With a tiny grimace, she pulls out her JINTH badge and holds it out. “I’m sorry,” she says gently, pressing it into my hand. “I really am, Harriet. This isn’t how I wanted things to end.”
But, as she slowly turns and walks away and my phone buzzes one last time:
India Perez has left group: Team JINTH
I realise that in spite of all my plans, all my efforts and all my good intentions, it looks like things have ended anyway.
Or maybe because of them.
ou know what?
The fairy godmother never gets shouted at for meddling. Cupid doesn’t get an earful for trying to encourage a romantic match; Puck isn’t vilified for trying to keep everybody entertained.
I don’t want to sound petulant, because obviously I’m too old for hissy fits and hysteria.
But this is so unfair.
Angry and hurt, with my shoulders rigid, I start stomping towards the library.
India’s wrong.
OK, it may have sounded like she had some valid points – to an unobservant passer-by – but everyone sounds like they’re telling the truth if they say it loudly and with a lot of vigour.
I am not suffocating.
I don’t need to control everything around me, and I don’t force other people to act my already pencil-mapped-out story.
My friendships are not a performance.
This argument with India is just part of being mates, isn’t it?
We squabble and shout and get irritated and pretend we didn’t see an incoming text message when we actually did. I mean, Nat and I lock horns all the time, don’t we? And we still manage to come out the other side: bruised and bloodied but strengthened by the battle.
It’s just what happens when you love someone: now and then, you wear each other out.
Except …
I walk a bit faster towards the redbrick building, hands still shaking.
Except this time it feels different.
This doesn’t feel like an argument. It feels as if I should have wrapped my trunk around India’s so I could say goodbye properly.
Because there was something in her face just now that I think I’ve seen lurking there for months, even if I didn’t recognise what it was at the time.
And it’s risen to the surface at last.
India has really gone.
With a lump in my throat, I start walking up the familiar stairs towards a big glass entrance. I’m trying to block out sentences, starting to shatter through my head like bricks.
It’s all I can do to keep my epic new social life in some kind of order.
Please don’t do anything interesting without me.
So now I’ve got two diaries: one to make sure I’m in the right place at the right time, the other for making sure everyone else is.
Don’t worry: everything is under control.
No.
This is ridiculous. I’ve taken those lines completely out of context: that’s not how I meant them.
I mean, it’s not like I try to arrange people’s lives for them. Or get them to fly to other countries for me. Or write them endless lists. Or tell them where to be and how to behave and what to eat and …
Oh my God.
I blink. But surely if there was a problem, my other friends would have said? Nat would definitely have mentioned it.
I know you’ve arranged … everything.
Or Jasper and Toby would have …
You don’t do things by halves, do you?
OK, so Rin would …
I love how Harry-chan is always saying the things.
No.
Shaking my head, I push through the glass doors of the library. If I had become that unbearable, surely the whole of Team JINTH would have disappeared by now?
Trembling, I beep my battered library card on the scanner, wave at Sally the librarian and head straight to the back of the library to find my friends.
Jasper’s meant to be at the table by the window, reading a book about Salvador Dali. Rin should be in the Chemistry section, casually skimming through Modern Quantum Chemistry – Introduction to Advanced Electronic Structure Theory as suggested.
And Toby and Nat should be hiding in aisle D, tucked behind On the Origin of Species so they can make sure the surprise romantic date unfolds properly, as specified by the map I drew.
But they’re not: there’s nobody here at all.
And that’s when it finally hits me.
As I walk faster and faster around the little library, spinning in increasingly frantic circles – as my hands get sweatier and my stomach gets sicker and my cheeks get hotter – I suddenly realise …
My best friends didn’t tell me my obsessive planning and calculating and itinerating and pushing was driving them insane.
They didn’t ask me to stop arranging their lives and managing everything in minute detail: didn’t tell me to stop meddling and forcing my ideas on them, every minute of every day.
Didn’t want to, didn’t know how to.
Didn’t actually have to.
Nope.
Instead, they just left.
eutron stars can rotate at a rate of 600 times a second, but that’s nothing compared to how fast my brain is spinning right now.
All my lists. All my schedules.
All my coloured-in charts and calendars and diaries and socialising folders: my picnics, my sleepovers, my attempted zoo visits.
There’s no nice way of putting it: I’m a control freak.
“Hi, Harriet!” Sally says as I drop my carefully replicated Top Secret: R+J BIG DATE folder hard on to the desk and start heading towards the exit. “So good to see you again! Have you come to take out How to Match People by the Matchmaking Institute? I got your emails and texts and that fax and it’s finally been returned!”
Oh my God. I am awful.
“No, thank you,” I say, impulsively handing the flowers intended for Rin to her. “These are for you, Sally. For all the times I rearranged the biology section into alphabetical and not binary code order without asking you first.”
She blinks at them. “You did what?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble over my shoulder as I pick up my pace. Because it can’t be too late to put this right: to unmuddle the mess I’ve made.
I can only hope I know where everyone has gone.
It’s dark by the time I reach the cafe, and there’s an eerie, flickering orange glow coming from the windows.
I glance at my watch.
The cafe doesn’t normally shut until seven thirty, and it’s only seven thirteen: so why is the CLOSED sign hanging up at the front door? And why is it so dark inside?
I tentatively creep closer and peek through the window.
Then I draw an abrupt inward breath.
The cafe is unrecognisable.
The lights are all off, and pink candles are twinkling on every table and counter: sitting on top of the coffee machine, perched where the sandwiches are supposed to go, taking up every spare saucer.
Pink tablecloths have been thrown over every flat surface and pink ribbons are tied around things that have absolutely no need to be tied with pink ribbons: cups, bowls of sugar, the door handle to the toilet.
Hearts – in pink – have been cut out of tissue paper and stuck all over the walls, pink butterflies are plastered to the picture frames and pink streamers are hanging from the wall lights.
And on every (now pink) chair is a cuddly toy.
Every single stuffed cartoon animal you can think of – Mickey, Minnie, Winnie, Paddington, Elmo, Little Miss Sunshine, Snowman, Miffy, Pikachu, Totoro – and many less distinguished ones too: teddies and frogs and sheep and cows and rabbits and cats, all sitting neatly, one per chair.
Like the world’s fluffiest charity fundraiser.
I peer a bit closer: there’s a little owl in my seat, wearing round glasses. A fuzzy tiger in Nat’s, wearing a dress, a purple bear with its feet up on India’s and the meerkat from the insurance advert sit
ting in Toby’s.
What the sugar cookies is going on?
It looks like a Tenderheart Care Bear exploded in here and then Hello Kitty came in and tidied up the mess.
“Down!” somebody hisses, and before I have a chance to see who, I’ve been tackled to the floor with an oomph.
Awkwardly, I blink upwards.
Toby’s crouched over me with enormous diamante sunglasses on and his bright green bobble hat, pulled down ridiculously low.
“Mission saved,” he whispers at me urgently. “Secrecy levels high, proceed with caution.”
I think I’m just going to make a sign that says WHAT for whenever I’m around Toby so I never have to say it again.
“What?”
“All is advancing. The marks are in place.”
“Toby,” I blink. “Firstly, why are you wearing Nat’s diamante sunglasses? And secondly, what is this? What’s going on?”
“I think they make me look suitably mysterious and enigmatic,” he explains. “And this is the Top Secret Romantic Date Plan. As requested.”
“But this isn’t The Plan,” I whisper, kneeling up so I can peek through the window again. “This is … Well, I don’t know what this is.”
“It’s the other plan,” Toby explains, kneeling up so he can look through too. “I went over to Nat’s and asked her to help, but she was busy. Then I explained what was going on and she dropped the folder in the bath. Which was weird, because she had to go and run a bath first.”
I open my mouth and then shut it again. “What?”
I knew I should have laminated it.
“Then she told me as the plan was ruined I should probably just do whatever I thought was best and use my imagination. So I did. Look.”
Side by side, we inch up a little more.
And I see what I didn’t see before.
In the corner, under an enormous bunch of pink flowers, is a little round table. It has pink cupcakes on it, pink ice cream and pink biscuits. Pink rose petals and a scattering of pink glitter.
Pink teacups and pink plates.
Inexplicably pink sugar cubes in a pink bowl.
And in the middle of all this hideous pinkness are two people, sitting very close together.
Jasper and Rin.
’ve probably made this quite clear by now, but I really hate the colour pink.
Shakespeare only used the word ‘pink’ in two plays – Romeo and Juliet and Anthony and Cleopatra. Flamingos are pink because of all the canthaxanthin they consume (the natural dye in shrimp) and pink is actually the colour of a Gentoo penguin’s poop.
As far as I’m concerned, pink is humiliation and sugar mice and candyfloss and that one ballet lesson I did before they not-so-subtly suggested tap or maybe maths.
It’s not a romantic colour at all.
But as I stare through the window, I realise – in a sudden wave of shame – that nobody gives a rat’s bottom if I don’t like it because this isn’t my big romance.
It’s supposed to be Rin’s.
And she loves pink more than anything else in the world, apart from Hello Kitty: who is sitting at the table next to her.
I glance sideways at Toby.
In the chronology of the world, there was a bigger gap between the stegosaurus and the T-rex than there is between the T-rex and us, and that’s basically how far off I was with the library scene I thought was adorable.
But what Toby’s done is nothing short of magic. It’s absolutely, incandescently perfect.
Curiously, I press my face against the glass. The window’s a tiny bit open, and I might just be able to hear what they’re saying.
“It’s going remarkably well,” Toby whispers at me proudly. “Apparently the word love comes from the Sanskrit lubhayati which means desire. Did they tell you that in India?”
“Sssshhhh, Toby,” I snap. “I’m trying to hear what’s going on.”
Which is quite hard, because after thirty seconds it becomes increasingly clear that the answer to that is nothing.
Literally nothing is going on.
Jasper’s got his hands folded on the tablecloth and is staring around him with a shell-shocked expression, while Rin focuses intently on her lap.
“She is five apples tall,” she says eventually, as if in answer to a question asked quite some time ago, “and her pet cat is Charmmy Kitty.”
“Wait,” Jasper says, frowning, “they measure height in fruit? And Hello Kitty is a cat. How can she have a pet cat?”
“No no,” Rin says in alarm. “Kitty is not full cat. Only half cat, half girl. Her cat is full cat.”
“But … Can she speak like a cat? How do they communicate? Do they meow at each other?”
“It is very difficult to explain.” Rin’s cheeks are starting to match her environment. “I am not saying it properly.”
“She is saying it properly,” Toby whispers to me. “Sanrio explain in detail that Kitty is a human cartoon character. Just like the Simpsons are human, but also have four fingers and blue hair.”
“Shhhhh, Toby,” I hiss. “I’m listening.”
There’s another long silence.
“This is kawaii, ne?” Rin says after another few minutes, pointing around her. “Kawaii mean cute in Japanese, because is also the colour of blush.”
The significance of pink to Rin is starting to make sense now: love, cuteness and beauty are one and the same for her.
“Mmm,” Jasper says awkwardly. “Ah. I don’t suppose you know when the rest of Team JINTH is turning up, do you?”
There’s another silence.
“Do you like watermelon?” Rin says eventually.
Oh my God. Deathwatch beetles attract mates by repeatedly banging their heads on the floor. It looks exactly like that’s what’s happening here.
This has to be stopped immediately.
On Tuesday 29th October 1929 the Wall Street Crash became the greatest stock market disaster in the history of the United States: it was so bad that prices didn’t return to normal again until 1954.
This is basically the date version of that.
It’s suddenly abundantly clear that Jasper and Rin don’t have a crush on each other at all.
In fact, I’m not even sure they ever did.
I just got the idea in my brain that it would make them both happier and forced it on them like I force everything else: like a bonkers juggernaut with a binding machine.
“Toby,” I say, turning quickly to the side. “I think we need to go and save them right n …”
I stop in amazement.
What’s up with Toby’s face? He’s grinning from ear to ear, leaning far too close to the window, and every time Rin says something he laughs into his hand: just like he always …
Oh. My. God. And there it is.
Final, conclusive evidence that no matter how much studying I do or how smart I – and my exam results – think I am, I am never, ever going to understand people.
Or words or gestures or facial expressions or pretty much anything else of vital importance.
How did I not see it before you? They’re perfect together.
When Nat and I first spotted a chance for romance, we were both looking in the same direction, except I was seeing Jasper and Rin, and she was seeing Rin and Toby.
After marooning herself in my bedroom for days, Rin’s face lit up when she saw Toby again; she came out because of him.
The bounce in her step was because he was walking next to her; she was trying to impress him with her key rings.
You know what, judging by how closely she remembered what shoes he was wearing last summer, she may have even liked him in Tokyo too.
And Toby …
I look more closely at his face.
It’s rosy and bright and totally focused. He’s clearly besotted. Enough to try to make Rin comfortable by recalling every fact he knew about Japan; to show her his kawaii socks; to pay close attention to what she likes and then give it to her, without a single thoug
ht for himself.
And the second Nat saw my stupid Top Secret: R + J BIG DATE folder, she realised I was barking up the wrong tree and threw it in the bath so Toby could take the reins.
But why didn’t they just tell me?
Because – I realise with the umpteenth wave of shame – India was right. Rin is too gentle to resist my bulldozing.
And Toby hasn’t actually realised he likes her yet. He’s just as clueless about people as I am.
That’s what Nat wanted: for Toby and Rin to slowly realise they liked each other on their own.
Without plans, itineraries or schedules forced upon them.
She is a wise and very knowing soul, my Best Friend.
We have really got to communicate better.
Obviously, though, I have learnt my lesson.
I now know not to try to control, or manipulate, or make things happen. I will not pull strings, or force people, or intervene with nature, or fiddle with chemistry. I am a much wiser, less bossy and demanding person than I was a few minutes ago.
I will not be meddling any more. No more meddling for me. Nope. None.
Don’t meddle, Harriet.
Do not meddle. No meddling. No Harriet. Meddling, no. Nope to the meddling; meddling nope. Do not under any circumstances …
OK: just one more tiny meddle.
“Toby,” I burst, grabbing his arm impulsively, “oh my gosh. I think that tablecloth is on fire!”
“I doubt it,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “They’re flame-retardant, Harriet. With so many candles in there, I double-checked.”
“Then I guess there must be a faulty one! Oh no! Go and check, Tobes! In person! Then you can write a letter of complaint to the manufacturers! Go! Go go! GO!”
Toby blinks. “But what about the Top Secret plan?” he says in confusion. “Harriet, you made a plan. And I made a plan. We need to follow the plans.”
“Oh, screw the plans!” I cry, dragging him to his feet and ripping the diamante sunglasses off his face. “Screw them all up and throw them in the bin! Go go!”
Toby cautiously straightens his Spider-Man cardigan and then knocks on the cafe door.
I tap on the window. “Psssssst. Jasper! Get out here.”
He doesn’t need telling twice.