My week-long exclusion from school ends, half term comes and goes and the endless days of November turn into the interminable weeks of December. I have absolutely no social life so, other than when I’m dragged off for therapy sessions with annoying Sonia, I stay home, bored and resentful. After much begging on my part Poppy lets me borrow her phone so I can at least connect with the outside world. I’m excited to be able to get into my social media accounts, then crushed to discover that I’m still ignored – or abused – on everything. Any posts I make are met either with absolute silence or a torrent of nastiness in which the nicest word anyone has to say about me is: Freak.
I try again a few days later, hoping the bitchy gossip will have died down.
It hasn’t. Even the boys from school who didn’t ignore me after the SweetFreak death threat now clearly think I’m a psycho bunny boiler, thanks to that stupid pigeon in Amelia’s locker. How do I know? There’s one of those horrible chats between the boys on NatterSnap where they rate the hottest girls in our year. Mostly the posts are straightforward: a boy puts forward his choice of girl and the others either agree or not. I have an alert on my name, so I see when Aaron Price – a dweeby boy I barely know in one of the other classes – says he thinks I’m hot. And I see when, immediately afterwards, a whole bunch of other boys gleefully warn him to stay away from me, telling him and the entire world that I’m deranged, that if he doesn’t watch out I’m liable to kill any pets he might have . . . or start stalking him . . . or chop off bits of his body . . .
It’s all ridiculous and I don’t believe any of them seriously think I’d do any of these things. They’re not really thinking about me at all, it’s just a game to them, something to tease each other about. And they don’t think about how I’m a real person, whose feelings might be hurt. Truth is, though, that I’m kind of past hurt feelings. Most of the time I’m just numb, existing in a strange limbo with my house and family – and perhaps the woods where I sometimes take Jamie to play Warriors – my entire world.
Mum softens a little as Christmas approaches. We never have lavish Christmases, there’s not enough money for that, and Poppy and I long ago accepted that the focus of the day should be on our little brother, not ourselves. Jamie is, as ever, full of wonderment and delight at his presents: a tablet of his own, bought secondhand on eBay, from Mum and a new plastic sword set and Warriors of the Doom Wood dressing-up outfit from me and Poppy.
Poppy gets a secondhand tablet too and some perfume and cash. Mum gives me clothes, which Poppy has chosen. They’re nice, though I’d far rather have got a proper phone or a new laptop – or even my old ones back. But Mum is carrying through on her pledge to deny me access to decent technology. I still have to make do with her ancient mobile that just makes calls and texts. At least I’m no longer grounded once January starts.
I go out on New Year’s Day eager to take advantage of my regained freedom. It’s the first time I’ve been anywhere other than school or Sonia’s house for ages but I quickly realise I have absolutely nowhere to go. The places in town I used to hang out with my friends are just boring dumps with no one to liven them up. I miss Amelia more than I would ever have imagined: the way we could make a joke out of anything, the way we usually agreed on stuff and the way we’d talk and talk, processing every aspect of our lives and relationships.
I stroll around for a bit, bitter with loneliness, then return home in a grumpy mood.
I’m dreading the start of term, but in fact when school resumes a few days later, it isn’t as bad as before Christmas. Perhaps I’m just used to being alone now, but I no longer feel picked on or pointed at.
It’s more like I’ve become invisible, one of those girls nobody takes any notice of, who slinks around in the background of everything. People talk to me, but only superficially. Rose drops a few asides now and then about how awful I am, not just to hurt Amelia, who is still away from school, but also to attempt to blame George for what happened. But most people just act like I’m not there at all, leaving me hovering around the edges of school existence. If anything, what I sense off them is a slightly haughty indifference. They’re all better than me, I can see them thinking: I’m the girl who gave her best friend a breakdown.
News filters through that Amelia is being homeschooled by a series of expensive tutors. It seems that she and Rose have become good friends and, along with the Rose Clones, have formed a little social group that I am entirely excluded from. Whenever I’m close enough to hear her, Rose takes great delight in talking about how she and Amelia hang out together.
It hurts. A lot.
Occasionally someone forgets my lowly status and asks if I’m going to some activity or other out of school. But mostly I’m left to my own devices, too self-conscious now to speak up much in lessons and in the habit of taking my sandwiches outside where I can huddle under the eaves at the very back of the school and spend my lunch breaks alone.
Perhaps the single worst thing is watching as rehearsals for The Sound of Music become more frequent. Mr Howard pins notices every week, saying who is required for each of the three weekly sessions. By the last week in January, I’m sure most people have forgotten I was ever involved but every time I see the call list on the board I feel a fresh twinge of resentment.
Especially when I see Rose’s name.
Yep, guess who got upgraded to the part of Maria once I was chucked off the show? That’s right. Rose was the first person to approach Mr Howard – at the time frantic with worry at not having a Maria – and told him she already knew most of the lines. He saw a few other girls, for appearance’s sake I reckon, but there was never any doubt that Rose would get the role. And no doubt in my own mind that she’s the most grasping, manipulative chancer I’ve ever met. It even crosses my mind that she could be the one behind the nasty messages and the dead pigeon in the locker. The only problem is, I can’t for the life of me see why she would go so far. She wasn’t ever really part of Amelia and my friendship group – though we all got on well enough – and it’s not as if Rose is envious and unpopular. She’s always surrounded by the Rose Clones, is generally liked by everyone and usually seems to have a boyfriend. She even dated Heath Sixsmith at the start of term – proving I was right about her being after him. But, according to the snatches of conversation I overhear, they fizzled out pretty quickly.
So I don’t think she set out to wrangle the part of Maria from me, she just took the opportunity to grab it with both hands when it became available. She’s a nasty piece of work, but more into conniving behind people’s backs than the deep secret of anonymous messages and fishing dead birds out of wheelie bins.
By the beginning of February I realise that my situation, though hard, is at least livable with. And when I leave school the following Wednesday I’m not, for once, thinking about how I’ve been abused and tricked. I’m wondering instead if I have time to pop into the chemist for a new nail varnish on my way to pick up Jamie from his after-school club. Mum is at a late meeting and Poppy has a guitar lesson so I’m in charge of my little brother and I really want that pot of polish. I’ve taken recently to making an effort with cheap, but time-consuming beauty routines – nails and hair are something to do at least.
I take longer in the chemist than I expect, so I’m now hurrying down the road towards Jamie’s school, my scarf and coat flying out behind me, when a male voice calls out.
‘Carey!’
I spin around. A boy wearing the smart black blazer and red tie of Bamford House, the local private school, stands in front of me. He’s tall with extremely close-cropped hair. If he was frowning he might look intimidating. But his eyes are soft – a beautiful shade of green with velvet black lashes – and there’s a huge smile on his tanned face.
I have no idea how he knows my name. Perhaps he’s a friend of Poppy’s. I nod, feeling embarrassed, and quickly turn away.
‘Hey, Carey!’ The boy’s tone shifts from amazement to consternation. ‘Aren’t you going to even say hello?’
I turn back and look at him again. Which is when I recognise him at last.
It’s Taylor, Amelia’s ex, the one she was so upset over when he dumped her, only with far shorter hair than he had last autumn.
‘Taylor?’ I stammer. ‘Er, you cut your hair.’ I blush, embarrassed to have stated the blindingly obvious and expecting him to either point this out or else roll his eyes.
But instead Taylor nods, clearly delighted. ‘Yeah, buzzcut. Soldier style.’ He grins, and I notice how white and even his teeth are. My stomach does a weird little skip. ‘You like?’ he asks.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It looks great.’ How bizarre is this: me standing in the street giving my opinion on a virtual stranger’s hairstyle? I only met Taylor a few times when he was linking with Amelia, and then just in passing. Years ago I used to see him sometimes when I’d go with Mum to pick up Jamie from playdates with Taylor’s little brother Blake, but really I barely know him – just what I’ve heard from Amelia. Which, let’s face it, hardly adds up to a flattering personality profile. I bite my lip. Amelia would hate it if she knew I was talking to Taylor and though she might have walked out on our friendship, I still feel loyal to her.
‘I have to go,’ I say, shuffling my feet. ‘I’ve got to pick up my little brother.’
‘You mean from Cornmouth Primary?’ Taylor asks. ‘Yeah, that’s where I’m going too. To get Blake.’
A memory of a heartbroken Amelia asking me to fix a playdate between Jamie and Blake to give her an excuse to go round to Taylor’s house flits through my mind.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right.’
Taylor falls into step beside me, chatting away, asking me a million questions about where I live and whether I’ve heard a new band called Bon Wheel and how my hair is amazingly, wonderfully curly. I’ve never met a guy who talks as freely as Taylor does. He never seemed to notice me much when Amelia and his friends were around, but now I’m getting the full force of his attention I’m starting to see why Amelia liked him so much. He’s charming and . . . just so interested in everything I have to say.
After three months of being virtually ignored by almost everyone, his attention is like water on parched earth. And by the time we reach the school gates I realise that I’m actually enjoying myself.
And then I remember Amelia again. Taylor hasn’t mentioned her, hasn’t even asked how she is. Does he know what I’m supposed to have done to her? Surely he must. OK so he wasn’t going out with Amelia when it all kicked off, and he doesn’t go to our school, but the scandal was all over NatterSnap and he’s got to be on that.
We stand together, like a ludicrously young couple alongside all the mums and dads, as the kids in Blake and Jamie’s year swarm out of after-school club and into the playground. Maybe Taylor’s talking to me so he can go gossip about me to his friends.
‘So how come you’re here?’ I ask, as Taylor falls silent at last, his eyes roaming the chattering kids, looking out for his little brother. ‘I mean you don’t normally pick Blake up from school, do you?’
‘Nah, it’s . . . family stuff,’ Taylor says awkwardly. He hesitates a moment. ‘The truth is that my dad left home a few weeks ago – he’s splitting up from my mum – and he used to pick up Blake on Wednesdays but now he’s gone so I’m just trying to help out.’
I stare at him, aghast. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, that’s awful.’ I grimace. ‘I had no idea . . .’ I trail off, my cheeks burning.
Taylor looks at the ground, clearly as embarrassed as I am. I feel horrible.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again. ‘I know what it’s like. My dad left years back. We never see him now.’
‘Oh, my dad’s still around,’ Taylor says with real bitterness. ‘He can’t do Wednesdays any more, but he takes Blake every other weekend.’
Around us children are milling and chatting. I catch Jamie running across the playground out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my focus on Taylor. ‘What about you?’
Taylor looks up and his eyes glisten with angry tears. ‘I don’t want anything to do with him.’
I nod. ‘I get it,’ I say.
‘Do you?’ Taylor asks. ‘Really? Because everyone else keeps telling me I should keep seeing him, as if nothing’s happened. Like, they’re all, “he’s still your dad, Taylor”, but he isn’t. At least, he isn’t the dad I thought I had.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I say, as Jamie runs up and hurls himself at me.
I stagger backwards, returning his hug.
‘I forgot it was you, today, Carey. Can I play with Blakey? Can we go to woods, Carey? Please?’
I glance across at Taylor. He’s rubbing furiously at his eyes, clearly upset over his dad. My heart goes out to him.
‘Another time,’ I say, but Jamie is not so easily deterred. He turns to Blake, now trotting over to us. He’s a smaller, rounder version of Taylor with an equally dazzling smile. ‘D’you wanna go to Bow Wood, Blakey?’
‘Yeah! Yeah!’ Blake leaps up and down.
‘It’s February,’ I protest. ‘It’s too cold and it’ll be dark in an hour.’
‘Aw, come on, Carey.’ Taylor looks at me and smiles. ‘We can use our phones as torches. How about it?’
My stomach gives that weird little flip again. Not only is Taylor gorgeous and nice, but he really doesn’t seem to have any idea about the SweetFreak messages or the fact that I’m supposed to be behind them. I’m tempted to go to the woods with him. Seriously tempted.
I sigh. Which is all the more reason why I shouldn’t go. Amelia was heartbroken when Taylor dumped her. It’s one thing chatting to him while we’re picking up our kid brothers, but quite another to extend the chat into an impromptu playdate.
‘We can’t,’ I say, trying to inject a note of regret into my voice. I guess I must sound like I’m making an excuse because Taylor’s face falls and I say without thinking: ‘But maybe we could do something next Wednesday after school?’
‘Next Wednesday?’ Jamie grumbles. ‘That’s years away.’
‘Yeah, like light years,’ Blake adds.
‘Like a million light years,’ Jamie says.
‘I think next Wednesday would be OK.’ Unlike our brothers, Taylor is grinning, the cloud lifting from his face. ‘See you then.’
I bustle a still complaining Jamie away. Once I’m home and Jamie is settled with a snack and a cartoon on the TV, I lie on my bed and think about what just happened.
I shouldn’t have arranged to see Taylor next week, but at the same time I’m excited that I have. It’s confusing. I feel guilty that Amelia would hate me spending time with Taylor, but also resentful that I’m worrying about her feelings, when she’s cut me off so easily.
‘It’s just a kids’ playdate,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Taylor’s going through a hard time – one that I’ve been through too. Why shouldn’t I talk to him about it? Why shouldn’t I talk to him about anything? It’s not like he’s asked me out or that we like each other.’
But, as the light fades outside my bedroom window, I know that somewhere inside me I wouldn’t mind it if Taylor did like me.