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. They just sort of assumed.’
‘Er, yeah.’ I feel my face flush, and I’m glad he can’t see.
‘So we’re all right, then?’
‘Sure we are.’
‘And we are, er, boyfriend and girlfriend? Going out?’
‘Uh, yeah, I guess we are. If that’s what you want to call it.’ Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. Maybe I should make out I’m just being cool.‘Who needs labels?’ I add.
‘Great. So, I was wondering, do you want to meet up tonight, have our proper second date? The cinema, maybe?’
I hesitate. It feels too soon for me. And I really do need to sort things out with Vix.‘I’m sorry, Max. I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I should see Vix tonight. I kind of bailed out of something I was supposed to be doing with her last night, and she’s a bit upset.’
‘Oh, right, of course.’ He sounds disappointed.
‘Tomorrow would be good, though.’
He brightens.‘OK, tomorrow it is.’
By the evening, Vix still hasn’t returned my calls, so I decide to turn up at her house unannounced. I feel weirdly nervous about going, even though I must have been round a million times in my life. I take round one of the dresses I might have donated to last night’s clothes swap. It’s a shift dress from the Sixties, with a green paisley pattern on it. Vix has always admired it and, now that she’s lost a little bit of weight, it should fit her perfectly. It’s my peace offering. Instead of swapping it for her clothes, I’m swapping it for her forgiveness.
But Vix isn’t in. When her mum opens the door she looks surprised to see me.
‘Oh, sorry, Rosie, but Vicky’s not here. She’s gone out with one of your friends from school. Katy, I think. Anyway, you should be able to get her on her mobile.’
‘Right,’ I say. I shuffle from foot to foot on the doorstep, unsure what to say or do.‘I’ll, er, call her then.’ I don’t want Vix’s mum to know I’ve already tried, and Vix isn’t returning my calls.
Maybe she’s guessed. Or maybe Vix has said something about falling out with me, because her mum looks at me with a kindly, sympathetic expression. ‘I’ll tell her you came round if you like. Get her to call you when she comes in.’
‘Thanks. And will you give her this from me?’ I hand over the plastic bag containing the dress.‘It’s a sort of gift.’
Vix’s mum smiles. ‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Take care of yourself, Rosie, and see you soon.’ She moves to close the front door.
‘Actually,’ I say, holding out my hand to stop her, ‘maybe I should leave a note with it.’ I fish in my bag for a bit of paper and a pen and then, in my neatest scrawl write:
To Vix,
A pressie for you to say sorry for everything.
Call me!
Best friends, always,
R xxxxx
I fold it over twice and hand it to Vix’s mum, who drops it inside the carrier bag with the dress. It’s only later that I realise I’ve written the note on the back of a napkin from Marine Ices. That could seem a little insensitive. I hope Vix doesn’t notice.
Chapter 15
The Anti-Date
So wt film do y want 2 c?
The text is from Max. It’s five o’clock in the afternoon and our date is only a couple of hours away. I’m not sure that going to the cinema is such a good idea now. The more I think about it, the more I think that Max only wants to take me there because it’s dark inside, and he plans to kiss me. If that weren’t the case, he would have suggested seeing a specific film, wouldn’t he? Instead, he’s leaving the choice up to me, saying he’s not bothered what we see, which I guess is code for: I’m not planning to be looking at the screen very much. Nudge. Nudge.
 
; Oh God.
I can’t blame him for trying, really. Strictly speaking, this is date number three, and all he’s had is a peck on the cheek. If it were the other way around, I’d be starting to wonder if he really fancies me. I wonder if he is starting to wonder that. Or if he thinks I’m just taking things super slow.
I study the Camden Odeon listings online. There are five films showing tonight: a romantic comedy, some weird Japanese film with subtitles, an action film about the war in Iraq, a nasty horror with gruesome torture and a cartoon about a giant dog with superpowers. Something for everyone, it seems. But which one is most suitable for me, the girl who doesn’t want to be kissed? I read through the list again, and sigh. There’s only one film that I actually want to see, the one I’d plump for without question if I were going to the cinema with Sky or Vix tonight. The romantic comedy is based on a book I’ve read and stars an actress from my favourite American series. It sounds great. But, for obvious reasons, I cannot see anything romantic with Max. It might give him ideas.
So it comes down to this: which film is the ultimate turn off? I consider the horror (no one normal wants to snog while people are being tortured, do they), but rule it out instantly. Mainly because I’m a wuss and when I feel scared I tend to reach for the nearest hand – or leap into the nearest lap – which would again give Max completely the wrong message. But scary’s out anyway – the film has an eighteen certificate. Which leaves action movie, cartoon or weird foreign film.
The action movie (no one normal wants to snog while people are being blown up, do they?) would have been good, except it’s three hours long and I’ve promised I’ll be home early tonight. The cartoon could work. The screening will be full of annoying kids with their mums, who’ll disapprove if there’s any kissing action going on. But the last showing is at six p.m. So that’s out too. Which leaves just one option: weird Japanese film with subtitles it is, then.
Max picks me up at seven-thirty. He seems more nervous than usual, and his palms are really sweaty. I find this out when he grasps my hand as we walk down Camden Road towards Parkway, where the cinema is. I pretend not to notice. But when he drops my hand to press the button on the pedestrian crossing, I ever so discreetly wipe it on my jeans.
‘You’re full of surprises, Rosie,’ he says, as we approach the cinema. ‘I had no idea you liked Japanese films.’ He sounds pleased with my choice.
‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘Japanese films are the best. Not that I’ve seen many, but the ones I have seen are, like, really good. Very … er … Japanese.’ I wrack my brains, trying desperately to think of another Japanese film I’ve sat through in my lifetime, so I can say something intelligent about it. I can’t. The truth is, the only Japanese thing I know anything about is Hello Kitty. When I was six, I used to have a Hello Kitty pencil case, notebook and bag. I glance up at Max. Should I tell him this? Will he be impressed?
‘I’m really into manga,’ he says, before I can decide.
‘Oh yeah? Great. Me too.’ I’m not totally sure what manga is. I’m guessing it’s probably like sushi. I don’t like sushi.
He grins at me, mischievously. ‘Rufus thought you’d definitely want to see the chick flick – the one with the stupid trailer that’s on TV all the time. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he even bet me a tenner you would.’ He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crisp ten pound note. ‘Good thing you didn’t,’ he says, looking pleased with himself. ‘I told him I knew you had better taste than that. He was seriously impressed. We can spend it on sweets and drinks if you want.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, feeling like a fraud. Funny, I think, that Rufus seems to know me better than Max does.
The weird Japanese film with subtitles turns out to be a weird Japanese romance with subtitles. That’ll teach me not to read the small print. And guess what? Japanese snogging isn’t all that much different from American or English snogging, it’s just that the people doing it are Japanese. Plus, you need to read the words on the screen to understand what they’re saying before and after they start making squelching noises. And guess what again? Even Japanese snogging with subtitles gives Max ideas.
Worse, because the film is a bit weird and confusing, and reading the subtitles is hard work, and there’s hardly anyone else in that screen, he seems very keen to put these ideas into action very quickly. Fifteen minutes in, and I can feel his arm creeping around the back of my chair and finding its way across my shoulders. He leaves his hand dangling just above my chest, then leans in towards me, resting his head on my shoulder. I drop my popcorn in alarm, scattering half of it across the floor.
‘Oops, sorry!’ I exclaim. Leaning away from his embrace, I force him to take back his hand so I can bend forward in my seat to retrieve my popcorn. But once I’m sitting up straight again, the popcorn safely balanced on my lap, he tries again. I feel his hand wandering around my back, his fingers brushing across the nape of my neck. I can sense that he has turned his body towards mine, in anticipation that I’ll do the same, so I sit dead straight towards the screen, pretending I’m concentrating hard. His hand begins to stroke the back of my hair. It tickles. Then I feel his breath, very close to my ear. It tickles even more, and I want to giggle. At the last second, I duck away from him and he pulls back. Even in the dim light, I can see he looks hurt. Maybe, I think, I should just let him kiss me, and get it over with. He might be a good kisser – I might even enjoy it, despite myself. But I can’t do it. It doesn’t feel right. I guess I’m still not ready. ‘Um, Max, I don’t really like PDAs,’ I whisper, by way of an apology. ‘I get a bit self-conscious in front of other people. Sorry.’
Max nods, as though he understands, but he still looks crestfallen, so I try to make up for it.‘Would you like some popcorn?’ I ask, holding out the packet. Not really much consolation, I know. He shakes his head. Feeling guilty, I let him hold my hand for a few minutes, until he gets cramp in his elbow from supporting his arm on the rest in between us.
‘Are you enjoying this?’ he whispers.‘The film, I mean?’
I turn to him and shake my head.‘Not really.’ That’s an understatement. I have no clue what’s going on.
‘Wanna go somewhere else?’
‘OK.’
We creep out as quietly as we can, trying not to disturb the other people in our row. Someone tuts. It annoys me because I’m doing my best to be polite, so I tut back. Max laughs at me and grabs my arm to steer me out of the way.
It’s still light outside, which is somehow always a surprise when you come out of the cinema. We stop at the entrance and screw up our eyes in discomfort.
‘I’ve got a question for you,’ says Max. ‘What the hell was that man doing to the tree?’
‘God knows.’
And why were all those girls dressed in sheets running all the time?’
‘Honestly? I have no clue.’
‘But, Rosie, I thought you said you really wanted to see this film.’
‘Um. I thought it was something else,’ I say. ‘I made a mistake. Sorry.’ I pause.‘Do you think Rufus will want his popcorn money back?’
He laughs.‘Nah, you’re safe. Anyway, he doesn’t need to know. So, want to watch a DVD at mine instead?’
‘OK.’
Thankfully, nobody’s in when we get home, so I don’t have to attempt to discuss Japanese art movies with Rufus. Max leads me into the front room and tells me to make myself comfortable while he sorts out the film.
‘There’s a whole library of DVDs here,’ he says, digging around in a cupboard next to the televison. ‘How about Batman? Or would you rather watch Fieldstar on Tour? Fieldstar in Concert? Fieldstar Live at the Palladium?’
‘Batman’s fine,’ I say. ‘Your choice this time.’
He laughs. ‘Probably wise.’
After putting on the DVD, he dims the lights and then he comes and sits down next to me on the sofa. It isn’t long before his arm has snaked behind my back and over my shoulders again. We watch the film quiet
ly for a while, and then he takes a long, deep breath.‘I’d really like to kiss you, Rosie,’ he says, eventually. ‘No one can see us here, I promise. It’s totally private.’
I can tell it’s taken a lot for him to say it. I feel my cheeks burning. No boy has ever been quite so direct with me before, and I don’t know how to respond. My first instinct is to lie. I want to say, ‘The thing is, this is really embarrassing, but I’m getting that tingle, the one that says you’re about to have a cold sore.’ But I don’t want to hurt him again. And anyway, he’s living next door, so how will I explain it when the cold sore never materialises?
‘I know you do, Max. I’m just shy,’ I tell him. I am so not shy. Vix and Sky would laugh their heads off if they heard that, but they’re not here, and, fortunately, Max has never seen how I behave with other boys.
‘Ah,’ he says, stroking my back. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re so sweet, Rosie.’
‘No, I’m not,’ I whisper, but I don’t think he hears. The irony is, suddenly I really do feel shy. Shy and self-conscious and gawky, like I’ve never kissed anyone before.
‘No pressure. Just give me a kiss on the cheek, then, if you prefer,’ he says.
‘OK,’ I say, relieved.
He leans towards me and points to the centre of his cheek with his finger. I pucker up my lips, ready to plant a kiss on target when, without warning, he turns his face ninety degrees to the right. There’s an awkward clash of lips and noses.
‘Sorry,’ he says, not sounding at all sorry. ‘I couldn’t help myself. Do it again. I promise this time I’ll keep my head perfectly still.’
‘OK,’ I say, puckering up again. I move my face towards his, more cautiously this time, ready to pull back if he tries his trick again. I should have known – just as my lips are about to make contact with his cheek, he pulls exactly the same stunt. I duck my face away, but I can’t help laughing. ‘Max! You’re so cheeky!’ I cry.
He’s laughing too. ‘Sorry, I promise I won’t do that again. You have my word. Maybe.’
‘OK. But I don’t really believe you.’ All this head bobbing is making me dizzy. If he wants to kiss me this much, I think, perhaps I should let him. And so, on my third attempt, when he tries the same sneaky move, I don’t duck away from him. I keep my face still and let him press his mouth on to mine. He seems surprised for a second, and then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me properly. He’s not a bad kisser. He has soft, full lips and a firm but gentle technique. I feel …