To Be Honest (9 page)

Who’s all alone, ‘cos he should be with me.

* * *

We sit down at a lab bench by piles of pipettes. The other thing Mr Morlis has to say is this: it’s not permanent. We can swap back.

Digesting this is so weird and amazing, it’s like coming home on a normal school day to find Gary Barlow eating Christmas dinner with your mum, then announcing they’re engaged.

He says:

• mammatus cloud transformations were well documented during the 1600s
  
• they’re likely linked to Shakespeare
  
• they happen to people who want something in their lives changed
  
• they’re reversible.
  

This last point makes my tummy turn cartwheels but he also says everything he’s read makes him think the timing relates to the play that it happened in. The key thing is this: it’s
Twelfth Night
so Mr Morlis’ educated guess is if we don’t swap back within twelve nights of the storm, it won’t happen at all. I’ve never heard anything like any of this. And how he knows about the twelve nights I’ve no idea. By educated guess, I have to say it’s not something I’ve learned at school so far. But then he is Mr Morlis and he’s a legend, so I can’t think what else to do except believe him, to be honest.

Miss Mint looks sceptical but lets him continue. It all depends on just how much we both follow the rules. If we break them within the twelve nights, it might be that we end up staying in each other’s lives forever. Which is so scary I don’t even want to think about it.

I do some counting really fast. Miss Mint does too and we both say, exactly the same time, “the Review.”

‘Cos that’s twelve nights away. End of term review. The last day of school.

Mr Morlis is firm.

“The fascinating thing is,” he says, twiddling his ‘magnesium’ tie which shudders and shifts in the light. I’ve always thought’s a bit much but he still wears it coolly, “the swap back depends on one vital condition.”

Miss Mint looks awful: it’s like she’s lost weight and on my body that’s fine ‘cos there’s a little bit to lose, but I hope she slept ok ‘cos there’s massive bags now under her eyes and I thought she’d be pleased with this news, and I’m pretty sure she is but she just looks exhausted.

“What’s that?” she asks, words floating out like a snowdrift.

“It’s seems clear that within the timeframe, to make certain the body switch back happens, both parties must tell the truth at all times,” he says.

“What, no lies?” Miss Mint looks worried.

“No lies at all,” he says, and he’s grave.

And I think, ok. We can both tell the truth for twelve days and nights. That’s easy. A walk in the park, like with Tao.

We can do that, no problem, Miss Mint and me.

Can’t we?

Leaving school at lunchtime’s hard ‘cos all I really want to do is find Josh and go to Erin’s
All you can eat for Africa
food stall in the atrium. She’s spent a fortnight setting it up and Josh did loads of the cooking as part of Initiative Week and I reminded Miss Mint about it ‘cos I promised I’d help but she scarpered after we left Mr Morlis and I don’t know where to.

I can’t find Josh either but I’ve been told by Miss Mint to go home.

I’m saving money by using the bus and you’d think she’d be pleased but she looked grim when I mentioned it; said be careful of gum on seats. Expensive clothes can be a nightmare she’d said and I think the word for that is patronising.

Weird people take the bus in the day. Mainly gabbing mums and small kids or greyed out ladies like we did in art last week, or men with Mint crusty coats and I sit at the back and ignore them. I wish I had headphones to really chill out but I still can, in a thinking hard way.

Fact is, I actually don’t hate being Miss Mint, to be honest.

At least so far, anyway. A lot of it’s to do with the clothes and the hair and the looks from the boys and

Taff.

But there’s another thing that crept up on me this morning, somewhere between watching Harry struggle with his oral and Josh whiz through the Malvolio exercise like he’s on speed or something. Being Miss Mint means being good at English.

Whether she takes GCSEs as me, or we switch back, I’ll do well ‘cos of being her. Might even get an A*. I can’t lose.

Mr Morlis’ words about not lying are somewhere in there, wandering about in my head knocking on the walls of my brain but to be honest, who’s going to know if I use what I learn from Miss Mint to ace my GCSEs? I’m just doing my bit for Initiative Week.

* * *

So I get off the bus at the corner of town so I can walk past the shops, text Miss Mint to get her to update me on Josh and I’m trying to decide what to do next when I see something that makes me burn and ice up together.

Felix’s by himself, hunched over on a bench with a pack of chips, feeding pigeons. It’s definitely him. He’s in school uniform but you can only see his trousers ‘cos his parka’s all done up tight to the neck and his chin’s wrapped up like a present.

In Josh’s cravat. He’s waiting for something, I know it.

He sees me at the same time and it’s like Tao was when he’d see another dog, bigger or smaller, there wasn’t any logic, he’d just start shaking. Like I do now.

Then it’s like a shutter click; he’s off.

Pigeons scatter, bleating, bubbling, as he legs it through slow-shuffling shoppers. His trousers flap and his hair’s waving goodbye, goodbye and he’s sucked round the corner of Iceland and gone.

* * *

I don’t feel like going to
Costa
to drink expensive coffee any more.

Instead, I walk slowly back to Clementine Road and remember the party when I found Josh upstairs and his expression, like he was falling away, tumbling inside, even though he was drunk and had lost it. ‘Cos Felix’s eyes looked dead just then too; like Olly’s when he comes into registration after playing
COD
all night. Or like Josh’s at Courtney’s party.

When I get in, I know what to do.

Furry slippers on, hot chocolate stirred, marshmallows plopped, I sit down at Miss Mint’s desk, which is pure, clean and painted cream, with handles like stars and pigeon holes for paper that’s heavy, heavenly. I find a fountain pen, midnight blue, with a gold nib. I write and the ink flows like caramel.

Josh, it’s Lisi. Watch out for Felix. I’ve seen him looking, like he wants to hurt you. I can’t be your friend at the moment, not like I want, but you can talk to Miss Mint, she understands. Some day I’ll explain, sometime soon. Keep out of Felix’s way ‘cos he’s danger and I’m telling the truth.

I fold it, lick-stick the envelope and the chocolate burns as it goes down, making my teeth ache. But what hurts more is why should Josh believe me.

* * *

I must’ve dropped off on the sofa called
Posy
(I saw it in the
Heal’s
catalogue) ‘cos next thing I know my phone’s ringing and it’s school, Mr Underwood’s secretary. She wants to know how ill I am.

“Mrs Wiltshire’s struggling,” is all she’ll say but I know from Miss Mint’s timetable she’s got Amy Thrower period six, who likes to jump off lockers, and David Reid who bites.

I cough a bit feebly but then I think, hang on. I’m not meant to be lying and saying I’m ill is. So instead I say I’m sure I’ll be well tomorrow, and hang up.

Normally now if I was at school, I’d have waited with Rach by the lockers, taking the piss out of Josh; checked my phone and got my bracelets back from Debono. I’d be sharing leftovers from Erin’s stall and laughing. I’d be on the way home to Mum.

Instead, I’m in a house from
OK!
on my own and I wouldn’t have thought it possible but I’m bored.

Miss Mint’s diary’s a bit like Mum’s. Bits of paper stuck in, phone numbers at the back; coloured pen running through it in Miss Mint’s writing that’s half-loopy, half-posh, like I could never do. There’s symbols I don’t understand and times and reminders and post-its all carefully folded. I flick to this week.

There’s no dentist appointment anywhere near, so I decide to make one. She’ll thank me in the long run. And I might get to speak to Mum.

Stupid I know but when I dial Mum’s work, my heart fills my whole body so there’s no room for air. It rings four times and then the secretary answers, which is no good but also it is ‘cos I get to book a time without crying.

“Miss Mint? We don’t have you on our books.”

I say I’m a new patient, which isn’t a lie, and ask for Mrs Reynolds to do my scale and polish before the real dentist and it’s fixed for Saturday morning which means three days ‘til I see Mum and to be honest that’s fine ‘cos I’m at work (
work!
) ‘til then and come on, what else am I going to do on Saturday with no friends and Taff still not back?

So I’m feeling quite happy again and I put the diary back but the bit of paper I found on the coach is still there and it crackles like it’s there and wants looking at but I don’t want to look. But I do ‘cos I’m like that.

Two columns, one on the left with times, one on the right with numbers. In the middle, a list of words that shouldn’t be scary; shouldn’t be scary at all. I think of them separately. I remember where I’ve seen a list like this before, sitting with Rach in French, so I think of them in French, ‘cos I’m good at French and it makes it a bit better.

Café

Yaort.

Pomme.

Oeuf dur

L’eau

Thé vert

Orange

I like the how they sound. But I wish there were more.

* * *

At half-past four there’s a bang on the door.

It’s Miss Mint with my hair in a chignon, which for what it’s worth I think is a mistake.

She needs to talk. It’s funny to watch her. If it was me, I’d be chewing my nails and hopping but she stands like a ballet queen, calm and serene, under the streetlight’s halo. And who am I to stop her coming in?

“It’s Josh. I’m worried.”

He’s been missing since lunch. She talks like it’s something he’s done wrong on purpose and I’m itchy ‘cos she doesn’t know him like I do. I rewind back to Felix on the bench and the cravat and his look and it all adds up to emergency.

“He lives next door.”

“Does he?” She looks surprised.

I look at her long and hard ‘cos how can you not know who lives next door, when it’s Josh’s family?

“He’ll be home for tea. He’s got responsibilities.”

So then we agree I’ll go and see his mum and part of me’s excited ‘cos I’ll get to go to Josh’s and maybe see him if he comes home when I’m there and I’ll be involved again. Because all the cream furniture in the world can get boring by yourself. Then I remember the letter and I’m not sure if it’s the right thing, but I hand it over.

“You need to give this to Josh but not let him see you doing it,” and she looks at me with a sweet and sour mix and a bit of a mute telling off ‘cos I’ve used her best paper and I’m giving her instructions. But she doesn’t ask what’s in it. All she says is ok, and I’m glad I asked her ‘cos Josh’s a sucker for drama.

I know it’s her house and everything but the way she goes round turning lights off and making cups of tea winds me up. But then she’s just home from school and I guess I would too. Then she tells me about Kai.

“He’s making advances,” is how she puts it and all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, armed if not dangerous, wondering what happens next.

“Have you ... kissed him?”

She gives me a stare of stone and shakes her head. “I’m not sure if I’m interested.”

What can I say. You have to be interested? You mustn’t be interested? You’re an engaged woman? It’s not up to you? None of those make sense. Nothing does.

“Plus he’s being boring about Felix.” She butterfly-sighs.

I ask what she means and she says he keeps muttering about Felix and Frankee and staring off into the distance whenever Frankee’s nearby. So then I think, obviously he’s moved on from Courtney and Miss Mint’s shot me in the foot so to speak by not kissing him and now he’s after Frankee, who’s going out with his best friend. But who wouldn’t be, with hair and skirts like Frankee’s? I gulp disappointment down with the Mint tea she’s made, which is bitter and yuck, and make a decision.

“Felix’s bullying Josh.”

She looks sceptical; hands twisted together like Josh’s Dominic’s lips when he’s lost it. My nails on her hands are growing. She’s painted them Mint. So to show her I’m right, I go on and tell her about the party and the secret looks. I skirt round the discovery of Josh at the rugby club like Courtney circled that bikini in New Look: I’m not sure if I should try it on. I’m not sure. But to be honest, I think I have to.

She’s quiet when I tell her. Then,

“Do you think Felix ... did something? To Josh?”

Even from a mouth that looks like mine, I’m shocked ‘cos I hadn’t been thinking that, not even to myself. But the fumbling and fogginess is further away the more I clutch at it and all I see is the look on Josh’s face.