Unspeakable (12 page)

I lie down too, propping my head in my hand. Jasmine’s eyes are closed. Even without mascara, her lashes are jet black and really thick. Her smooth, rose-coloured lips are moist and slightly parted, her breaths coming out soft and slow.

I want to kiss her.

I’m sorry …
what
?

What the hell was that? Where did it even come from?

‘Isn’t Cathy the most annoying character ever?’

What? Who?

Jasmine opens her eyes. ‘Why are you so red?’

I’m not. Stop staring at me! You’re making it worse!

‘Seriously, Megan, you look like you’re about to explode. Want me to open a window?’

I nod.

She gets up and walks across the room.

Stop looking at her bum, Megan! What’s wrong with you?

‘I was just saying, Cathy’s such a whiney cow.’

I wanted to kiss her. Is that normal? Do other girls have random impulses to kiss their best friends?

‘Megan? Hello? What are you thinking about? It’s definitely not Cathy. Something far more interesting.’ Jasmine sits
cross-legged on the bed and taps my knee. I stare at the spot she’s just touched.

‘C’mon, what’s going on? You look like a beetroot!’

Great. I look like a big, sweaty beetroot. That’s attractive. But why do I care if I look attractive? Did I ever care how I looked for Hana? What does this mean?

Jasmine pouts. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

Tell you? Absolutely not! And stop pouting. It’s distracting
.

She grins. ‘You know you want to. Go on!’

I don’t respond.

Jasmine frowns, thinks for a moment, then whisks the book off the floor, suddenly business-like. ‘Well, we’d better get back to this then.’

She starts to find her page, but I don’t move. I can’t just sit here and read a stupid book like nothing’s happened!

Jasmine snaps her book shut. ‘You’re seriously making me paranoid, Megan. Did I do something? Does my breath smell?’

I shake my head, grab some paper and write:
Sorry. Have to go. Not feeling so great
.

Jasmine’s irritation is swept away by concern and she presses her hand to my forehead. My skin flares up again, even worse than before.

‘You poor thing. You’re boiling! Hang on, I’ll get my stuff and walk you back.’

I’ll be fine
, I write.
Honestly
. I stand up.

Jasmine stands too. ‘There’s no way you’re going on your own. I’m coming.’

One look at her expression and I know I won’t be able to put her off.

Outside, I walk quickly, gulping the cool air, which soothes my burning skin. I’m vaguely aware that Jasmine is talking about some kid in her Science class who thinks he can beat the multiple choice tests by following a pattern in the answers.

That’s not the first time I’ve wanted to kiss Jasmine. How could I have forgotten? That night at the ridge. I suppose it just got lost amongst all the Hana stuff. Would I have made a move if I hadn’t realised where we were? What would she have done? Pushed me away, probably. Laughed at me. This isn’t happening!

‘All right?’ someone grunts behind us. We stop. It’s Owen. Great. Exactly who I want to see right now.

‘Hi!’ Jasmine says, with a dazzling smile.

‘Where you going?’

Jasmine hesitates. ‘I’m just walking Megan home.’

He puts his hand on her hip. On her hip! Ergh. ‘You want a revision break?’ he growls softly.

I shudder. I assume it won’t be their first ‘revision break’.

Jasmine is lost in Owen. It’s like she’s forgotten I’m even here. ‘OK,’ she breathes.

She wrenches herself away to look at me. ‘You’ll be all right?’ She tries to make it sound like a question, though we both know it’s more of a statement.

I nod, then turn and stride away. I can’t believe her! One minute she’s all worried about me, then she dumps me the
second someone more interesting comes along. She’s just like Hana.

Jasmine texts me later to ask if I got back OK. I ignore her. I need some space. I can’t cope with this and exams. It’s too much.

I lie in bed, but my body’s humming with restless energy. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. By eleven, I’ve had enough. I get up, poke my head around Mum’s door to check she’s asleep, then sneak out.

I’ve done this a couple of times before. Just wandered around the village at night. I like that there aren’t many people around. I don’t know where I’m going, but that’s OK. I don’t need to know.

I end up at Jasmine’s house. How did that happen? I pick at some flaky paint on her fence, wondering what I’m doing. I’m still angry with her for ditching me, but I really want to see her. Should I text, tell her I’m outside? No. That’s too weird. Who just turns up on their friend’s doorstep in the middle of the night? I wind a strand of hair around my finger, tighter and tighter, cutting off the circulation. Was Hana right about me being clingy? I should go.

I head home, my footsteps heavy.

I’m groggy and grumpy the next morning. I stare at a crack in the ceiling, trying to sort through my thoughts, but I’m not getting very far. Then Jasmine texts:

Megan, I got another note. Can you come round? Xxx

Why did this have to happen now? What do I do? I can’t just abandon her. Well, I could. She abandoned me yesterday. No, that’s cruel.

Another text arrives:

I’m freaking out. I need you! Xxx

I fling back my duvet and rush to find some clothes.

As I cycle to Jasmine’s, I stress about how I’m going to act around her. Everything’s changed. I don’t want to be all awkward. I just wish I had more time to think this through!

As soon as Jasmine answers the door, I’m blushing and making even less eye contact than usual. Thank God I can’t speak, or I’d be stammering and gibbering like an idiot.

Jasmine doesn’t seem to notice, though. She drags me up to her room, where the note is lying on her bed. ‘Someone pushed it through the front door!’ she whispers. ‘What if Mum or Dad had read it?’

I take a look.

YOU DISGUST ME. YOU DON’T DESERVE ANY FRIENDS.

This is sick! What kind of twisted, messed-up person would do this? I grab a pen and scribble all over the words, again and again, digging into the paper until it starts to tear. When I look up, Jasmine is watching me, wide-eyed. I breathe heavily through my nose, try to reign myself in before I completely lose it.

‘What do we do?’ she whimpers.

I fetch my notepad and write:
I don’t know. I’m sorry
.

‘If I tell Mum, she’ll want to take me away again. She’ll cancel my sixth-form place. I want to stay, Megan!’

I stare at Jasmine in horror.
No! You can’t leave. Please!

Jasmine and I spend the rest of half-term revising together. She’s pretty jumpy, and I can tell she’s not sleeping well. She’s definitely struggling to focus. I try to help, but I’m really worried about how she’s going to manage with exams.

Although I’m trying to be a good friend, I make an effort to not stare at her too much, not get too close or touch her unless I need to. Little things that used to mean nothing, like holding her hand, mean everything now. Whatever this is, Jasmine can’t ever find out how I feel. There’s no going back from something like that. It would ruin our friendship.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Ruin friendships.

Back at school, Mr Harwell is all invigorated after his holiday and ready to try new things. ‘Right, Megan,’ he says with a clap. ‘We’re going to try a bit of humming today.’

I raise an eyebrow. Humming’s OK. If I’m on my own. Not in front of others.

‘Now, just give it a chance before you make up your mind. I’ve brought some CDs for you to look through. No mocking my bad taste! Why don’t you pick one?’

I flick through the pile he’s left on the desk. Some of his choices are seriously questionable, but there are a couple I wouldn’t mind listening to.

Mr Harwell puts the CD in the player and lets me choose the track. ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ by The Verve. He closes his eyes – he knows it helps if he’s not watching me – and starts to hum. He’s completely out of tune. I stifle a giggle. Mr Harwell opens his eyes and gives me a look that tells me to take it seriously.

I nod, take one of those deep breaths we’ve practised, and focus on the music. I really do like this song. I feel the melody pulse through me, sing the lyrics in my mind. A few moments later, I start to make the smallest of sounds at the back of my throat.

The song finishes. Mr Harwell looks pretty pleased. ‘Let’s try it without music this time.’

Keep quiet.

I flinch.

Mr Harwell nods sympathetically. ‘It’s OK, Megan. You’re safe here.’

I trust him, so I try to do it.

Silence. After a few minutes, Mr Harwell breaks it. ‘There’s no one to hear you except me.’

Another silence. He lets this one stretch out even longer.

‘If you’d like to try something else today, Megan, we can move on and come back to this next week.’

I shake my head. I want to do it.

I swallow heavily, then close my eyes as one of Jasmine’s favourite songs plays in my mind. It’s from a West End musical. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a beautiful, haunting love song. As soon as she played it to me, I loved it. It makes me smile to think that most teenagers are jumping around their rooms to boy-band pop while Jasmine is blasting out ballads from some bloke called Lloyd Webber.

I imagine I’m in her room. Jasmine’s singing along lightly, almost under her breath. I hum the first few bars with her. The sound scratches and scrapes its way out, but it’s there. It’s really there!

I give up about halfway through the song. I’ve had enough. Mr Harwell still says he’s proud of me. I’m proud of myself. I feel like we’re loosening the clamp around my voice box, one tiny notch at a time.

You’ll never talk again.

I should’ve known better. I’ll never speak again. And, after what I did, I probably don’t deserve to.

I try to get some revision done after school, but it’s impossible. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. I just need to be outside.

Minutes later, I’m on my bike, Grandpa’s camera bumping gently against my hip.

I ride out to Stonylea Hill. Hana and I used to have
competitions to see who could get the furthest before giving up and pushing to the top. I usually won. Not because I was the fittest. I was just so stubborn. Once we were at the peak, the real fun began and we’d fly down the other side, wind whipping the hair off our sweat-soaked backs.

When I reach the top, I practically fall off my bike and drop into some leaf mulch by the side of the road. I lie on my back, gasping as I watch the leaves above tremble and twitch like butterfly wings. A woodpecker chips away at a tree somewhere behind me, and the call of a starling sounds out through the forest. I remain like this, listening, until my breaths start to even out.

Leaning my bike against a fence, I enter the forest. I stick to the main path for a while, then veer off to the left, down my own trail. My shoes crunch and rustle over fir cones and dry leaves. I disturb a deer that was crossing the path before me. Its ears flick back and forth, nostrils flaring, before it bounds off into the trees.

I reach my fallen oak. There’s a beautiful curve to the trunk that’s just perfect to sit in, as though it’s been carved just for me. This is my most perfect, private place.

A beetle waddles across the bark beside me. It’s jet black with a blue sheen. I pull out Grandpa’s camera and focus on it. I take a couple of shots, following its progress to the ground.

I get off the tree and crouch down so I can take some close-ups. But my lens catches something else behind the beetle. I pause. The camera falls from my frozen fingers and thunks into a pile of leaves.

Beneath the tree trunk, there’s a hollow. Hana and I used to leave messages for each other here. There’s something in that hollow now. Something white.

Oh. My. God.

I checked here. I know I did. After she … after it happened, I came here. But there’s definitely something here now. I feel cold, then hot, then sick.

With clumsy hands, I reach for it. It’s an envelope, wrapped in a sandwich bag. I peel off the wet bag, careful not to let it drip on the paper. My name dances across the front in her messy scrawl. I bite my lip to stifle a cry.

I stand on weak legs and lean against the tree trunk. I trace the letters with my fingertip, trying to imagine what she was thinking when she wrote it. My nail slips under the envelope flap. I hesitate. Do I really want to know?

A twig breaks. I jump and shove the letter in my jacket pocket. When I look up, Rob – Sadie’s boyfriend – is standing in front of me, his absurdly chiselled jaw hanging open.

To my horror, Josh, Lindsay and Grace appear behind him, followed by Sadie, who looks disgusted as she staggers through the mud in a pair of heels.

This isn’t happening. This is
my
place. And I need to read that letter. In private.

Before Rob can say anything, I leap up, stumble over the oak, and charge into the forest.

I’m off the main path. It’s overgrown. Wild. I dodge through trees, leap over roots and rocks. Brambles and thorns snag my hair and thin branches whip across my face. Are they following
me? I don’t know. Can’t hear anything but the fast thud of my heartbeat.

After a few minutes, I stop.

The letter. I have to read it now. I reach into my pocket.

It’s gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

No! The letter must’ve fallen out of my jacket. I’ve got to get it back. I pivot round and retrace my steps. Please let me find it before I reach my tree. Please don’t make me go back. My eyes dart around, searching for a flash of white amongst the dry leaves and dirt.

But there’s nothing. When I emerge in the clearing, my forehead damp with sweat and my hair all over the place, Lindsay smirks, places a hand on her hip and shouts, ‘Look who it is, Sadie.’