Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1) (24 page)

I swallowed. ‘But at the same time … I don’t think you needed to be quite so harsh with me. It’s not like I was being malicious. I was just a bit … I dunno, naive. Anyway, it’s all over now.’ I blinked back fresh tears. ‘And, if it’s OK with you, I’d really like to forget it and move on.’

Donna wrapped me in a huge hug. ‘No, babes, you’re right. I’m sorry too. I hated seeing you so into him when he obviously didn’t give a shit about you.’ I tensed, and she quickly added, ‘And maybe I was a bit jealous. Like, I haven’t had a boyfriend, or anything close, in months, and there you were – man-hater Sarah – all loved up with an older man.’

My eyes went all big and round. Wow. I hadn’t been expecting that. Then I felt Ashley’s arms round me. ‘I’m sorry too, babes. I think I got a bit freaked by the fact you’d, y’know, like saved my life and shit.’

And then Cass put her arms round all of us. ‘I’m so glad we’re all together again!’

We stood there for a few seconds in happy group huggage, until a bunch of lads swaggered past and one of them said, ‘Dirty lezzers.’ We pulled apart, giggling. Donna grabbed my face and moved her head towards me, waggling it from side to side so to
the boys it would’ve looked like she was giving me a full-on tongue-pash.

‘Oh, baby, your bosoms drive me wild with desire,’ I fluted, while Ashley and Cass busied themselves with the mechanics of groping each other’s arses. I didn’t even know if the lads were still there. It was just so nice to be mucking about again. No drama.

A bit later on, when we were sitting in the cafe drinking hot chocolate, I told them about going to Joe’s, and about finding him and Mimi together. I cried, of course, but each time I told the story it got a bit easier.

Afterwards no one said anything for a few seconds. The girls looked shell-shocked. ‘God, Sarah. That’s awful,’ said Donna finally. ‘You poor cow.’ I chewed my cheek and nodded.

‘I can’t believe he got with that Mimi bitch,’ added Ash, shaking her head. ‘He has so bitten off more than he can chew. She’ll eat him alive.’

Cass raised her mug. ‘Nice mixing of eating metaphors there, lady.’

I thought of Mimi’s Facebook status: ‘I win.’ Could she have been referring to Joe? It was almost flattering to think that she genuinely saw me as a threat. It seemed glaringly obvious to me now that I really never was. Joe was just out for a good time, and a
school kid from Brighton was only a very small and temporary part of it. I swirled my spoon in my cup, making foam figure-of-eights, and tried not to succumb to the blackness that was threatening to suck me under.

‘It’ll be OK, honey,’ said Cass, stroking my hair. ‘You’ll find someone else. Someone who deserves you.’

The events of last night came flooding back. I put my head in my hands and groaned. ‘Oh God, that reminds me … Ollie tried to kiss me last night.’

‘WHAT?!’ My friends spoke as one, all now sitting bolt upright with eyes like gossip-receiving satellites.

‘It was awful,’ I said. ‘I told him about Joe and he, like, gave me a comforting hug and then … oh God, he tried to kiss me.’ My stomach clenched at the memory. It’d been so embarrassing. ‘I couldn’t handle it. I just ran away.’ I peered up from under my hand. ‘Like, what was he
thinking
?’

The girls looked at each other and smiled. ‘Babes,’ said Ash gently, ‘he likes you. It’s blatantly obvious.’

‘No he doesn’t,’ I scoffed. ‘He’s like that with everyone. All that “flower” stuff.’

Donna laughed. ‘Sarah, you dick, you’re the only one he ever calls flower.’ I looked sceptical, and she said, ‘Think about it. Have you ever heard him say it to anyone else?’ I did think about it, really hard, and
Donna was right. He called girls mate, or babes, but not flower.

‘Wow. Ollie …’ I tapped my nails on the side of my cup. ‘But I’m so not his type.’

Cass rolled her eyes. ‘Hello? Why do you think he’s never had a proper girlfriend before? They. Weren’t. His. Type.’ She punctuated each word with a light punch to the side of my head.

I thought about it for a moment. ‘No. Even if you’re right, I don’t fancy him. I can’t,’ I said decisively, leaning back in my chair.

‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ said Ashley, steepling her hands meaningfully.

I shrugged. ‘I’m over men, that’s all. I need time for myself. For you lot.’ And my friends all piled on to me again in another hug. Closing my eyes and laughing as I fended off their lung-bustingly tight squeezes, I thought,
I might feel like crap, but at least I’ve got my friends to help me through it.
All
my friends.

I extricated myself from the girls’ grasp. ‘Listen, I need to sort things out with Ollie before tonight. Will you still be here in, like, half an hour?’ They looked at each other and nodded, and I bolted.

I didn’t think. I just ran. Ollie had been a true friend over the last few weeks. I was a bit scared about what he might say, although I had to admit I was also kind
of flattered. I’d meant it when I said was off men, but still. After everything that had happened with Joe, the idea of being fancied at all was kind of a massive relief, even if I couldn’t fancy him back. But Ollie was a sweetheart, and I couldn’t lose his friendship. I couldn’t let him go.

He opened the door slowly, peering round it and wincing. ‘Have you come to punch me in the face?’

I laughed. ‘Nope, not this time.’ I brushed imaginary whatever off my coat and cleared my throat. ‘I’ve come round to say I’m sorry … And we’re cool.’ My eyes swivelled up to meet his. ‘I hope?’

He opened the door fully. ‘Course we are. I’m sorry too, for … y’know …’ He winced again. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. Something in the moment, I suppose … Like, you’re gorgeous and all, but you and me? I don’t think so!’ He laughed. ‘Can you imagine?!’

I smiled, relief and slight disappointment battling it out inside me. Relief won, of course. ‘It’s fine. Seriously.’

He stepped back. ‘You coming in?’

‘I’d better not, the girls are waiting for me.’

Ollie beamed. ‘You’re all friends again!’ I shrugged happily. ‘Nice one. I hated to see you sad.’ He smiled at me, sort of shyly. My insides clenched as he looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t,
and we kind of stood, saying nothing, for a few moments.

‘Anyway, I’d better …’ I gestured with my thumb back towards the path.

‘Yeah, course … See you at the party. You’re still coming, right?’

‘Course. Wouldn’t miss it.’

I was about to turn round when he said, ‘Uh … Sarah?’

‘Uh … Yeah?’ I mimicked. Anything to keep the atmosphere light.

He ran his hand through his hair and stopped at the top of his head, his fist full of curls. I tensed as I waited for what he was going to say, rapidly trying to conjure up appropriate responses, but then he surprised me.

‘I really am sorry. I was a dick for putting our friendship in jeopardy. You’re so great, I’d just be gutted if I thought we couldn’t carry on like we were before … well, before I was a dick. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Can we try to forget it ever happened? Never speak of it again, type thing?’ He bit his lip and smiled nervously.

Mentally having a go at myself for having the gall to feel disappointed when I knew I didn’t want him, not really, I rested my cheek on his chest. He did brilliant hugs, I’d give him that. All strong arms and broad shoulders.

‘You’re the nicest boy in the whole, wide world,’ I said, squeezing him.

His chest shuddered as he laughed. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

I pulled back and smiled. ‘See you tonight, then.’

He raised his hand in a motionless wave, and I turned and walked away.

But it was funny. He kept popping into my head as me and the girls walked along the beach that afternoon. I ignored it, though. I’d made my decision, and, anyway, I’d learned my lesson. No more zoning out to daydream about boys.

‘So, Ash,’ I said, linking my arm through hers. ‘Any gossip?’

But she didn’t answer my question, saying instead, ‘It’s strange, I’m not as scared of it as I’d thought I’d be.’ I followed her gaze out to sea.

‘Oh no, please tell me you’re not wearing your cozzie under that lot.’ I shot horror-film wide-eyes at her enormo-boots, skinny jeans and military cape combo, and she gave me a body shove. ‘Oh yes, très amusing.’ But she was smiling. ‘Anyway, I don’t need to, do I? I’ve crossed it off my list.’

We continued walking arm in arm, in companionable silence. Cass and Donna were walking slightly ahead of us, deep in conversation. If nothing else,
the past few weeks’ weirdness had brought the two of them closer together. I was glad.

Later that night the four of us stood outside the party, our cheeks pink from the cold and our breath making little puffs in the air. We were fashionably late, and I wasn’t even bothered. I felt good. The tears were at bay, for now at least, and I was ready to enjoy myself.

And then my text alert sounded. Smiling sheepishly, I quickly checked it.

‘Who’s it from?’ asked Cass.

I pressed the Delete button. ‘No one.’

And so the four of us pushed open the front door and walked into Ollie’s house. Over all the familiar faces I could see him standing in the kitchen, pouring bags of marshmallows into bowls. He caught my eye and smiled.

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First published in Razorbill, an imprint of Penguin Books Ltd, 2012

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ISBN: 978-0-141-34426-3

 

 

I hardly ever came to the Year Thirteen common room. It was too busy and it smelled weird, like feet, and sandwiches that had been wrapped in clingfilm, but you could make a cup of tea for free so it was where I came when I was skint. And I
was
skint, ever since my mum had stopped paying me to work at her poncey bridal boutique. Economic climate, blah blah. There wasn’t even a more-free-time silver lining to this tale of woe, cos I still worked there. I just didn’t get paid. Was I a mug? Quite possibly.

‘So. About Dylan …’ said Donna. I watched her doing the gaping-mouth crazy-eyes-at-the-ceiling thing as she put in her contact lenses.

‘Oh, riiight. So that’s why you nearly trod on a dog on the way to school,’ I said, not purposely avoiding the question.

Donna blinked and rubbed the corners of her eyes. ‘Yeah, well. I overslept. And I’m not going out with my glasses on, am I?’

‘You look lovely with your glasses on.’

She looked at me sceptically. ‘Right.’

‘Oop. Kettle boiling.’ I went over to the scabby worktop and reached to get two mugs down from the cupboard. They were chipped and stained with months of dried-on tea, which, in this place, passed for sparkly clean. Teabag in each, splosh of milk (it was on the turn – again, it could have been worse), quick stir and squeeze, bags in the bin, and I was back in my scratchy-yet-squishy common-room chair ready to analyse Dylan. Not that there was much to analyse.