Super Awkward (28 page)

Luke rubbed at the sign.

“Gave everyone permanent markers.” He kicked one of the signs with his foot. “These are RUINED.”

Permanent? But I'd just grabbed what Mr Lutas told me to?

“No, that can't be right.”

I picked up Rachel's sign and rubbed at it with my
jumper
and thumb, like my mum does to my face when I've forgotten to check for over friendly-toothpaste.

But her words didn't budge. All that was disappearing was my good mood. What
had
I done?

“Luke. This was a mistake. Honest. A mistake.”

Annoying Luke was normally the most fun I could have in the day, but this didn't feel right. This was an accident. I didn't mean to ruin his signs. To ruin
our
project.

“You don't have an honest bit in your body, Blob. So quit pretending this isn't your way of getting back at me.”

He threw one of the signs against the wall in frustration.

I looked above where it landed to where I'd put the wipe-clean pens down. And my stomach knotted. They were
still
there. Next to a half-empty box of permanent-markers I must have grabbed when I'd handed them out. What. An. Idiot.

I pointed to the mix-up.

“Honestly, I'm SO sorry. Look, I must have grabbed the wrong ones. I had NO idea?!”

Luke didn't react. He looked gutted. As much as I hated him for it, I knew he'd put his heart and soul into this project. He dropped his head into his hands.

Zac
put a supervisor-ly hand on his back.

“C'mon, surely we can sort this out?”

Luke threw his shoulder up, throwing Zac's hand off.

“Well, unless you want to give up every second of
your
spare time to repair them with skills you
don't
have, then no, I guess there's nothing you can do.” He looked up at me. “You've gone too far this time, Blob. And you know it.”

The room was silent. No one knew what to say. Especially me. I apologized on loop, but Luke didn't want to hear it. I even offered to help sand the signs down and repaint them. It wasn't much, but as it was all I could do I left Luke with my camera so he could use the pictures we'd just taken as a base for any new designs he was going to have to repaint. With conversation going nowhere, Zac ushered the rest of us out, to finish up the packing up and head home. When we left, Luke was still working away in the storeroom.

I felt like poo, but the others were buzzing about prom being officially on, and only 48 hours away. By the time we bundled into Jo's car, despite still feeling guilty, it was getting tough not to let the others' excitement rub off on me. Not letting Jo get a word in edgeways, our words spilled over each others', as we tried to work
out
what had happened. Rachel reckoned that the accident was karma (or korma, as she originally said) for everything Luke had done to me this term. Tegan was more concerned with who fixed her banners, and thought it might have been Zac and Mr Lutas. I tried picturing them in a high-speed emergency sewing fest, and figured a more logical explanation was that it was a ghost. Of a Victorian seamstress. Who liked end-of-term parties. Tegan even made me feel better about Zac being our prom supervisor when she pointed out that it could never have worked between us as one day I would have HAD to have dinner with his dad and there's no way I could ever make casual teach-chat whilst chewing on a fish finger. Or have a shower in the same place that Mr Lutas got naked.

Despite this cheery evidence, Jo sistey-sensed I was secretly still a bit glum and suggested I plug my music in. Three songs into my freshly made ‘Prom-bably the Best Playlist In The World . . . Ever' and I'd finally started to put Luke's accusations behind me. By five songs we were all screaming along, tone deaf but happy. MIAGTM was even out playing football. Before I could stop him, Mikey wound down the back window, just as the speakers blared out, ‘I want to kissy kiss your face, boi.' I dived down in my
seat,
whilst shouting insults at Mikey, who just waved regally at the entire pitch who were now staring in our direction. Honestly, did that boy not know girl code?!

Once they'd all been dropped off, the car seemed way too quiet.

“So it all worked out then?”

Jo seemed pleased for me.

“Uh-huh. So can I now please get stressed about what to wear instead?”

“Most unsubtle hint to borrow clothes EVER.”

“That's cos it wasn't. Although
now you've offered
?”

“I didn't.”

But she
might
if I play my cards right? “How was training?”

“You know.”

I didn't, as the last type of training I'd ever done was nappy training and thankfully I didn't remember that.

“Looking forward to tour?”

“I guess.” She didn't sound as enthusiastic as normal. But I needed her onside and had enthusiasm for us both.

“Well, maybe I could come and check out one of your races?”

She scrunched up her face.

“Errr, did I hear that right? Did you just volunteer
to
come and watch me RUN?”

I can't believe she was so unbelieving of my cunning plan to pretend to be in interested in athletics in return for wardrobe services. How unreasonable.

She pulled up on the drive and switched off the engine. Mum waved from the kitchen window. I didn't need to hear to know she was dancing to ABBA. This usually meant we'd be eating something Swedish-themed. Or just burnt as she'd got too distracted. We once found a beetroot she'd left in the oven for two days. It looked like a cannonball.

When we sat down to eat, Mum had lived up to expectation – some trout with Swedish ligonberry sauce (except she couldn't find ligonberries so had used strawberry jam) with charcoaled beetroot. It was weirdly tasty, and I wolfed it down as I listened to Mum's stories of upcycling her used cotton-wool pads into tiny beds for homeless hamsters. After dinner we went through to the lounge and watched a programme on ghost hunting. Maybe I should invite them to our school to check for any paranormal sewing activity? I huffed loudly when Jo ducked out leaving just Mum and me. Mum never asked
her
why she couldn't ‘respect family time' as she snuck upstairs, no questions asked, probably to video-chat with her uni mates.

But
when Jo came back down I realized I'd got her all wrong. Because she was clutching an armful of clothes.

“C'mon then. We've only got two evenings to get you prom-ready. She chucked the dresses on the table. “So which one's gonna make you Bell-a of the ball?”

She'd even brought down the mega-expensive one she worked all Christmas to save up for.

She smiled at me and held it out. And before I knew what I was doing, I was giving my big sister an even bigger hug.

CHAPTER

TWENTY
-
FIVE

I think my lungs are exploding. They're definitely on fire. We near on sprinted home to Rachel's house after the bell finally rang, even though we had all that extra stuff to carry home from art. I donated my cheese and pineapple sculpture to the bin – I'd only got a B anyway, dammit.

I'm hoping that lying, huffing, starfished on Rachel's bed might help the sweating and pinkness subside. I look like a piece of ham that's been left in a sandwich bag overnight. And tonight, of all nights, is the night I need to look HOT, not HAM. Tonight is THE night. Prom night.

As Tegan sang to herself in Rachel's en-suite shower, I continued to pant, freaking out that I was running out of time to get ready (while not actually
starting
to get ready in any way). I swear, if my mind and body met in real life they wouldn't be friends. In the same amount of time, Rachel managed to paint all twenty of her body nails and drink her Mum's ‘prom-mocktail'. Our glasses even had alphabet ice cubes that spelt out our names (although my L and A had melted together by the time she gave it to me so it sort of said BELT).

When Tegan came out of the bathroom, she set up station in front of the mirror. A buzzing Rachel jumped next to me on the bed, causing me to rocket up and spill my drink in my hair. Oh well, that bit could just be sticky.

“I can't believe it's TONIGHT! You know what this means, right?” She didn't give us time to answer. “Obvs party of the year. But also – only one week of surviving school left. Then it's summer summer SUMMER!!”

Tegan yelled ‘freedom' followed by an even louder ‘ow' as she almost gauged her eye out with a blue mascara.

“Have either of you two seen the guest list? I wanna know who's coming?!”

I shook my head, which is hard when applying eyelash glue.

“Just imagine.
Anyone
could be there. PJBJ.
Shoe-
boy. . .” She looked dreamily into space as if we were going to Paris, not a prom. “Just think, Bella. Someone could have invited MIAGTM? As a mate date.”

If someone
had
brought MIAGTM as a real date, I'm sure I'd be morally allowed to use my newfound detention glue-gun skills to permanently attach them to a toilet. I tried not to scrunch my face up thinking about it, as it was making putting on my fake eyelashes extra hard (even at the best of times I tend to glue one eye shut and I really don't want to look like a prom pirate).

I broke it to Rachel gently.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I haven't heard anyone mention his name.” I corrected myself. “Not that I know what it is.”

“He probably wasn't christened MIAGTM?” Rachel sounded like she thought this was genuinely helpful. “So what
would
you do if he was there?”

I went to answer, but was luckily saved by the yell as Rachel's mum shouted up to tell us to get a move on and that we ‘better be bringing our major sass game'. I was trying, but felt a bit more sausage than sass-age.

After thirty minutes of mirror gymnastics, we looked at the end result. My trial run with Jo yesterday had paid off – I'd achieved something that resembled
‘
average human girl going out of the house'. Not Rachel, or Tegan level, but ‘Bella on a good day', which I'll take.

“Wit-woo, don't you all look grown up?” Rachel's mum whistled as we came down the stairs. She was being proud-mum paparazzi, taking shots of us walking, not even giving me time to breathe in or tilt my less-good eyebrow away from the camera. She patted us into photo formation on the stairs. In my/Jo's green dress I felt like a mermaid with legs – or is that just a maid?

Rachel had a tight white boob-tube dress on, with toeless silver shoes. Sounds gross, and a little bit angel-esque, but it really worked. Only two per cent of the world can get away with tight white clothing – Rachel was one of them, Olympic ice-skaters are the rest. However, at her own peril she'd dismissed our warnings that using ten shovels of glitter may have rendered her unsnoggable, unless the boy wanted to look like a piece of tinsel. Tegan had piled her braids up, and with her smoky eyes her blue dress looked even more show-stopping than it did in the shop, the customised tassels making it look like something out of
Vogue
. I loved my friends to pieces, but I did sometimes feel like they were a premier-league football team and I was the furry animal mascot that accompanied them.

Outside
a car beeped. Rachel's dad was already waiting, sitting behind the wheel of their freshly polished car, dressed in hat and tie (her dad, not the car. I don't think cars can have hats, unless you count roof racks, but I don't.)

He got out on to the gravel and opened the back door for us.

“Ladies, I am your driver tonight. Please take your places.”

“Why, thank you, sir!” I tried to daintily step in but caught my heel in my dress and splatted on the back seat. Classic mascot move.

“
I have a feeling tonight's gonna be a good, good night
.” Tegan sang as she got in, physically pushing me along the leather seat, my dress making me slide like a tray in the canteen. “Maybe even superlatively good.”

“Totally. Although I'm not sure what superlatively means. Imagine if I've managed to psychiatrically will MIAGTM to turn up with all of my positive vibes?!” Rachel said dreamily. Tegan whispered ‘psychic-ly' under her breath.

“Marry?” I snorted. “Who cares about
marry
any more?! Just as long as I snog his face off! Although then he'd be MIAGTSTFO!”

I
cackled at Tegan.

Rachel's dad slammed the driver's door closed, reminding us that he had ears. Must move convo on to something more dad-appropriate.

“Seriously though. For me, tonight isn't about anything but you guys.” I gave them my cheesiest smile.

“Awwwwwww, thanks matey.” Tegan stretched her arm around me and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Same here.”

Mr Allen made dad eye contact with Tegan via the mirror. “I thought you were in a relationship, or whatever you girls say, with that nice boy . . . Michael?!”

Rachel cried ‘NO' and rammed her fingers in her ears at her dad's off-parental-piste outburst. Tegan looked shocked.

“He's not my boyf! You're as bad as these two. I mean, yeah, he's great, but he's just not that –” she searched around for words – “well, he doesn't like me that way, and even if he did, he's just too –” she paused – “boy.”

Rachel's dad shook his head.

“Women. Young or old, I will never understand them.”

“Shurrup, Dad. We're one hundred per cent not un-understandable!”

Rachel
flicked her hair back and pretended not to notice that she'd coated the headrest with glitter. By the time we pulled up at school, the entire front seat looked like it had been given a disco makeover.

We clambered out of the car, getting our first glimpse of the decorations in action. It was exciting to see everything we'd worked so hard for finally up and in action. Tegan's amazing banners hung over the gates and above the doors – the ghost must be well chuffed. The streamers Rachel and Mikey had made were rustling as they dangled down the entire length of the corridor. Everywhere you looked there were our tiny details that had transformed the school from lesson hell to party paradise. Standing arm-in-arm with my friends, watching everyone else be blown away by what we'd achieved, I couldn't be any happier. It had taken a term, but I'd finally managed to do
something
right.