My Invisible Boyfriend (19 page)

“You organized this? Wow, Simon, that’s really…”

I want to say unexpected, but it seems kind of rude.

“Are these the new designs?” he says softly, reaching across me to pick up a rolled-up sheaf of paper.

Teddy must have slipped it there next to me, along with the banana bread.

The designs for Etienne and the Illyrians are just as detailed as the last lot: same swooping style for hands and faces, same little handwritten notes and scribbles of color. No ribbons or silver flashes this time, though: it’s all skinny gray Lycra bodysuits with bright neon piping, in odd geometric squiggles like the inside of circuits.

“Cool,” murmurs Simon, his finger tracing around the neon pink lines.

“It’s all based on this film,
Tron
?” I explain. “These people get trapped inside a computer game, and they have to ride bikes and play frisbee to save the universe. It’s…less ridiculous than that sounds.”

“Though not by a whole lot,” says Teddy, reappearing to prop himself on his elbows behind the counter.

I catch his eye, and mouth a quick “thank you.” He grins, then gives Simon a sideways look, his eyes following Simon’s fingertip.

Simon did that before, I remember, with Fili’s costume picture. I remember thinking how romantic it seemed. Only now he’s doing it to Etienne Gracey’s costume, which is…also unexpected.

Is there some other non-Eric-shaped reason for Simon and Fili breaking up when they did? Like, Simon suddenly recognizing his inner gay?

He forks in another minute mouthful of banana cake, and gives me another of those watery, apologetic smiles.

WEIGH.

TUP.

Maybe it’s not the person whose going to be wearing the costume he likes.

Maybe it’s the person who drew the costume. Or the person who he
thinks
drew it anyway.

Simon, who quietly arranges for the Little Leaf to come to
Twelfth Night.

Simon, who broke up with Fili the exact same night that Mysterious E first e-mailed.

Simon, the reformed Gothboy, who seems used to walking around in disguise.

Simon, aka Mysterious E?

UM.

WOO?

The penthouse. Mycroft Christie is wearing a fluffy blond wig and eating a stinky banana cake.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: What? You don’t like my makeover?

HEIDI: Downgrade. Sorry.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: (tossing the wig aside and revealing his curls) I confess I agree. But still, one mustn’t judge by appearances.

HEIDI: You mean, I’m fugly and a weirdo and I should take what I can get?

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: On the contrary: Mysterious E’s
appeal is not too dissimilar to my own, surely? Granted, this “Simon” person lacks certain of my debonair charms, but I fancy my intellect alone makes me quite the catch.

HEIDI: You also fight crime, can travel in time, and have saved the city of London from evil giant centipedes. Even if that episode was a bit crap. And you haven’t recently broken up with one of my mates, who is already really miserable, for complicated reasons that I probably can’t even tell you about.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: You do have intimidatingly high standards for your gentleman friends, Miss Ryder. Besides, I believe your intention—this time—was to ascertain the identity of your mysterious suitor before any awkward encounters on sofas could ensue. Might I propose a little further investigation?

Agent Ryder is starting to feel overwhelmed by the pressures of undercover life at the Finch. Pre-Christmas cheer is beginning to creep throughout the school, thanks mostly to Dad Man being bored and Wassail decorations being harder to find: tinsel around the notice boards, a tree as tall as the Manor on the front steps that’s speckled with white and blue lights. But behind all the fake snow and baubles in every classroom, every corridor, there seems to be a lurking secret, a little subtext, a dangerous casual slip that could bring it all tumbling down.

Eric loiters outside the music rooms while PAG rehearsals go on, waiting for Scheherezade to come out, while Ludo watches him from inside, her chin firmly up as she twirls to show what he’s missing. Fili watches Ludo twirl, her face downcast, till she sees me looking and ducks her head, while I remember that even Ed doesn’t know why she might be looking so guilty, and turn away, to find Dai, watching me closely, just as Ed asked him to, while Henry lingers off to one side, waiting for him to move on so he can slide in and share some not-a-birthday-or-a-party ideas.

The only person I never seem to bump into is Simon—though that must mean something.

I’m a little bit relieved (though I wouldn’t even tell Mycroft Christie that).

But I can’t avoid Simon when Venables calls a grand PAG meeting in the auditorium, with compulsory attendance for all.

“Brilliant, brilliant, come in, do!” he yelps, hair flapping as he beckons us in from the cold.

The auditorium has got its festive party mojo going, too. All the tiered seats have been pulled out and pushed forward, taking over what was empty rehearsal space and throwing all attention toward the stage, where giant plywood stiletto heels and cocktail glasses are stacking up. There are inflatable flamingos dangling from the lighting rig. Tucked away in the wings are rows of metal wardrobe frames, where I can see some of the finished costumes hanging up: silver flashes mixing with ribbons and epaulettes.

We climb into the weirdly bouncy seats, precariously raised up above the stage, and I somehow end up sitting between Henry and Simon. Henry whispers rapidly into my ear about his brilliant idea for an Unparty for Dai’s Unbirthday, while Simon says nothing—just stares mistily into the distance through his hair in a way he probably thinks is enigmatic and sort of sexy.

I can see Dai watching me keenly, an “I thought so” look on his face.

OPE.

OO.

He thinks it’s Simon, too.

I try to catch Ludo’s eye, but she seems to be ducking mine suddenly.

I don’t want to look at Fili, a few rows below: It’s all too awkward.

“So, guys, guys, thank you for coming!” says Venables, skipping a bit with excitement. “Now, I know you’ve been working hard, I know you’re all tired, so I thought it was time you had a little break, and a little treat.”

There’s a chorus of oohing. Apparently no one else is as worried as me about what Venables’s idea of a treat might be.

“So this weekend, we’re going to fly away from the Goldfinch nest and see how the professionals do it. Not a musical version, no, but after Mr. Prowse expressed a few, uh,
concerns
, Mrs. Kemble is very keen to emphasize the educational aspect of this year’s performance to your
parents. So we’ll be heading to the theatre, to see
Twelfth Night
, the original William Shakespeare, no help from me, version. Brilliant, yeah?”

There’s no oohing.

“And of course, it’ll be a late night, so we’ll be staying over in Stratford and coming back by bus the next day.”

Now there’s oohing. And shrieking, and even, from one corner, a round of applause.

Not from me, though.

I should be thrilled. This won’t be just like any other school trip I’ve been on before. Usually I’m the kid who has to share a seat on the bus with the teacher, because she’s the Mothership, or just because I don’t have any friends. This time, I’ll have someone to insist I share with them—and someone to keep my seat in the theatre, someone to sneak out of bed for once the teachers have gone to sleep, just like a real Finch: like a real girl, with a real boyfriend. I’ll be on the trip with my Mysterious E. I just wish he weren’t Simon, that’s all.

Venables is still beaming and waving his arms in front of us, flapping some papers to get us to quiet down.

“That’s not all, folks, there’s more good news! Now, I know everyone in this room is super-talented in their own way, and you know I’m proud of you all, yeah? But a lot of your work goes on behind the scenes, and on the big night it’s all about the performers, so I’m totally thrilled to have a chance to big up one of the real stars of the show. You’ve all seen our amazing costumes, yeah?”

There are murmurs of approval in the crowd as Venables flings an arm to the wardrobe racks at the edge of the stage. He grabs a curled pile of papers and waves them over his head. Teddy’s designs. I start to feel a bit sick.

“Well, I was so impressed with the work that went into these, I showed them to Mr. Bowser in the art department, and
he
was so impressed that he’s entered the artist into the Independent Schools National Arts Prize. Heidi? Heidi, give us a wave, yeah? Brilliant.”

Henry grabs my arm, and waggles it about, as people clap and cheer.

EEK.

ARG.

UR.

There’s a blur of people moving round me, climbing over the rows of seats, telling me how amazing I am. Even Etienne Gracey leans over to give me a quick pat on the back.

I manage to get onto my feet, and start edging my way along the row, mumbling apologies as I push past the slowmoving people on the steps down to ground level. I have to tell Venables I didn’t draw those costumes. It’ll be awful and horrible and everyone will hate me, but I can’t let them put me up for some daft art prize. I have to tell the truth.

I let the crowd sweep me out through the doors into the foyer, then duck through Music Room 1, find the backstage steps, and hurry up into the wings. Venables is at the front of
the stage, kneeling down, and muttering something about spotlights to Oliver Bass.

I hesitate, waiting for him to stand, then I force my feet, one in front of the other, to move me forward, out onto the stage. It feels strange, seeing the seats all rising up out of the dark out there, all facing my way.

My feet keep on stepping, but someone has my arm, and is pulling me back. Dai. Dai, with a face like thunder.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Ryder, but you can knock it off right now, yeah?”

I blink. Does Dai know that Teddy drew the pictures? Does Dai
care
that Teddy drew the pictures?

“You two might think you’re being dead clever,” he says, yanking me into the wings, behind the guilt-inducing racks of costumes. “But I’m not blind. I do see things. Especially if you carry on with it right under my nose.”

Not the pictures, then. Simon. He’s angry with me about Simon. I think.

“Why do you care?” I stutter, looking round and hoping no one else is listening. I’m having a fight over a boyfriend I don’t even want. Does
Dai
want to go out with Simon, then?

Dai goes from looking furious to looking like a kicked puppy in the blink of an eye. His big shoulders drop. I think for an awful moment that he might actually cry.

“I really like him, Heidi. He’s the first person I’ve ever really liked, who really liked me back. At least, I thought he did. But then I started watching you, because…well, never
mind why, I just knew you were looking for someone else after you’d broken up with Ed, and then suddenly you two were sneaking off together to talk, and he started being all secretive, and…”

“Wait. You think…me and
Henry…
?”

And I thought I was the hopeless detective around here.

“Well, why else would you be going off for your secret get-togethers?”

My mouth opens. I close it again. No, there’s nothing for it: I’m going to have to spoil Henry’s secret birthday plans.

But Dai doesn’t wait to hear the truth: He just sticks up his chin and stomps off down the backstage steps, pushing Ludo out of his way as he goes.

She stares after him, hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, then hurries up them to me.

“OH MY GOD, what is HIS problem?”

I just shake my head. Explaining is a bit beyond me right now.

Ludo hovers, gazing up at the lighting rig above, the invisible audience beyond, her eyes shiny. Her painted fingers walk along the row of hanging costumes, toying with the dangling ribbons.

“OK, like, this is probably a totally weird question,” she says, looking strangely shy. “But, like, I just wanted to check that it would be OK with you first, because…well…you’ve got a new boyfriend now, right?”

“Um…kind of?”

“I totally thought so. Which is, like, yay Heidi! So, you know, you won’t be getting back together with Ed?”

The sick feeling comes back.

“Because, if you aren’t going out with him, then I thought maybe I might go out with him? Actually, we’re sort of going out already. Or, you know, talking about it. Kind of?” She flips her glossy hair back and gives me a nervous little smile. “He’s really sweet, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “He’s…um…”

“I’m so happy!” she says, wrapping her arms round my neck. “Because I totally wouldn’t if it wasn’t OK with you, and I would totally understand if it wasn’t, because, you know, friends don’t do that to each other. But if you’re OK with it, then everything’s, like, totally perfect!”

And she goes pirouetting off down the steps, leaping over the last couple in full view of a loitering Peroxide Eric, with a look of gleeful don’t-care upon her face.

Evasive maneuvers, Captain. Abort, abort! Engage the hyperdrive immediately.

I peer out from behind the sleeve of Viola’s blue jacket, looking for an escape route. Venables blocks my way, holding up Teddy’s sketches for the band, showing off the details to Etienne, and the Illyrians, and…the Mothership.

I retreat backward, into the scratchy silvery safety of the Niteclubbers clothes rail, enveloping me like some kind of spandex route to Narnia. I can’t do this now. I’ll fix it later. I promise I’ll come back and sort it all out, when my head isn’t
spinning around with all the craziness of Dai and Henry, and Ludo and Ed, and Simon.

Simon, who I can see heading directly for the clothes rail, right toward where I’m hiding.

Simon, smiling his watery smile.

Simon, who’s holding hands with Yuliya, wispy silent blond Yuliya, who is smiling, too.

They giggle as they slide between the two rails of clothes, sneaking out of sight of the crowd. I feel the clothes sweep over my head as they pass; see their shoes interlock; hear more giggling, following by snoggy noises.