Chocolate Box Girls: Sweet Honey (10 page)

At Tara’s sleepover, sometime after
eating the home-made funny-face pizzas and watching the first slushy DVD, talk turns
to makeovers. We sort through Tara’s wardrobe, discarding the worst atrocities
and updating others. Tara hands me a pair of dressmaking shears and I set to work
turning jeans into shorts, a knee-length skirt into a mini, a T-shirt into a crop
top.

‘Your mum will kill me,’ I
say, snipping the lace collar from a prissy little print dress and holding it
against a plain black T-shirt. ‘But you’re going to look amazing, I
promise!’

‘How d’you know what to do
with all this stuff?’ she asks. ‘You should be a fashion designer or a
stylist or something …’

‘No, my sister Skye’s the
stylist – she loves vintage and she can make something beautiful out of almost
anything. A charity-shop dress, an old sheet … She’s awesome, I kid
you not. She helped with the costumes for a film a little while ago, and it’s
going to be on TV in the UK on Wednesday night!’

‘A film?’ Bennie echoes.
‘Cool!’

I shrug. ‘Me and my little sister
Coco are in it as extras,’ I say. ‘Just in the background.’

‘Serious?’ Tara gasps.
‘You’re in a
film
?’

‘I guess I am,’ I say.
‘It’s on
Watch-Again
from Thursday. I might have a
look …’

‘You have to!’ Bennie tells
me. ‘We will too. I can’t believe you never mentioned it
before!’

‘It’s no big deal,’ I
say, watching Tara lean in towards the mirror, pulling her hair back into a
ponytail. She frowns, rolling her eyes.

‘Hey, film star, any advice on
what I can do with my hair?’ she asks. ‘It’s just
so … yuk. And I can never figure out what suits me.’

I narrow my eyes. Tara’s hair is a
startling shade of auburn, but it’s too long and too lank, held back with
little-girl hairslides decorated with polka dots.

‘Have you tried an updo?’ I
ask, and I open my laptop and find a YouTube tutorial. Bennie and I set to work with
hairspray and backcombing to create a towering beehive-style bun, but the end result
is ridiculous, as if Tara is balancing a small cushion on her head. We try French
plaits next, but that looks too severe. I demonstrate making ringletty waves with a
hair straightener, but this just makes Tara look like a lovable spaniel with
extra-cute ears.

‘I think it’s too
long,’ I declare finally. ‘It’s nice enough, but it doesn’t
flatter your face – you have great bone structure, Tara. What would really, really
suit you is one of those short, sharp bobs, like Amélie from that French film,
only … well, you know. Auburn.’

Tara folds her hair up short to make a
mock-bob, and her face lights up. ‘Maybe!’ she says. ‘With a cute
little fringe? I’ve always wanted something like that, but every time I go to
the hairdresser I get cold feet and ask for a trim instead.’

‘Hairdressers are
overrated,’ I say rashly. ‘Anyone can cut hair.’

Tara and Bennie turn to look at me.
‘You think?’ Bennie asks.

‘Sure,’ I say confidently.
‘I cut my own hair. How hard can it be?’

‘That settles it,’ Tara
says. ‘Because your hair is gorgeous!’

She hands me the dressmaking shears and
I try not to panic. I did cut my own hair, sure, but only because I was really mad
after that whole Cherry and Shay nightmare, and decided to hack off my waist-length
blonde waves in favour of a skinhead crop. It was more self-harm than high fashion,
and it took ages to grow out again. My hair is shoulder length now, but yeah,
scissors and me can be a very dangerous combination.

‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

‘Certain!’ Tara insists.
‘Chop it all off!’

I start very carefully, trimming one
side to chin length and working my way round while she holds perfectly still.
Slivers of auburn hair drop to the floor as I snip. When I get all the way round, I
discover I’ve cut the hair shorter on that side than where I started, so I
have to go back again, combing and frowning and pretending it is all part of the
plan. Eventually, everything is the same length, but then Tara reminds me about the
fringe.

‘Fringes are hard,’ I say.
‘But I’ve seen this trick where you stick a piece of Sellotape across
the hair and cut along that. Can’t go wrong.’

I comb Tara’s newly short hair
down across her face, administer a strip of Sellotape, then start to chop.
‘See?’ I declare, admiring the neat edge I’ve created.
‘Foolproof!’

Bennie tears the Sellotape away, which
makes Tara yell, and as if by magic her fringe readjusts so that it’s all
jagged and uneven.

‘It’s probably my
fault,’ Tara says. ‘My hair has a mind of its own …’

By the time I have the fringe straight,
it has shrunk back to just a few centimetres long, giving Tara a permanently
startled appearance. Her new-look bob is dramatic all right, but miraculously, it
seems to suit her. She twirls and pouts in front of the mirror and finally adds the
little-girl hair-slides again, and they actually look good this time.

‘Wow,’ she sighs. ‘I
look much more grown-up and intellectual. Maybe boys will notice me now. Ash,
maybe?’

‘I doubt it,’ Bennie cuts
in. ‘He fancies Honey.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘I don’t
fancy him,’ I argue. ‘At least … only a little bit. He’s
very cute, but not really my type.’

‘What is your type?’ Bennie
demands.

I shrug. ‘I like bad
boys … boys with a bit of edge, a bit of danger about them. The thing is,
Tara, I don’t think you fancy Ash either. Think about it. Did your heart beat
faster when you spoke to him? Did you blush or stammer or feel awkward?’

‘No,’ she admits. ‘But
it was nice to find someone who’s actually heard of Nietzsche!’

‘Who?’ I tease. ‘But
anyway, that’s not the point. Fact is, there was no spark! Remember you told
me about the boy at the bus stop who asked you for a pencil?’

‘I went crimson,’ she
remembers. ‘I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. It was
awful!’

‘That’s because you fancied
him,’ I explain. ‘There was a spark – chemistry, if you like.
That’s good! It means you’ve hit on a chocolate boy. Once you learn to
control all that and get talking, you’ll be fine! What was his
name?’

‘Joshua McGee,’ Bennie chips
in. ‘He lives on the corner of my street.’

‘I can’t talk to him,’
Tara wails. ‘It’s impossible! I’ll just make a fool of
myself!’

‘You won’t,’ I
promise. ‘You can control the panic – we’ll work on it. Wait till he
sees your new haircut!’

Bennie grins, wrapping herself in a
corner of duvet. ‘You are all kinds of awesome, Honey Tanberry,’ she
says. ‘I bet we’ll find ourselves some cool boys now that you’re
here. So, are you going to tell us about who
you
fancy? If not
Ash … then who?’

‘OK, OK, I’ll tell
you …’

Tara turns the lights low and I plug my
laptop into the speakers and set my music on to shuffle, and we snuggle down under
duvets, eating TimTam biscuits and sipping home-made milkshakes. I feel about five
years old, but it’s a nice feeling, warm and safe and good.

I tell Tara and Bennie about Riley,
about the day at the beach and how the air practically sizzled between us, there was
so much chemistry, but that the minute he heard my age he lost interest. When I tell
them about the SpiderWeb add and the pre-dawn flirting, their eyes widen.

‘Like a fantasy romance,’
Bennie says.

It has occurred to me already that an
Internet romance could be a lot less trouble than a real-life one – when
you’re chatting online, things can’t escalate the way they do in the
real world. I don’t want my friends to think that Riley is just some kind of
fantasy, though … that makes me look kind of sad.

‘He’s not a fantasy,
he’s real,’ I point out. ‘I’ve met him, remember?’

‘Right,’ Bennie says.
‘And he’s a student – how old, exactly?’

I shrug. ‘Eighteen or nineteen,
maybe? And gorgeous!’

‘What’s he studying?’
Tara chips in. ‘Which uni is he at?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘We don’t talk about stuff like that. Is there more than one
uni?’

‘There’s a whole bunch of
them,’ Bennie says. ‘You’d think he’d have mentioned which.
I wonder why he changed his mind about the age gap, decided it didn’t matter
after all?’

‘He just did,’ I say,
irritated. ‘A few years shouldn’t make any difference. It’s not
like he’s ancient!’

‘No, obviously,’ Bennie
persists. ‘But … a student wouldn’t normally bother with a
schoolgirl. Or have the patience for an online relationship, when he lives close by
and could just meet up with you in real life if he wanted. It’s a bit weird.
You don’t think he’s got something to hide?’

My irritation gives way to unease. Is
Bennie right? Could Riley be playing games with me? I may have a thing for bad boys,
but I don’t want to be messed around.

Tara nudges Bennie in the ribs
sharply.

‘It’s not weird, it’s
lovely!’ she exclaims, flicking her newly short hair so that it swings around
her face. ‘A hundred years ago he’d have been wooing you with poems and
flowers, and now it’s SpiderWeb messages – it’s just a different way of
being romantic. I bet he does ask you out!’

‘If he doesn’t, I’ll
ask
him
,’ I decide. ‘I’ll soon find out if he’s
serious or not!’

‘Look,’ Bennie says.
‘I didn’t mean to be negative. It just seems odd, that’s all. And
I was pretty sure you had a thing for Ash at the cafe because he definitely likes
you!’

‘He’s cool,’ I say.
‘But so is Riley, and he’s more of a challenge!’

Bennie shakes her head. ‘I think
you’re crazy,’ she says. ‘Ash is gorgeous … and
available! Still, your choice, obviously!’

I laugh and roll my eyes. ‘Who
knows, you could be right,’ I concede. ‘My taste in boys hasn’t
always been good, but I’ve had a lot of fun learning from my
mistakes!’

‘Have you been in love lots of
times?’ Tara asks. ‘Did anyone ever break your heart?’

‘It goes with the
territory,’ I admit. ‘Shall I show you some of my exes?’ I reach
across to the laptop and open up a new window, clicking through the photos
I’ve uploaded from my iPhone. Tara and Bennie see split-second images of JJ,
Marty, Phil, Joey, pictures of me before I scrubbed up and turned good-girl.

‘Whoa,’ Tara gasps as a
photo of Kes comes up. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Just an ex,’ I say, rolling
my eyes. ‘He was trouble …’

‘And you like trouble,’
Bennie says with a grin.

‘I’m trying to
change,’ I declare.

‘Stick with us,’ Tara says.
‘We can keep you on the straight and narrow!’

I laugh because I know that actually
nobody can keep me on the straight and narrow. God knows, Mum tried hard enough.

‘What about the boy,
though?’ Bennie wants to know. ‘Did he cheat on you? Did he break your
heart?’

‘He didn’t cheat,’ I
explain. ‘He didn’t break my heart either – it was pretty much broken to
start with. Kes was just one of a whole bunch of no-goods. I had a serious boyfriend
a couple of years back, though … his name was Shay.’

I find a picture, an old one where
he’s laughing into the camera, beanie hat askew, guitar in hand.

‘Awww,’ Tara whispers.
‘He’s lovely!’

‘What happened?’ Bennie
prompts.

I shrug, looking into the distance for
maximum dramatic effect. ‘My new stepsister stole him from right under my
nose,’ I say. ‘She’s still dating him. Can you imagine? I guess I
lost my way for a little while. I made some bad choices, went off the rails, messed
up at school. I’m not proud of it.’

My new friends are open-mouthed, soaking
up this information. It’s all true – it’s just not the whole truth.
Looking back, I know I took Shay for granted, but still, I loved him. I just
didn’t show it. As for the rest, the full details of my fall from grace at
Exmoor High School are dull and sad and sordid. Even I don’t blame Cherry for
that. I close down the photo album abruptly.

‘Whoa!’ Tara says. ‘I
can’t believe it. Who would do a thing like that to their own
stepsister?’

‘You had to live with this
girl?’ Bennie checks. ‘Without actually strangling her? Nightmare! Is
that why you’ve come to live with your dad?’

‘I couldn’t stand it any
more,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t stay there.’

‘No wonder!’

‘That’s why I’m taking
things slow with Riley,’ I add. ‘And so an online flirtation
seems … well, better, for now. I’m through with heartbreak.’
Plus, of course, Dad has made it very clear he doesn’t want me seeing anyone.
I don’t mention that bit, though.

My new friends nod, a little awestruck,
as if I am some exotic creature that escaped from a zoo, dangerous, fascinating,
unpredictable.

The haircut verdict is almost
unanimous. Tara’s mum does not approve, but hey, it’s only a haircut.
She’d faint clean away if she knew just how much of a bad influence I could be
if I
really
tried. Maybe she can sense it because she makes cinnamon toast
for us the morning after the sleepover with her nostrils flared as if fire might
blaze out of them at any moment. Truth is, though, Tara looks amazing; cute and
quirky and mysterious, as if she has grown up overnight.

At school on Monday, the compliments
come thick and fast. ‘You look so different. Bet it cost a fortune! Where did
you go? It totally suits you!’

Tara just smiles and flicks her hair and
walks away, a new confidence wrapped round her like an invisible cloak. Best of all,
Bennie reports that Joshua McGee walked up to Tara at the bus stop and said he liked
her hair.

‘It was the best moment of my
entire life,’ Tara breathes.

‘She turned the colour of a
beetroot,’ Bennie adds. ‘But she didn’t run away. Progress,
right?’

‘Definite progress.’

What can I say? I am a genius.