Drop (14 page)

“It’s the revised biography. With extra content. Not exactly
On the Origin of Species
… but…”

“Perfect weekend reading,” Lauren says. “Thank you.”

I wrack my brain over what else I can do to make it up to them both.

“Come on, we can finish the Biology later. Let’s go for some cake. I’m buying.”

We walk to Adriano’s, a pretty little Portuguese café perched on a corner between a launderette and household clearance place. It’s on my side of the park, down a side street from the posh shops. Its bright walls are half-tiled in white, yolk-yellow and cobalt-blue, and dotted with rustic paintings. Fresh flowers and wine-bottle candlesticks sit on scrubbed oak tables.

I get a soya latte for Lauren, a caramel macchiato for Sienna and a flat white for me, plus a plate of mini pastries: chocolate, lemon, coconut and custard.

“Who cares what people say? Clearly you
can
buy friendship.” Sienna launches at a custard tart with her fork. “So what
did
happen at the party?”

I pick at some dripped candle wax.

“Um…”

I wonder whether to tell them about the drugs, but I know they would just warn me off.

Lauren slurps her coffee, then scoops a mouthful of coconut cake.

“Was it amazing? Did you and lover boy dance in the moonlight?” she asks.

“Actually, I went home early. Isaac walked me. Though I don’t think he likes me much.”

I shovel some chocolate cream pastry.

“Why do you say that?” Lauren asks.

“He gives me the evil eye every time I’m with Finn and he barely talks to me. He only walked me home out of pity. You could see on his face that he resented it. He just wanted to be back at the party. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m good enough for his brother.”

Sienna points towards the window.

“Hey, look, there’s Violet and Georgia. I bet they’re all here, your new posse.”

My face burns. I want to go over and join them, but I can’t. I promised and I meant it.

“Don’t you want to go over? Talk about ‘banging tunes’, and who’s fittest on
Loaded in London
?”

“I told you, I’m not ditching you again.”

“Wait a sec. Rewind.” Lauren spins her finger anticlockwise. “Why did you go home?”

I can’t tell them about the drugs. Can I? They look at me, expectantly.

“Let’s just say I peaked a little too early.”

“You mean you puked too early!”

“Something like that,” I say, that explanation definitely preferable. It
is
partly true.

I spend most of Friday night swearing at my wardrobe, cursing each garment for being too small, too big, too retro, too frumpy… This morning I settle on black jeans and a blue top to match my eyes. Not very inventive, but practical for a festival. A skirt wouldn’t be great for mountainboarding. I fear I’d flash one of Finn’s boarding idols as I inevitably crash from board to ground.

I loop a curl around my finger. I decide to wear my hair down, and put some shine spray in it. My first venture into hair products since “The Great Fringe Singeing”. Not exactly Violet-Brody-blinding but it looks OK.

A car horn sounds outside around eleven.

I go to tell Dad I’m leaving. He’s installing a new amp for the massive beast that is our telly. His head appears from behind the shelving unit.

“Ooh. What’s this in aid of?” He gestures at my hair.

“Got bored of having it back.”

“Right.” Eyebrows up.

“I’ll be gone all day, but I’ve got my phone.”

“Have fun. Hope he likes it.” Cringe.

“See you later.”

The doorbell rings as I open the door. Finn smells like lemons and sweat, not gross, but intoxicating. He definitely has a chemical power over me.

“You look great. Hope you don’t mind but Dad had a catering emergency… Isaac’s driving.”

“Course not.” Lie. “What’s the emergency? Did they run out of Waldorf salad at a wedding?”

“One of the chefs broke his ankle. Dad had to step in.”

“Step in. Ha ha.”

“That was bad, sorry.”

Finn opens the car door and I slide into the passenger seat.

Isaac mumbles, “Hello.”

It’s forty-five minutes to the festival site. Isaac grips the wheel, eyes on the road. It’s only a Micra, but kitted out well, with speakers in the boot, heavy-duty stuff. I say something about the music system and with a glint in his eyes, Finn becomes animated, trying to explain the technicalities – subwoofers and bass frequencies – but it’s all over my head. The little Micra has a lot of loud love to give, that’s all I know. Finn finds a song on his phone, presses
PLAY
, and the headrest begins to vibrate.

Finn starts dancing in the front seat, then unbuckles his seatbelt and clambers into the back with me.

Isaac isn’t impressed. “Can you turn that down? Trying to drive.”

“Moody today, aren’t we?” Finn lowers the volume, clicks the belt over his lap and drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Drive on, Master Masterson.”

Although the volume is right down, Isaac seems more agitated than ever. It’s a relief when we arrive at the festival gates.

Isaac parks and gets out with us.

“Are you coming too?” I ask, confused.

“Someone’s got to drive you home.”

“Oh.” I can’t believe Isaac Moody-son is crashing another date.

Finn takes his mountainboard and helmet out of the boot and stuffs the knee-pads, elbow-pads and wrist guards into his rucksack.

After getting our wristbands, we wander around. There are BMX bikers on a half-pipe and mountainboarders on rails and ramps. A massive crescent-shaped stage dominates one corner of the site, while in another, live coverage of stunt skaters plays on an enormous screen overlooking a hollowed-out amphitheatre.

Food vans line the field. The smell of cut grass and chips fills the air.

Isaac heads off to watch the bikes.

Finn puts on his gear, does some jumps, then tackles the rails. I sit on a patch of grass nearby, watching the riders careering down, kicking and flipping, giddy and proud at the sight of Finn’s every turn.

A guy in an orange hoodie stops Finn and chats with him briefly. Finn grins at me and walks over.

“I’ll get us some donuts. You want anything else?”

“A Coke?”

“Sure. Back in a sec. Can you watch my board?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Maybe you should try it out when I get back. Put this on.” He hands me his helmet. I trace my fingers over the butterfly he said was for me, for luck.

“I’m not sure my hair will survive under this.”

Finn takes the safety-guards from his rucksack. “Get strapped up. We’ll have you on those rails by the end of the day.”

“Ha! You’ll be lucky.”

“Be right back.”

I encase myself in safety gear and strap my feet to the board. So glad I wore trainers.

I haul myself upright and shift the board forwards a little. It’s much harder than it looks. I almost topple, but all that gym work pays off and I regain my balance. I lurch forwards, arms outstretched like a surfer. The board rolls faster and I wobble, struggling to keep vertical. Eventually I slow down enough to bend and unhook my feet, but…

“Shit!”

I fall backwards, hitting the ground with an almighty thud.

“Need help with that?”

Isaac kneels down to undo the catches. I take off the helmet and shake out my hair.

“Thanks. Now I see the point of the suit of armour.”

“Where’s Finn?” Isaac asks, folding two blades of grass into a tiny concertina.

“Getting some food. He’ll be back in a minute.” I glance over to the donut stall, but I can’t see him. Maybe he went to another one.

“I’ll stay until he gets back.”

“I’m all right on my own, you know.”

“I know.”

But Finn doesn’t return for ages. Twenty minutes of agonizing small talk tick by. I sense Isaac’s only here because he feels he has to be. Like he’s babysitting.

Maybe I can at least find out what he really thinks about me and Finn.

“So, I never thanked you for walking me home from the party. Well, I did, but I don’t think you heard. You were off back to Fat Mike’s like lightning.”

“I was starting to come up on the pill. I didn’t— It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome.”

“I think maybe I overreacted that night.”

“They shouldn’t have offered you the pills.” My brain splutters into action as I try to process what he means. That I don’t deserve to do drugs? That I’m not cool enough? That they shouldn’t be wasted on me? “Finn sometimes conveniently forgets that actions have consequences.”

Finn reappears, his hand to his face, wincing. There’s a graze below his eye and his cheek is red and sore-looking.

“What happened to you?” Isaac asks.

“Fell off a rail.”

“But your board is here.”

“I was testing one, from the shop. Bearings were loose.”

Isaac exchanges a glance with Finn, then turns to leave.

“Did I miss anything?” Finn asks.

“Just me falling on my ass.”

“Sorry, that took ages. Massive queue for the loos, then I just had to try this board. Worked out well, obviously. But look what I
did
get.” He pulls a crumpled bag from his rucksack.

“Mmm, donuts.”

“They’re a bit squished.”

“Still taste the same, that’s all that matters. You should get some ice on that cheek. Where’s the Coke?”

Finn hands me a can and lays his head on my shoulder. I hold the can to his cheek. He sucks air through his teeth, flinching.

“Very resourceful. Hope you can manage a bit longer without your caffeine fix.”

“Sorry if it hurts.”

“It’s OK. Sorry I left you with Captain Gloomy.”

“No worries. I think I have some paracetamol in my bag.”

“Isaac give you a headache?”

“No. For you.”

I root around for the painkillers.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said about pills.”

“Yeah. They’re fun. You’d enjoy it.”

“Don’t you think about side effects?”

“It’s just like a hangover. Completely worth it.”

“I’m not sure.”

“There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“I guess … it’s just… In PSHE lessons, and on TV, we’re always told drugs are, like, evil, home-wrecking, health-wrecking, future-ruining devil potions or whatever. Taking one leads to another and before you know it you’re jacking up under a bridge somewhere and all your teeth are missing.”

“Graphic.”

“Some of that PSHE life-skills stuff must have stuck.”

“This isn’t heroin or crack, you know? It’s just a little MDMA and coke.” Suddenly I feel way out of my depth. Maybe this conversation isn’t such a good idea. Perhaps I’m just not the druggie type. All the same, I want to be a new me, and take some risks…

“Georgia’s birthday party’s in a couple of weeks. You could try it then. I’ll look after you.”

Everyone will be there. I could show them I’m not a lame-ass after all. Still, I’m nervous. Bomb-disposal-team-nervous. Home-pregnancy-test nervous.

“I don’t know.”

“No pressure.” He gets up and paces back and forth. “Think about it.”

I bite my lip. I can’t control it when I’m thinking, rolling through the worst-case scenarios in my head.

Puking.

Overdosing.

Making a fool of myself.

What if I end up forever believing I’m a giant purple octopus called Beryl?

What if I die?

Finn seems to sense my concern.

“You’ll love it. I promise. It’s kind of like – hang on.”

He lifts me to my feet.

We hold each other’s hands and spin around so fast that nothing exists but Finn and the Impressionist landscape in the background. The whole world blurs into thin horizontal lines, blue and brown sandwiching greens and oranges. My legs almost buckle so many times, but he keeps pulling me into the spin, until he catches me in his arms and we fall to the ground, exhilarated. He grabs me around the waist and starts tickling me. I laugh like a hyena but I don’t care. Squirming on the ground, my hairstyle inflates to an Afro.

“You look like a bushman!” he says, grinning. I raise my eyebrows. “A sexy bushman. Really. A hot, sexy bushman.”

“I don’t want to be a bushman, sexy or otherwise.”

“Ah, but tiger, it’s a strong look. Might want to think about trimming that beard though,” he says, tugging at my chin. Which, I may add, is perfectly smooth. I punch him gently on the arm.

“Anyway, it’s like that, but way better. Oh, and there’s something else I wanted to ask you about.”

“Go on.”

“Maybe we should change our Facebook statuses,” he says.
Really? Did I imagine that?
I look at him, roughed-up hair, dark-pool eyes and low-slung skinny jeans. He’s so perfectly defined. So absolutely defiant. No one compares.

“How utterly romantic,” I reply, oozing sarcasm.

He looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes and teases me, hesitating before…

A million butterflies duck and dive inside me. Without warning I’m high above the festival. The trees, the stalls, the noise and all the people are gone. We’re all that exists. Finn’s hand is on my waist. I hold his neck, stroking his thick, soft hair. The moment swells; a minute, a lifetime, or just a kiss … all of the above. Long enough to get my tummy tingling. Short enough to leave me wanting more. Gentle, lingering, perfect. His lip ring making it that little bit more exciting. He draws back and I smile, no longer afraid. Not embarrassed. Happy. He pushes a stray hair behind my ear, and grins back.