All That Glitters (46 page)

“I’d have hung out with Toby at school and you afterwards,” I say without hesitation. “My first day sucked.”

“Exactly,” Nat says slowly. “190 days, Harriet. 1,330 hours is a
really
long time to stop living. You’re my best friend. When you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy. Not being welded was the only thing I could do.”

“But …” They’ve both been avoiding me on purpose? To force me to make friends? “Why couldn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because if you
knew
then the plan would never have worked. You’d have just buried yourself in a book again and waited it out. Like you always do.”

Nat’s right again. Making friends is
hard.
And I’m a big fan of both books and of being in my comfort zone.

“I watched you shut down after you came home from New York,” she says more gently. “I knew that if sixth form didn’t start well, you were going to just keep closing unless I did something drastic. And this time I wasn’t going to be at school to stop you.”

“Didn’t I do
brilliantly
?” Toby says jubilantly, puffing his chest out. “I was
so
rude to you, Harriet. I really gave it some welly. You thought I didn’t like you
at all,
didn’t you.
Yeah
.”

He holds up a hand to high-five Nat.

“Sadly I just forgot a few things, Harriet,” my best friend sighs, ignoring Toby’s hand and then holding up a closed fist. “I didn’t know the Yuka Ito campaign would come out or factor in the impact it would have.” She holds up a finger. “You see the best in everyone, indiscriminately, all of the time, and are frequently a terrible judge of character.” She holds up another one.

Then she holds the final finger up and thrusts it in Toby’s face.

“And Toby is an idiot who takes everything literally. I said
give her a bit of space for a couple of weeks
, not
make her feel like a pariah,
you total pillock.”

Enjoy all your new friends, Harriet.

Toby was reporting back. Nat was leaving me alone because she thought I was successfully making friends.

“Exactly,” she says, nodding even though I haven’t said anything. “I was
so
happy you were having a party, then we argued, but tonight Mum finally remembered to give me the invitation and I realised what was probably going to happen. Toby and I ran here as fast as we could.” She tilts her head to the side affectionately. “Night of Stars. You silly billy.”

Scientists say we have different types of tears.

Basal tears, to protect our eyes. Reflex tears, to remove irritants. And emotional tears, that occur when our feelings get too much and our tear ducts can’t handle it, erupt and spill over.

As my eyes start to fill up again, I think my body just can’t fit my new burst of happiness in.

It needs to let some out, like steam out of a kettle.

My party can go sit on an anthill, frankly: I couldn’t care less.

I’ve got my best friends back.

“I’m sorry,” I say, abruptly lobbing myself at Nat and throwing my arms round her neck. “I’m so sorry for everything I said. I
do
need you. You
aren’t
ruining my life or holding me back. I didn’t mean
any
of it.”

“I know,” Nat grins into my neck. “I’m sorry too.”

“Me too,” Toby says, reaching into his bag. “Although, in my defence, Natalie was very much the mastermind of this plot and I was just the obedient slave with your well-being at the forefront of my mind.”

“Thanks, Tobes,” I say, grabbing him in an impulsive hug. “I’ve really, really missed you, you know. Please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” he says, waiting patiently for me to let go. “You don’t need to worry, Harriet Manners. Toby Pilgrim Is Here, TM.”

He sticks a little round green sticker on my arm.

India stands quietly for a few seconds.

Then she says, “Oh what the hell,” and stiffly puts her arms round all of us. “Don’t hug me back. I’ve eaten too many sandwiches.”

“See?” Nat laughs. “My plan totally worked. New friend. KABOOM. At this rate you’ll have, like, twelve by the end of the year.”

There’s a sound from the doorway.

“
All right there, party people, DJ Earthling is back in the
… Oh, the little minxes. They’ve bloomin’ gone and left you, haven’t they.”

Steve’s standing in the doorway with his grey hair sticking upwards and half a pasty in his hand. That’s where he was: he obviously stopped for a snack on the way back.

He looks around, shaking his head.

“I’m telling you,” he says fiercely. “They’ll get their comeuppance. Just mark my words. I won’t be replacing the loo roll in any of the sixth form toilets for the next week.”

I grin at him.

I’m starting to realise that real friendship doesn’t always turn up with a bang. It creeps in quietly, without glitz and glamour, without show or fuss.

Whether it’s somebody playing CDs at your party, or giving you a few minutes in the desert to watch the stars alone; whether it’s leaving a new job behind to spend three days in Morocco because your stepdaughter is sad, or spending a day arranging a gift in a shed because your daughter is heartbroken.

Whether it’s doing a stranger a favour, or standing by someone in the rain, or sending flowers from thousands of miles away, or a Hug Pillow when you can’t give them a hug.

Whether it’s reading the letters that your granddaughter doesn’t know how not to write.

And – as I stand in the Guide Hut and watch everyone start packing away my party without complaint or judgement – it suddenly hits me: I had friends all along.

I was just looking for them in the wrong places, that’s all.

“Don’t you worry, poppet,” Steve mutters crossly as he gets a broom out and starts sweeping up the bits of glitter into a plastic pan, “you’re going to be OK.”

“I know,” I say with a bright smile.

Because I already am.

y parents are suspiciously unsurprised to see us.

In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d think they didn’t believe my party was going to be a roaring success and were prepared for catastrophe.

Which would be offensive if it wasn’t … you know.

Totally spot on.

“Hello,” Annabel says smoothly as I walk back into the house with Nat, Toby and India close behind me. “Would you like some dinner?”

There are six steaming pizzas in front of her.

Either my stepmother was ready for us to come home early and magically guessed how many of us there would be, or she’s recently developed the appetite of a baby blue whale crossed with one of the Mario brothers.

Or …

Or Steve was reporting back and both my parents have been driving past the Guide Hut continuously all evening, keeping tabs on everything.

Of course they have.

“Hi, Mrs Manners,” Nat says, flopping herself on the floor and pulling an ecstatic Tabitha on to her lap. “This is India. Please feel free to interrogate her relentlessly before we accept her into the gang.”

“So far we’ve already discovered lack of empathy for hamsters and no respect for authority,” Toby says, grabbing a slice of pepperoni. “As you can tell from the nasal piercing and general failure to bow down to the colours of nature.”

“Interrogate away,” India nods coolly. “The ring just stops me picking my nose and the purple makes it easier to cross roads without being run over – nobody ever misses me standing at a crossing.”

Everybody laughs as my phone beeps.

“Harriet?” Annabel says gently as I grab it out of my bag. “You had some visitors, sweetheart. They left a few things, so I’ve put most of them in your bedroom.”

I nod and look at the message I’ve just received.

Hannah, Levaire hated Kevin. Went a different direction. Will pay 300 for time spent. Stephanie.

I can’t help noticing we’re back to
Stephanie
again, and no kisses.

The science project is coming up next term.

Maybe I should focus mine on the careful subliminal analysis of text messages and use of nicknames: I think there’s potentially an entire minefield of untapped psychological investigation.

Weirdly, I don’t mind as much as I probably should.

I still had an amazing trip, and that quantity of money never felt very real anyway. This feels a lot more realistic. Plus, it’ll still cover everything I borrowed from Annabel, so everybody kind of wins.

I watch everyone chattering happily for a few seconds, then put my phone back in my bag, climb the stairs and push open my bedroom door.

Where I abruptly stop in amazement.

There are books
everywhere
.

Heaps of books piled on my desk, on my floor, on my bed, on the fireplace, on the windowsill. Every fact book I’ve handed out over the last ten days is back in my room, except with one subtle difference: there is now a tiny pink sticker on the front of each of them.

I pick one up and look at it:

Then another:

And another:

The final one of which says: