OK: they have done some serious research. Nick managed to convince me that the middle K in his name stood for Koala for nearly six months, and Kookaburra for another two.
“How did you—”
“We can’t wait to meet him,” Liv breathes, gripping her hands together. “I ship you two so hard I can’t even.”
She ships us? Like, in a boat? Or a spaceship?
A spaceship sounds a lot more fun.
“Uh.” I blink a few times. “I’m afraid we’re not … I mean, Nick’s not … I’m not …”
Apparently girls speak an average of 20,000 words every single day – I don’t know where all mine have suddenly gone.
I just can’t say it.
I can’t say Nick and I have broken up out loud: it’s lodged somewhere in the middle of my oesophagus.
“You are the luckiest girl in the entire universe, Harriet!” “Does he live in London?” “Does he ever pick you up from school?” “Does he have any friends you could introduce me to?”
“I …” I swallow painfully. “Nick’s in Australia right now.”
“On a shoot?” “I saw him on a bus a few weeks ago.” “On a bus? Like, a passenger?” “Obviously not, idiot. As a poster. Boys like him don’t take buses.”
“Uh.” I swallow and try to find my voice again. Nick takes buses all the time. He’s just a boy: not the Queen. “Actually, it’s …” I swallow again. “I mean, there are times in our life when paths go in different directions and – uh. There’s a fork in the road that …”
“Is she answering the question again?”
“I’m so confused.”
There’s a sharp voice at the back of the room.
“Right.” A purple head appears from the crowd, and India walks forward, closes the magazine with a snap and hands it back to its owner with an icy expression. “This school dynamic is deeply disturbing and I think that’s quite enough. Does nobody have any respect for privacy?”
Bizarrely, everyone immediately shuts up and I sigh with relief. I’m obviously not the only one who thinks India might be royalty.
“Yeah,” Ananya sighs. “You guys are vultures. Ret comes to school to get away from all this stuff.”
Liv folds her arms. “Such hyenas.”
Actually vultures provide an invaluable service to the ecosystem by eating dead carcasses that are otherwise rendered inedible due to their bacterial content, whereas hyenas follow vulnerable animals and rip them apart while still alive.
It’s really not fair to lump them together like that.
I’m just about to explain this in detail when the door swings open.
“Jasper!” Miss Hammond calls cheerfully from the front. I’m going to assume for the last ten minutes she’s been gallantly taking the register and then answering it herself. “Better late than never! Join the crowd!”
He glances in surprise around the empty classroom, and then at the spot where every student is clustered in a mob around me.
My phone beeps and I pull it quickly out of my pocket.
Hannah darling! Kev THRILLED with Levaire shoot! Gucci director asked to see your book – call me!! Stephie xx
I’m too surprised at “Stephie” to hide my phone.
“No way!” somebody loudly squeaks over my shoulder. “Gucci! You’re going to model for Gucci!” “Oh my God, that’s amazing!” “Oh wow!” “Have you written a book, Harriet? What’s it about?”
I flush in embarrassment, quickly shove my phone back into my satchel and look up again.
Jasper and I lock eyes for a few seconds and my stomach clenches slightly.
“You know what?” he says finally, still staring straight at me. “I think this particular crowd is quite big enough already, don’t you?”
And he disappears again with a loud BANG.
“Jasper …” Miss Hammond says tiredly this time, scanning her register with a small sigh and then drawing a little tick. “Yes, Miss Hammond. Here, Miss Hammond. Have a lovely day, Miss Hammond.”
The bell rings and everyone suddenly disperses to collect their bags, attention now focused on whatever their next class is going to be.
But I’m still staring at the door.
What is Jasper’s problem? Why does he always have to be so horrible? I made him a dinosaur biscuit, didn’t I? What more does he want from me?
More importantly, why do I even care?
he rest of the week can be summarised thus:
Under considerable duress, I surreptitiously teach a group of girls how to “catwalk” in double chemistry
Mr Harper tells me if I don’t stop “stomping like an elephant” around the classroom he’s going to give me a detention
I politely explain that I am, in fact, walking like a cat
Everyone laughs
I get a detention
Almost every girl in the year inexplicably wants to sit next to me for the next three lunchtimes.
Basically, I don’t have a second to myself for the next five days.
In chemistry, I explain my “best beauty trick” to a big group of girls (toothpaste on my spots) and how to perfectly balance your dietary nutrition (chicken and strawberry jam sandwiches). In maths we all have a long and apparently very interesting conversation about castings, and then everyone wants to see my ‘book’.
So – flushed with pleasure – I get Bleak House out and show it to them all under the desk. For some reason they seem a bit bemused.
In physics, I start using Kirchhoff’s Law to find the internal resistance of a cell. “Want to work this out together?” two of the new girls ask, pulling their graph paper over to mine. When I help them out, “You see?” one says triumphantly to the other measuring voltage, “Harriet knows everything!”
Eric wants to discuss Russians for a whole breaktime, Raya is adamant for three hours in double biology that Nick must have an identical twin brother and the sixth form netball captain thinks I’m just the cutest after I regale the team with a story about the world’s most expensive coffee while waiting in line for the vending machine.
“But it’s made from the droppings of an Asian palm civet,” I clarify again, because I’m not entirely sure she’s heard me. “That’s poop. Basically mongoose poop.”
“Poop coffee!” she exclaims, putting a delighted arm round me. “You are just so adorable.”
On Tuesday I bring in all my extra Moroccan purchases and enthusiastically distribute them, and by Wednesday morning bright colours are scattered everywhere: silver earrings and bangles and scarves attached to people like bird feathers. Even the boys are participating: they’re using spare bangles as tiny hoops to throw around cans and high-fiving me every time they succeed in their target.
Every morning and afternoon after school I meet the first years to hand over more of my books, like a private librarian service.
I have to explain – six times – to Stephanie that I can’t take any more time off school to meet designers and she’ll have to arrange interviews at weekends instead. Eventually she gets the idea and schedules something for the weekend after next.
By Friday, there are so many ticks on my Inner Star list it looks like one of the essays I used to write and then mark myself when I was seven. I have been confident, over and over and over again. I have been risky, repeatedly. I’ve been brave and limitless seven times, stylish three and inspirational at least twice.
And it has totally and utterly worked.
Whatever the opposite of lonely is, I’ve never been so that in my entire life.
I just haven’t done any homework. At all.
No wonder I’ve got excellent grades for the last eleven years.
I had literally nothing else to do.
“Ret!” Ananya calls as I finally stagger out of the sixth form doors on Friday afternoon and blink sleepily in the sunshine. One of my pink scarves has been wound round her neck and a pair of my enormous silver earrings are glinting in her dark hair. “Retty! Where are you going?”
“We haven’t seen you all day,” Liv squeaks, wrapping her arms tightly round me. “Where were you? We missed you.” I’m still finding her huge enthusiasm for me a little overwhelming, but it’s nice that she’s so affectionate.
“We’re having a sleepover tonight at Indy’s. It’s going to be ace. You’re coming, right?”
I freeze in surprise – have I just been voluntarily invited to my first ever non-Nat social outing? – then try to stifle a massive yawn.
Honestly, I had no idea trying so hard not to try hard could be so physically and mentally exhausting.
Fresh connections are made in the brain every time you form a new memory. Mine is now so stuffed full of new names and facts and conversations about body parts of celebrities I’ve never heard of before that I think I may have just run out of space.
“Of course I would really love to,” I say politely, rubbing my eyes. “But do you mind if I come another time instead? I’ve got such a huge amount on this weekend.”
Sleeping. Reading. Catching up on homework. Eating biscuits in my penguin pyjamas, hopefully with Nat, and watching documentaries about insects in case anything has changed in the last five days.
“See you on Monday?” I add with a little wave, and start wandering sleepily towards home.
Ananya’s voice cuts through the air like a sword.
“Oh. Right. So it’s like that, is it?”
I stop in confusion, and turn round slowly. “Huh?”
“We get it. It’s fine, Harriet,” she says with her arms crossed. “You’ve obviously got more important things to do than hang out with us now. We totally understand.”
“Yeah,” Liv agrees, folding hers too. “I mean, I thought we were a gang, but if you’re too busy, Harriet, then just let us know. We wouldn’t want to be in the way.”
The words are nice, but something about the way they’re saying them doesn’t quite match. An unpleasant memory from last year is beginning to niggle at the back of my brain: one I killed and buried quite a long time ago.
At least, I thought I had.
“It’s not that at all,” I stammer, face starting to get hot. “I just haven’t done any work this week and I’m really tired and there’s a lot to—”
“No no,” Ananya interrupts, holding up her hand. “No need to explain, Harriet. You’ve got so much on, now you’re a celebrity. I’m sure you have much better things to do than spend quality time with us.”
And there it is.
With that word – better – the memory comes tumbling forward: out of my frontal lobes, through my hippocampus and straight into the middle of my forehead where it sits, flicking me hard with its fingers.
You really think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you? Who here hates Harriet Manners?
Put your hands up.
My entire body has suddenly gone cold, as if I’ve plunged myself headfirst into the freezer.
No.
No no no. Not again.
I can’t do this again. Not again not again not again not again not again not again not again …
It suddenly feels like all my hard work over the last ten days is unravelling and I don’t know why, or how to stop it. I must have deviated from the list, somehow. And now they seem to think I don’t want to spend time with them …
And it’s really not that.
I’m having fun. I’m just tired, that’s all.
But as I stare at Ananya and Liv’s tense faces, it suddenly hits me that there is no time off from this plan. If I’m not extremely careful, the old Harriet Manners will return, and one by one all the hands that have come down are going to start going straight back up again.
Until finally I’m right back where I was last year, except worse.
Because this time it’ll be all my fault.
And I’ll know it.
“Umm …” I say, desperately trying to think. My brain is jittering around: picking up ideas and putting them down again. “Could we maybe do something awesome together next week? A … museum visit? An … art exhibition?” They’re still staring at me. “A … little gathering or something?”
They glance at each other.
“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod,” Liv squeaks, lobbing herself at me again. “Really? DoyoumeanitIcan’tbelieveit you’rethebestwillyoureallythrowusaparty?”
Huh? Where did a party come from? I meant tea and biscuits. Maybe a slice of chocolate cake.
“Well, I—”
“OhmyGodohmyGodHarriethowareyousoamazing howdoyoulivetellmesoIcanbreatheyourairandabsorb yourpowersandliveinyourmagickingdomforever.”
“Wait,” Liv blinks a few times. “Was that me?”
We all turn round simultaneously to see a pretty blonde girl, perched comfortably on a bollard behind us in silence. Like a hawk: the powerful kind with a pointy beak and muscular legs and a habit of tearing unsuspecting rabbits into pieces.
I haven’t seen Alexa once all week. I’d almost forgotten she was in my year: that’s how utterly invisible she’s been.
She’s not invisible any more.
And as she unsheathes her talons and looks at us steadily, I have a horrible feeling she’s about to destroy everything.
n the 1970s, a man called Michael Lotito ate an entire aeroplane. Bit by bit, he chewed through every part of a Cessna 150: glass, metal, engine, leather and tyres. It took him two years but he finally swallowed all of it.
My hands are starting to sweat, but I’m somehow managing to keep my face composed.
After all, I’ve had more than eleven years of Alexa now. As Lotito proved, you can get through anything with enough practice and a decent set of teeth.
Be brave, Harriet.
“So,” Alexa says smoothly, smiling as I push my shoulders back as far as I can get them and lift my chin, “how goes Project Reinvent Harriet Manners? Is she everything you hoped she’d be and more?”
Ananya and Liv take a step forward until they’re standing on either side of me, like identical bookends. “Of course she is. We just totally love her.”
“Harriet’s the best.”
“Isn’t she just?” Alexa says, her cat-smile curving a little more. “Hasn’t this last week been so much fun? I’ve loved watching Harriet transform into an icon right in front of my very eyes. It’s like a Disney film or something.”
My stomach suddenly feels like it’s full of aeroplane too. What does that mean? Has Alexa been watching me the whole time?
Ugh. It feels a bit like pulling off a shoe and then discovering an enormous cockroach has been sitting inside it for the last six hours.
“Yeah, well, whatever,” Liv says stiffly, putting her hands on her hips. “Harriet’s having a party. A big party. An amazing party.”
“Yup,” Ananya says coolly, staring at her fingernails. “And guess what, Lexi? You can’t come.”
OK: tea and biscuits is rapidly spiralling out of control.
“A big party?” Alexa says, hopping off the bollard. “Really? That sounds like such a brilliant idea. I bet you really blow everyone away. You’ve always had such an incredible imagination.”
I stare at her in amazement.
I know it seems crazy, but it sounds like she really, genuinely means it. Could she mean it? Maybe an entire week of being ostracised has made Alexa realise how I’ve felt for the last six years. Maybe this is her way of making amends.
I’d have preferred a traditional apology – maybe a handwritten card with a dolphin on the front – but I’ll take what I can get.
In a flush of hope, I step forward.
“Alexa. It’s more of a … gathering, really. But if you want to come, then … you can. You’re invited. I’d really like you there.”
That last bit isn’t true at all, but baby steps.
“Harriet,” she says, breaking into a wide smile. “I would love to come. Thank you so much for inviting me. Let’s try and put the past behind us, shall we? It’s time we moved on, don’t you think?”
Alex
a kisses my stunned cheek.
“This is so exciting,” she whispers into my ear. “I am beside myself with anticipation.” Then she gives us all a little wave and saunters down the road, swinging her bag jauntily behind her.
I watch her walk away in bewilderment.
OK … Did my lifelong nemesis and arch-enemy just kiss me?
“Well,” Ananya says grumpily when Alexa is finally out of earshot. “I don’t see why you had to invite her. But I guess it’s your party, so you can do what you want.”
“Lexi won’t come,” Liv says confidently. “She always says she will and then she never does.”
An old, bright-purple car stops outside the school and India’s head pokes out of the driver’s seat. “Are you getting in or what, BANANA? I draw the line at being your private chauffeur service.”
Wow. India must already be seventeen and she can drive: no wonder she has such an air of distinction and gravitas.
Also, she matched her car to her hair.
That is so freaking cool.
“Coming, Indy!” Ananya calls, waving. Then she turns to me. “This is so brilliant, Retty. You’re too good to us, you know that?”
“Eeeeeep!” Liv squeaks, chewing on the end of her ponytail.
“Iwon’tbeabletosleepIcanalreadyfeelitohmygoshwhat amIgoingto—”
“GET IN THE CAR, MUPPET! Liv too if she wants,” India shouts, slamming hard on the horn four times. “Are you coming as well, Harriet?”
I shake my head apologetically, and India nods and turns back to fiddle with the radio. Ananya and Liv give me a hug that threatens to permanently change the shape of my windpipe, then climb into the back of the car still chattering excitedly and drive away.
At which point the sixth form door opens and a familiar fluffy head appears, pauses for a few seconds and starts charging in the opposite direction.
So I take a deep breath, tug my satchel on to both my shoulders and begin racing after the only person in the year who hasn’t spoken to me in the last five days.
Toby Pilgrim.
mouse’s tail is precisely as long as its body.
Toby is literally the only person I know who would find this fact interesting, and possibly try to hunt one down so he can measure it with a ruler.