Boy Trouble (17 page)

“Are you ready, Amy?” Mum says up the stairs in her trying-not-to-wake-the-baby voice, a louder and huskier version of a whisper.

“Nearly. Give me two minutes.”

“Hurry up. Dave has to get to work. He’s going to drop you on the way.”

I pull the T-shirt over my head, carefully so I don’t smudge my make-up, and then rearrange my hair.

Clover comes back in with a faded blue photo album in her hands.

She looks me up and down. “Not bad. You look like a rock chick.”

I take this as a compliment.

“Nip it in at the waist.” She hands me a red leather belt. While I put it on she flicks through the album, dislodging some of the old photos from their sticky pages, and then says “Aha.” She points at a page. “There you go.”

I study the photograph. A teenage boy stares back at me. He looks familiar but I can’t quite place him. “Who’s that?”

“Your dad,” she says.

“No!” I stare at the picture and it seems to rearrange itself right in front of my eyes. She’s right. The boy has Dad’s soft grey eyes, emphasized by thick kohl eyeliner; his slim nose, complete with the tiny bump from falling off his bike when he was eight; his full lips, painted black in this photograph. He’s wearing what looks like a dinner jacket teamed with a white shirt with flouncy ruffles down the front. I hate to admit it, but he’s quite good-looking, even in the Dracula outfit.

I give a snort. “Unbelievable.”

“Amy!” Mum hisses up the stairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Clover says, “I’d drive you to the party, Beanie, but I’m kind of late myself.” She blows out her breath. “I wish I didn’t have to go. Hey, I could always cancel, say I have to take you somewhere urgently.”

“Don’t use me as an excuse. Be nice to Brains. Please? We do owe him, big time. Alanna’s skin was something else.”

She shrugs. “You’re right. Fair’s fair.”

“You never know, he might even grow on you.”

“Yeah, right. So not going to happen. I hope this Seth is a bit more exciting than Brain-box. Hey, is he a good snog?”

“Clover!” I can feel my cheeks go red. I knew she’d do this.

She grins. “Only asking.”

I busy myself brushing my hair and checking my make-up in the full-length mirror, hoping she doesn’t notice how nervous I am.

“Beanie?” Clover says, standing just behind me. She’s so close I can feel her warm breath on the back of my neck. She puts her hands on my shoulders and whips me round to face her. She smells of spearmint mixed with musky perfume. “You’ve kissed a boy before, right?”

I twist my head, avoiding her gaze.

“I’m not teasing you,” she says. “I just want to help.”

I sigh. I guess I could do with some advice. And Clover does have acres of experience with boys. “Not really,” I admit finally.

“I thought as much. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s all very natural.” Her hands rest gently on my shoulders. “First you just gaze into his eyes, like this.” I try not to laugh as Clover eyeballs me, her expression soft and kind. “OK, now drop your gaze ever so slightly, as if you’re shy. Boys don’t like it when you come on too strong at the beginning. They like to think they’re in control. Ha! As if. Then you lean in towards—”

“Amy!” Mum appears at the door. “What
are
you doing?” She stares at us. I jump away from Clover, feeling horribly guilty. Please don’t tell her, I beg silently.

But Clover’s no fool. “I was checking Beanie’s teeth for lipstick.”

“Oh, right. If you want a lift, Amy, you’ll have to come right now. Dave’s in the car with the engine running. You’re going to make him late for work.”

“But, Mum, Clover hasn’t finished—”

Mum puts her hands on her hips. “No buts, young lady. Now!” She looks very stern.

“Bye, Clover,” I say, grabbing my lip gloss, my mobile and my keys and shoving them in my pockets. “Thanks for all the help.”

She winks at me. “Good luck. Ring me tomorrow. And you look great, Beanie. Knock ’em dead.”

“You’ll need a jacket,” Mum says, staring at my bare arms.

“It’s a party,” I say. “We’ll be inside.” What is it with mums and jackets? They’re obsessed.

“And where on earth did you get that Blondie T-shirt? I had one just like it. But mine went missing years ago.”

“Oops,” Clover says. “Sorry, Sylvie.”

I
make Dave drop me down the road from Sophie’s; he’s in a hurry so he doesn’t mind.

“Have a nice night,” he says through his open window. “Behave yourself. Back before eleven or—”

“Or I’ll turn into a pumpkin. I know, I know. But even Cinderella got till midnight, not eleven.”

“Don’t push your luck. How are you getting home?”

“I’m getting a lift with Mills.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.” With that he drives off.

Great, he’s swallowed it. I have no intention of getting a lift with Mills. She’s not even speaking to me. I plan on grabbing a lift of sorts on Seth’s crossbar and I don’t think Dave would approve.

As I walk down the road towards Sophie’s house my stomach is fluttering butterflies and my palms are hot and sticky. I hate walking into parties on my own. Me and Mills have been going to parties together since we were nippers and I feel naked without her by my side. But then I hear a voice to my right.

“Hi, stranger.” I look over. Seth is sitting on the wall outside Sophie’s house. His bike is resting against it and his long legs are dangling over it. He jumps down, catches a pedal with the end of his jeans and almost sends his bike toppling. I grab it and rest it against the wall again.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

He nods. “Think so.” He rubs his ankle. “Sorry, that was stupid.” He smiles and I feel all melty inside, like ice cream on a hot day. “Like the T-shirt,” he says.

“Thanks, it’s vintage.” I don’t tell him it’s Mum’s, that would spoil the effect; he’s met Mum and he knows how deeply untrendy she is. Now if I had a mum like Polly, that would be different.

“Mum loves Blondie,” he says. “She’s always singing ‘Call Me’ in the shower. Ready for the dragon’s den?”

Seth locks his bike against a cherry tree in the front garden, with two other bikes. I’m sure Mrs Piggott, Sophie’s mum, won’t be amused to find her tree is being used as a bike rack but, you know, she’s such an old boot I really don’t care. Especially after saying such horrible things about Mum.

Seth reaches out to hold my hand but I step away a little, pretending I haven’t seen it. Walking into the party is going to be hard enough without drawing extra attention to ourselves. Everyone at school knows we’re together by this stage – they’d have to be blind not to – but I’m still a bit embarrassed by it all. Sophie and Mills snigger when we walk past them together in school, so I try to avoid the science area completely if at all possible.

“Would you look who it is?” Sophie is framed in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts, new sand Uggs and an emerald green Juicy hoody, with a silver filigree pattern over the shoulders and the arms, zipped up to her neck. I have to admit, she looks lovely, even if her legs are a bit orange. Mills is standing behind her, peering over her left shoulder.

“Our old pal, Amy,” Sophie says. “Should we let her in, Mills? What do you think?”

Mills refuses to catch my eye, staring at Seth intently.

“Stop messing around, Sophie,” he says evenly. “Here, these are for you. For having the party.” He thrusts a gold box of chocolates into her hands. “Pol— My mum insisted.”

This throws Sophie a little. “Thanks,” she says automatically, looking at me. “But you still can’t come in. You’re not invited.”

I feel instantly flattened and mortified. I can feel my cheeks start to burn. I look at Seth but he’s not budging off the doorstep.

“You can’t do that, Sophie,” he says coolly. “It’s the end of term party. Everyone’s invited.”

“You can come in, Seth,” she says. “But Amy can’t.”

Then I hear a familiar voice. “What’s happening?” Annabelle asks, poking her head out the door.

She looks at me and her face drops. “Oh,” she says. “You.”

Surprisingly, the Dundrum doggie story never reached school. I heard she took Nina and several other friends to a Beyoncé concert in a white limo (her dad is some sort of big wig in the sales department of a newspaper) and I did wonder whether it was a bribe, designed to keep their mouths firmly shut.

“Let her in,” Annabelle says, giving me a very fake smile.

“What?” Sophie says. “Are you serious? Amy’s—”

“Just let her in, all right?” Annabelle says, giving Sophie a filthy look. “It’s the end of term party.”

“That’s what I told her,” Seth says.

Annabelle glares at him. “Don’t push it, Ladyboy.”

“Who are you calling Ladyboy?” Seth’s eyes are flashing.

“If you must wear
guy
liner,” Annabelle says, “deal with it.”

“Hey,” Seth says, moving towards her.

I put my arm out to stop him. “Let’s just go inside.”

He nods. “Fine.”

The stupid thing is, I only wanted to go to the party to be with Seth. We should have just gone to the cinema or something and told our parents we were at the party. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Too late now.

We walk into the living room and it’s crammed with D4s doing their neat, prissy dancing. The Crombie boys are hanging round the sides of the room, pushing and thumping each other and laughing.

I say hi to some of the girls from my class who are comparing outfits by the French doors. Seth nods at a few Emos from art class.

“Outside?” he suggests, pointing at the open doors. I follow him into the garden. There are round red and orange fairy lights threaded through the trees, and a row of paper lanterns lit with tealights twinkle along the path. A silver wind chime dangles off a lower branch of the big oak tree, making a noise like running water in the breeze. I have to admit the whole garden looks amazing, like a Chinese Wonderland.

We sit down with our backs against the tree, the party babbling away behind us, hidden by the knotty trunk.

“What are we doing here?” Seth asks, banging his head gently against the wood.

I laugh. “I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”

He takes my hand, straightens it out and starts to touch my palm with his fingertips, making me jump. It’s like ants running on my skin.

“That tickles,” I say, trying to pull my hand away.

He holds firm. “You have a very long lifeline,” he says, running his forefinger firmly down the centre of my palm. “Deep and true. That’s a good sign. And this is your happiness line, right here.” He strokes the top of my palm. “Again, strong but a little broken and hatched at the start.”

“That would be my parents’ divorce then,” I say wryly. “Do you really read palms, or are you making this up?”

“My mum does so I’ve picked up a bit. She’s really good at it. I’ll get her to give you a proper reading one day.”

“Cool.” But I like the sensation of
his
skin against mine so I say, “Keep going. What else can you see?”

“Your palm is rectangular, which means you have a strong imagination and you dream a lot. Like mine, see?” He holds up his own hand and marks out a rectangle with his finger. He’s right. Our hands are quite similar in shape.

“Go on,” I say.

“You see the small horizontal lines there.” He presses gently on the fleshy part of my palm, just under my thumb.

“Yes?”

“They mean you like to enjoy yourself but you also have a serious side, which can sometimes be hidden.”

“That’s true!” I give a laugh.

He closes my fingers over my palm. “That’s all I remember.”

“I’m impressed. Not just a pretty face, Ladyboy.”

He grins. “Hey, less of that.” He stops for a moment, then says, “You don’t mind the eyeliner, do you?”

“Not at all. I like it. It makes you different. Original.”

Seth goes quiet for a second. He’s staring at me.

“What?” I ask, a little paranoid. Have I said the wrong thing?

“I really like you, Amy.” His face moves a little closer and my heart almost leaps out of my chest with fright. OK, OK, this is it. Crunch time. Now what did Clover say again. Lean towards him. OK, I’m doing that. Catch his eye then look down a little, then back up and…

His lips meet mine and there it is again, instant electricity. This time neither of us moves away. But I have no idea what to do next. Help! I think as his lips press against mine, gentle yet firm. What am I supposed to do now? Clover didn’t get this far. His hand is resting against the back of my head now, pulling against my hair. It’s not very comfortable but I try to ignore it. I move my lips against his, it seems the right thing to do, but then I feel the tip of his tongue against my lower lip, I open my own lips a little and
CLINK
, my teeth crunch against his. I jump back in fright.

“Sorry, Amy,” he whispers.

Meltdown. I’m mortified. “It’s fine,” I mumble. “Loo. Stay there. Back in a sec.”

I run inside cringing.
Loo?
What age are you, Amy? Three? I walk quickly through the living room, looking straight ahead, oblivious to the people around me and out into the hall. I have to be alone, at least until my cheeks have stopped burning and I can face Seth again. But there’s someone in the downstairs toilet. I run upstairs instead, past Sophie’s room and into the huge marble bathroom. I slam the door behind me and sit down on the closed loo seat.