My Invisible Boyfriend (8 page)

“Whoa. That’s…you’ll be…a long way away. I mean, um, who’s going to make Teddy’s Toffee Temptation cake?”

It’s not exactly what I mean. I might miss more than the cake.

But Teddy’s tilting his head anyway, the smile turning awkward. Betsy twists her daisy rings, and looks at me furtively through her hair.

“Nothing’s set, OK, hon? That’s why I didn’t want to say anything yet. But I guess you’re entitled to know. I’m selling the Little Leaf. Maybe.” She takes hold of my hand and squishes it between both of hers, though hers seem to be the ones that are shaky. “You might’ve noticed, we’re not exactly blessed with a million customers lately. You wouldn’t think it, but summer was slow this year. We’re kind of going under, honeypie. And Teddy’s dad says he’ll pay for Teddy to go to school if it’s over there, so, you know. The timing’s not so bad, really. Sometimes you’ve just got to read the signs, go with flow, land wherever the wind wants to blow you.”

I don’t know what to say.

Well, I do.
Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Don’t spoil my perfect day. Stay here forever and ever with your cake and your tea and your unattainably picturesque Teddy, and your being the one person I can tell anything.

“How long?” I mumble, instead.

“If it happens, we’ll probably aim to be back over there for Christmas.” Betsy frowns as she sees my face go all crumply. “But we’ll keep you on for as long as we can, honey, I promise. And you’ll always be welcome.”

“I’ll do those pictures for your school thing, too,” says Teddy, shuffling his feet. “Whatever you need. You can drop in any time to talk it over. Doesn’t need to be a Saturday. You know, weekday, evening, whenever you like?”

He’s trying so hard to be nice. It makes it worse, somehow.

Betsy packs my scone in a paper bag, wraps me up in The Coat, and gives me a hug in the doorway before she locks up.

The bell jingles behind me, like there’s something to be cheerful about.

All I want to do is hide in my room and watch
Mycroft Christie Investigates
: a really wallowy miserable one like episode 2.11, “Through the Looking Glass,” so I can have a sad cry about Jori Song’s tragic childhood, and not have to contemplate my own. (Or at least hope that mine turns me into an ass-kicking sidekicky type with only moderate daddy issues.)

But the Mothership has made Red Pepper and Tomato soup, and apparently I have to help her eat it.

“You’ll find another job, babes,” says the Mothership. “Bet that coffee place across the road will be hiring. It’s always heaving in there!”

UM.

THANKS?

“I don’t want to work in the Big Bean coffee shop. And it’s not the job I’m upset about.”

The Mothership puts on her Kind Teacher Listening face.

“I know it’s a bit awkward for you, babes, not having as much money to throw around as the other kids at school. And it’s nice that you care so much. But don’t get yourself in a knot about it. Maybe it’s for the best? Mr. Prowse keeps mentioning you to me in the staff room—and not in the nice way, babes. You don’t need too many distractions this year. And it is only a café closing down. It’s not the end of the world.”

I think that’s half the problem. I’m quite familiar with apocalypses: If we only have twelve hours before the fabric of time collapses in on itself and sucks us into a singularity, I’ve got a plan all worked out. I can cope fine with the world ending: It’s the world being unfair I can’t manage.

After dinner, I stomp up to the attic, and lie on my bed. My gingerbread boy is still there, leaning nonchalantly against my desk lamp, his buttons looking especially shiny.

He’s a rubbish boyfriend, Gingerbread Ed. If I were Ludo, Peroxide Eric would be sweeping me into his arms, wrapping his coat around me in a big wool-scratchy hug, and snogging all my woes away. If I were Dai, Henry would be doing something ultra-practical and dynamic, like promising to phone his dad to ask him to buy the Little Leaf, just to cheer me up. If I were Fili, Simon would be expressing his deep concern by, well, probably just holding my hand and looking a bit miserable. But at least he’d be there.

Mycroft Christie would explode something on my behalf, and then look attractively guilty while pretending he did it for The Greater Good of Humanity or whatever.

We all simply want to belong.

That’s still what I want: to belong, to fit in, to know I’m not ever going to feel like a lonely Frog Girl again. Only I think maybe there are different kinds of loneliness, different kinds of belonging. Maybe I don’t just want to belong to a somewhere. Maybe I want to belong with a
someone
: a real one, the kind who isn’t made of crumbs and ground ginger.

But I suppose, sometimes, a girl just has to take care of herself.

I whack the Dread Pirate on the desk and drum my fingers, plotting. Ed’s probably worried about his Heidi. We probably had a very moving conversation earlier on the phone. He’s probably writing a song about me right now, strumming his guitar, wishing he were here…

I log into Ed’s account, and wiggle my fingers over the keyboard.

A text box flashes up before I’ve even given Ed a subject line.

WOE.

UH.

It’s Ludo. Ludo, talking to Ed. Ludo, talking to Ed, like Ed is real. Suddenly, me hanging out with Mycroft Christie doesn’t seem quite so bonkers.

Guess Ed had better reply, then?

I feel kind of giddy. And brilliant. And sick. And urgently in need of some explanation of the gingerbread thing.

Ed bought it for me as a parting gift. Got Betsy to make a special one that I could keep forever: presented it to me in the Little Leaf, while we were snuggled up on the Sofa of Sex. The
squishy eye is intentional. He’s giving me a flirty little wink, just to make sure I don’t forget him—as if I could…

I’m getting a bit too good at this, I think. And then the screen winks at me again, and I see a little envelope appear at the top of Ed’s page.

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

OK, so she says she didn’t, but I know she messaged you—so in case you were wondering, Ludo is not actually a psycho stalker. She just comes off like that sometimes. Just in case you were thinking you were being harassed by nutters.

Don’t run away screaming from Ryder because her friends resemble the clinically insane, right? Cos I think she really likes you.

Later dude,

Dai (also not a psycho stalker)

The giddy feeling comes back. I know you’re not supposed to want your friends to talk about you behind your back. But this is different. This is them, up on the hill, talking about me, and Ed, and how Ludo is insane, and it’s giving me warm fuzzies all over.

Cos I think she really likes you
, says Dai.

AW.

Message from: gingerbread_ed
hey dai the notstalker,

she came off more as someone who’d fallen asleep on the ! key than the clinically insane. but thanks for the reassurance. do you do this for all your friends’ boyfriends?

h likes me? that’s lucky. i kinda like her too.

ed

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

No, I don’t do this for all my friends. I just know Ludo. Don’t tell Ryder I said this, but Ludo has a tendency to go chasing after blokes. Other people’s blokes. Well, any blokes, really. Not stirring: just a heads up.

Later dude,

Dai, Still Not A Stalker (think my bloke would be unimpressed by that as a career move)

Message from: gingerbread_ed
hey dai,

ta for the info.

tell your henry he’s got nothing to worry about: i am definitely not your type. though h says he’s very cute, maybe i should worry about her chasing other people’s blokes instead…:)

ed

I hit
REFRESH
a few more times, wondering if Dai’s got any more cutely attentive advice for my boy on how to escape Ludo’s clutches (ha!), or if Fili’s going to join in the meet-and-greet. I’d love her to meet Ed. I bet they’d get on brilliantly, once they got over that awkward stuttery phase at the beginning and started really talking. I bet they’d be like old friends in no time at all. But I suppose she’s busy with her beloved boy. Just like me.

The penthouse. Mycroft Christie, debonair detective, is performing the tango with his glamorous (yet intellectual) companion, Miss Heidi Ryder.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: You seem rather pleased with yourself, my dear.

HEIDI: I made a whole person, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Klee told us in Biology that it usually takes about nine months. So, yeah. Go me!

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: Indeed. Very well done.

HEIDI: Do you have to be quite that patronizing?

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I’m afraid it’s in the script. It encourages you to be feisty and sarcastic in return, in
order for us to reveal our unresolved sexual tension through snarky banter.

HEIDI: Oh, yeah. I have a boyfriend now, though.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: According to season 3, I have a secret wife from the future who’s been sent back through time to kill me. I think we must accept, my dear, that our romance is somewhat star-crossed.

HEIDI: Good point. I hope Ed doesn’t turn out to have a secret wife from the future. Yours was rubbish.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: I’m not sure I approve of this emboldened Miss Ryder. You’re terribly spirited.

HEIDI: My boyfriend’s made from gingerbread: I still have plenty of unresolved sexual tension to go around. Now do us both a favor, Mr. Christie, and shut up.

Miss Heidi Ryder plucks a rose stem from a vase, thrusts it between Mycroft Christie’s teeth, and begins to lead the dance.

I hit the Dining Hall with my head full of pre-prepared answers to Ed questions and glum thoughts about the Little Leaf, but my love life and the impending departure of cake, wages, and nice non-Finchy people have to take a backseat. The
Twelfth Night: The Musical!
cast list is out.

“It’s just TOTALLY unfair. I mean, there should be RULES or something.” Ludo rests her chin on Peroxide Eric’s big
padded shoulder. “Don’t you think there should be RULES or something?”

I expect Ed has comfy shoulders, for me to cutely perch my chin on.

Peroxide Eric yawns, and shrugs. “I don’t get the big badness. You all have parts, right? Speaking roles, singing, all of that?”

He’s right. Henry is going to be Duke, the main guy. Fili is Feste, the sad clown, which is somehow the most perfect thing in the world. Ludo is Maria the niteclub cleaner: not the biggest role in the world, but she has lots of scenes with Malcolm Malvolio—and that’s Dai.

“Except for those of us who didn’t actually want to run around on stage wearing tinfoil, right, Heidi?” Peroxide Eric adds, giving me a wink.

“And Simon,” murmurs Fili.

Simon raises his hand, like we’re in assembly.

“It’s not about who’s not in it,” says Dai, slumping over a plate of floppy salad. “It’s about who
is.
”

“It’s all right for you,” says Henry, nudging him. “I’m the one who’s got to pretend to fall in love with her.”

Peroxide Eric looks blank.

“Scheherezade Adams,” supplies Fili.

“Scheh…she’s the one with the…?”

“Nose job,” says Ludo firmly, before Eric can actually perform his very ill-advised mime. “And HELLO SURPRISE, she’s Viola. Like, the main girl. The heroine. The best part? When she, like, TOTALLY can’t even sing or anything. She
just points her boobage at people and they’re, like, deaf and blind or something.”

“On the upside, she has to dress up like a boy for most of the play,” I say. “The boobage will be under wraps. Squished. They’ll probably have to tape them down.”

Silence.

“What?”

Henry pats me gently on the arm. “I believe we’re admiring your enthusiasm.”

“Hey, I think Heidi could be on to something,” says Peroxide Eric, tugging on the dangly part of the piercing in his lip and grinning. “If the source of all her evil power is boobage, maybe she’s like Samson, you know? Tape down the bazoinkas and she’s just an ordinary tone-deaf mortal.”

“Did you just say
bazoinkas
?” says Ludo, jabbing him with a finger.

“I’m still stuck on
boobage
,” murmurs Simon. “Not literally,” he adds, taking Fili’s hand.

Dai sighs. “You get to be followed around by a lovesick model, too, Henry. It’s every cliché you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Yuliya has somehow landed the role of Olivia, despite it presumably involving opening her mouth and sounds coming out.

“We could rehearse together!” says Ludo, her Yuliya fangirling undimmed by lack of actual conversation. “I could totally come up to your room, Fili, and we could, like, practice, all three of us together!”

Fili doesn’t reply. Which isn’t all that unusual, really, but
somehow Detective Heidi suspects she’s not replying in a way that means “no.”

Even Ludo notices.

“Well, not yet, obviously, because we haven’t had the scripts yet,” she says, doubtfully, tucking her hair behind one ear.

Fili goes on not replying.

It’s weird. I mean, Ludo’s idea of rehearsal with Fili and Yuliya is going to involve a lot of wanting to try on all of Yuliya’s clothes and not a whole lot of rehearsing, obviously. But Fili would just roll her eyes, and give Ludo a serious dose of eyebrowing till she shuts up. At least, that’s how it used to be.

I start thinking about how I’ve been waiting for the Mothership on the balance beam alone: all the non-conversations I haven’t been having with Fili this term. If she’s fallen out with Ludo for some reason, I haven’t had much chance to find out why.

Henry gives Dai a tap on the back, rescuing the conversation. “Try not to panic, darling. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always try acting. I hear it’s very popular in musical theatre.”

Dai shrugs, and goes on poking at his salad. Detective Heidi notices something weird there, too, though I’m not sure what. Dai can’t really be jealous of Scheherezade and Yuliya, for obvious Very Gay Indeed reasons. But something’s not right.

“Are you really going to make us wear tinfoil, Heidi?” says Ludo.

I glance at Simon, my companion in costuming. Well, in theory. He blinks back at me through his hair, and shrugs.

“We haven’t really figured out the specifics yet,” I say, feeling mildly panicky. “Actually, I’ve kind of got something else on my mind at the moment. Not really a school thing, but…well, I kind of had some bad news. About the Little Leaf?”

There’s a horrible squawk, as Dai scrapes his chair back from the table.

“Sorry. Got to hit the pool.”

“Don’t mind him, he hasn’t had his vitamins today,” Henry throws over his shoulder, hurrying out after him.

I look around, hoping someone else is going to ask if I’m OK, but Ludo and Peroxide Eric are a bit preoccupied with a random brunch-table snog. I look to Fili, hoping she’ll rescue me, or at least exchange a quick eyeroll, but she’s watching them with an odd look on her face.

“Homework,” she says quietly but firmly, grabbing Simon’s hand and pulling him to his feet.

I’m pretty sure she’s not talking about the Poem on an Autumn Leaf kind. I just nod and smile as they leave, walking in perfect step.

Ludo and Peroxide Eric’s snog gets epic, noisy, handsy. A cackle rings out across the dining hall: Etienne Gracey and his “guys,” probably cracking up at Frog Girl Heidi playing third wheel.

I could let it bother me. Like, I could let myself feel a bit gutted that no one noticed I was looking a bit gloomy in the
first place. But it’s no big deal. I have a boyfriend, after all. A very kind, thoughtful, useful one.

Message from: gingerbread_ed Subject: nothin’ good

song for my baby:

don’t be blue, i’m thinking of you, thinking of us two, we could live in a shoe, or an igloo? yeah an igloo would do, so long as i’m with you, coo coo cachoo.

bilbo says i should give up the songwriting. feh, what does he know.

think i’m nearly as blue as you about the little leaf. i can’t believe betsy has to close it down. no more gingerbread! hate hearing you so upset. sorry i’m not there with my arms around you. to keep you warm in the igloo, yeah? ;-)

h, miss you like you wouldn’t even believe,

ed

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

Whoa, the Little Leaf is closing? That sucks.

Hugs will be provided for Ryder anyways. I could do with one myself.

Later dude.

Message from: gingerbread_ed
hey dai,

yeah, it’s closing, unless business really picks up. maybe you guys could all start eating insane amounts of cake or something?

surprised she didn’t tell you. but i guess you’re all busy with this musical thing, right? she told me you got a big role, congrats man.

ed

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

Big role is right: I’m the comedy fat guy, just like last year.

No insane amounts of cake for me: have to stay pretty for my pretty boy. But maybe we can come up with something: can’t have Ryder getting all doomy on us, that’s what Fili’s for…

Later dude.

OAK.

HEY.

The Dai-mood is starting to make a little more sense. I’ve seen the script: Malcolm Malvolio is a big dork who thinks Olivia fancies him, and winds up dressed in fairy wings, chained on a cage-dancer’s podium, trying pointlessly to impress her when she’s totally out of his league. We’re definitely laughing at him, not with him.

I suppose it’s the kind of thing Big Dai got a bit too used to. And now he’s Buff Dai, able to pull hot Henry types—and it makes no difference.

Another tiny envelope winks onto the screen before I can hit
REPLY
.

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

God, I’m embarrassed now. Don’t tell anyone what I just wrote, yeah? Not even Ryder? I’m not usually this pathetic, I swear.

Later dude.

I want to hug him then and there. I mean, I could be a touch miffed that he doesn’t want to tell
me
, but maybe it’s a guy thing. Ed’s totally the kind of easy-to-talk-to mellow type anyway. He’ll be much better at this stuff than me.

Message from: gingerbread_ed

hey dai,

no biggie, mate. i’m good at keeping secrets.

ed