“Yeah, we’re shopping tomorrow,” I say. Josh raises his eyebrows.
“Are we?”
“I need a jacket.”
“You’ve got one,” he looks pained. Shopping with me can be an all-day event, to be honest.
“Well, you don’t have to come.”
“I’ll give it a miss, then.” Josh gazes out of the window at the playing field where Kai Swanning and his team are leaping about doing drills.
Rachel, Erin and Courtney are my best friends ‘cept Josh. We got together in year 7 when I bashed Erin in assembly. She pulled my bag, Rach hit her and Courtney tripped Rach. We all ended up in Mr Underwood, the Head’s office, giggling our own off.
None of us knew anyone, all coming from different schools, so after that we stuck together: Rachel Dewar, small and wiry, wants to be an Olympic dancer; Erin Wiltshire, who looks like Rihanna, wants to change the planet and Courtney Rowan who’s, let’s be honest, fat, lovely and just wants a shag.
“Primark, ten am. And it’s my birthday so you can bring a present,” Courtney glitters, rinsing the cutting board. “I want Kai Swanning.”
Josh sighs longingly, turns away from the window and packs up.
* * *
Mrs Debono’s always late, silly cow, so we hang around in the corridor while everyone else is being registered. Then she lets us in, spends ages logging on and forgets the notices and we’re always last to period five. Which is fine when it’s maths but today we’ve got English so I am not being late.
Just as Debono’s enormous shopper, man arms and frizzy perm appear round the corner, Kai Swanning and Felix Thorpe steam in from the field like carthorses.
“Aargh, shut the door, it’s FREEZING,” yells Rach, then sees who it is and goes pink.
Kai Swanning is the most gorgeous, amazing specimen of a nearly seventeen year old the world has ever seen. It’s generally accepted that one look from Kai means you twitter for days. Not literally, of course: no one puts it online, but he makes your heart go fluttery, like a tiny starling or something.
His hair’s dark chocolate and his cheeks glow like the inside of Topshop . Although the field through the classroom wall looks all chilly with mist, Kai is a poppy of warmth. In its bright red nylon football shirt, his chest looks like Christmas, ready to burst. I want to hug him to stop it; let that warmth cloak me.
But Courtney gets there first, making a scorching sound as she prods his bicep, then shakes her fingers like they’re burnt.
Kai looks bewildered and laughs.
“Don’t touch what you can’t afford,” he drops over his shoulder as he and Felix cruise down the hall, nearly running Mrs Debono over as she fumbles for keys.
“ Guys ... sorry, sorry , I’m here ...”
We file into the form room but Josh hangs back, watching Kai and Felix jump and smack the archway over the entrance to Fairmere, then jog to the year 11 block. “Oi!” I hiss. “Romeo!”
And he follows me but his eyes don’t.
* * *
We’re doing Twelfth Night and it’s too confusing.
Why would anyone want to be somebody else?
Though I wouldn’t mind being Miss Mint, to be honest. She stands, waiting for quiet, holding a wrist with the other hand so her bangles are covered. I love her bangles; they’re so her: delicate, gold, exotic. She’s perfect, from her hair to her sheepskin-lined boots. I know girls in year 11 who keep notes on what she wears — but she’s ten years and millions of copies of Elle ahead of us, and clothes look so much better on her. Her body’s uh. May. Zing. Today, her nails are sapphire.
“Settle,” she says decisively. And we do, though Olly Goddard and Joe Brannigan still kick the backs of each other’s chairs as she’s taking the register.
“Boys.” She looks up, surprised. Phoebe Mint zaps their teenage scowls and they stop, open their books, and find a pen. Mrs Debono, watch and weep.
I know it’s Phoebe ‘cos I saw a letter addressed to her once, just inside a coursework folder. I’m not surprised. She’d never be called anything like Debbie or Claire (that’s Debono) or even Elizabeth (me). Phoebe. Phoebe and Taff, sounds well posh, doesn’t it? Taff’s her boyfriend. Sorry, fiancé. The diamond on her left hand shivers as she pulls up the lesson objectives. Josh leans over to whisper something but I ignore him as I’m drawing a big ‘P’ on the inside of my book.
“Prick?” Olly leers over and gobs on the cover. By accident, I think, though that doesn’t help. I wipe it off with my sleeve and flick his spotty forehead.
“Lisi?” Miss Mint turns angel’s eyes from the board.