My Invisible Boyfriend (15 page)

Message from: gingerbread_ed Subject: oh well

so…

looks like i’m a single guy again.

h: miss you all the same, always will,

ed

It’s a risk, with HEIDI IS A BIG LIAR written in big gold letters on the Manor wall. But I need him around, and I reckon a few other people would also miss him if he suddenly vanished completely. So we’re going to have a very mature and dignified breakup, where I am only a little bit lip-quivery, and Ed is very stoic and handsome and probably writes lots of songs about our doomed romance, and I’ll be very conveniently available for Mysterious E to come along and sweep me off my feet (which, love him as I do, my little gingerbread boy has never quite pulled off).

I needn’t have worried about E. D. HARTLEY causing me any trouble, though. The Finch seems to have plenty of other relationship gossip after Flick Henshall’s party.

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

Is there something in the water? This is like the week of breakup hell. Fili and Simon, Ludo and Eric, now you guys. Henry better not decide he’s got something to tell me…

Anyway, sorry, mate. Who dumped who? Not that I’m going to take sides, natch.

Later dude.

Message from: gingerbread_ed
hey dai

wow, sounds like a lot happened after heidi left that party she told me that she’d been at. hope everyone there is ok. i guess at least she’ll have company, yeah?

mutual decision.

ed

Message from: dai_fawr
Hey dude,

Ha, totally guessed it was her who dumped you. No offense. It’s just always the quiet ones who turn out to be man-eaters ;)

Stay in touch, mate.

Later dude.

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

dear fili,

i suppose you’ll probably hear this from someone else anyway, but heidi and i have broken up.

i wanted to let you know that i’m still here as a friend, if you want someone to talk to about anything. in case you were upset about anything, maybe.

best wishes,

ed

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dear Ed,

You and Heidi are breaking up? I’m honestly surprised to hear that. But then love is complicated, isn’t it? I thought my life would be instantly perfect if only I knew someone loved me. I miss being that naive. But the garden of love is a thorny threshold. Even roses bite.

You might have guessed: I’m not having the best time of it romantically myself. But being alone is all I deserve. Please don’t feel you have to jump in and tell me I’m wrong, either: I’m not the girl you think I am. I promise you. But then who is?

Fili

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest Heidi,

When I mentioned the notion of “playing hard to get,” it wasn’t intended as encouragement. Ignoring me will not change how
I feel about you: It’s a familiar enough situation, after all. You pass by—I hope you’ll notice me watching—you glance my way, smile, move on.

You’re quite the tease, did you know that?

I hope you’re beginning to understand. This is not a joke, an insult, a childish prank. If I had the courage, I’d declare my more-than-liking to your face. Until circumstances allow, I shall have to be content with playing your game, with the rules you devised. Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying the dance, just a little? I know I am. Perhaps that’s why we’re so perfectly suited?

I await your reply, as always, with

love & affection,

E

Finchworld is cloaked in gray fog and misery when I head up the hill for Monday morning death-by-Chemistry with Mrs. Kretschmer. Flick Henshall’s back in the clinic, which means Timo Januscz is walking around like a human black cloud. Etienne Gracey and Scheherezade have apparently split up, possibly just to blend in with the current trend for relationship trauma. And so have I, though I’m so preoccupied with “glancing” at pretty much every boy who walks past (just in case they happen to have a huge flashing
arrow with “E” written on it above their heads) that I almost forget I’m supposed to be half of one of the brokenups, too.

Agent Ryder: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to look sad and symbolically Coatless in the manner of someone who just split up with her bloke, while also looking devastatingly attractive and available should A Certain Person happen to pass by, while also remembering to be very surprised when you learn of other people’s tragic relationship woes.

Fortunately, Dai takes on the job of rapidly filling me in on the latest developments in the break before Science, informing me that it’s Official Be Nice To Ludo Day, and then somehow managing to turn that into And Heidi Too within five minutes (plus a bonus “I always thought you could do better than that Ed guy anyway” to cheer me up, which it does, in ways he’s definitely not really planned).

I feel a little bit guilty. OK, a lot guilty. But it’s nice to feel looked after.

Ludo holds my hand very tightly all the way from Science to Geography, informing me that boys are SO horrible and stupid and we should, like, ALL be single forever, yeah?

Henry gives me a hug at lunch, rests his chin on my head, and tells me not to worry.

I keep waiting for the chance to see Fili, and break through our wall of awkwardness: to have her hold my hand and say the same things to me, so I can say them to her.

But Fili doesn’t show up to any classes.

She doesn’t even make it to the auditorium after school, even though the full cast is meant to be passing through to start the costume fittings.

The buzz of electric guitars thrums through my feet before I even get through the door. Inside, Etienne and the Illyrians (the artists formerly known as The Shrooms) are standing on the stage in a mess of cables and amps and pedals, shouting at each other above the fuzz. Etienne Gracey is out front, muttering “one two, one two” into a mike. Counting: apparently not his strong suit.

“So the band will appear to
hover
above the stage, you see? Brilliant!” yells Venables, waving the pile of costume sketches madly at some skinny blond guy I don’t recognize. “Though of course I haven’t signed it off with health and safety yet…Heidi! Just telling your friend here about the plans for Etienne and company. So we’ll need four more costumes. Something different, just for the band. Really visual, yeah? Sure an artistic genius like you can rustle up something special. Sketches as soon as you can, need to get the Sewing Club onto it ASAP. OK? Brilliant.”

He thrusts the pile of papers into my hands, then bounds off to deal with the cast.

I seem to be nodding, as if I really can “rustle up” some fabulous new sketches in no time at all, using my fine artistic skills. But I suppose it’ll give me a good excuse to drop by the Little Leaf: scour the internet with Teddy for more quality ‘80s moments of high fashion. Etienne would look lovely
in tinfoil. Or a tiny humiliating loincloth. Unless this skinny blond guy has some better ideas?

The skinny blond guy gives me an awkward half smile, blinking fluffy hair out of his eyes.

I nearly drop the sketches.

“Simon?”
I say, just as Etienne Gracey and his guys start playing…something. (It’s definitely “Tainted Love” at the start, but then seems to take a sharp left into “Jingle Bells,” followed by some kind of screemo wall o’ sound that turns out to be Jules falling over the drum kit due to a mistimed scissors kick.) I’m quite grateful for the distraction, though, so I’ve time to think of something to say that isn’t “huh?”

“You look really…different.”

OK, maybe not much of an improvement on “huh?”

Simon performs a minuscule shrug, shuffling in his trainers, and ripped white jeans, and tight green T-shirt, none of which could possibly have come from Fili’s wardrobe. Lost property bin, maybe.

“Sorry about your breakup and everything,” I mumble, still kind of mesmerized by the transformation from Gothboy to Hipster Shufflemonkey.

He mini-shrugs again, eyes fixed somewhere down near my elbows.

I realize the drawing of Feste the clown is on the top of the pile: a beautiful sad Pierrot, quietly weeping. Maybe a little too appropriate. I gather the sheets together, and plonk them down on the nearest bench.

The whine of feedback comes to a sudden stop, as Henry
yanks the plug from the wall to a smattering of applause from the cast. They’re rehearsing some fiddly dance step from the opening number, while Mrs. Philips from the office runs around with her tape measure. Dai’s smirking over something with Ludo (possibly Scheherezade ordering Yuliya to slouch more, so she doesn’t look so much taller). I find myself grinning just watching them. Operation Pumpkin didn’t exactly work out, but Ludo looks happy, windmilling her arms and giggling as she stumbles into the wall.

A hand nudges my arm as the band starts up again, and I turn to find Henry there, looking weirdly furtive.

“Can’t talk now, but can I catch you later?” He’s actually whispering. Which, in the presence of the Illyrians, is not actually very helpful. “Secret thing. Nice secret. Sort of urgent. No, not urgent. But sometime this week. I’ll find you.”

Then he grins and heads back to where Scheherezade is waiting, hands on hips, yelling something about the impossibility of working with amateurs as Ludo twirls around and smacks into her. I give Dai a little wave, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

The Illyrians produce another epic burst of feedback, which in turn produces more shrieking from Scheherezade, and I decide it’s time to escape.

Outside it’s not raining, but the air feels damp and the ground’s all mushy. I skid my way across the grass by the lake, cigarette butts and broken plastic cups squashed into the mud from the party.

I’m slipping my way up the slope to cut through the Circle of Peace and find the Mothership for a lift home, when I practically fall on top of Peroxide Eric. He blends so perfectly with the gloom all around, grayish and pale and made out of yawns, just sitting on a log in his officer’s coat. I haven’t seen him all day: probably keeping a low profile. In fact, last time I saw him, he was chasing a half-naked Flick Henshall across the grass with Dad Man.

“Got your coat back, then?” I say.

He looks down, rubs away some of the dried mud that’s still on the sleeve, and shrugs.

I wait for him to say something, but he keeps his eyes lowered, almost as if he’s too shy to look up.

“So…you and Ludo broke up, then?”

“You heard?”

I shrug. “I’ve got ears.”