The Boyfriend Dilemma (5 page)

Chapter six

First thing I do next morning is call Zoe's mobile. When it goes to voicemail, I try her house phone too. “Sorry, Layla,” her mum says. “She's gone to her dad's for a few days.”

What?
She never mentioned that… “I can't get her on her mobile,” I add.

“Yes, well, she won't have that until she gets back home.” While Zoe's mum is always perfectly nice to me, there's something about her that makes me a bit edgy. She's pretty tough on Zoe sometimes.

“Oh,” is all I can think of to say.

“If you need to speak to her,” she adds, sounding slightly less brisk, “you can call her at her dad's. Do you have the number there?”

“Er, yes,” I say, feeling pretty crushed as we finish the call. So much happened yesterday – I really need to see Zoe to discuss it all. But her dad's place is over an hour away. I could beg Mum to take me, but from what Zoe's said, this Rosalind woman doesn't sound as if she'd exactly welcome a friend of hers turning up. So I'm stuck here on my own, with nothing to do. Dad's already at work, Mum's planning to take Amber swimming, there's no sound from Kyle's room yet – and it's not like he'd relish spending the morning with me anyway. I could get out the clothes I bought last week from the charity shop and try to customize them, but I'm not keen on making stuff while Amber's around, wanting to get involved.

“What are you up today, love?” Mum asks, her gold hoop earrings glinting in the sun.

I shrug, fill a bowl with Coco Pops and milk and sit beside her. “Zoe's staying at her dad's for a few days, and it sounds like her mum's taken her phone off her.”

Mum frowns. “That's a shame, especially as the vintage market's on today. I thought the two of you would go together.”

“I'd forgotten about that,” I say.

“I'd come with you if I hadn't promised to take Amber swimming…”

“It's OK, Mum. I'll just go on my own.”

She takes a sip from her mug and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Is there no one else you could go with?”

I consider this. There are other people, like Hannah and Ellie, who we hang out with at school sometimes, but I don't really like choosing clothes with anyone but Zoe. Although she doesn't need to buy second-hand stuff like I do, she's always enthusiastic, which makes the whole thing fun. “I'd rather go on my own,” I say firmly.

Mum gets up and kisses the top of my head. “Take ten pounds from the lunch money jar. Treat yourself, seeing as it's the holidays.”

“You sure?” I ask hesitantly.

“Go on. Dad did lots of extra shifts last month, and he's got plenty of airport trips coming up…”

I grin and quickly finish my cereal. “Thanks, Mum,” I say, hugging her, because I know ten pounds is a lot these days. I hurry back upstairs to get ready. No knickers in my drawer; must all be in the wash. I finally unearth a pair of ancient Hello Kitty ones muddled up with my socks. Luckily, Amber's still sleeping and doesn't see me pulling them on. No bra to be seen either. Typical. I must ask Mum about getting new stuff – not a big splurge, just basics. With a sigh, I pull on a dingy old vest that I haven't worn since primary school. A vest, at my age! I only kept it because I planned to dye it. Oh well, no one'll know.

Next come my faded patched-up jeans and a T-shirt that used to be a horrible porridgy colour but, thanks to a sachet of dye, is now a gorgeous raspberry pink. As I pull on my blue canvas lace-ups, I realize the sole of the right one is flapping loose at the front. Maybe I should look out for new ones at the market. Amber sits up in bed and pushes a cloud of curly hair from her face.

“What are you doing today?” she asks sleepily.

“Nothing much,” I reply, skipping out of our room before she can ask to tag along.

I don't mind Amber too much (unless she's demanding to know if I
love
Ben … cringe). But I don't really want her trailing round the market with me. As I shout bye to Mum and set off, I realize there's another reason why I rushed out before Amber got up: so I can keep an eye out for Ben. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit it, even to myself. Some of the girls at school have turned the whole boy-watching thing into a full-time hobby. Suddenly the boys we've all known for years are now viewed as a mysterious and thrilling species, to be studied and discussed at great length. You know those animal documentaries, where David Attenborough goes into minute detail about the natural habitat and behaviour of baboons or whatever? That's how CJ and her friends view boys these days. I walk quickly, hoping I won't run into that lot today.

And now, as the stalls come into view, I realize I'm doing exactly the same thing as the boy-mad group. What would I even do if I saw Ben? Sure, he was friendly in the park, and he asked if I wanted to watch a film in Kyle's room. But then, how else would he be with his new mate's little sister? He'd hardly act all rude or sarcastic. Anyway, I have to stop thinking about him because it's just
stupid
. Zoe obviously likes him too, so that would be awkward – and it's not like anything could ever happen between me and one of my brother's friends. If he had the faintest suspicion of how I feel, it'd be Death by Teasing for me. Just as well Ben'll be swamped with girls when we go back to school and will forget I even exist.

And by then, hopefully, my dumb crush will have fizzled out…

The vintage market has been set out in the cobbled car park in front of the Acorn Theatre, and is already buzzing with people keen to grab the best stuff.

It's an explosion of colour, clothes flapping in the breeze. A huge banner hangs from the front of the theatre: SAVE THE ACORN! POP-UP VINTAGE MARKET – ONE DAY ONLY!

Across the street, I spot Danny and Jude coming out of the old-fashioned sweet shop, and my stomach does a little flip. Is Ben with them? I loiter for a moment, pretending to check my fingernails, as if that's a perfectly normal thing to do. When I glance over again, Danny and Jude are wandering towards the market. Only Clara, the old lady who lives opposite us, has followed them out of the shop.

I must stop this.
Must
get my brain under control and stop being obsessed. Normally, I'd already be delving through the vintage clothes, my heart fluttering with excitement over what I might find. Taking a deep breath, I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts to find Zoe's dad's number.

“Hello?” It's Rosalind who answers – Rosalind, who made him buy hugely expensive horse blankets with special pockets for putting magnets in, which she reckons helps the horses to “chill out”.

“Er, is Zoe there, please?” I ask.

“
Zoe?
” The way she says it, you'd think I'd asked to speak to the queen.
Yes, Zoe. Your boyfriend's daughter, remember? Blonde girl, shows up at your place every couple of weeks? Although, as she doesn't possess hooves, perhaps you haven't even noticed…

“It's her friend Layla,” I add.

I don't think Rosalind hears me because in the background someone's squealing, “Mummy, we're going to be late for my lesson! Come on, stop talking. Get off the phone!”

“Sorry, who is this again?” Rosalind says in a rush.

“Layla…”

“Zoe's not in at the moment, she's just gone out on my bike…” Poor Zoe. She's probably headed off on her own to avoid hanging out with Olivia. “I'll tell her you rang,” Rosalind adds. “Sorry, got to go.” The call ends abruptly and I feel pretty hollow as I stuff my phone back into my pocket. While Zoe has a beautiful bedroom filled with lovely things, I realized when her dad left two years ago that stuff doesn't matter very much at all.

Suddenly, he was living in the middle of nowhere with “that woman”, as Zoe's mum calls her, or “the ageing Barbie doll” when she's in a bad mood, due to Rosalind's bleached yellow hair and the billions of beauty treatments she has. Sometimes we joke that she's probably made of plastic and might actually melt on her sunbed. As well as dealing with all that, Zoe is also expected to be extra nice to Olivia too. “She's been through a lot,” her dad pointed out. “Remember, her dad walked out on them when she was just a baby.” Zoe and I agreed that it must have been tough.
But then my dad did the same to us
, she pointed out. Anyway, Olivia's never shown an interest in becoming friends with Zoe. I hope Rosalind remembers to tell her I called.

I'm in amongst the market stalls now. Embroidered tops and floaty dresses are displayed on hangers, and wicker baskets are overflowing with shoes and scarves and bags.

“Find anything yet?” Jude has appeared at my side.

I smile and shake my head. “Only just started looking.”

“No Zoe today?”

“She's at her dad's,” I explain. Recently, I've suspected Jude has a bit of a crush on her. He's just one of the gang really – a boy we've known since we all jostled for space around the sandpit at pre-school. He's so easy to talk to, and Mum was right – he doesn't care what anyone thinks. I can't imagine Kyle hanging out with any of the other boys from my year. I want to ask if he's seen Ben today, but know I couldn't possibly make it sound casual.

“Poor you, all alone,” Jude teases, pushing light brown hair from his eyes.

I grin. “I know. I'm devastated.”

“Well, I can give you some fashion advice if you like.”

“What, you?” I splutter.

“Yeah!” He points up at a bright yellow dress with orange suns printed all over it. “You should get that. It's just your colour.”

I smile. “Bit too garish, even for me.” Then something else catches my eye: another dress, partly hidden behind the yellow horror. It's fairly plain, fitted and sleeveless. I'm not really a dress person, but it's such an amazing colour…

Blue – angelfish blue.

“Hey, Layla, how do I look?” Jude's messing around and trying on hats now at the next stall. Danny appears and pulls on a crazy hat with a floppy brim, and the two of them crack up laughing.

“Beautiful.” I turn away and reach up for the blue dress.

The stall lady makes her way towards me. “Oh, that's just your colour,” she exclaims.

I smile. “I don't know. It's not my usual kind of thing…” I glance down at my home-dyed top and patched jeans and suddenly feel horribly scruffy.

“Why don't you try it on?” she suggests.

“What
here
?”

“No, love, in the changing room.” She points to a pop-up tent that's been put up on the grassy area beside the car park.

I check the price tag on the dress. I can afford it, just. “OK,” I say, hurrying off with the dress and switching the hand-painted sign hanging outside the tent from “Empty – please enter” to “Busy – don't come in!”

Even though I've zipped up the door firmly behind me, stripping down to my undies in the middle of town feels a bit weird. The tent is rippling in the breeze, and as there's no fitted groundsheet – just a zigzag-patterned rug laid out on the grass. I can see people's feet through the gap as they wander by. I pull off my shoes, jeans and T-shirt as quickly as I can and slip on the dress, wishing Zoe was here to help with the zip at the back as I practically have to dislocate my arm to get it done up.

It's worth the effort, though. As I turn towards the tall, oval-shaped mirror, I can hardly believe it's me. With its scooped neck and fitted waist, the dress fits me perfectly – but more than that, the colour's
amazing
… I can't help grinning at my reflection and keep twisting and turning, checking myself from all angles just to make sure. The dress would look great with some flat ballet pumps… Maybe I could dye my scruffy old pink ones blue to match the dress? And jewellery – it definitely needs something around the neck. Perhaps Amber could spare some silver wire and those little glass beads that she leaves scattered all over our bedroom floor … they'd be perfect.

I take one last glance in the mirror, knowing Zoe would say, “You
have
to have it.” As for Mum, she'd probably smile and remark, “It's lovely, Layla – but when would you wear it?” “Never” is the answer, but who cares. I'll invent a reason, like a party. That's it – I can put it away until my birthday… My mind is whirling with ideas as, without bothering to undo the fiddly zip, I start to pull it off over my head.

Straight away, I realize this'll be trickier than I thought. In fact, the dress is stuck now, covering my face. I try in vain to ease it gently upwards, terrified of ripping a seam. I stop for a moment, wondering if I should pull it back down and unzip it – but now it won't come down either. Something else is wrong too. There's a flapping noise, and it suddenly seems colder in the tent, and I can feel the chilly wind whipping around my bare legs. In fact, it feels as if there isn't any tent at all! Voices are louder and clearer, and there are bursts of laughter as someone shouts, “Oh my God – look at that poor girl!”