CHAPTER
TWENTY
Invisible Rule #15:
If a boy sleeps with a girl, he’s cool. If a girl sleeps with a boy, she’s a slut.
Going to the rehearsal was supposed to be all about me and Matt. But like a gone-off strawberry in an otherwise perfect cheesecake, what I saw on Matt’s phone spoiled the whole beautiful time for me. Maybe I got it wrong. I just don’t think I did and now I don’t know what to do. I can’t concentrate at school. All I can think about is what I saw.
As I picked up the phone, there was a photo of Matt, and Jack, and Jack’s ex. Jack and the ex weren’t kissing but they were hanging all over each other. I can’t even say it was an old photo because one thing I do know about Jack is his obsession with the latest fashion. That was a new shirt. He wore it to our house last week. There is no way on earth the photo is more than a few weeks old. So, at some point in the not too distant past, he was hanging out, up close and personal, with his ex. When he was supposed to be going out with Cat.
Now what do I do? Telling Cat is the logical option. But the problem with bad news is that people tend to shoot the messenger. I’m the messenger and Cat would probably pin me to the floor with some weights, leaving me in the basement to starve until I was a skeleton. And even if I did tell her, what would I say? I’ve no proof. It was just a photo on Matt's phone.
I could ask Matt about it. But something makes me hang back. We’re not proper friends, so asking about it might seem weird. Then I have a brainwave.
I’ll ask Alex.
He’s one of the good guys who would hate the idea of a guy cheating on a girl.
He’ll tell me the truth.
I get myself out of eating lunch by saying I need to make a call. Sana purses her lips in disapproval, but it’s only a few more days till I can get back to worshipping at the altar of food. I find a quiet spot somewhere and text Alex, quizzing him on what he knows.
He gets back to me straight away. That’s one of the things I like about him — everything seems so easy with him. No waiting for hours for him to get back to you.
Beyond that, he’s not much help at this point. Yes, Jack and his ex go to the same parties sometimes. But that doesn’t mean anything.
I interrogate him via text.
Pause.
Alex promises that he’ll tell me if he sees or hears anything definitive. I’m back where I was — full of suspicions but knowing nothing for sure. Is it just because I really don’t like Jack?
Cat and I train for a bit after school. I try to make out what’s going on inside her head as she pushes herself harder and harder. If I was in a relationship, I would want to know everything that my boyfriend got up to. It feels awful to know something and not say it.
But I stick to our family tradition and say nothing. Just like we don’t talk about what’s going on with Gran. I lose myself in the next few days, in studying, exercising and dreaming of the food that I will eat once that fateful party finally comes.
And then, it’s here.
Three and a half weeks since the invitation. Three and a half weeks of feeling rubbish. But finally, the day I’ve been waiting for dawns. My second and only chance I know of to get Matt to really notice and like me.
I don’t know how much weight I’ve lost, if any, but I figure that today I can eat. Whatever has or hasn’t happened to my body, today won’t make any difference.
I open our fridge. Dad pretends to be environmentally friendly but that didn’t stop him and Mum buying the biggest badass fridge known to humankind. Even Americans might find our fridge excessive. I keep opening it and expecting some penguins to come wandering out. Fortunately, all I find are the ingredients for scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and bagels. Yes, bagels. Pure white carbs. Food for fat people.
I put on some coffee, blast some Beyoncé, split the bagels, crack out the slightly salted butter and begin to make the best scrambled eggs this side of the Pennines. A dash of cream, a shaving of cheese, these babies are gonna be fab!
I pile it all high, first the bagel, with a slab of butter, then the salmon, as much as I can bear, then the hot, salty, slightly cheesy eggs. I breathe in deeply for a moment and then begin to eat.
The heat, flavor and salt explode in my mouth. The butter starts to melt and the glorious burst of salt and fat makes my body sing. For a few minutes, my mouth is in ecstasy and my stomach slowly begins to sing hallelujahs as it starts to realize that normal service has been resumed. I’m not sure that I feel happy, but I am starting to feel full. I am the girl who eats life again. In fact, it’s like I’ve been lit up with light bulbs from the inside — every nerve seems on fire.
Dad comes in and looks at my plate. “Looks good, kid,” he says.
“It is,” I say, “I made it.”
“Any left for your old dad?”
“I can make some more,” I say. “But you’ll have to wait.”
He goes to the iPod and searches through. His iPod is full of Oasis, Blur, all the guys who were doing the business when he was. His finger stops scanning. He finds his song. He looks at me; I smile.
“I like it, Dad — it’s one of my faves. So, put it on and turn it up.”
Dad blasts it out and smiles at me while I make him the best brunch I can manage.
“You’re a better guitarist than Noel Gallagher,” I say.
He smiles. “God hates a liar.” But he glows just like he did on stage. I keep finding him reading reviews of the gig and laughing to himself.
My phone goes. I let Hannah and Izzie know what time to come over and confirm that, hell yes, I am ready to party. This is not true. Parties are generally considered fun events, and yet my stomach is currently deciding whether to enjoy the hearty and delicious breakfast that I have lovingly made or reject it and see it slide all over the granite worktops.
I did have strange dreams about Matt all night (well, most nights). One was particularly bizarre, where we were about to be shipwrecked and then a large shark ate him. I could look on a dream website to find out what that was all about, or I could just trust my instinct. The shark did have a look of Zara about it. All teeth and dead eyes.
I go upstairs. The day stretches out before me and I have no idea what to do. So, I cyberstalk Matt again. The photo of me and him framed in the camera flash comes up. If only I can make that beautiful moment happen again. I need a plan. Do I shower now? And then again later? This is not the night to be in any doubt about my level of cleanliness. You don’t want to be having an intimate moment and then it all goes horribly wrong cos the guy’s gagging over your sweat problem.
Izzie’s arrived, complete with candles, incense and hair straighteners. Bless her little heart. We’re getting ready here rather than the basement cos there’s more room and easier access to a bathroom. As this process could take hours, we need space and comfort!
Then Hannah arrives and we look at the mound of stuff on my bed.
Checklist:
- Makeup tutorials online, showing us all we need to know about looking like a hot girl
- All the makeup that we either own or have secretly borrowed from our mums
- Clothes that will transform us from ordinary girls into goddesses that boys will want to snog and then our lives will be complete. Hmmm.
Izzie says, “I’d like to do a ceremony before we start.”
Hannah and I look at each other.
“Now, before you two roll your eyes, I want you to remember that we are all friends and, as such, we should respect each other’s ideas. If you don’t like what I’m about to propose, then just think of it as either positive energy or, worst-case scenario, an opportunity to laugh at me. All I’ll say is — remember Rebecca Turner.”
We do. We remember that Izzie thinks that she arranged that unlikely union. A union as unlikely as me and Matt Paige.
“I’m in,” I say, my normal doubts pushed to one side.
“Me, too,” Hannah follows. “What do we do?”
Izzie should be a film director! She shuts the curtains, lights a ring of red candles and then Hannah and I sit at two points of a triangle. Izzie makes the final point and throws red petals in the middle as she hums some weird tune.
“Take a candle,” she then commands.
We do.
“Repeat after me,” she says.
We do.
“Spirits wild and spirits free
Look on us, a willing three.
In our hearts lies secret love
Grant our wishes from above.”
I’m not sure if the spirits are poetry critics, but if they are, then I think they might find this a bit rubbish.
“In your third eye, see the face of the one you love. Visualize it as intensely as you can.”
I think of Matt looking up at me that first night I saw him, how his long hair fell into his dark eyes, the smile that played round the corners of his lips and his eyes. How, for a second, I felt a complete connection with him and how I’ve replayed this moment over and over again. I hold on to this, as if wishing will somehow bring him into the room.
On the count of three, we blow out our candles. We sit in the gloom for a minute. We wait. Izzie gets up and opens the curtains. “That should do it,” she says.
I remind them, “We’ve got a party to go to and we’ve got to look great.”