All That Glitters (30 page)

Toby is literally the only person I know who would find this fact interesting, and possibly try to hunt one down so he can measure it with a ruler.

Apart from me, obviously.

And – as I start shuffling after him in my little leather slippers – that’s suddenly all I want to talk about. How every human has between two to four million sweat glands, and how on just one square centimetre of our skin live eight million microscopic animals.

All I want to do this weekend is play scrabble and debate in great detail which of the twelve Dr Whos is the best. Toby asked me to stay away from him until the end of this week, so I’ve obediently done exactly that. But his secret project should be finished now. It’s time to spend some proper time together.

I had absolutely no idea how much I would miss him.

Unfortunately, I also hadn’t realised how fast Toby was capable of walking. By the time I’ve finally caught up with him, every one of my three million sweat glands has done its job and I’m covered in a fine film of water.

I suspect our PE class would be similarly surprised at his speed.

Had Tobes shown this kind of athletic capacity over the last five years, he could have spared himself a lot of wedgies.

“Toby?” I say for the fifteenth time. “Toby? Tobes? Toby Pilgrim?” He keeps walking, so I try to run in front of him. “Toby?”

Then I grab his arm. “Hello,
Toby
?”

“Oh, hello, Harriet,” he says finally, taking enormous white headphones off and clipping them backwards round his neck so he looks a bit like a vicar. “I was busy listening to vocal and instrumental sounds combined in such a way as to produce beauty of form, harmony and expression of emotion.”

I beam at him. Only Toby would say all that instead of
music
.

“How are you, Tobes? I haven’t seen you at all this week. Did you finish your project? Did it go well? Because if you have, I was thinking maybe we could spend this evening—”

“I’ve got a new jacket, Harriet,” he interrupts. “It’s a Secret Agent jacket, and it has thirty-five pockets. Here’s one to warm my hands. One for a torch. One for ID. One for glasses. One for sunglasses. One for spare glasses …”

We may be here some time.

“Brilliant! Why don’t you come to my house and have a cup of tea, and we can look at all of them together! We can find other things to put in them and …”

“Here’s one for a laser.”

“Yes …”

“And one for an iPod.”

“OK.”

“But I’m afraid I need no pocket in which to put the time I have for you right now, Harriet,” Toby says, putting his headphones back on. “Because I sadly have none at all at this precise moment.”

I stop walking and stare at his back blankly. “What?”

“I’m spending this evening with Jasper,” he explains over his shoulder, while fiddling with his iPod. “We’re going to fight.”

For a few seconds, I’m not sure which of those two statements is more astonishing. “
Fight?
Jasper? You’re going to fight
Jasper
?”

A wave of relief rushes through me.

I
knew
Toby would come to my aid eventually. I just hadn’t realised it would be with such uncharacteristic violence.

“Tobes,” I say, running after him again. “That’s so sweet of you, but just because Jasper and I don’t get on it doesn’t mean
you
have to dislike him too.”

“I don’t,” he says in surprise, fiddling with his iPod again. “Why would I dislike him? He’s a thoroughly nice chap with many interesting and valid points. We’ve become excellent friends.”

I blink. “… Oh.”

“Did you know that he’s a purple belt in Jiu-Jitsu, Harriet? As I have just discovered Bartitsu, a classic gentleman’s martial art from the 1800s, we’re going to see which one we like best. It should be rather fun.”

I blink again in response.

“Although,” he adds slightly sadly, “my fighting involves umbrellas, snuffboxes and top hats and was used by Sherlock Holmes, so I will probably vanquish him effortlessly. Hopefully he won’t hold it against me.”

Then he clicks a button.

Giraffes have no vocal chords, and it seems neither do I right now.
Jasper?
Despite my noble statement thirty seconds ago,
obviously
I wanted Toby to dislike Jasper on my behalf. Of all the people he could have befriended, Toby’s picked the one who hates my guts?

In a sudden rush of suspicion, I lean over and look at Toby’s iPod. There’s no light: just a dark battery picture, lodged in the middle of the screen.

Which means he could hear me.

Which means he carried on walking anyway; which means he was
ignoring
me.

I suddenly feel a bit dizzy. I’m now trying desperately to remember what was drawn on the paper he hid from me in the art room last week. All I actually
saw
was a rabbit and a badly executed outline of Darth Vader.

Oh my God. Is there even a science project?

Has there
ever
been one?

“What about tomorrow?” I blurt, racing after him again. I’m wrong: I have to be. This is
Toby
. “Saturday evening? Sunday?”

“I’ll be very busy,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “Super busy with many interesting and exciting things that don’t involve you.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, eyes beginning to prickle. “Toby, that’s incredibly hurtful.”

“Oh.” He looks confused. “I’m so sorry, Harriet. I didn’t mean it to be. What’s a more sensitive way of saying I’m not allowed to spend time with you right now?”

Giraffes have nothing on me. An oyster is more capable of putting together a coherent sentence.

“Uh.”

“Well, this has been a very interesting catch-up,” Toby says finally as I stare at him in silence. “It was nice to see you, Harriet Manners. I hope you are enjoying all your brand-new friends.”

Then, without another word, Toby makes an abrupt left and dives straight through a hole in a hedge.

And crawls out the other side, away from me.

stand for a few minutes and watch Toby army-crawl across the grass as if I can’t see him.

Enjoying all my brand-new friends?

Not
allowed
to spend time with me?

What the
sugar cookies
have Jasper and Toby been talking about for the last two weeks in the art room? How many
excellent and valid points
has Jasper made, exactly, and what about?

Or – more specifically – about
whom
?

I blink back the hurt as my ex-stalker attempts an enthusiastic somersault and disappears round a wall. He
asked
me to stay away last week, so I did. Why is he being so weird now? What have I done wrong? Is he angry with me for something?

Then I swallow and tighten my hands into little balls.

If Toby wants to take sides against me,
fine
.

He wasn’t really part of my gang anyway: he was a late insertion, an involuntary addition who forced his way in via totally socially unacceptable methods, such as stalking. If he’s going to be like this, it can just return to normal again: Nat and I together, like fish and chips, or ketchup and mustard or banana and Marmite, which I quite like even though nobody else I know does.

Except …

I haven’t really heard from my best friend all week either. We’ve exchanged a few messages – having a great time, super busy, etc. – but other than that she’s been pretty quiet. I’ve been giving her some space to enjoy the first few heady days with her new boyfriend.

But I think I’ve finished doing that now.

So I get my phone out.

Hey – want to hang out this weekend? Hxxx

My phone beeps almost immediately.

You OK?
N xxx

Brilliant! I just thought we could watch that model show you like. I think somebody gets punched this week.
Hxx

Love to! But super busy again.
Another time?
Nx

Monday or Tuesday? Wednesday? H

Something in my throat is starting to hurt.

I may not understand relationships, but I understand punctuation.

This is rapidly growing tension composed entirely of kisses and passive aggressive emoticons. Three kisses to two to one to none: we’re both getting irritated. Strategically placed smiley and sad faces: she’s feeling guilty, I’m getting needy.