Over the Moon (7 page)

“I wouldn’t just call him Friend of Sun God. He’s a person in his own right. He has to have a name of his own.”

“OK,” I said, “so what would you call him?”

“I’m going to call him Hermes,” said Hattie.

I said, “Who’s Hermes? Pardon my ignorance.”

“Pardon granted,” said Hattie. “Hermes was the messenger of the gods. It’s kind of how I picture him … thin, and dark.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a messenger,” I said. “Wouldn’t get anywhere very fast!”

I suppose it wasn’t really funny. Hattie gave me this withering look. “Ever heard of mass communications? I bet he’s a computer whiz. He looks like he’s got a brain.”

“What, and Sun God hasn’t?”

“Did I say that?” said Hattie.

“You implied it.”

“I did not! He might be an academic genius, for all I know.”

“But you don’t really think he is … just cos he’s totally gorgeous you think he’s a moron! Now who’s being discriminating?”

We argued – quite amicably – all through break. Me and Hattie are always having these kind of spats.
It’s mostly Hattie who starts them. It has to be said, she’s a very disputatious sort of person; really quite opinionated. But I do enjoy the cut and thrust of intellectual debate.

The name Hermes didn’t really stick, though it was strange Hattie should have chosen it. (For explanation, see later!) Privately, in my diary, I still referred to him as Peg Leg, while in conversation the Sun God mostly became “you-know-who” – accompanied by a lovesick sigh. Hattie either called him Apollo or sometimes just God, when she wanted to be sarcastic or make fun of me.

I guess I did get a bit drippy. Very tiresome, as I know from experience. Hattie once got drippy over this beastly boring cricket person that she couldn’t stop going on about. I mean, cricket, for heaven’s sake! Fortunately it was just a phase she was going through; she’s out of it now. But I was still at the stage where I had these mad explosions going off every time I opened my mouth, like a thousand sparklers all fizzing and hissing.

“I just wish I knew his name,” I wailed.

Hattie agreed that knowing his name would be an advantage. “Unless, of course, it turns out to be something like Wayne, or Kevin, or— ”

“It won’t, it won’t!”
Please
let it not be. Not Wayne or Kevin!

“Marmaduke. Alistair.
George
— ”

“Shut up!” I said. “You’re making me feel ill!”

“How about Sebastian? How about— ”

“Oh, Hattie, do be quiet!” I said. “Listen, guess what? I got a merit mark for history! That’s ten already … if I get selected –
if
I get selected – I could invite you-know-who to be my partner!”

“Well, yes,” said Hattie, “if you ever get around to talking to him. Or would you just go waltzing up out of the blue and say, ‘Hi! Want to come to Founder’s Day with me?’”

“I’m going to get to know him,” I said. “Don’t worry! I’m working on it. In any case, there’s ages to go. They don’t do the selection till some time next term.”

“Omigawd,” said Hattie. “Don’t tell me … another three months of inane burble!”

Although I’d said that I was “working on it”, the truth was I didn’t have any sort of strategy in mind. I guess I was secretly hoping that just being around, on the platform, every morning at the same time would be enough to get me noticed. I mean, I’d noticed him; he could notice me! This probably sounds extremely conceited, but I knew I was noticeable cos my hair is
not just red, it’s more like flame coloured. And our school uniform is green, which really suits me. Dad always said that if I’d been sent to Hayes High he’d have paid for me to go private rather than see me in their puke-making get-up. It is bright purple!!!

Still, you can’t always rely on boys taking note of things like clothes. The fact was, I needed a plan. Some way of drawing attention to myself. Maybe I could … stage a fainting fit right in front of him?

No! That was stupid. I’d learnt enough about boys to know that he wouldn’t find it in the least romantic. Boys don’t like girls who flake out on them, and anyway, I wasn’t the type. I despise people who faint!

Tanya fainted once, during assembly. She had to be carted away to the side of the hall and sat on a chair with her head between her knees.
Not
very becoming!

OK. No fainting. So maybe I could  … tread on his foot and apologise? Abjectly, and with great charm. “Oh, my goodness, I am
so
sorry!”

He probably wouldn’t even feel it. Or if he did, he’d just think what a clumsy idiot I was. I didn’t want him thinking I was clumsy!

How about if I actually went up to him and asked him if he knew … who? Anyone! Make up a name … Miles Bailey!

“You don’t happen to know Miles Bailey, do you?”

And he would say no, why? And I would say … what would I say? I would say, “His sister’s a friend of mine! He used to go to your school.”

That would be even more stupid than fainting. That would just make me sound desperate.

But I was desperate! I had to find
some
way of getting to know him. And then, while I was still agonising, chance came to my rescue, as chance so often does. What I am saying is, I think you have to be prepared – like in my case being
on time
every single day for positively weeks; but then in the end you need a bit of luck, cos it’s luck that creates opportunities. You just have to be ready to jump in at the right moment!

This is what I wrote in my diary:

I have broken the ice. I have spoken to Peg Leg! We sat on the train together and talked. His name
is Simon, and the Sun God is Matt. Such a relief! I was getting really scared in case it was something naff, like Wayne or Alan. I HATE the name Alan! But Matt is cool. He’s off school at the moment on some field trip, so I won’t see him for a while. How am I going to survive??? Two whole weeks without him! But at least now I’ve introduced myself.

Don’t you just love the way I said that? “Introduced myself, like it was so polite and formal? Like, “Good morning, how do you do? I’m Scarlett Maguire, I don’t believe we’ve spoken before.”

It wasn’t like that at all! What happened was, I was
late.
For the first time in weeks. It wasn’t Dad’s fault, there was an accident on Lansdowne Road and we had to make a detour. Pure chance! So Dad dropped me off at the bottom of Station Parade, and there I was, churning my way through a sea of
bodies, arms flailing, legs going like piston rods, when lo and behold I tripped over a bit of broken paving stone and went crashing headlong into …

You’ve got it! Peg Leg. I mean, Simon. (I’m not going to call him Peg Leg any more.
I only wrote it because that was how I still thought of him. But I don’t any longer: it makes me cringe, now, to remember that I ever did.)

Poor boy! He was sent flying. It’s not that I’m particularly heavy (I take after Mum, I’m naturally quite slim) but when you have one leg that is shorter than the other you are not very well balanced. God, I felt so awful! He dropped his bag and stuff went shooting off in all directions. It was very embarrassing. But as I scrabbled around, collecting things up, I couldn’t resist a quick peek at his name on one of the books: Simon Carson. Year 10.

Needless to say, I did my abject apologising. For real, this time! He was really nice about it. I mean, he could have been quite sniffy, having a human cannon ball come walloping into him, but he said not to worry. “It happens.” As we walked into the station together, I reflected that if it had been the Sun God I’d bashed into, I would have been the one sent flying, not the Sun God. And it occurred to me, a mean and nasty little snippet of a thought sliding into the outer edges of my consciousness, that Simon and the Sun God were a bit like me and Hattie. I am almost too ashamed to explain, but I have to remind myself that I am still trying to tell it like it was. I made a vow that I would not do a
whitewash job. Otherwise, I mean, what is the point?

OK. Deep breath … Simon was a cripple, the Sun God was divine, Hattie was a solid lump and I was—

It’s no use, I can’t say it. It’s just not me, I don’t think that way any more.

I am a changed person!

I think there are limits to the amount of mortification a person can be expected to inflict on themselves. I shall just quietly get on with the story.

Once I’d knocked him over, and picked up his books, and said that I was sorry, it seemed only natural we should get on the train together; and as we were standing shoulder to shoulder, wodged in on all sides, it would have been a bit odd not to talk. What we mostly
talked about was school, and stuff we’d seen on telly, and whether we were going to a gig that was happening at the Landsdowne Centre; and then as we pulled into Hayes End I couldn’t resist it, I said, “What’s happened to your friend? The one you usually come in with?” And he smiled, like he was used to people being more interested in his friend than they were in him, and told me that Matt had gone off on this field trip to Snowdonia.

“So you won’t be seeing him for a while.”

Fortunately we were getting off the train at the time, so he wouldn’t have noticed my cheeks going bright red to match my hair. I was like, “Oh, I just wondered,” making it sound really casual, like I’d only asked in order to make conversation. I don’t think he was fooled,
though, cos he smiled again and said, “Yeah, sure.” Very belittling! But I don’t honestly think, at the time, that I was aware. I was too cock-a-hoop. I’d done it! I’d talked! I’d found out his name!

Definitely
an over-the-moon day.

I’m thinking of making these days official. Over-the-moon day, under-the-moon day. Up day, down day. Pits day, dump day. Things-are-looking-up day. I could have little symbols for them, like smileys for the up ones and saddos for the down.

Yeah, well, it’s just an idea. It could save a whole lot of time. Instead of writing all those reams in my diary I could just put, like, over-the-moon! Or down-in-the-dumps. Then at the end of the year I could add them all up and see how often I’d been UP and how often I’d been DOWN. That would tell me what kind of year it had been.

I think most probably, on the whole, I tend to be more of an UP kind of person. I would say that I was more up than down during those next two weeks. I couldn’t wait till Matt returned from his field trip and I could see him again, but meanwhile I was prepared to make do with Simon. I tried my best to be early every morning so’s not to miss him. I even took to setting my alarm clock half an hour in advance, then springing out
of bed, snatching an apple and a glass of milk, and galloping
on foot
to the station, rather than relying on Dad. That way, at least I could be sure of being there on time. When Simon showed up it was a big SMILEY day. We’d stand together on the train and I’d ask him questions about Matt, like, “Where does he live?” (Ranthorne Avenue) “What’s his best subject?” (Sport!) “How long have you known him?” (For ever.)