Looking for a Hero (2 page)

I had an urge to say something silly about it being painful having a whole continent in one’s blood but I bit it back. I felt slightly in awe of Zahrah. She came across as very cool and sure of herself and what she thought of the world, and I needed to get to know her better before I showed my daft side. We reached the part of the counter that displayed the cakes and pastries and got distracted for a moment by the fudge pecan cookies. On top of the glass counter, I noticed a chocolate bar with a red wrapper. It said it was cinnamon chocolate.
I’ll get that for Joe,
I thought as I reached out for it. Zahrah raised an eyebrow as if questioning my purchase.

‘Not for me,’ I said. ‘For Joe.’

She raised her other eyebrow but I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.
I must ask my cousin Kate for tips so that I can communicate more fluently Zahrah-style – she also does the eyebrow speak,
I thought as the queue moved along.

‘It will remind him of me because it’s cinnamon flavoured. My mate Erin always said that it’s good to give boys things that remind them of you.’

Zahrah gave me a quizzical look.

‘Dad calls me Cinnamon Girl —’

Zahrah nodded and pulled gently on my hair with her right hand and looked into my eyes. ‘Hmm. Spice colours,’ she said. ‘Fits.’

I nodded back. ‘And my mum makes me a perfume for my birthday which has cinnamon in it and I had it on once when I was sitting next to Joe and he said he liked it.’

‘Hmm. That’s good.’

‘Yeah. Mum says that smell is a very potent sense and that it is important to find your signature scent and stick to it so that every time anyone smells it, they’re reminded of you. My mum’s worn the same perfume all her life, since she was a teenager and, whenever I smell it, it makes me think of her.’

I could just imagine the scene. It would be so romantic. I’d give Joe the chocolate. He would smile, smell the aroma of cinnamon and cocoa, nuzzle into my neck and then promise to keep the chocolate bar for ever. It would be the first of many special mementos I’d give him in the course of our relationship.

‘So why not give him some of the perfume?’

‘Too girlie – although maybe I could send him a card that is scented with it for his birthday, but that’s not until February. He’s an Aquarian.’ I looked down at the chocolate bar. ‘But I can’t go wrong with this, can I? The cinnamon will remind him of me plus it tastes good.’

‘Wow. You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?’

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. That was my silent way of saying,
Oh yeah.
She got it.

‘Good luck,’ she said as the person behind the counter looked our way, ready to take our order.

As soon as I got home later, I went up to my room to start work on the scenery designs – I had an hour spare before I’d arranged to talk to Erin on MSN. She’s my mate from my old school in Ireland and is my best friend in the world. I missed her like mad when I first moved to London and it was actually thanks to her that I got in with Leela, Brook and Zahrah. Erin visited at half-term and soon made friends with them and got an invite for us to a Bollywood party at Leela’s house. In fact, her whole visit was good because I’d been put in charge of scenery for
The Boy Friend,
the school end-of-term show and I had been agonising over what theme we should take. At first, I’d come up with ideas that had already been used for previous school shows and I could see that the scenery team were having serious doubts about me being in charge. And then, at Leela’s party, I suddenly realised that Bollywood should be the theme and everyone loved the idea. All in all, I had a lot to be thankful to Erin for; she was a true friend.

I settled down at my desk and started work on preliminary designs for the scenery. Aunt Sarah had found me a fab book full of examples of the colours and designs used in Indian films and I spent an hour copying and drawing up some basic designs to take to the next scenery meeting. Bright pink, lime green and orange seemed to be the main colours needed for a Bollywood look, with a healthy addition of silver and gold glitter thrown in.

When I’d finished, I saw that it was the prearranged time to talk to Erin on MSN so I moved on to my computer. She was already there and waiting for me.

(Erin and I speak our own Shakespearian made-up language.)

I logged off and flew down the stairs as no one else was home. Mum, Dad and Dylan had gone to an early movie, my cousin Kate never answers the door even when she is in and Aunt Sarah was out working. I opened the door and my stomach did a double flip.

Standing at the door was a vision of boy handsomeness. Tall, broad-shouldered, wide-mouthed, smiley-eyed. Joe.

‘Ah . . . oh . . . hi . . . ’ I panted and tried to regain my breath, smooth my hair and look cool all at the same time.

It clearly didn’t work. ‘Been running?’ he asked.

‘Was u . . . uh upstairs.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure,’ I said and stood aside for him. I was so chuffed that he’d come over to see me. I showed him into the living room at the front of the house. He followed me in and hovered by the fireplace. The atmosphere felt awkward then I remembered the chocolate bar I’d bought for him.

‘Oh, I have something for you,’ I said.

‘Me? Thanks and —’

‘Back in a sec,’ I said and raced upstairs.
He was about to say something,
I thought as I grabbed the bar from my rucksack, then charged back down the stairs, into the living room and thrust it in his hand.

‘For you,’ I said. ‘You were about to say something, sorry. Go ahead.’

Joe looked at the chocolate bar. ‘Oh. Cinnamon chocolate. That’s different. Thanks. Um. Yes.’

‘What were you about to say?’

‘Is it to eat or look at?’

‘Eat. I, er . . . cinnamon . . .’ Suddenly my speech about wanting to give him something to remind him of me sounded presumptuous.

Joe thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Oh right. Cinnamon. You’re Cinnamon Girl, right? Yeah. That’s sweet.’

‘Yeah. Sweet. Chocolate usually is.’

Suddenly I wanted to die. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I shouldn’t have bought him the chocolate. It was too much, too soon to buy him a gift. We weren’t even dating properly. I needed to make light of it.

I took the chocolate back from him and ripped open the paper. ‘Want a bit?’

Joe gave me a strange look. ‘Isn’t that like taking grapes to someone in hospital then sitting and eating them all?’

‘No. How? You’re not in hospital.’

‘I know. Just . . .’Joe sighed.

‘It’s not a gift or anything. I just bought it on the way home and wanted to try it and I was about to and then you arrived and . . .’ I knew I was rambling.

‘Go on then, give us a bit.’

I snapped off two sections, handed one to him and put the other piece in my mouth. We stood there chewing, but it felt like I was eating glue. I wanted Joe to go.
Why is it so uncomfortable?
I asked myself. We’d been getting on so well lately.

‘I . . .’ I began.

Joe burst out laughing.

‘What?’ I asked.

He pointed at my mouth.
Oh God, I’ve smeared chocolate like a five-year-old,
I thought as I walked over to the mirror above the fireplace to see the damage.

‘Tooth,’ said Joe.

I hadn’t smeared it. A blob of it had stuck over one of my teeth on the top row, giving me the appearance of missing a tooth. Toothless. Like an old witch.

Joe came and stood behind me. ‘Hmm, that’s an interesting look.’ For a second, our eyes met in the mirror and I thought he was going to pull me back to lean against him and even nuzzle into my neck and I felt my insides melt, but then we heard someone at the front door, footsteps in the hall, and Aunt Sarah came in.

‘Hello you two,’ she said.

Joe stepped back, reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope and handed it to her. ‘Mum asked me to drop this into you,’ he said.

‘Thanks, Joe,’ said Aunt Sarah.

Oh God. He hadn’t even come to see me. My humiliation is now complete,
I thought as I licked over my teeth with my tongue then stood there like an idiot.

A week later and Joe hadn’t called nor had I bumped into him at school – although that wasn’t unusual as he was in the Sixth Form and they had their own common room. He wasn’t even at the scenery meeting on Saturday morning when I handed over my Bollywood designs. Harry, one of the guys on the team, said Joe’d called him and said that he couldn’t make the meeting and, although everyone loved the designs, I felt peeved that Joe hadn’t let me know that he wasn’t going to be there.

After the meeting, I met Leela and Zahrah and we went around to Brook’s house to find Brook’s mum was busy on the Internet looking for a boyfriend on a dating website.

‘I’m looking for a hero,’ she’d said when we blew in from outside (it was wet and windy) and gathered around the laptop. ‘You can help.’

‘Have you put your photo on?’ I asked.

She shook her head and opened a file on the computer showing some photos of herself. She was very attractive for an older lady in her forties, sophisticated with glossy dark hair like Brook’s and a slim figure. I didn’t think she’d find it hard to meet a man. We glanced over the photos and I pointed at one showing her leaning against a gate in the countryside wearing jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

‘I like that one,’ I said. ‘You look relaxed in it.’

Brook frowned and pointed at the screen at one of her mum in a bikini on a beach. ‘You mustn’t put that up – God only knows what response you’d get.’

‘I’m proud of my body, hon,’ said Mrs Holmes. ‘I work hard at it.’

‘Well, I don’t want you flaunting it on the Internet,’ said Brook. I laughed. She sounded so prim.

Mrs Holmes clicked on to the part of the website that showed men’s profiles and scrolled though them as we looked on.

‘Ergh, not him,’ said Brook as a heavy-set man appeared on the screen. ‘Come on, Mom, think about this. I mean, one of these guys might be my new stepdad and that guy you’re checking out looks like he’d chop you into pieces, eat your liver then bury your remains under the floorboards.’

‘Yeah. Creepy,’ said Leela with a shudder as Mrs Holmes moved to a man with a neat white beard, close-set eyes and thin mouth.

‘Delete,’ said Zahrah. A chubby Elvis look-a-like was grinning at us.

Next a pleasant-looking man with short silver hair popped up on the screen. ‘Oh, he looks nice,’ Leela and I chorused.

‘He’s a biologist,’ said Mrs Holmes, reading his profile. ‘Hmm, so he’s got a brain.’

‘You hope,’ said Zahrah.

‘I do,’ said Mrs Holmes. She smiled at a photo of a man in a diving suit. ‘This one sounds like a laugh.
Have my own teeth and hair, don’t give up on me. I like to have fun and am looking for a lady I can do exactly that with.’