Not Quite Perfect Boyfriend (17 page)

Is it though? Is it really? If Mum hadn't told me about her affair, then I wouldn't be so upset. And Dad wouldn't be so upset. Surely that would be better.

But we would have found out eventually.

Everyone is still staring at me. I step forward onto the stage.

‘No,' I say. ‘He didn't do it.'

Mr Moss frowns at me. ‘How do you know, Imogen?'

I swallow. ‘Because I made his presentation for him. He's never seen it before today.'

The tittering and whispering all stops. I can hear myself breathing. Inhale. Exhale.

‘I made the presentation,' I say. ‘Ben made me do his project for him.'

Mr Moss glares at Ben again, and I sigh.

‘I made up an imaginary boyfriend,' I say. ‘At the beginning of term. Because I was sick of everyone telling me how pathetic I was. I was sick of being embarrassed that I'd never had a boyfriend. So I made one up. His name was Ben, and he was English and he was perfect. I made up all sorts of stuff about him. I even made him a MySpace page. Then one day he turned up here at school.'

The students are all spellbound. For a moment I pretend I'm sitting down there with them, and there's some other freakazoid chick up here spilling her guts about what a sad losery psycho she is.

‘It wasn't my imaginary boyfriend, of course, it was just a coincidence that he was a New Boy called Ben and had an English accent. But everyone thought he was my Ben. And he figured it out, and agreed to go along with it. Except then he wanted me to do his project for him, and I didn't want to. So I told him it was over. And he told me I'd regret it. So when I came to school and saw the pictures of me and George, I thought it was him. I wanted revenge, so I told him I'd changed my mind and would do his project. And I made this.'

‘So Ben
is
responsible for the lewd pictures?' asks Mr Moss.

‘No,' I say. ‘He didn't do it.'

‘But how do you know?' insists Mr Moss.

This is it. I take a deep breath, and stare down into the audience, at my best friend in the whole world.

‘Because Tahni did it,' I say.

17
e·piph·a·ny

–noun; a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something.

– The Wordsmith's Dictionary of Hard-to-spell Words

I'm in Mr Moss's office.

After my rather dramatic declaration of Tahni's guilt, Tahni burst into tears and ran out of the auditorium, which pretty much proved she was guilty. Because you know, if you didn't do it, you'd be sitting there saying, ‘I didn't do it!' And she didn't. So she did do it. Also, she confessed everything to the school nurse after she vomited into her locker.

Mr Moss is totally livid.

‘Tahni's lewd stunt is a very serious matter,' says Mr Moss. ‘I'll be talking to both your parents, and you and George should think about whether you want them to press charges.'

I swallow. I don't want to get Tahni into any more trouble. I wonder what George will do.

‘Shouldn't George be here too?' I ask.

‘He had to leave early,' says Mr Moss.

‘Leave?' I say. ‘To go where?'

‘I don't know, Imogen,' he says. ‘He had a note from his mother excusing him from afternoon classes.'

Maybe he's off slaying a dragon or rescuing some maiden in distress. I wish he was here. I could use some rescuing right now.

‘I'm suspending Ben Wheeler for the rest of term,' Mr Moss continues.

I swallow. This is the part where I get handed out my punishment.

‘I'm tempted to suspend you too, Imogen,' he says. ‘But apart from having a rather overactive imagination, and exposing the wrongdoings of your classmates, you don't seem to have done anything wrong.'

‘What about Ben's project?' I ask, while silently telling myself to shut up in case Mr Moss changes his mind. The last thing I need is to be suspended. Then I'd have to spend more time at home, which is something I absolutely do not want to be doing right now.

Mr Moss scratches his head. A few dandruff flakes drift onto the shoulders of his suit-jacket. ‘What you did was unbelievably stupid,' he says. ‘Agreeing to do Ben's homework for him in exchange for him pretending to be your boyfriend was undignified and foolish, and gives me serious cause for concern about your sense of self-respect. What's more, attempting to expose him for a crime he didn't commit in front of the whole school was inappropriate and incredibly immature. I hope that in the future, you will exercise a little more wisdom in your conduct, Imogen.' He sighs. ‘However, I'm willing to concede that between the lewd pictures, the extra work you've done to cover for Ben, and the judgement of your classmates, you've been punished enough.'

I nod, swallowing. He's got a point.

‘Unless you would like to spend some time away from school,' Mr Moss adds. ‘I can suspend you if you want some time to contemplate your actions.'

‘No,' I say, hurriedly. ‘I'm fine. And I don't want to press charges.'

Mr Moss nods, and makes a note. ‘Thank you, Imogen,' he says. ‘Could you please send Tahni in on your way out?'

Tahni is sitting outside Mr Moss's office. Her face is red and blotchy.

She looks up at me and everything is Awkward.

‘Mr Moss wants you now,' I say.

‘How did you know it was me?' Tahni asks.

I shrug. ‘You spelt ‘friends' wrong on your secret.'

She looks at me, blankly.

‘
I'm in love with my best freind's boyfreind, and it makes me hate her.
You spelt “friend” wrong. Twice.'

Tahni raises her eyebrows. ‘What are you, Nancy Drew?'

‘There were other things as well. The way you flirted with Ben. How you hate George so much.'

She bites her lip. ‘I'm sorry,' she says. ‘You looked so happy. I wanted that. Everything is always so easy for you.'

‘You think?' I say. ‘I made up an imaginary boyfriend, my real boyfriend was just as fake, I revealed both of those things to the entire school, and my best friend hates me. Oh, and did I mention my mother is having an affair?'

‘I'm sorry,' Tahni says again.

‘That's okay,' I say. ‘You can't help who you fall in love with.'

As I say it, I realise how true it is. I sigh. This isn't going to be easy.

‘Well,' says Tahni, standing up. ‘I'd better go.'

I nod.

‘See ya,' she says.

‘Hey,' I say. ‘Can I ask you something?'

‘Sure.'

‘Why didn't you tell anyone you knew about me and Ben and the whole imaginary boyfriend thing?'

Tahni frowns. ‘I didn't know,' she says.

‘Then who was listening at the door when I told Ben I wasn't doing his project any more?'

‘It wasn't me,' says Tahni. ‘If I'd known, things probably would have been much worse.'

I go home and climb straight into bed. I really, really want to fall asleep and forget that the last few weeks ever happened. I can't even think about Mum and Dad, or Tahni, or Ben and the horrible pictures of me and George. In fact, all I can think about is how horrified George was when he saw the presentation I'd made for Ben. And how he looked when I told him about getting revenge. I don't know why I care what he thinks of me; after all, he's the guy who wears the school shorts, and dresses up like a knight and tries to kill dragons. But I do. I hate the thought that he's disappointed in me.

I have never been so glad to wake up and realise it's Saturday. When I finally crawl out of bed, I find Mum sitting at the kitchen table. She's wearing a jumper I haven't seen before, and jeans. I haven't seen my mother wear jeans in . . . well, ever.

I don't want to see her.

‘What are you doing here?' I ask. ‘Where's Dad?'

‘He's gone to see your grandma,' says Mum. ‘And I came to see you.'

I open the fridge, but there's nothing in there except for sad bendy vegetables and milk that passed its use-by date about a week ago.

‘Mr Moss called me,' says Mum.

I suppose now I get a Lecture. I don't say anything.

‘I'm not unaware of the irony here,' says Mum. ‘You pretend to have a boyfriend when you don't. I pretend not to have a boyfriend when I do.'

‘Wanna swap?' I ask. I don't look at her.

Mum sighs. ‘I should punish you,' she says. ‘What you did was really, really dumb. And you should have talked to me about it. But I realise I haven't been very available lately. And I know things have been difficult for you this term. With everything.'

I sit down at the kitchen table.

‘And I think it would be hypocritical of me to ground you.'

She's right. It would be totally hypocritical.

‘So,' she says, smiling. ‘Just make sure you keep your imaginary friends strictly platonic from now on.'

I don't smile back. ‘Does that go for you too?' I ask.

Mum looks serious all of a sudden. ‘That's why I wanted to talk to you,' she says.

This is it. This is where she tells me she's moving in with Jason and I will never see her again and she's going to buy a sports car and Dad will become an alcoholic and I will officially be a child from a Broken Home.

‘I'm not seeing Jason anymore,' she says. ‘We broke up.'

I hold my breath. Really? The affair is over? She can come home, and be normal and cook tofu burgers and nutloaf and I will eat it happily. (Or at least pretend to.)

‘So you're coming home?' I ask.

She takes a deep breath. ‘No,' she says. ‘I'm not.'

I don't think I can handle living on this emotional roller-coaster. I want to get off.

‘I need to figure some stuff out,' says Mum. ‘Things are clearly not working between your father and me.'

‘Because you were having an affair,' I say. ‘Now you're not.'

‘I had the affair because I was unhappy,' says Mum.

‘Why?' I ask, starting to cry. I feel like a five year old. ‘Why were you unhappy?'

Was it me?

‘Sweetheart, I don't know,' she says. ‘That's what I need to figure out. I need to figure out who
I
am. What
I
want.'

‘What about what
I
want?' I say, my voice shaking. ‘What about what Dad wants?'

Mum bites her lip. ‘You don't want this,' she says. ‘You know you don't.'

She's right. I don't want the secrets and the whispering and the fake family dinners. I don't want to come down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to find my father crying at the kitchen table.

‘But I don't want you to go,' I say.

Mum starts to cry too, and she gets up to hug me. ‘Neither do I,' she says.

I bury my head in her new jumper. She still smells different.

‘So
don't
,' I say.

But I know she has to. I hug her as tightly as I can and we cry. If this were a TV show, I'd tell her how much I love her, and she'd tell me that she was
so proud
of me. But it isn't, so we don't.

After a while, things feel a bit less insane, I make tea (black, because I don't trust the milk) and we sit and drink it together. I still don't like it, but it feels like the right thing to do so I try not to screw up my face as I sip it.

‘So,' I say, stirring sugar into my tea. ‘Does this mean I get twice as many Christmas presents?'

Mum laughs. ‘Sure,' she says. ‘But half of them will be imaginary.'

‘I think I'll pass,' I say. ‘I've had enough of imaginary for a while.'

‘There's nothing wrong with imaginary,' says Mum. ‘Imaginary is good. Just don't take it too far.'

I nod.

‘Did you really feel that bad you didn't have a boyfriend?' says Mum. ‘Did people give you a hard time about it?'

I nod again and bite my lip. ‘I just wanted to be a normal girl.'

Mum gives my arm a squeeze. ‘You're an amazing girl,' she says. ‘And you have the rest of your life to find the perfect boyfriend. Any day now they'll be lining up at your door.'

I snort. ‘Not after the stunt I pulled today, they won't.'

‘The right one won't care,' says Mum. ‘He will love you for your brilliant imagination.'

‘I won't hold my breath,' I say.

‘Just be patient,' says Mum. ‘Your knight in shining armour will turn up one day.'

We talk for a bit longer, then Mum gets up and carries our mugs over to the sink. She rinses them, and I dry with the last clean tea towel.

‘I'm going to start looking for an apartment tomorrow,' she says. ‘Do you want to help?'

‘Sure,' I reply.

She kisses me on the cheek and hugs me once more. Then she swings her bag over her shoulder and perches her sunglasses on her head. She actually looks pretty good in those jeans.