Alice in Time (6 page)

I sit down next to Lauren Hall. We usually sit together in maths and while she’s quite nice, she is very shy and it’s not that easy talking to her. But today she seems to be making an effort, because she asks me if I’m going to Sasha’s party.

‘No,’ I tell her, ‘I haven’t been invited.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it matters,’ she says, ‘everybody’s going.’

I’m just wondering whether or not it’s worth explaining to her that I have actually
not
been invited, rather than just overlooked, when Mr Green comes in and we have to stop talking and get on with the lesson.

At lunchtime I meet up with Imogen by the lockers. We’re supposed to go outside at lunchtime and ‘get some fresh air’. Just to make sure we do, they have Sixth Formers patrolling the school to throw us out. This is mean on so many levels. Firstly, we’re too old to run around like the Year Seven and Eight kids, so we just stand around freezing to death. It’s not so bad for the boys; at least they can play football. Also, it’s not fair on the Sixth Formers. They get a nice common room to hang out in at lunchtimes and they hate it when they have to patrol the school, so they take it out on us if they find anyone inside. Today Imogen says, ‘Come on, let’s go to the art room. If Burty’s not here today she won’t be hanging around.’

‘We’ll only get chucked out by some grumpy Sixth Formers,’ I tell her.

‘If any do come in we’ll just tell them that we’re tidying up for
Burty. They can’t check with her because she’s not here.’ This seems like a good plan and beats freezing our tits off outside. I’d hate to lose what I’ve managed to grow so far; which isn’t much, unlike Imogen who’s been blessed in that department.

The art room isn’t the best place in the world to eat lunch. It’s filthy. Every surface is covered in dried-up paint and the sink in the corner is a work of art in its own right. I reckon if Burty pulled it out and entered it in the next Turner Prize she’d stand a pretty good chance of winning.

Imogen starts drawing in her sketchbook and eating her lunch at the same time. I feel restless, though, and wander around the room eating my lunch as I go. Imogen is going on about the art lesson and how brilliant it was to actually be
taught
some drawing. Most of the time Imogen is sort of distant and self-contained but when she’s excited about something, she gets really intense and won’t stop talking. Sometimes the intense Imogen makes me uncomfortable. Maybe, deep down, I’m just shallow.

‘I don’t get it,’ I say to her. ‘You can draw really well already. And besides, can’t your mum teach you? She’s an artist.’

Imogen’s mum is so cool. Whenever I go round to their house she’s in her studio, which is really the dining room, but she’s taken it over. There’s always a strong smell of turpentine and linseed oil, which can be a bit weird because it’s next to the kitchen and when it mingles with cooking smells the whole thing’s a bit overpowering. She always has the radio on really loud, playing something classical and dramatic and really noisy. Because she gets so wrapped up in her work, housework doesn’t come very high on Imogen’s mum’s list of priorities,
and while I wouldn’t go so far as to say their house is a tip, like ours, it is definitely chaotic, but in a good, sort of artistic way, so that I always feel relaxed there. I often think that if I can’t live with Dad then I’d like to live in Imogen’s house. It’s the sort of place where you could just be yourself and not get hassled all the time.

Imogen doesn’t answer my question, and when I look over, she’s got her tongue poking out so I know she’s concentrating and probably didn’t hear me. I think I’m restless because I’m thinking about Seth and I’d really like to talk about him, just so I can say his name. I think I must be going mad – I only met him this morning and I can’t think about anything else any more. Is this what love feels like? How can I love him? I don’t even know him and I’m hardly likely to either. He’s not going to be interested in a plain, nervous girl in Year Ten, for God’s sake. What I need is to get a grip.

I’m over by the window, staring out, and I realise I’m scanning the playground for any sign of him. I can see a load of people hanging out down there, but of course there aren’t any Sixth Formers because they’re all nice and cosy in their common room. The girls in my year who don’t hang out with Sasha are all larking about with each other and some of the boys from our year as well. I wonder what it would be like to be part of a big group like that and have friends that are boys and not ‘boyfriends’. They look as though they’re having fun. What would happen if I went and joined them? I know what would happen. It would be really awkward. They wouldn’t actually be horrible to me, I don’t think, but they’d wonder what the hell I was doing there and it would take ages to be accepted by
them because I don’t share their history. I wouldn’t get all the in-jokes and stuff. Also, if I did any of that, Imogen would never talk to me again.

I’m just going off into a daydream in which Imogen is in a car crash or is really ill or something and doesn’t come to school for ages (nothing too bad of course, I’m not a complete monster) and everyone feels really sorry for me and I get accepted into their group and then when Imogen comes back she joins in as well, when we hear footsteps in the corridor outside the art room. Remembering what Imogen said about us pretending to tidy up, I start shuffling some pieces of paper around, trying to look busy. I’m expecting some Sixth Former to open the door and for a minute I imagine Seth coming in and my heart starts beating madly and I’m sure my face has gone red. So when the door does open and Luke O’Connor comes in, I’m not exactly behaving normally.

He walks over to me but he’s glancing nervously at Imogen all the time.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ I say back. Now what? He’s not looking at me, his eyes are focused somewhere over my shoulder, and I resist the urge to turn round and see what it is behind me that is so interesting. I’ve got a feeling that I know what’s coming next and I go all hot and just know that I’m blushing again.

‘I . . . um . . . I was wondering if you wanted to come to Sasha’s party with me.’

‘I . . . I . . .’ The power of speech seems to have left me. I’m spluttering. He looks horribly embarrassed and I desperately want to explain that I can’t go because Sasha has made it plain
that I’m
not
invited and that it’s got nothing to do with me not wanting to go with him.

‘She can’t go,’ says Imogen from her seat in the middle of the classroom. ‘We are otherwise engaged.’

Luke looks to me to confirm this and I try to smile and get the feeling that I’m grimacing instead, like I’m constipated or something.

‘OK. Sorry,’ he mumbles and scoots from the room like it’s suddenly on fire.

My heart is working overtime and I put my hand on my chest and will it to slow down. I can’t believe someone’s just asked me out. OK, so it wasn’t exactly the most romantic event of the year, but it was an event, for me at any rate. I’ve never been asked out before. If I’m feeling this churned up about it, imagine what Luke must be feeling? It must be really scary asking someone out. I’m sure if I was a boy I’d never have the nerve.

God! Why does everything have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t I just explain to him? I feel really bad now. He’ll think I don’t like him. Why did Imogen have to stick her oar in? It’s like she’s my mother, telling him I can’t come out to play. I realise I’m standing there with my mouth open as if I’m still waiting for some words to come out, and staring at Imogen.

She looks up. ‘What?’ she says.

‘Why did you have to say that to him?’ I’m shouting at her – I can’t believe I’m shouting at her – I’ve never shouted at Imogen before. What if she stops talking to me? I just want to explain that she’s ruined a significant moment in my life.

‘What do you mean? You weren’t exactly saying anything
. . . unless of course you want to turn up at Sasha’s birthday party and be totally humiliated when she throws you out.’

‘No! I know . . . but that’s not the point. I just . . .’ I can’t explain to her, because I don’t know myself what the problem is. I know she’s right and I should be grateful to her for coming to my rescue, because I wasn’t exactly doing a good job myself. And even though I know all this I’m still cross with her. I’m cross that she barged in on my moment like that.

Imogen sighs. I’ve just noticed that she sighs a lot. It’s beginning to get on my nerves.

‘Anyhow,’ she says, ‘do you actually want to go out with Luke?’

Again, she has a point. Do I? I hadn’t really considered this, to be honest. I was so amazed that someone had asked me out that I would probably have gone without thinking it through. At least I would have done – if it hadn’t been Sasha’s party he was asking me to. I mean, it’s not like it was William Gardner or Matt Weatherall who had asked me. Obviously then I would have said no immediately because they’re both hopeless geeks. Not that they would ever ask any girl out –
because
they’re hopeless geeks. Then again it’s not like it was Spike Powell either. Then I would have said no because he’s too dangerous. He’s one of those people who are always getting into trouble, and he fancies himself as a ladies’ man, when really he’s just a thug. Not that Spike Powell would ask a girl like me out in a million years.

Luke O’Connor on the other hand isn’t too bad. If I had to choose someone to ask me out I could do worse. In fact, thinking about it, I quite like him. Or do I? Maybe I just think
I do because he asked me out. I can’t say I’ve ever given him much thought up till now . . . Aaarrgh. I think I’m going mad. From the look on Imogen’s face she clearly thinks so too.

An imaginary date with Luke flashes through my head. We meet up in town and go for a coffee. It’s a bit strained at first – between us I mean, not the coffee. I don’t know what we’d talk about so I imagine that some friends come in and join us. It’s obviously imaginary, because these girls wouldn’t normally have coffee with me, but hey! Who cares? Also, bizarrely, Lauren Hall is being all chatty and entertaining and she sweeps through the door of the café and goes, ‘Alice! How lovely to see you,’ making Luke think that I’m popular and sought after.

Then the girls disappear, because this is a date after all, and we’re in the park, just larking about on the swings and stuff and then we’re walking and he takes my hand and he holds it all the way to the cinema where we see a romantic comedy together. We’re sitting on the back row and there’s hardly anyone else in there and he leans over to kiss me and everything’s all right because I’ve just eaten a packet of mints so I’m not worried about having dog breath or anything, and our lips meet . . . It gets a bit hazy here because I’ve never actually had a proper kiss with a boy and I don’t know if I’m supposed to hold my breath– I mean how do you breathe when you’ve got your mouth clamped to somebody else’s – and do you keep your mouth closed or should it be open? But never mind all that now, we’re kissing and I have my eyes closed and when we stop and I open them it isn’t Luke sitting next to me in the cinema – it’s Seth.

Imogen is still staring at me as if I’m mad, though now she’s starting to look a bit concerned. I snap out of my daydream and try to appear normal and together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Did you want to go out with Luke?’

‘No, not really.’ I flop down into the chair next to her. ‘But you should have let me deal with it.’

‘OK, next time I’ll leave it to you, but I should point out that most people communicate using words – so you might want to think of some in case it happens again.’

I feel like someone’s scrambled my brain in a food processor. And all my insides, as well. I feel emotionally drained. I’d quite like to go home and curl up in bed and shut the world out, but I can’t because it’s French next and then IT so I’ll just have to pull myself together.

Imogen looks at her watch and starts packing her things away. I wonder if she realises how close we came to having an argument. We’ve never argued before, certainly never fallen out. I feel a bit ashamed at how cross with her I was. I should have known that nothing gets past Imogen, though, because she says, ‘Look, let’s promise that a boy will never come between us,’ and suddenly everything is all right again.

When it’s time to go home, Imogen waits at the bus stop with me. She lives in the opposite direction and usually disappears as soon as the bell goes, but today she hangs around. I try not to make it too obvious that I’m keeping an eye out for Seth and try to concentrate on what she’s saying.

‘ . . . so I thought that as everybody in the entire world will be at Sasha’s party on Saturday night, why don’t you come over
to my place and we can have our own party. Or at least we could get a DVD out and have a night in. What do you think?’

‘Hmm?’ I’ve just spotted Seth coming towards the bus stop with a couple of his friends.

‘Alice, are you listening to me?’

‘What?’

‘Houston to planet Alice . . . are you receiving me? Come in, come in.’

I tear my eyes away from the gorgeousness that is Seth and, remembering our pact earlier in the art room, I focus on Imogen.

‘That’ll be great,’ I say, and I mean it too. I love going to Imogen’s and I wish I went more often, but it’s difficult with her living two bus journeys away. Then, over her shoulder, I spot Seth coming towards me. He’s looking at me and smiling – he’s definitely coming over to talk to me! I desperately don’t want to talk to him while Imogen’s there so I say, ‘I’ll call you,’ and dash off in his direction. I daren’t look back to see if Imogen is watching.

‘Hi, thank goodness! A friendly face at last,’ Seth says to me. My heart is in my mouth but I manage to smile without it falling out at his feet.

‘We’re just going into town for a coffee, do you fancy it?’

Oh my God! I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t know who the ‘we’ is, but I don’t really care. I can’t pass up a chance like this.

‘Sure, why not?’ I say all casually.

Then I remember that I’ve got to pick up Rory from Mrs Archer’s. Damn! As we’re walking into town, I call Mrs
Archer and tell her that I might be a bit late. She’s completely unfazed by this and tells me it’s no problem, she’ll just hang on to him until I get there.