Monday and Friday afternoons were a special piece of Purgatory for Cameron Matthews, not just because he was afflicted by double Religion last thing, but also because on each occasion he had to walk to those classes alone in the company of Catherine. Trying to find a topic of conversation that she would be able to follow and Cameron would be able to stomach was always a particular challenge and today, after enduring five minutes of hearing about her nail-beds, he was done with being polite and swooped in with an interruption.
‘Catherine, did you know there was a new kid in our year? Blake Hartman? He’s American.’
Catherine spun to look at Cameron, her face alight with breathless excitement. ‘The hotty who looks like Zac Efron?’
‘Yeah, he does kind of look like him, doesn’t he?’ Cameron agreed.
‘Kind of? They’re, like, unbelievably beautiful twins. Well, before Zac got like old and stuff. It really shows that when God puts His mind to it, He can turn out some amazing work. He’s in my English class, you know?’
‘That’s really interesting,’ said Cameron, in a toneless voice he had perfected for dealing with one of Catherine’s many tedious digressions.
‘So how do you know him, then?’
‘I don’t. He was in Biology class earlier today.’
‘When Mr Corbett smacked open his own head? Oh my God – funniest thing, ever.’
‘You weren’t there, Catherine.’
‘I know! But Imogen does the best impressions.’
Yeah, you should see the one she does of you, Cameron thought. He tried one last time to find out about the new boy. Slowly – for Catherine’s benefit. ‘So, what’s he like?’
‘Who?’
‘Blake.’
‘Oh,’ said Catherine. ‘Well! He’s apparently really nice. He’s from America, but not the OC, and his father’s some sort of minister or priest or something and he’s working at some Baptist church outside Belfast for, like, the next two or three years or whatever, so Blake and his brother have come over with him to finish school here and stuff.’
‘He has a brother?’
‘Yeah. He’s in first year. So, can Protestant priests have, like, kids and stuff?’
‘Yes.’
‘Weird.’
‘Does Blake have a girlfriend?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Loads of girls fancy him. But he’s sort of quiet and doesn’t really go out to any parties. Apparently, he’s like really good friends with the other boys in his school house, Chichester.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone has to be, I suppose. Does my hair today make me look like I’ve got meningitis?’
‘Not really. Why?’
‘Meredith sort of said it kind of did.’
‘She probably meant it in a good way.’
‘Yeah, probs.’
From: Kerry Davison <pinkmanolosprincess@msn.ni>
To: Imogen Dawson <eurovision_queen@msn.ni>
Imogen,
I just got your text but I was basking in my own radiance so couldn’t reply right away. OK, DON’T panic. You are a sick little princess, which means you deserve sympathy. Some people don’t understand this – I do. I am very spiritual. The reason why you can’t get Michael out of your head is because you have MENTAL INFLUENZA (‘the flu’) – which is when you get so obsessed about someone that you get the fever for them and your whole life becomes about the illness. Like when you have the real flu, only worse. The real flu doesn’t make you text someone 20 times in one day. So, in conclusion, you have the flu for Michael (who, by the way, we’re going to need a code name for! I’m thinking Ernesto … or something fabulous like that?).
Anyway, here’s the plan. You can’t stop thinking about him because he’s the perfect imagined man. See? You haven’t actually spent enough time with him to get a real picture in your head of what he’s like, so you imagine him to be gorgeous and perfect. Sort of like what I think about Jamie Dornan, or what Lisa Flaherty thinks about whoever’s working behind the counter at Krispy Kreme. Text him and ask him to meet up in town for a coffee. (This is a VERY feminist thing to do!) Go and have a coffee with him. If you want, we’ll go sit in a coffee shop nearby for emotional support and any emergency interventions. Meredith needs to get her hair done this Saturday anyway. Sound good? Call me in the next 20 mins and we’ll run through possible texts to send him and make sure we get the right air of casualness. K?
Love you lots m’a-fucka’a,
Kerry xXx
Cameron, Catherine and Kerry were perched in the Starbucks on Cornmarket at half past twelve that Saturday when Meredith swept in with her newly feathered hair and a macchiato in her hand.
‘Oh my God, Meredith, it looks amazing!’ said Kerry, in her genuinely-serious voice, which she liked to practise in front of the mirror and which she modelled on Reese Witherspoon’s final speech in Legally Blonde.
‘Thanks. I got there at nine and Fabio did a great job in such a short time. Any word from Imogen? Cute shoes, Catherine.’
Catherine looked like she had seen the Risen Christ at receiving such an unexpected compliment from Meredith. ‘THANKS! Your boots are just beyond.’
‘I know,’ sighed Meredith. ‘They’re killing me, but it’s worth it.’
‘No word from Imogen,’ said Cameron. ‘It’s either going really well and she and Michael have run off to sunny Mexico together or Stewart caught them, in which case she’s thrown herself in front of a bus.’
‘This frappolatte is delicious,’ said Catherine. ‘Really yummy.’
Meredith’s head snapped up at this remark, flicking her new hairstyle back with professional flair. ‘What?’
‘My frappolatte,’ answered Catherine. ‘It’s yum. Should I get another one?’
Kerry began to speak. ‘It’s not called –’
‘Yes,’ said Meredith. ‘Yes, you should.’
As Catherine skipped off downstairs, Cameron buried his face in his hands to hide the laughter. ‘How does she get dressed in the morning without injuring herself?’ he asked.
‘I think that was mean,’ said Kerry piously. ‘I mean, she may be stupid, but, still, she’s our friend.’
Refusing to engage in a conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with defending Catherine and everything to do with Kerry’s determination to be seen as the ‘nice’ member of the group, Cameron turned to Meredith. ‘Meredith, do you know anything about that new American kid that started in our year?’
Meredith nodded. ‘Blake Hartman? Of course. I know everything. But he’s not that popular or interesting. Why?’
‘I just can’t believe there’s someone in the year I don’t recognize.’
‘Oh,’ said Kerry, ‘there’s about sixty I don’t even know exist until I see their sweaty faces next to me in the cafeteria queue.’
‘True.’
Cameron lapsed into a sort of thoughtful silence, while Kerry sat next to him humming the tune to ‘I’m Just the Girl Next Door’ and Meredith looked over at Cameron, watching him closely. A thought flashed through her mind as she said, ‘I mean, Blake is very good-looking … I suppose that’s why a lot of people have noticed him.’
Cameron looked momentarily startled, but he answered in an even voice. ‘Yeah, I suppose, he is quite good-looking. Catherine thinks he looks like Zac Efron.’
‘Yeah,’ said Meredith, running her finger slowly round the rim of her coffee cup.
‘They laughed at me!’ squeaked Catherine, as she threw herself back into her chair. ‘Apparently, there’s no such thing as a frappolatte!’
‘Really?’ said Cameron. ‘What bitches.’
‘Oh! There’s my phone. Texty times,’ smiled Kerry. ‘I wonder who loves me?’
Go back to my house ASAP. I am on my way there now. I am in love. Imogen xxxxxx PS – Get me a millionaire cake.
‘It was perfect,’ sighed Imogen dreamily, lying on her bed. ‘He’s just so mature and so clever and so funny and so great. And he has amazing arms. Where’s my cake?’
Meredith flicked her hand. ‘Catherine, where’s the cake?’
‘What about Stewart?’ said Kerry, with heavy hesitation.
‘I know!’ moaned Imogen, rolling on to her side. ‘Stewart. Stewart. He has great arms too! But should I end it with him?’
‘Only if you’re certain that Michael will start properly going out with you,’ Meredith said, sitting down next to her. ‘What if he doesn’t and you’re left alone? And what will you tell Stewart when he asks why you’re breaking up with him?’
‘He might be too busy crying,’ Imogen pondered aloud. ‘At least there’d be no questions that way, but I’d definitely feel like a bitch.’
‘Stewart cries?’ asked Kerry.
‘Yes,’ agreed Cameron. ‘Surprising, I know. And once he starts there’s literally no stopping him. I’ve only seen it happen twice – once when his grandfather died and once during Billy Elliott.’
‘We all cried during that,’ Meredith muttered.
‘Yes, but he cried because of the story, not because it was so crap that it would have been more fun forking out his own eyes.’
‘What am I going to do?’ snapped Imogen, furious at being upstaged by a fictional ballet-dancing miner. ‘I can’t let the love of my life get away. Stewart’s lovely, but he’s my Aidan; Michael is clearly my Mr Big.’
‘Do you ever think we might pay too much attention to Sex and the City?’ Catherine asked quietly from the foot of the bed.
The other four turned to look at her as if she had just suggested that they voluntarily gain thirty pounds or join the Young Farmers’ Club.
‘Well, if that’s true,’ Meredith said slowly, ‘then maybe you should take a series-three approach to the whole problem?’
‘You mean …’
‘Well, as long as no one finds out and it only goes on until you’ve reached a decision about whether you prefer Stewart or Michael – why not? As long as you’re clever about the whole thing, and make sure neither of them have any friends in common, I say you have three weeks to test the waters.’
Imogen lay very still on the bed and there was a long silence; no one wanted to second the plan for cheating in case she decided not to do it, in which case they would be the immoral bitch who advocated sabotaging a relationship, but equally no one wanted to be the prude who objected to Imogen pursuing a love affair with a man she had spent the last two weeks referring to as ‘Delicious McHotty’.
After two minutes, in which the only sound had been Catherine having an attack of her famous nervous hiccups, Imogen spoke. ‘I’m not coming to the Beach Club tonight. I have other plans. Cameron, is Stewart going to be there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Definitely?’
‘Absolutely.’
As they got ready at Meredith’s for their night out, Kerry stepped into the enormous closet carrying her fuchsia-pink silk-satin Jimmy Choo sandals in her hand. Meredith was standing in front of the accessories drawer in her dressing gown, picking up a Chanel belt and clearly debating in her head whether or not she should wear it. Kerry sat on the seat in front of the make-up mirror and took a deep breath before speaking.
‘Meredith?’
‘Yes?’
‘You know that there is absolutely no way that Imogen will be able to keep this thing with Michael down to just three weeks?’
‘She might. Do you think the Chanel with the lilac?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither.’ And she began running her fingers through the rest of her chains and belts.
‘Mer, if she picks Michael, it’s bound to eventually get back to Stewart that they started up when she was still dating him.’
‘No, not at all. Who’d tell him? Stewart’s too nice for anyone to want to hurt him, especially after he would already have gone through a traumatic break-up with Imogen. And he isn’t close friends with any people who are major gossips, apart from Cameron, who can’t tell him. So, no, if – or when – she chooses Michael, there’s no reason Stewart would find out that they had been going out beforehand. The only one in that group who will probably know anything about it is Mark.’
‘Mark?’
‘Of course. He’s friends with everyone in the year. More or less. Someone he knows is bound to know someone in Immaculate Heart and one way or another the rumours about Michael and Imogen will get back to him, eventually.’
Kerry didn’t like the sort of icy, matter-of-fact way Meredith was speaking. It was this tone of voice that gave Kerry the firm belief that Meredith could kill someone without feeling even a twinge of remorse; what made it worse was that she knew without a shadow of doubt that Imogen and Cameron would help her hide the body.
‘But if Mark finds out, he’ll go ballistic.’
‘Yes,’ said Meredith, taking her dress off the hanger, ‘but, again, he wouldn’t want to hurt Stewart once the break-up had already happened. So Mark will go ballistic in his stupid, self-righteous way, and he’ll blame me, because he hates me; Imogen, because she’s the one who did it; and Cameron, because he must have known about it but never told Stewart. Oh, cute belt!’
As Meredith was slipping into a lilac Versace party dress and putting a golden chain round her waist, Kerry began to suspect the horrible direction this plan was going in. ‘And Mark will yell at Cameron …’
‘Yes. And he’ll be so angry he’s very likely to say something unforgivable and Cameron holds a grudge more than any of the rest of us, so it’s pretty safe to say that one way or another that irritating little friendship between the two of them will be over for good and I will finally have Mark Kingston out of my life.’
‘Meredith, encouraging people to commit adultery, which will destroy a relationship and a friendship, just so we can be temporarily amused and trim down our guest lists, is the kind of thing that makes us bad people.’
‘No, Kerry! Punching orphans makes people “bad”. We’re being cruel to be kind. Cameron totally deserves friends who don’t morally judge him for the occasional act of Fabulous Induced Viciousness – like us. And Imogen deserves someone special and glamorous, not safe and boring, like Stewart. Stewart is a nice guy, he’s very handsome, he’s on the rugby team, but he’s just not good enough for someone in our group in the long term. Neither is Mark. This plan is even more perfect than I thought and everyone is going to be much happier in the end. You’ll see. If you want to make an omelette, you’ve got to break a few eggs.’
‘I hate my diet,’ sighed Kerry. ‘I’d sell my own mother for an omelette right now.’
Their worryingly good fake IDs having passed inspection, Meredith, Kerry and Cameron entered the Beach Club, jumping ahead of the others who were queuing throughout the arena. The moment they entered, Cameron quickly clocked Stewart over by the bar and he breathed a sigh of relief that there was now no chance of him interrupting Imogen’s date with Michael the Immaculate Heart Hotty. At over six feet in height and extremely toned due to his constant exercise as outside centre for the school’s First XVs, Stewart wasn’t exactly hard to spot when you were looking for him. Spying him from the entrance, Cameron reasoned that by anyone else’s standards but Imogen’s, apparently, Stewart Lawrence seemed like the world’s most perfect boyfriend. With his light brown hair freshly showered, he was leaning confidently against the bar in a red Jack Wills rugby top with a popped collar and Abercrombie & Fitch jeans, talking to Peter and Mark, both of whom stood several inches shorter than him.
Remembering his instructions, Cameron began texting Imogen to let her know that her dinner with Michael was safe and there was no chance of Stewart being near the restaurant that evening. Kerry meanwhile had completely forgotten that she was supposed to be watching Stewart as well and had instead handed over money to the nice barman in return for a Hawaiian flower necklace. Seeing that keeping Imogen informed was going to be completely up to him, Cameron began waving his arm around, trying to get a signal.
‘Hey, Cameron. Have you seen Imogen?’ asked Stewart, who had walked over to him during Cameron’s frantic signal search. ‘I thought she was supposed to be coming tonight?’
‘Yeah, she was,’ said Cameron, taking the Budweiser Stewart had bought for him, ‘but her dad’s making her go to this family thing.’
‘What family thing? They all live in England, don’t they?’
‘I didn’t say “family”,’ said Cameron, acting confused, ‘I said “church”.’
‘You said “family”, mate,’ laughed Stewart.
‘God, sorry – I meant “church”. With her mum. There’s some fundraiser on for the Our Lady of Lourdes thing at Saint Brigid’s tonight and they’re both on the committee.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Stewart, smiling. ‘Gotta love that Catholic banter. I wonder how late it’ll go on …’
‘Probably not that late, but she’ll have to hang around afterwards. She was really upset that she couldn’t come.’
‘Pity.’
‘Yeah, I know. Would you hold this for me for a minute, please? I need to go send a text.’
‘Sure thing, mate,’ smiled Stewart, taking back the Budweiser.
Cameron moved quickly out of the club to try to message Imogen, but no luck was to be had anywhere in the arena, so eventually he had to step outside into the night air, where he was finally rewarded with three bars.
Stu is here. Asked where u were. Told him ur at a CHURCH thing. R Lady of Lourdes. Fundraiser. Ur dad made u go. V last minute. U hav 2 hang around after which is y u can’t come out 2nite xxx
Within minutes, he had received a message back from Imogen.
Perfect! Thanx babes. U r a sexcellent biatch. Michael is amazing. Even more delicious than the strudel we’re sharing for dessert, which is absolutely yummylicious btw. Let me no immediately if there is any other gossip xxx
Smiling, Cameron turned round to head back inside and bumped straight into a very angry-looking Mark, who had been standing right behind him.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Were you going to say hello to us tonight?’
‘I didn’t see you and I’ve only just arrived,’ Cameron said. ‘The only person I saw was Stewart. I said hi.’
‘That’s crap. I saw you see all of us, when you came in with her.’
Cameron sighed. ‘That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Meredith. As usual! Why do you hate her so much?’
‘Are you kidding? Why do I hate her? Are you kidding? Because she’s the devil, Cameron! That’s why. And what’s worse is the moment you’re around her, you become this horrible little lick-ass, who I don’t even know!’
‘Calm down, Mark. You’re too drunk for this conversation.’
‘Yeah, maybe I am, but I mean it. It’s like there are two Camerons – there’s the one who I’ve known since we were kids and then there’s the one who’s Meredith Harper’s favourite toy.’
‘I’m not going to stand around drinking beer at the bar with you all night while you drunkenly bitch about Meredith when I could be dancing with my real friends!’
Mark looked, for a moment, like he had been punched. ‘That’s fair enough, Cameron,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Mark, wait!’
But Mark turned round and moved, slightly unsteadily, back into the arena. Cameron was left standing outside, furious at himself for being so tactless, and equally angry at Mark for creating a fight out of nothing. At least Meredith kept her hatred for Mark down to little more than a few nasty one-line remarks, some of which were actually quite funny; Mark went on about her all the time. He was like the inverse of an obsessed boyfriend and it was beginning to get really, really annoying.
Irritated and confused, Cameron sat down on the wall behind him to calm down.
‘Cameron?’
Cameron turned to look, prepared to cut down whoever had interrupted his mental strop, when he saw Blake Hartman standing next to him. ‘Blake, hi.’
‘Hey. Thank goodness you remembered my name. Otherwise that could’ve been awkward! I didn’t think you would … remember.’
‘Well, it was a pretty memorable occasion when we first met. It’s not every day you see a grown man impale his own head with a door.’
Blake laughed. ‘Poor Mr Corbett! Is everything all right?’
‘With Mr Corbett?’
‘With you.’
‘Kind of. I just had a fight with my friend.’
‘Yeah, I saw. Sorry to hear that. Is anyone else here with you?’
‘Not right now, no. I’m a loner.’
‘Yeah, so says the most popular guy in school.’
Cameron felt that sort of pleasurable rush that Imogen achieved when she saw a hot guy or Meredith when she slipped on a pair of new shoes. ‘Well, that’s not true,’ he answered with false modesty.
‘Oh, come on, Cameron. On my first day at Mount Olivet, you and your friends were actually pointed out to me in the cafeteria, like mini-celebrities: Imogen is the hot one, Kerry’s got Daddy’s credit card and Meredith’s the one who’ll kill you as you sleep.’
Cameron giggled. ‘Yeah, but she’d do it with style. Who told you all this?’
‘Everyone,’ said Blake, avoiding Cameron’s stare as he sat down next to him.
Cameron nudged his shoulder. ‘Well, that’s clearly a lie. You just don’t want to give away any names.’
‘Kevin Law,’ answered Blake, defiantly. ‘He was the first one to say it.’
‘Is he the one with really short dark hair and smells like rope?’ said Cameron, looking at Blake and feeling momentarily unnerved as he realized just how close Blake was to him. He really was as good-looking as everyone said. It was no wonder Catherine looked as if her lungs were constricting every time someone mentioned him.
Blake looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah, I suppose he kind of does kind of.’
‘God, I didn’t even know he could talk.’
‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s really cool that everyone knows who you are. I think it’s amazing.’
‘Everyone thinks we’re amazing, Blake,’ said Cameron, only half-jokingly.
‘No, but seriously, I mean, how often is it that you find a high school where a gay guy can be one of the popular kids?’
Cameron turned to look at Blake in shock. ‘I’m not gay.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not … I’m not gay.’
‘Oh.’
‘Who told you I was?’
‘No one.’
‘Kevin?’
‘No! No one. I just assumed.’
‘Well, don’t!’ said Cameron, standing up, feeling suddenly panicked. ‘Don’t.’
‘OK, God, I’m so sorry, Cameron. Please, don’t leave. I don’t have any ID. I can’t get in and anyway I’m not exactly in a position to throw away friends. Please. I’m so sorry.’
Now embarrassed at how worked up he had been, Cameron hesitated before slowly sitting back down. It was a few moments before either of them spoke again and it was Blake who broke the silence. ‘For the record, I don’t think of it as an insult.’
Imogen burst into Meredith’s kitchen at half past eleven the next morning, just as Meredith and Kerry were sipping their first coffee of the day. They could tell that her date with Michael had gone spectacularly because she was sporting a happy expression on her face, one which was unique to Imogen – it managed to combine utter joy with a scary level of determination. It meant that some sort of plot would be needed in order to secure her happiness permanently and God help the besty who didn’t help as required.
‘I’ve met the man I’m going to marry! My flu has a raging fever!’ she proclaimed, while pouring coffee into a mug for herself. ‘I am going to be Mrs Imogen Dawson-Laverty. Where’s the milk?’
Kerry sat biting her lip nervously, silently waiting for what Imogen was about to suggest next. It was absolutely certain that whatever scheme she had come up with would involve contributions from her friends and being caught up in one of Imogen Dawson’s intrigues was something Kerry Davison had learned to fear more than surprise tests in Spanish class. She had still not quite forgotten the time when Imogen had taken it into her head that her ex-boyfriend, Alistair, had blocked her number and had forced Kerry to call him thirty-seven times from a withheld number in the space of twelve minutes, only to make her pretend to be a market researcher when he did pick up on call thirty-eight.
‘The milk’s on the table,’ answered Meredith. ‘Where’s Cameron?’
‘He went to get coffee with Mark this morning,’ Kerry answered first. ‘They had a massive fight last night and he’s trying to patch it up.’
‘Patch it up? He should let it go. When is he going to get over that friendship? I’m so done having to listen to Cameron bitch about how moody and grumpy Mark Kingston is, but then he runs off first thing in the morning to patch things up with him. God! Am I the only one capable of having an opinion and sticking to it?’
‘Yes, you are,’ said Kerry. ‘I am so flaky that I disgust myself.’
‘Anyway,’ said Imogen, sitting down, bored already by the conversation that wasn’t about her, ‘obviously, adultery is now the name of the game and this will require several things if it is going to work. Firstly, I am going to confession right before Christmas. This means that by that time I have to have made a decision about which man to stick with and be pretty sure I’m not going to cheat again. God is a big enough factor to keep on schedule for, right?’
Meredith nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘Perfect. Secondly, I’m going to tell Michael that I’ve broken up with Stewart, obviously. The story I’m going with is that Stewart and I just went through a very stressful break-up, which we’re keeping quiet because he’s had a tough time at home recently and doesn’t want people at school to be all over him with fake sympathy. Which is why I have to keep the me-and-Michael thing on the down-low until Stewart’s fine again.’
‘That’s an OK plan,’ said Meredith, ‘but doesn’t it sort of make you look like the sociopath who’s dumped a guy when he’s having a tough time at home?’
‘Damn.’
‘How about you tell him that Stewart cheated on you and you’re just so frightened about getting back into a relationship that you need to take things slowly and don’t want to go “public” with it yet?’ said Kerry, who was warming to the scandal now that she realized she wasn’t going to be personally inconvenienced by it in any way.
Imogen clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘Sexcellent.’
‘Also,’ said Kerry, delighting in her own genius, ‘it means Michael will have to be extra nice to you and work really hard to win you over. Guys like that kind of thing and it never hurts to get them to make more of an effort.’
‘God, Kerry, that’s a really good idea,’ smiled Imogen. ‘I don’t care what the teachers said at parents’ evening: you are competent.’
‘Does anyone want more coffee?’ asked Meredith.
‘Me, please,’ said Kerry, looking slightly wounded at the unnecessary reminder of parents’ evening.
Mark and Cameron had been sitting in a fairly uncomfortable silence in Mark’s bedroom for the last five minutes, when Mark finally spoke, still irritable and accusatory. ‘Look, is there a reason you’re here or did you just come to make me feel awkward?’
‘Rude, much? I came to apologize for last night.’
‘Which bit?’
‘What I said about Meredith – the “real friends” bit.’
‘Oh.’
‘That wasn’t fair.’
‘Yeah, but you meant it,’ sighed Mark, getting up from his bed and walking across his room to lean against the far wall, ‘didn’t you? And it probably is fair. You’re bound to have more fun with her than you’ve been having with me lately.’
Cameron fidgeted, discomfited by Mark’s change of mood. ‘Mark, no. Different types of fun, maybe, but not better.’
‘I’m sorry too, Cam, honestly. It’s just hard, being replaced and seeing you change … I sound like a gay.’
‘I’m not replacing you! I’d never do that, Mark. C’mon. It is true that Meredith is spectacular levels of fun, but it wasn’t Meredith who I met on the first day at prep or Meredith who comforted me the day I cried for six solid hours because I had to get braces, or Meredith who rubbed my back when I was thirteen and started vomiting after drinking an entire bottle of Buck’s Fizz … Is that a smile I see?’
Mark walked over and punched Cameron lightly on the shoulder with a shy smile. ‘OK. You win. Arse.’
Sadly, even Imogen’s flamboyant descriptions of her first date with Michael and discussions on what the possible theme of their wedding might be (Tuscan?) had not lifted Meredith’s irritation at how bored she had been by her weekend. Thinking it over on Sunday evening, she realized that the only person who was responsible for her own entertainment was herself and so she decided to do something that had not been done in the group for almost a year: she was going to make up a new word and launch it the very next day.
She entered Biology class fifteen minutes late and sat next to Imogen. Mr Corbett, now sporting seven stitches in his head, looked up disapprovingly. ‘Meredith, what time do you call this?’
‘Quarter to ten, sir,’ she said breezily, as she set her practically useless folder on the table.
‘Right, well, don’t be so late again,’ mumbled Mr Corbett lamely. ‘Class, today we’re going to be discussing the way in which insects and pollination work together and … blah blah blah blah.’
‘Eugh,’ sighed Kerry. ‘I’m so tired.’
‘I know, totally,’ agreed Cameron.
‘Totally.’ Imogen nodded.
‘What do you think of this top?’ asked Kerry, holding up a catalogue for approval.
It was then that Meredith, gazing disinterestedly into her hand mirror, made Mount Olivet history. ‘I love it –’ slight pause – ‘it’s so beau.’
For a split second, the other three didn’t move – Kerry still held the magazine in her hand, Imogen had stopped twirling her hair on her pencil and Cameron’s fingers were held slightly above the table where they had stopped, mid-drum. It was Imogen who broke the silence with a faint ‘What?’
‘Oh!’ said Meredith, with a tiny silly-me-I-forgot-you-wouldn’t-know laugh. ‘It’s just my new word. Bee-yah. It means “beautiful”. Only it’s shorter, different and better. Bee-yah-tiful.’
‘Bee-yah,’ enunciated Imogen. ‘So, like, I’m beau. You’re beau.’
‘Coral Andrews is not beau,’ nodded Meredith, waiting for one of them to use it in a sentence, which was the clear sign she had succeeded.
‘That is such a beau word,’ said Kerry. ‘I love it. So beau.’
By Friday, beau (pronounced bee-yah) had swept Mount Olivet quicker than the bubonic plague had Medieval Europe. With her usual cunning, Meredith had picked a shortening of the word that technically didn’t sound anything like the way it was written, meaning that there were delightful opportunities to punish people who pronounced it ‘bow’ or, worse, ‘be-oh’. Catherine was so traumatized by the fear of pronouncing it wrong and earning a retribution nip from Imogen that she had stuck six Post-its with bee-yah round her bathroom mirror and checked over them religiously before leaving the house every morning. The sure sign of beau’s power had come on Wednesday, when the semi-popular kids started using it, and by Friday afternoon, two first-years waiting at the bus stop were heard to say it about Kerry’s hair as she strode past them. By the weekend, someone had started up a Facebook group: ‘Mount Olivet girls – they’re so beau!’
Cameron was walking home alone that Friday afternoon, reflecting on how beau had even outdone the popularity of snarf, the word they had come up with in third year (to be used in the context of, Oh my snarf and, eventually, Snarfalicious!). His thoughts were interrupted when he was tapped on the shoulder by Blake, who had unexpectedly appeared behind him and looked slightly out of breath.
‘Hey, Cameron!’
‘Hey …’
‘Hey.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you walking to Malone?’
‘Well, I live there. So, yes.’
‘Cool,’ smiled Blake, holding his side slightly. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’
Still not quite ready to let go of how awkward he had made him feel last Saturday, Cameron’s tone was non-committal. ‘No. Not at all. But why are you going this way? You’re not from Malone.’
‘My little brother’s made friends with Imogen Dawson’s brother, Chris. They hang out together after school, so my dad’s picking me up there at five. I saw you up ahead of me and I knew you lived in this direction, so I sort of ran to catch up. No point walking alone, is there?’
‘Not usually.’
‘Did you and your friend patch things up after Saturday?’
‘Kind of …’
‘Cool … It’s really nice out today.’
‘Yeah, it’s so beau.’
Cameron thought he caught Blake smile momentarily and it was a few seconds or so before the other boy spoke again. ‘Hey, listen … um … do you wanna hang out sometime? The boys in my class are cool, but they’re a bit … well …’
Irritated by anyone attempting to be nice simply for the sake of it, Cameron helpfully interrupted. ‘They belong in a circus.’
Blake smiled again. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘That’s why it’s true.’
As they walked along together, Cameron decided that while he was shocked that someone outside his group had dared to ask him to hang out, he did actually like Blake despite his inappropriate gay comment last Saturday.
‘What about Sunday?’ he said, after a few minutes.
‘Sure!’ smiled Blake. ‘Do you wanna come over to my house?’
‘Can’t. My sister has Pilates that evening, so I won’t be able to get a lift. You can come to mine,’ Cameron answered, with a slightly aren’t-I-gracious tone on the last sentence.
‘Cool! Half seven?’
‘Why not?’
‘So … Cameron?’
‘Yes?’
‘Beau … what is that all about?’