Green with Envy

‘Izzy!’

Alex is yelling at me from the bathroom. I’m lying on my bed and I’ve just had a really good idea for a verse I want to write, so I pretend I can’t hear her and keep writing. I know I’m probably rubbish at writing poetry and I would never show anybody ANYTHING that I’ve written, but I like the way it feels when I write the words on the page. It feels like it doesn’t matter if nobody ever reads it but me.

‘IZZY!’ She’s not going to give up so I put my pen down and roll sideways off the bed.

‘What?’ I ask as I open the bathroom door. Alex is lying back in the bath, clouds of bubbles floating right up to the rim and almost overflowing on to the floor. I can never make the bath that bubbly. I think she must use at least half a bottle of bubble bath every time she has a bath. There are candles all along the window sill and green gunk all over Alex’s face.

‘What IS that?’ I ask her.

‘Face mask,’ mumbles Alex, barely moving her lips.

‘Why?’

‘Good for the skin. It’s got cucumber extract in it. It’s very soothing.’

It doesn’t look soothing. It looks uncomfortable. It’s hardened on Alex’s face and makes her look like a zombie.

‘Why did you call me?’

‘Revision. Mum won’t let me go out tonight if I haven’t done any work so you’re going to test me while I get ready. Kill two birds with one stone. Very efficient.’

‘I don’t want to kill any birds. And how can I test you? I haven’t got a clue about A levels.’

‘That’s the genius part of my plan,’ says Alex, reaching out her foot and turning on the hot tap with her toes. I watch as the bubbles advance. ‘Go into my room and get the postcards off my desk. I’ve written down some questions and the answers are at the bottom. You’ve just got to read me the questions and see if I get them right.’

I scuff my foot along the bath mat, squishing some of the bubbles that have overflowed.

‘I was actually busy,’ I tell Alex.

‘Aw – come on, Izzy. Help me out. I’ll be forever grateful.’ Alex puts on her best wheedling voice and I know that I’ll do what she’s asked. I was really enjoying writing, but it always makes me feel good if Alex wants to do something with me, even if it does mean sitting in the bathroom helping her to revise.

‘What did your last slave die of?’ I mutter, heading towards the bathroom door.

‘Not helping me revise!’ Alex calls after me. ‘Thanks, Izzy. I’ll owe you, I promise!’

I walk into Alex’s room, shuddering slightly at the mess. It’s obvious that she’s got a big night planned because it’s even more of a state than usual. Her wardrobe door is open and the wardrobe is bare. That’s because every single item of clothing owned by Alex is spread across the floor, her bed, her chair and her desk. She’s rubbish at putting her clothes in the wash so her dirty vest tops and a pair of muddy jeans are lying in a sorry pile next to her laundry basket. I mean, what’s that all about? It would take just as much effort to put her stuff IN the laundry basket as it does to put them on the floor next to it. It just makes no sense.

Leaping across the room, from one safe zone to another, I finally make it to the desk. I flick some smelly socks off the top of the desk using a pencil and find the postcards. Then I have to repeat the whole manoeuvre backwards until I reach the safety of the landing.

By the time I get back to the bathroom, Alex has washed off the face mask and is busy applying something orange with bits in to her arms.

‘Exfoliator,’ she explains when she sees me looking. ‘Right, hit me with the questions.’

I put the lid down on the toilet and sit on the seat. Glancing at the postcards in my hand, I see that this is English revision. I read the first question.

‘How is the theme of love addressed in Romeo and Juliet?’

Alex sinks lower in the bath and chews her bottom lip.

‘Well, Romeo and Juliet love each other obviously. But they’re star-crossed lovers, doomed never to be together.’

‘What’s a “star-crossed lover”?’ I ask her.

‘It means their fate was written in the stars – they would only ever be unlucky if they stayed together,’ says Alex with a daft, moony look on her face. ‘They were the ultimate romantic couple.’ She sighs dramatically and gazes at the hot-water tap like it’s something precious. ‘Remember West Side Story? That’s basically the funky version of Romeo and Juliet. Same plot, better songs.’

‘I thought they both died,’ I say. ‘That’s not very romantic. And anyway the answer you’ve written here is all about the language of love, the dramatic effects created around the theme of love and the different aspects of love. You’ve not said anything like that.’

‘Yes, well, never mind,’ says Alex quickly. ‘Ask me the next question.’

I sigh very quietly – in fact, so quietly that the sigh only exists inside my head. I know Alex when she’s in this mood and she doesn’t really want to revise. She just wants me to listen while she thinks out loud. Alex loves an audience: she hates being on her own. I don’t usually mind – I like it when she chooses me. But my poem could have been quite good this time and it won’t be the same now I’ve been interrupted mid-sentence.

‘Come on, Izzy. I’ve got to get ready for my date in a minute.’

This is news. Alex has got loads of friends and she goes out all the time with her big crowd, but I’ve never heard her talk about a date before. I need to tread carefully if I’m going to get vital information out of her.

‘Who’s your date with?’ I ask casually, shuffling through the postcards and making it seem like I’m looking for a good question.

‘Charlie,’ says Alex, now vigorously scrubbing her legs with a flannel.

‘Charlie? You mean Man-of-the-Match Charlie?’

‘I certainly do,’ grins Alex, looking up at me.

Wow. I don’t know what to say. I might only be in Year 7, but everyone at school knows Man-of-the-Match Charlie. He’s a school legend: a demon on the football pitch and totally brilliant at just about everything he does. I heard that he took two A levels one year early and that a famous football team wants to sign him up, but he’s already been offered a place at university and he’s going to be a doctor. Probably a brain surgeon or something. And not to mention the teeny fact that he’s gorgeous. If you like that kind of thing anyway.

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ I ask Alex. She’s a perfect match for Charlie – beautiful and funny and impossible to ignore. I can’t help feeling that they would make an unstoppable couple.

‘Maybe,’ she tells me. ‘Now ask me another question.’

I try to focus and read out the next card.

‘How is the drama created in Act 3, Scene 1?’

‘Don’t know. Can’t remember what happens in Act 3, Scene 1. Next question.’

‘Explain the reason for the conflict between Juliet and her father.’

Alex pulls out the plug and stands up.

‘Chuck me the towel.’

I throw it over to her and she wraps herself up tightly, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Then she stands in front of the mirror and starts swiping at her face with cotton wool.

‘OK, Juliet and her dad. Er – I guess they’re conflicted because she doesn’t do what he wants her to do and that makes him mad. Because dads are bossy and don’t want their daughters to live their own lives. Something like that.’ She throws the cotton wool in the bin and begins rubbing cream on to her face.

I think for a moment about what she’s just said.

‘Was our dad bossy?’ I ask her.

There’s a moment of silence.

‘Not really,’ Alex says. ‘What makes you ask that?’

‘I just wondered,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’

Alex is still looking in the mirror, but she catches my eye and looks at me.

‘You can always ask Mum about him, you know. She means it when she says you can ask her anything.’

I pick up the toilet roll and start unravelling it.

‘I know. I just wish I remembered something for myself. It’s not the same, always having to ask. And I don’t know what questions I should be asking. I might not be asking the right ones.’ I twist the toilet roll back the other way so it’s all neat and tidy and put it back on the shelf.

‘So ask me,’ says Alex, turning to face me and leaning against the sink. ‘I might not have all the answers, but I can try.’

I look at the floor and think about what I want to know. Alex was seven when our dad walked out, just a few months after I was born. I heard Mum telling Finn’s mum once that I was supposed to be their ‘rescue baby’, the thing that brought them back together. I really wish I hadn’t heard her say that because ever since then, whenever I think about it, I feel like a total failure. Me being born didn’t make them love each other again – it made Dad go away. I can’t have been a very cute baby if he didn’t want to stay with me. Perhaps I cried a lot and it drove him away. Babies can be very annoying.

‘I know that he came back to visit a few times,’ I say eventually.

‘I remember that,’ says Alex. ‘He played with me in the garden. I used to love him pushing me on the swing. I was always yelling at him to swing me higher and higher!’ She smiles at the memory. ‘I used to think I could fly when he did that. And then I’d go just a bit too high and my stomach would flip over and I’d be scared – and he’d grab the swing and stop me, and I knew he’d never let anything bad happen to me.’

We’ve still got that swing in our garden. We always call it Alex’s swing because it was hers first. I go on it sometimes, but nobody’s ever pushed me until it felt like I was flying.

‘Where was I?’ I ask her. My voice sounds a bit whiney, like I’m jealous, but I don’t think I can be jealous about something I don’t remember.

‘Oh, in the house with Mum, I guess,’ says Alex, turning back to the mirror and her make-up bag.

I’m quiet for a minute, wondering why I wasn’t out in the garden, having fun with my dad. Alex notices the silence and raises her eyebrows at me in the mirror.

‘You were a baby, Izzy. It was probably too cold for you in the garden. Or it was time for you to have your bottle or something. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Sure,’ I tell her, standing up. ‘Are we done with the revising now?’

‘Yeah, no time left,’ she says. ‘Charlie will be here any second. Will you go down and distract him if I’m not ready? I can live without Mum asking him a million questions about what his intentions are.’

This time I let my groan escape into the bathroom.

‘Alex! I’ve got stuff to do. And I’ll feel totally stupid trying to talk to him. What am I supposed to say? Scored any goals lately?’

Alex laughs.

‘You’ll think of something. Consider it social skills practice. It’s good for you – you should be thanking me.’

I squeeze past her and out on to the landing.

‘And don’t forget to tell Mum that I did some revision!’ Alex yells after me.

I go back into my room, leaving the door open so that I can listen out for the front doorbell. I wish we hadn’t had that conversation about Dad. I can’t stop thinking about him and Alex, laughing and playing outside without me. I might have been a baby, but I bet I had feelings. I bet I minded being left behind. And it’s not like he can make it up to me now. According to Mum, he had a longing for freedom and that freedom did not mean timetabling every other weekend so that he could take his daughters to McDonald’s. Freedom for Dad meant moving to the other side of the world with promises to write and send photos and money so that we could visit. Maybe his plane crashed on the way there because there’s never been a letter or a photograph, and we don’t have an address for him so we can’t visit him, even if we wanted to.

Which we don’t. Mum is all that we need and we don’t want anyone else. We’ve done all right up until now, she says. We’re a team of three – Team Stone – and I can’t imagine it any other way. Mum, Alex and me against the world. Together forever.

I’ve just picked up my notebook and read what I’ve written when the doorbell rings.

‘Izzy!’ yells Alex.

‘Yes, yes, keep your hair on,’ I shout, throwing down my pen and running out on to the landing and down the stairs. I can’t deny that I’m quite excited. Man-of-the-Match Charlie! Here in our house!

‘I’ve got it!’ I yell towards the kitchen and then I stand in front of the door, smooth my hair down, take a deep breath and turn the handle.

‘Hello,’ I say in my politest voice.

‘Is Alex in?’ asks Charlie. His voice is quieter than I’d imagined.

‘She’s just getting ready,’ I tell him. We look at each other for a moment before I remember my manners. ‘Would you like to come in?’

I hold open the door and Charlie steps into the house. I look at our messy front hall and wonder what he can tell about us – what he thinks about us. My eyes fall on the embarrassing photograph on the wall of me on the beach in only a nappy. I was only one year old when it was taken, but still, I can do without Charlie seeing it.

‘Would you like to sit down while you wait?’ I ask him quickly, trying to steer him towards the living room, but he doesn’t move.

‘No thanks,’ he says.

We stand in silence for a bit, me shifting from foot to foot. This is really awkward and I’m not sure what to do. It’s not like this when Finn comes over. I never have to think about what to say to him, it just happens. I can feel myself starting to blush and know that I have approximately two seconds before my face is bright red and giving off enough heat to fry a sausage. I need to break the silence – start up a conversation.

I think back to what Alex has told me about boys. Occasionally, after a night out, she’ll come into my room and sit on my bed, imparting some bits of wisdom, and I try to file them away in my mind for a time when they’ll be useful. This is exactly that time and thankfully a helpful nugget pops into my brain. Alex says that boys are only good at talking about things that they like doing. Charlie is standing here, in our front hall, and if I want to engage him in a bit of casual chit-chat then I need to ask him about something he’s interested in.

‘So,’ I say, trying to sound relaxed, ‘scored any goals recently?’

Charlie looks at me in surprise, but before I can go any redder I hear Alex coming down the stairs. She isn’t clomping down in her huge boots, making the photographs on the wall rattle until they nearly fall off. Neither is she yelling at the top of her voice as if everyone else is hard of hearing. She’s not doing any of the things that she normally does when she’s leaving the house. Instead, she’s tottering down each step in a pair of sparkly silver shoes with the highest heel I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing a dress. Without jeans underneath or a massive chunky cardigan on top. She almost looks ladylike and I have to clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle the gasp that’s threatening to come out. Luckily, Charlie isn’t looking at me. He can’t take his eyes off Alex and I don’t blame him. She looks utterly gorgeous.

I’ve never seen Alex wear the colour silver before and I think about what it means. Silver stands for glamour and mystery and feminine strength – which I think is a bit like girl power. I like collecting phrases that are linked to colours, but the only one I can think of right now is ‘every cloud has a silver lining’, which means that even when something bad happens, there’ll be something good in there too. I don’t know how that’s connected to Alex choosing silver high heels.

Mum comes out from the kitchen and says hello to Charlie. He manages to stop drooling over Alex for long enough to speak to Mum, but I catch a steely glint in Mum’s eye when she’s looking at him, as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

‘Back by eleven,’ Mum tells Alex.

‘No problem,’ Alex replies sweetly, gazing at Charlie like he’s her Romeo.

Charlie holds out his hand and Alex takes it and they walk down the hall. I scamper ahead of them and open the door, and they glide past me and down the garden path, neither of them giving me or Mum another glance. I watch them go and then close the door, turning to see Mum looking out of the living room window. I go and stand next to her and together we watch Charlie open his car door and help Alex into the passenger seat.

‘She didn’t get mad when you told her to be home on time,’ I tell Mum. ‘That’s good.’

‘Hmmm,’ she says, still watching until the car pulls away from the kerb. I can tell by her voice that she’s not happy. I’m not sure why, but my heart is beating a bit too fast and my skin feels all shivery. I consult my mood ring and it’s green. Green for jealousy. Is that why I’m feeling like this – because Alex has got someone who looks at her like she’s the most special person on earth? But as I twiddle my ring it changes colour and suddenly it’s red again. Danger. I wonder if it was Charlie that Alex was talking to on the phone the other day, the day when she sent Finn away. My mood ring went red that day too.

I might only be in Year 7 and have never had a boyfriend and know nothing about any of this stuff, but there’s definitely something dangerous about Alex and Charlie. And I think it’s the way that they looked at each other as if nobody else existed. As if the only thing that made any sense was them. I remember that silver stands for something else too: loneliness, like when Betty the cat died. I think about what Alex told me about star-crossed lovers being doomed, that they could only bring bad luck to each other. And I really, really wish that Alex hadn’t gone out with Charlie tonight.