Head Over Heels

  And for the first time in four days, Rin braces her shoulders like a warrior, lifts her chin and takes a courageous step forward.

  Back into the world again.

  hings are starting to look up.

  As the five of us start walking towards the coffee shop, I trail behind and watch Rin visibly relaxing: expanding like one of those magic little flannels that absorb water.

  She obviously feels more at home in a group.

  Or – more specifically – in my group: AKA the best gang in the world.

  “I’ve never been to Japan before,” Jasper says as they walk a few steps ahead of us. “What’s it like?”

  “It is smashing,” Rin replies sweetly. “Fishes and games and flash-lights and Kitty-chan. In Japan we have many horses for our courses.”

  “Horses for your … Oh. Got it. And … uh. Where specifically are you from?”

  “Nichinan. It is a village near palm tree with festive every year. We have dances and takoyaki which is made of the octopus.” Then Rin giggles. “I think you shall ask Harry-chan about the octopus and the spray and the blue Smurf.”

  “Huh?” Jasper spins to look at me. “Harriet, I think I need to hear this potentially humiliating story right this minute so I can never, ever stop reminding you of it.”

  Sugar cookies.

  I managed to keep Octo-gate a secret from Jasper for five whole months. When he finds out I got attacked by an irritated cephalopod and covered in bright blue ink I am never going to hear the end of it.

  “Oh look,” I say, abruptly looking at the sky. “Altocumulus clouds. How interesting.”

  “Isn’t there a castle in Obi?” Toby says abruptly from just in front of them. His new satchel has a plastic shark fin poking out of the back. “It was built in 1588 by the Tsuchimochi clan. I read about it in a Japanese history book.”

  “Hai,” Rin says wistfully, then her voice wobbles slightly. “My home is very beauty. Very, very beauty.”

  Uh-oh.

  Quick, Harriet. Change the subj—

  “So what kind of bear would you like, Rin?” Jasper says evenly. “I can make one out of cream, or chocolate, or cinnamon, or milk froth …”

  “Does she have two ears?” Rin asks, immediately perking up. “And a nose?”

  “I think I can even manage a bow.”

  And – still chatting about the intricacies of a bear’s hair accessories – they draw further ahead until all we can hear is Toby randomly shouting “squirrel!”

  Nat and I watch them for a few seconds.

  Then she links her arm through mine. “I’m glad you dragged Jasper into our group, Harriet. Under that gruff exterior, he’s actually really sweet.”

  “I didn’t drag him,” I say indignantly. “He joined entirely of his own accord.”

  “Sure he wasn’t kicking and screaming?”

  “Screaming, no. Maybe a tiny bit of kicking, but I was wearing metaphorical shin pads and couldn’t feel a thing.” We both laugh. “Speaking of Team JINTH …” I clear my throat. “India still hasn’t replied to today’s group text message.”

  I’ve been trying not to think about it, but that’s actually the seventh team message this week she hasn’t responded to now. And without sounding neurotic … I’m starting to think she hates me.

  OK, maybe that sounds neurotic.

  “It’s not just you,” Nat says, reading my mind. “I ran into her last night and she’s crazy busy with some kind of Head Girl disaster. Intense hallway monitor fights or something.”

  A wave of relief crashes over me.

  “It’s a lot of responsibility, poor thing,” I say, shaking my head. “Those school corridors aren’t going to manage themselves.”

  “Exactly.” Nat squeezes my arm. “And can we please just take a moment to fully register what you’ve achieved this week, H? I mean, VOGUE. How do I put this in Harriet-terms? What’s the tallest tree in the world?”

  “A redwood in California. It’s 115.7 metres tall and its name is Hyperion.”

  “How do they know what its name is?” Nat laughs. “Anyway, that’s what Vogue is. You’re at the top of the fashion tree. You literally can’t get any higher.”

  It’s true that in the panic of trying to get work – any work – I didn’t really stop to absorb the fact that I, Harriet Manners, part-time model and full-time geek, just secured an eight-page spread in the world’s most prestigious fashion magazine.

  The girl who hides under tables.

  The girl with tiny Boston Terriers currently pictured all over her leggings and a dried porridge oat stuck to her jumper.

  How did that get there?

  “But what if I took a ladder up with me, Nat?” I grin, starting to feel just a little bit proud of myself. “Wouldn’t I be higher then?”

  “Nope, because there’d be nothing to lean it against. You’d still be the highest point. Plus, that would be insanely dangerous.”

  “What if I was in a hot-air balloon?”

  “Well, then you’d be cheating. Face it, Manners. You’re at the top. You’re a big, important, glamorous supermodel and there’s nothing you can do about it. So there.”

  Nat beams proudly.

  I beam back at her.

  In the Arctic there lives a Woolly Bear caterpillar, one of the most remarkable creatures on the planet. Every winter, it burrows underground and freezes solid, and every spring it thaws and its heart starts again and it carries on living, just as it always did.

  That’s what my best-friendship with Nat is.

  No matter how much time apart we’re forced to spend, no matter how busy we are with college or school or anything else in life that will keep trying to get between us, all we ever really do is press the pause button.

  Our relationship is timeless.

  (Apart from when it eventually turns into a Woolly Bear moth and then it’ll be even more awesome.)

  “And,” Nat says, squeezing my arm gently, “I know you pushed that box full of He Who Must Not Be Named under your bed, and I think that shows real guts. You’re a warrior, H. I’m proud of you.”

  My stomach spins slightly and I flush and put my head on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Then I look back up the road and my proud, warm glow starts to seep slowly out again. Rin has sat down on a bench, and is waving her phone at Jasper and Toby, probably showing them photo after photo of Kylie Minogue – both cat and pop star – and it looks like we’re teetering on the precipice of sadness again.

  “Oh good lord,” Nat says. “Why is Toby trying to show her the owls on his socks?”

  “He shows everyone the owl on his socks,” I say in frustration. “Nat, I don’t know what else we can do. As soon as we get home, Rin’s going to lock herself back away in my bedroom like a princess in … a …”

  Wait a minute.

  “Castle?” Nat says as my eyes suddenly widen. “Disneyland? Prison?”

  “Tower,” I finish, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a bush.

  I’ve just had the idea for a genius new plan.

  ave I mentioned before that every day, we each have 70,000 thoughts? Well, we do.

  That’s 3,000 thoughts per hour, fifty a minute, or just under one contemplation per second.

  But some of them are of greater quality than others.

  I think this is my best one yet.

  “Nat,” I breathe as the one hundred trillion synapses in my brain start firing simultaneously, “look.”

  It’s like spending days and days trying to finish a difficult jigsaw puzzle, then finding that the one piece you need has been stuck to the bottom of your foot the whole time.

  Or – you know.

  Another analogy that doesn’t make it sound like I don’t shower.

  One day I am hoping I will be in romantic twosome too, Harry-chan.

  I have that once. And now I am a bit … contusion.

  Rin wasn’t trying to say confusion at all: she was trying to say bruised.

  She?
??s not just homesick, she’s crushed.

  My friend has wanted to be part of a big love story as long as I’ve known her, but her very first tentative attempt ended in immediate rejection. And OK, last year she specifically said she wanted an Australian boyfriend, but … (shut up, box) I don’t know any of those any more.

  But Team JINTH need to drag this particular princess out of her tower for good.

  Maybe a British prince will do instead.

  “I’m looking,” Nat sighs impatiently, picking a leaf out of her hair. “Why are we in a bush? And by the way, was your cat wearing fake pigtails?”

  “Sssshhh,” I whisper, mentally turning the final piece of the puzzle round and round until it fits. “I’m still thinking.”

  Jasper’s usually so sarcastic about everything, and yet here he is: patiently looking through photos of a black cat wearing a white catsuit without a single sardonic comment.

  Not one snip; not a derisive or scornful snort. Not a contemptuous observation or a caustic reflection: not even a scathing expression.

  Just sweet, genuine interest.

  In Year Five, we did a basic experiment with magnets and we learned that the south pole of one magnet is attracted to the north pole of the other. (And then Nat and I used this knowledge to clip our magnets to the end of our noses.)

  i.e. We learnt that opposites attract.

  And the law of electromagnetic nature seems to be at work here too.

  I narrow my eyes analytically. I tell everybody constantly that science can be practically used in everyday situations, and this is the perfect example.

  Rin’s sweetness balances out Jasper’s sharpness; her sugariness is the perfect counterpart to his bluntness. They even look good together: he’s broad and tall and wearing dark grey, and she’s tiny and dainty and pastel-coloured like a butterfly.

  Despite their differences, they’re a perfect match.

  Actually, no: because of them.

  “Seriously, Harriet,” Nat says, “these are brand-new Seven jeans and now I’ve got mud on the … Oh my God.”

  I beam at her. I knew she’d catch up eventually: I just had to wait for our magical best-friend telepathy to do its thing.

  “Right?” I say triumphantly. “Can you see it too?”

  We look back at the bench.

  Jasper’s genuinely not scowling for the first time in ages: he seems lighter. Happier.

  “Huh.” Nat looks at me, visibly impressed. “You know, I can’t believe this, Harriet, but you’re right. Those two are made for each other. How did I not spot this before you?”

  “Experience,” I say, nodding sagely. “I am wise and learned, Nat. Like Yoda, but with a better grasp of sentence construction.”

  “Like guru, you are.”

  We laugh and look back at the sweet little scene playing out in front of us. The rebellious box in my head is starting to rattle uncomfortably, but I don’t really have a choice. I’d locked everything away tightly for myself … but maybe I need to open the lid a tiny bit, just to make sure my new plan works.

  Just a couple of centimetres.

  Enough to get a smidgen of what I know about romance out, make two of my best friends so much happier than they were and then put it away again. Like a handyman delicately picking the best tools out without touching the chainsaw.

  Yes: I think that’s perfectly safe.

  As long as I’m super careful.

  “I’m going to do it,” I say decisively. “I’m going to get them together.”

  “Wait.” Nat looks at me in alarm. “Hang on, Harriet. Why can’t you just let it happen naturally?”

  “Because we don’t have time,” I explain. “The chemistry’s there: I just need to speed it up a bit. I’m the catalyst, like iron when used in the synthesis of ammonia from nitrogen and hydrogen. I’m not changing the future, just making it get here faster.”

  “But Harriet …”

  “Don’t worry,” I say reassuringly, standing up and pulling a twig out of my fringe. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is under control.”

  ow, I know that the L-word is not an exact science.

  But I also know that – with the right knowledge and a little practice – science can get pretty darn close.

  Studies have shown that it takes between ninety seconds and four minutes to decide if you’re interested romantically in another person, and those physical symptoms can be monitored carefully.

  Dilated pupils. Flushed cheeks.

  Hair twiddling and wrist-exposing; mirroring the same body gestures. Too much eye contact or too little eye contact; laughing too much, listening hard and leaning towards the other person.

  Unfortunately, it’s a language so complicated – so nuanced and subtle – that scientists have found that there’s only a 28% chance of accurately detecting flirtation, even if you’re the person being flirted with.

  So it’s lucky I know what I’m looking for and have a naturally data-collecting kind of mind.

  “Also,” Rin continues once we’re seated comfortably in the cafe. She’s nervously holding out a big bunch of large, bright key rings and going through them, one by one. “This is Rilakkuma. Kuma mean bear in Japanese, so he is Relaxy Bear. He likes eating odango.”

  “Ah,” Jasper nods. “And this one?”

  “This is Anpanman. ‘Pan’ is bread, ‘An’ is bean. He is Bread-Bean man, and he is always saving the world with eating of his head.”

  Jasper blinks a few times. “Come again?”

  “The world is eating his head.” Rin frowns with concentration. “Am I saying it wrong?”

  “People eat this man’s head?”

  “Hai.”

  “He’s alive and made of bread and gives people chunks of his own head to eat?”

  “Hai. And he fly with cape.”

  I carefully watch Jasper deal with this information, waiting for the inevitable “Who the hell came up with this nonsense?”

  “Ah,” he says eventually, nodding with patient understanding. “Gotcha.”

  Oh my God. I knew it.

  It’s like watching a destabilised Superman: I think Rin might be Jasper’s kryptonite.

  In the meantime, Rin’s body language could not be easier to read. She’s still shy and anxious, but her blue skirts have been spread across the velvet armchair like something from Gone With the Wind, her cheeks are getting pinker by the second and her eyes are starting to darken and sparkle.

  We are definitely on the right track.

  Although maybe I should distract her from the presentation of tiny toys. We all get super nervous around people we like, but I’m not sure that this is the most efficient way to attract boys.

  “Rin,” I say, clearing my throat, “why don’t you … uh … tell everyone about your experiences as a beautiful top model in Tokyo?”

  That’s a little bit more universal, isn’t it?

  “I’d imagine they can’t possibly be as – how should we put it? – colourful as yours, Harriet,” Jasper says, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

  Bat poop. She told him.

  Rin starts laughing. “Blue! So blue all over! Harry-chan is so funny.”

  “Funny’s one word for it.” Jasper ties the stripy apron around his middle and raises his dark eyebrows. “I can think of a few others.”

  I scowl. “If there’s a problem with your vocabulary, King, I can lend you my thesaurus.”

  “Please do. I’m sure it will just blue me away.” He picks up a plate from the other table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I’ve promised to do.”

  He smiles at Rin.

  Then he strides off behind the counter, grabs a damp cloth and turns on the noisy cappuccino machine.

  “Blue …” Rin says experimentally. “Blue me …” Then her eyes widen. “I understand that English joke, Harry-chan! Blue and blow are similarity words!”

  Her shoulders have relaxed, her smile is lighter and the sweet sparkliness
I love so much about Rin seems to be slowly coming back.

  I think this is actually working. I am a genius at making my friends happy, if I do say so myself.

  “Rin?” Toby says, leaning forward and pointing at a little green key ring. “Is this Mameshiba? Body of edamame bean, face of shiba dog?”

  “You know him?” Rin glows a bit harder. “He is most kawaii of all and know many interesting fact.”

  “Oh I’ve seen the adverts,” Toby nods. “Chilli Bean Mameshiba tells us that cows produce a hundred litres of saliva a day.”

  “Hai. And Jelly Bean Mameshiba say a koala’s appendix is two metre long.”

  “Chickpea Mameshiba informs us that catfish have tastebuds all over their bodies.” Toby thinks about this for a few seconds. “That would be awful. Imagine if you stood in dog poo. You’d basically be tasting dog poo with your feet.”

  “Itadakimasu,” Rin says with a little bow.

  They both start inexplicably chortling.

  “It means bon appetit in Japanese,” Toby explains to the room in general. “Hilarious.”

  Nat looks up from her magazine and makes her eyes into circles at me. I widen mine back: our silent communication as seamless as always.

  She’s right: this is going so well. Rin’s almost back to her normal self and I haven’t even started on my big plan for tomorrow yet.

  “Here you go,” Jasper says, returning to the table with a tray full of drinks and plopping them down in front of us. “My one discernible skill, as promised.”

  On top of each drink is a delicate picture sprinkled with cocoa in the foam: a robot, a high-heeled shoe, and a three-dimensional bear, made from foam rising out of the cup in a dome shape, with little ears sticking from the top.

  They’re incredibly beautiful, and I have never seen anything like it before. How long has Jasper been able to do this? Why has he never done it before?

  Oh.

  “Su-goi!” Rin cries happily, clapping and picking up her teddy hot chocolate. “Oh I love him, Jasper! You are so kind! Thank you!”

  “Woah,” Toby says, grabbing his robot. “Epic.”

  “So cool.” Nat picks up her shoe.