Undone (29 page)

Stu keeps his head down, mostly. He doesn’t look well. There are dark circles under his eyes as well as a look on his face that I can only describe as
hunted
. He makes the occasional joke, but you can tell it’s an effort. Lucas, Bugs and Max do their best to act like everything’s normal, but the girls are all acting differently towards him. Especially Nina. They haven’t officially broken up – not yet – but I know she wants to. Anyone can see it’s only a matter of time. Instead
of sitting with Stu at lunch or in the common room, Nina seeks out Amber and Sasha, or me (if the other two don’t happen to be around). And every time she chooses to sit next to someone else instead of taking the empty seat next to him, I make sure I watch him. I like seeing the look on his face. Hopeful at first, then he doesn’t even bother to try hiding the disappointment. It’s pitiful.

I was walking behind the two of them on the way home from school one day and Stu put his arm around her. She didn’t shrug it off, but you could tell her body was angled away from him. You could see daylight between them. Soon you’ll be able to drive a fucking truck through the space between them. Part of me wants her just to get it over with, but I’m kind of enjoying the fact that she’s stringing him along. Giving him tiny scraps of hope, making him wonder if maybe things will turn out OK when everyone’s forgotten about it. But the new mystery graffiti scrawler is making damn sure that isn’t happening. I’d like to find out who she is (at least, I
presume
it’s a girl) and shake her hand. Or at least ask what her deal is.

I’m running out of time. It’s time to finish this thing. There’s only one letter left – the letter that makes it
one whole year. I can’t even fathom how I’ve managed to survive twelve months without him.

The perfect opportunity has presented itself. I couldn’t have planned it better: Max and his brother are having another party. But the timing of it makes my heart ache: two days before Kai’s final letter. Two days before the anniversary of his death. Two days before I die.

The venue leaves a lot to be desired. Apparently Max’s parents were majorly pissed off about the state the house was left in last year – especially the bloody great scorch marks in the pristine lawn. So this year the Miller brothers decided that Boreham Woods would be a more sensible option. Right next to the bridge.

Everyone’s so bored of hanging out in the same old places that the idea of partying in the woods is genuinely exciting to them. They probably reckon it’s going to be like some American movie – a post-Homecoming party with cheerleaders and football players and kegs of beer. When the reality is that it’ll be the same old people, doing the same old things – with the added bonus of freezing our asses off in the process.

Every time I allow myself to think about going there, I feel my stomach tighten. I’ve gone out of my
way – literally – to avoid that place. Sometimes it’s impossible, like when were going somewhere in the car. But when that happens I just close my eyes and picture myself somewhere else. I can still tell exactly when we’re going over the bridge though. The tyres make a different noise. I used to like that sound; I’d listen out for it because it usually meant we were going somewhere exciting (like IKEA). It marked the beginning of an Adventure. Now it marks nothing of the sort. It marks a boy standing in the rain, looking down at his beloved river. Looking down at the rocks below and wondering if they would smash his skull or whether he’d drown first.

With any luck I won’t have to even see the bridge. I can enter the woods round the back of that creepy-looking church. It’s not the fastest way to get there, but it’s my only option. It’ll be awful enough
knowing
it’s there, but I can’t allow myself to get distracted, not now. I’m so very nearly there.

Sasha thinks the party will be ‘good for the group’ after all the crap stuff that’s happened recently. And that was before yesterday’s little drama, when Nina finally got around to dumping Stu. I’d been getting antsy, thinking she was going to pull that ‘stand by your man’ crap. I should have trusted that she’d come good in the end.

It wasn’t that rewarding actually. I’d been hoping for screaming and shouting, or at the very least some tears. Nope. Nina was classy enough to break up with him off the school premises. They went out for coffee at lunchtime and she came back by herself, looking amazingly composed. You could tell she was upset though. Whenever anyone asked, she’d say, ‘I’m fine,’ in this clipped, tense voice that sounded like it was about to shatter at any moment. I was fairly sure I could make her cry if I really wanted to, but that wasn’t really the point of the exercise. Nina hasn’t done anything wrong – unless you count her terrible taste in boys. It was Stu I want to hurt, and by the sounds of things, I’ve done a pretty decent job. No one saw him for the rest of the day, and you could tell everyone was glad not to have to deal with him. He’s been putting on a brave face today though, and Nina’s had the good sense to steer clear. I don’t know what this means in terms of her position in the group. I wouldn’t be surprised if her time was up. Only time will tell, I suppose.

I doubt Nina will come to the party though. Which is a shame, because I actually don’t
mind
her that much. Not really. She’s harmless, like a little piece of fluff on your favourite top. If she’s clever enough (and I have my doubts), in years to come she might realize I did her a
massive favour. She might even want to thank me, but of course it’ll be too late for that. Anyway, I’d much rather Amber was the one left out in the cold; I really don’t see the point of her. Sometimes I get caught up in this stuff, the ins and outs of the group, and then I remember I have precisely zero reasons to care. It’s as if my brain forgets that my days in the inner circle are numbered too.

Three more days as one of Them.

Three more days as Lucas Mahoney’s girlfriend.

It doesn’t seem enough somehow. I think it’s time Lucas and I paid another visit to the stationery cupboard.

I get my wish on Wednesday. We do our thing and then head up to the canteen to get some lunch. The only person who seems to realize what we’ve been up to is Sasha. She gives me a knowing, supercilious sort of look and whispers, ‘God, you two can’t keep your hands off each other, can you? How was your visit to the Stationery Cupboard of Luuuuurvve?’ I
knew
he’d taken her there, and it pisses me off more than I can say. I hate knowing that everything I do with Lucas is something she’s already done – and even worse, maybe even something she
taught
him. I debate stabbing Sasha in the eye with my fork, but decide that
might get me disinvited from the party. And I really need to be at that party. So Sasha’s pretty eyes remain intact.

Today, Lucas and I arrange to meet in the cupboard as soon as the bell goes for lunch. I get there in record time and loiter around until the corridor clears. There’s a bunch of Year 7s standing outside one of the geography classrooms gibbering about some test they’ve just had that was, like, sooooooo hard. Just my luck one of the girls is the one who saw me leaving the scene of the crime. She’s not doing any gibbering though – she’s on the edge of things, listening, looking like she wants to say something if only she could be sure she’d say the
right
thing. And if she can’t be absolutely sure, she’d rather keep her mouth shut just to be on the safe side.

She sees me watching and is quick to glance away. Then she looks again. The other girls wander off and she follows them, a couple of steps behind the main group. Always a couple of steps behind.

I’m not worried about her. Not really. She probably looked away because that’s what you do when you’re a tiny little first-year minnow and a sixth-former looks at you. She probably doesn’t even remember bumping into me. And even if she does remember, and even if she made the connection between me and the graffiti
that everyone’s
still
talking about, who’s she going to tell? Besides, after the weekend it won’t matter either way.

I take one last look around to check the coast is clear and open the red door. My very favourite door in all the world.

The light’s on, which probably should have lessened my shock at hearing a distinctly UN-Lucaslike voice coming from the shelves to my left. I freeze in the doorway. A man’s voice, gruff with a slight speech impediment. It takes a moment to place it. Mr Bodley, the deputy head. Married to Mrs Bodley, who I had for English in Year 8. As close to a power couple as you can get in this place. I’ve only ever heard his voice at assemblies or shouting at kids to tuck their shirts in or screaming, ‘NO RUNNING IN THE CORRIDORS!’ so it’s sort of surprising to hear him saying (with some urgency), ‘That’s right, bad girl. Suck it.’

My hand flies to my mouth, which does nothing to stifle the laughter that escapes. It’s OK though, because Mr Bodley’s revolting groans are so very, very loud. I’m just about to reverse out of the room (and scrub the hideous mental picture from my mind by whatever means possible) when I hear, ‘Ohhhhhh, Donna …’

Mrs Bodley’s first name is not Donna. It’s Betty.
Betty Bodley. One of the new teaching assistants, however,
is
called Donna. She has ginger hair and strange teeth. She is not attractive by any stretch of
anyone’s
imagination. Still, she’s a good thirty years younger than Mrs Bodley, and Mrs Bodley somehow doesn’t seem the type to go down in the comfort of her own home, let alone in the stationery cupboard of seediness. I’m tempted to try and get a photo of the action on my phone, even though I really have no desire to see Bodley with his trousers round his ankles.

My phone is in my hand before I realize …

No
.

Lucas comes running down the corridor as I’m shutting the door. He’s out of breath. ‘Sorry! I couldn’t get away from Stu. Man, I really wish he’d stop moping about. It’s such a downer.’ He goes to open the door and I sidestep to block him.

‘Um … there’s someone in there.’

‘Shit. Really? Who?’

‘Mrs Bodley. And she didn’t seem too happy to see me either … said something about a phantom book thief? Crazy old bitch. Anyway, I’m kind of hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s just go to the canteen.’ I take his hand and pull him away from the red door.

‘But I thought you wanted to … ?’

‘I did. And now I don’t. That’s OK, isn’t it?’

The look on his face says it’s
so
not OK. But Lucas thinks he’s a gentleman so there really isn’t a lot he can say about the matter. ‘Of course. I
am
starving. Got to carb-load for the match this afternoon anyway.’

I barely say a word at lunch. Just sit and watch as Lucas shovels forkful after forkful of pasta into his mouth. I manage two or three bites, tops. He notices and says, ‘I thought you were hungry, Jem?’

I shrug and he turns his attention back to Bugs, who’s talking about some girl (fictional, no doubt) he met at the weekend. Apparently he can’t bring her to the party tomorrow because she already has plans. None of the others call him on the fact that he’s clearly making up an almost-girlfriend to make sure those nasty rumours about him stay dead and buried. Why is he even bothering? No one’s gossiping about him any more. Possible rapist beats possible gay boy any day.

They’re all too caught up in their own stuff to notice that I’m not talking. The girls are involved in some in-depth discussion about what to wear to the party tomorrow. The forecast isn’t too bad, but it’s still October, which means their usual clothing choices may result in a touch of hypothermia. Amber isn’t going to let that stop her wearing exactly what
she wants though. ‘Anyway, there’s gonna be a fire, isn’t there? Plus, we can always find some hot boys to keep us warm … I’m totally bailing if there aren’t any hot boys. It’s all right for you, Lou, you’ve got Max. And Jem’s got Lucas. It’s
so
unfair. Sash, what do you say we head to Espionage if the party ends up being a bust?’

Louise ruffles Max’s hair and leans her head on his shoulder. Then she reassures Amber that there
will
in fact be decent boys at the party and that she reckons Max’s brother is ‘totally up for it’ if Amber can’t find anyone else she fancies.

I sit there messing around with my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I get to him. Then I scroll back through our messages, back before the video appeared. I haven’t done this yet. I’ve wanted to – so many times. Wanted to remember what it was like, how good things were. What it had been like to have someone who
knew
me. I’ve been too scared though. I needed to hold things together, to not let myself cry and grieve and
feel
. It was difficult enough opening those damn letters. But weirdly, now feels like the right time, even sitting in the middle of the hornets’ nest of Team Popular. Suddenly it seems urgent. I need to remember who I am. Because I realized something in that stupid fucking stationery cupboard, when I was
ready to take a photo of Bodley and the slutty teaching assistant. I realized something that scared me more than you can ever imagine: I have no idea who I am any more.

Who I’ve become.

Lucas wants to hang out after school. He says he wants to ‘talk’, which is pretty much the last thing I want to do. For a millisecond or so I wonder if he’s going to break up with me, but from the way he kisses me I can tell that’s the last thing on his mind. It would almost be funny if he
did
dump me though. All that planning and scheming – for nothing. Talk about an anticlimax.

Lucas tries to persuade me to go round to his place after dinner, but it’s family night in the Halliday household, and the one rule of family night is that nobody bails. We haven’t had a proper one in ages cos Dad’s been so busy at work. We’re going back to Mr Chow’s for the first time since last year. I think Mum must have forgotten that we went there the night before he died. Or maybe she knows full well and just doesn’t think it’s a big deal. I’m sure I could
have persuaded them to take us somewhere else, but it seems right somehow.

It’s a struggle to leave Lucas after a good fifteen-minute make-out session behind the science block. I think he’s as frustrated as I am after our lunchtime sexfail. ‘Tomorrow night seems a really long way away.’