All That Glitters (28 page)

“Gone,” Nick said, and he grabbed my hand.

arriet?”

“Hmm?” The entire class is still staring at me. “Sorry, what was the question again?” I suddenly miss Nick so much it’s like an enormous hand is squeezing me shut.

Raya taps the photo again and I flinch and focus on a bit of desk slightly to the left.

“Oh,” I say slowly. “Yes, I know him.”

“Is he single?” “Is he as hot as he looks in pictures?” “I can’t believe he’s
touching
you. You actually got to
touch
him.”

Quick, Harriet. Change the subject.

“Umm,” I say faintly, clearing my throat. “Did you know that when you speak your throat’s vocal folds vibrate inside your own skull, which means the voice you hear sounds nothing like you actually do to everyone else?”

There’s a brief pause.

“Did she answer the question?” somebody whispers. “Was that it?”

“I don’t think that was it,” somebody whispers back.

“Oh my
goodness
,” Ananya says, suddenly pushing her way to the front of the group with her hands. “Don’t you guys know
anything
? That is Nicholas Kou Hidaka. Ret’s long-term
boyfriend
and love of her
life
.”

“
Yeah
,” Liv echoes, shoving forward too, except a little less successfully. “You obviously don’t know our Retty at
all.
”

I stare at them both in astonishment.

OK: they have done some
serious
research. Nick managed to convince me that the middle K in his name stood for Koala for nearly six months, and Kookaburra for another two.

“How did you—”

“We can’t
wait
to meet him,” Liv breathes, gripping her hands together. “I ship you two so hard I can’t even.”

She
ships
us? Like, in a boat? Or a spaceship?

A spaceship sounds a lot more fun.

“Uh.” I blink a few times. “I’m afraid we’re not … I mean, Nick’s not … I’m not …”

Apparently girls speak an average of 20,000 words every single day – I don’t know where all mine have suddenly gone.

I just can’t say it.

I can’t say
Nick and I have broken up
out loud: it’s lodged somewhere in the middle of my oesophagus.

“You are the
luckiest
girl in the entire universe, Harriet!” “Does he live in London?” “Does he ever pick you up from school?” “Does he have any
friends
you could introduce me to?”

“I …” I swallow painfully. “Nick’s in Australia right now.”

“On a shoot?” “I saw him on a bus a few weeks ago.” “On a bus? Like, a passenger?” “Obviously not, idiot. As a poster. Boys like him don’t take
buses.
”

“Uh.” I swallow and try to find my voice again. Nick takes buses all the time. He’s just a boy: not the Queen. “Actually, it’s …” I swallow
again
. “I mean, there are times in our life when paths go in different directions and – uh. There’s a fork in the road that …”

“Is she answering the question again?”

“I’m
so
confused.”

There’s a sharp voice at the back of the room.

“Right.” A purple head appears from the crowd, and India walks forward, closes the magazine with a snap and hands it back to its owner with an icy expression. “This school dynamic is deeply disturbing and I think that’s quite enough. Does nobody have any respect for privacy?”

Bizarrely, everyone immediately shuts up and I sigh with relief. I’m obviously not the only one who thinks India might be royalty.

“
Yeah,
” Ananya sighs. “You guys are
vultures.
Ret comes to school to get
away
from all this stuff.”

Liv folds her arms. “Such
hyenas
.”

Actually vultures provide an invaluable service to the ecosystem by eating dead carcasses that are otherwise rendered inedible due to their bacterial content, whereas hyenas follow vulnerable animals and rip them apart while still alive.

It’s really not fair to lump them together like that.

I’m just about to explain this in detail when the door swings open.

“Jasper!” Miss Hammond calls cheerfully from the front. I’m going to assume for the last ten minutes she’s been gallantly taking the register and then answering it herself. “Better late than never! Join the crowd!”

He glances in surprise around the empty classroom, and then at the spot where every student is clustered in a mob around me.

My phone beeps and I pull it quickly out of my pocket.

Hannah darling! Kev THRILLED with Levaire shoot! Gucci director asked to see your book – call me!! Stephie xx

I’m too surprised at “Stephie” to hide my phone.

“No way!” somebody loudly squeaks over my shoulder. “
Gucci!
You’re going to model for
Gucci!
” “Oh my God, that’s amazing!” “Oh wow!” “Have you written a
book
, Harriet? What’s it about?”

I flush in embarrassment, quickly shove my phone back into my satchel and look up again.

Jasper and I lock eyes for a few seconds and my stomach clenches slightly.

“You know what?” he says finally, still staring straight at me. “I think this particular crowd is quite big enough already, don’t you?”

And he disappears again with a loud BANG.

“Jasper …” Miss Hammond says tiredly this time, scanning her register with a small sigh and then drawing a little tick. “Yes, Miss Hammond. Here, Miss Hammond. Have a lovely day, Miss Hammond.”

The bell rings and everyone suddenly disperses to collect their bags, attention now focused on whatever their next class is going to be.

But I’m still staring at the door.

What is Jasper’s problem? Why does he always have to be so horrible? I made him a dinosaur biscuit, didn’t I? What more does he want from me?

More importantly, why do I even
care?

he rest of the week can be summarised thus:

1. Under considerable duress, I surreptitiously teach a group of girls how to “catwalk” in double chemistry
   
2. Mr Harper tells me if I don’t stop “stomping like an elephant” around the classroom he’s going to give me a detention
   
3. I politely explain that I am, in fact, walking like a cat
   
4. Everyone laughs
   
5. I get a detention
   
6. Almost every girl in the year inexplicably wants to sit next to me for the next three lunchtimes.
   

Basically, I don’t have a second to myself for the next five days.

In chemistry, I explain my “best beauty trick” to a big group of girls (toothpaste on my spots) and how to perfectly balance your dietary nutrition (chicken and strawberry jam sandwiches). In maths we all have a long and apparently very interesting conversation about castings, and then everyone wants to see my ‘book’.

So – flushed with pleasure – I get
Bleak House
out and show it to them all under the desk. For some reason they seem a bit bemused.

In physics, I start using Kirchhoff’s Law to find the internal resistance of a cell. “Want to work this out together?” two of the new girls ask, pulling their graph paper over to mine. When I help them out, “You see?” one says triumphantly to the other measuring voltage, “Harriet knows everything!”

Eric wants to discuss Russians for a whole breaktime, Raya is adamant for three hours in double biology that Nick
must
have an identical twin brother and the sixth form netball captain thinks I’m
just the cutest
after I regale the team with a story about the world’s most expensive coffee while waiting in line for the vending machine.

“But it’s made from the droppings of an Asian palm civet,” I clarify again, because I’m not entirely sure she’s heard me. “That’s poop. Basically mongoose poop.”

“
Poop coffee!
” she exclaims, putting a delighted arm round me. “You are just so
adorable
.”

On Tuesday I bring in all my extra Moroccan purchases and enthusiastically distribute them, and by Wednesday morning bright colours are scattered everywhere: silver earrings and bangles and scarves attached to people like bird feathers. Even the boys are participating: they’re using spare bangles as tiny hoops to throw around cans and high-fiving me every time they succeed in their target.

Every morning and afternoon after school I meet the first years to hand over more of my books, like a private librarian service.

I have to explain – six times – to Stephanie that I can’t take any more time off school to meet designers and she’ll have to arrange interviews at weekends instead. Eventually she gets the idea and schedules something for the weekend after next.

By Friday, there are so many ticks on my Inner Star list it looks like one of the essays I used to write and then mark myself when I was seven. I have been confident, over and over and over again. I have been risky, repeatedly. I’ve been brave and limitless seven times, stylish three and inspirational at least twice.

And it has totally and utterly worked.

Whatever the opposite of lonely is, I’ve never been so
that
in my entire life.

I just haven’t done any homework. At all.

No
wonder
I’ve got excellent grades for the last eleven years.

I had literally nothing else to do.

“Ret!” Ananya calls as I finally stagger out of the sixth form doors on Friday afternoon and blink sleepily in the sunshine. One of my pink scarves has been wound round her neck and a pair of my enormous silver earrings are glinting in her dark hair. “Retty! Where are you going?”

“We haven’t seen you all
day
,” Liv squeaks, wrapping her arms tightly round me. “Where
were
you? We
missed
you.” I’m still finding her huge enthusiasm for me a little overwhelming, but it’s nice that she’s so affectionate.

“We’re having a sleepover tonight at Indy’s. It’s going to be
ace.
You’re coming, right?”

I freeze in surprise – have I just been voluntarily invited to my first ever non-Nat social outing? – then try to stifle a massive yawn.