The Boy from France (11 page)

But she doesn’t seem to notice that I’m bursting to spill. Before I can begin, she says, ‘We really need to talk, Vix,’ and she sounds ominously serious. That throws me.
Today, of all days, I am not in the mood for serious. ‘Can we have lunch together today?’ she asks. ‘Just you and me?’

I nod, vigorously. ‘I’d like that.’ She has no idea how much. ‘And, actually, I need to speak to you as well. I’ve got
loads
of stuff to tell you . .
.’

I leave the sentence hanging in the air, enticingly, hoping that she’ll ask me what it is that I want to talk about now, and let me start telling her, because I’m not sure I can keep
it all inside until lunchtime. But she doesn’t. She just puts her hand on my shoulder, gives it a little squeeze, and says, ‘OK, cool, see you later, then,’ and announces that she
has to go to the loo before her next class.

And then she’s gone, and I’m still standing in the same spot, looking like a demented fish, with my mouth hanging open. I’ve got no idea what she wants to talk to me about.
Whatever it is can’t be as important as what I need to say. Maybe she feels bad about Manon being mean to me and is trying to make things right again. That would be good. I miss Rosie. It
feels like ages since I’ve spent proper time with her, even if it is only about a week.

Somehow, I make it through the morning’s classes without getting into trouble for daydreaming or doodling. I meet Rosie at the entrance to the school canteen and, even though I’ve
got no appetite at all (despite not eating any breakfast), we grab some ready-made sandwiches and yogurts, so we can take them outside to our favourite lunch spot, a quiet area just behind the
science block, where hardly anybody comes. We sit down on a step and open our sandwiches and Rosie starts eating hers, while I play about with mine. I’m still dying to talk but I’ve had
too much time to think about everything and now my thoughts are all jumbled up, and I don’t know where to begin. Maybe I’ll let her go first, after all.

‘So . . .’ I say, grinning at Rosie.

‘So . . .’ She grins back.

‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’

‘I did. That’s right. Didn’t you want to tell me something too?’

‘Yes . . . but you go first.’

‘OK . . .’ She seems reticent, like she’s having second thoughts. ‘It’s, er, about Manon.’

‘Aha. I thought so.’ Reassured, I take a bite of my sandwich.

‘Look, it seems like you’re not exactly getting on, and it’s a bit awkward for me, what with her staying with me and you being my best friend and everything.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s weird for me too.’

She smiles. ‘It’s just . . . you could make it a lot easier.’

Irritated, I put my sandwich back in the packet and place it on the step. ‘How do you mean I could make it easier? She’s the one who didn’t like me from the start. I
didn’t do or say anything bad to her.’

‘I know. It’s not that. Of course you didn’t. It’s more about . . . Xavier.’

‘Xavier? What about him?’ I’m aware I sound defensive. I can’t help it.

‘Manon
really
likes Xavier. You must have noticed – she’s not exactly subtle about it.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, that’s for sure.’

‘She thinks you’ve got in the way.’

It all makes perfect sense now. ‘So that’s why she doesn’t like me! She’s jealous! I couldn’t work out what I’d done.’

‘She doesn’t not like you. She thinks you’re all right, actually. But she’s miffed that you’ve come between her and Xavier. It’s also obvious to her that you
like him and that you’re after him.’

‘It’s not exactly like that!’

‘Vix, there’s something you need to know. She told me that they’ve got something going on, back in France.’

My stomach lurches horribly, the piece of sandwich I’ve just swallowed sticking halfway down my throat. ‘What do you mean?’ I try not to sound panicky. ‘He says he hardly
knows her. They go to the same school, that’s all.’

‘Well, that’s not what she told me. She said that they’d flirted at a party and that they were getting quite close before the exchange. All her friends said something was
definitely going to happen between them in London. And then she got here and Xavier met you, and everything changed.’

‘Oh! Is that all? They flirted at a party – which she could have imagined – and her friends said something might happen – which they probably only said because it was
what she wanted to hear.’ I’m so relieved, I’m practically laughing. ‘Sorry, Rosie, but I think it’s all in her head. Do you know what? Between you and I, I
don’t even think Xavier likes her that much as a friend. He never looks that happy when she talks to him and he doesn’t seem to want to spend any time with her. He never, ever mentions
her or says he wants to hang out with her.’

She doesn’t look at me. ‘Maybe that’s because you’re always there.’

‘So what? If he really liked her, not just in her fantasies, that wouldn’t matter.’

Rosie looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m not getting at you, Vix. Please don’t get so upset about this. She just thinks you’ve got in the way, distracted him.’

But I am upset. ‘Distracted him? Doesn’t he have a mind of his own? And anyway, even if it were all my fault, which is ridiculous, how was I supposed to know that she thought she had
something going on with him?’

‘You weren’t. But you do now.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can help it if he likes me.’

‘You could step aside. You could act like you’re not interested until he gets the message and gives up. I’m just asking you nicely to please back off. Then we can all be
friends and it will all be so much easier.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ I say quietly. ‘I like him. A lot.’

‘I know you think you do, hon,’ says Rosie. I roll my eyes. I realise she means to be sweet, but it just comes across as patronising. ‘But you hardly know him. Do you really
think you’d like him that much, if he weren’t French? Maybe it’s just the cute accent and the fact he dresses differently from the guys we know. If you put him in a hoodie and
trainers, cut his hair differently and made him talk with a London accent, you probably wouldn’t look at him twice.’

I’ve tried to keep calm but I’m angry now. ‘That’s total crap, Rosie. I’ve spent loads of time with him, talking about all sorts of stuff. I know I really do like
him. And why the hell should I care about Manon’s feelings, when I don’t even know her? She’s not my friend. She’s just some girl who you’ve only known for a few days!
It’s not as if you or Sky had feelings for someone first – that would be different. I don’t owe Manon anything. Anyway, I can’t tell Xavier who he should fancy. If he
prefers me, that’s not my fault. That’s just life. Or,
c’est la vie
, as Manon would probably say.’

‘God, Vix, calm down. I don’t want to fall out over this. I was just trying to have a friendly chat. What’s happened to you? You’re not yourself at all today.’

She’s right, I’m not acting like ‘myself’ today, and do you know what? I feel bloody brilliant about it. I wouldn’t normally be this confident or assertive.
Usually, I would back down, apologise even though I haven’t done anything wrong, and contemplate walking away so that Manon could continue to develop her relationship with Xavier, imaginary
or not. Anything for an easy life, anything to make other people happy.

But that was the old me, the me that had no experience, the me who thought I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, the me who always put other people first. That was the me who had never
been kissed, the me who had nothing to lose because I’d never won anything.

That me doesn’t exist any more. This is the new, improved me. For, what nobody knows yet – that thing that I’ve been bursting to talk about – is that last night, after
school, something did happen between Xavier and me.

I shrug. ‘I don’t want to fall out with you either, Rosie. But what you’re asking isn’t fair. We’ve been friends for ever. It feels like you’re putting
Manon’s feelings before mine. That hurts.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Rosie, and I can tell she means it. ‘It’s not what I intended to do. I just want everyone to get on. I had no idea you felt so strongly about
this. You’re right. It isn’t fair.’ She gives me a brave little smile. ‘So, let’s change the subject. What was it you were going to tell me?’

I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and then shut it again. I should tell her. I planned to tell her. A big part of me still wants to tell her. God, I always imagined she’d be the first
person I’d tell about something this momentous. But how can I tell her now?

‘Nothing,’ I say, turning away to stare pointlessly at the uniform grey bricks of the science block. ‘It’s not important.’

decide to tell Sky instead. She is equally my best friend, although I haven’t known her for quite as long
and she doesn’t go to my school. There are actually some things it’s easier to talk to her about than Rosie – like my worries about Mum – because she hasn’t always had
a straightforward time with her parents, either.

‘So go on then, spill,’ she says excitedly, once I’ve told her why I’m there. I’ve popped round after school on the pretext of borrowing a book. The truth is, I
would have spontaneously combusted if I hadn’t confided in someone.

‘I’m not really sure where to start . . .’ I can’t stop smiling. It feels like somebody has attached puppet hooks to my jaw and is pulling them upwards. My lips are
starting to ache.

‘How about at the beginning? When you got home from school with Xavier.’

‘OK. So, we came in and Xavier looked at me in this really sweet, meaningful way and said he was going to go to Sainsbury’s and buy some food for dinner, and then he asked me if
there was anything I don’t like to eat and where the shopping bags were . . .’

Sky giggles. ‘I want all the facts, hon,’ she says, ‘but maybe not in that much detail. Skip to the interesting part!’

‘OK, sorry. I was just remembering how it all happened in my head. It’s kind of hard to edit. OK. So, he went to Sainsbury’s and bought some food for dinner. And we ate it. And
then we sort of kissed.’

Sky rolls her eyes at me. ‘Vix, you can give me a bit more detail than that! What did he make? Something really romantic and French?’

‘I don’t know what it was. It was kind of weird, actually. Not at all what I was expecting. It was this dish made of macaroni with fried eggs and olive oil.’

‘Yeah, sounds weird . . . I guess that could be OK . . .’

‘It was really tasty, believe it or not, although I’d probably have pretended I liked it even if I didn’t, so as not to be rude. Xavier says it’s his favourite food at
home, sort of comfort food. His mum used to make it for him when he was a kid and she showed him how to do it. And then we had crème caramels – although he didn’t make those, he
just bought them.’

‘Yum. So how did you end up . . . you know . . .’

‘Well . . .’

It’s a good question. How did it happen? I’m still not entirely sure. Right up to the moment that it did happen, I still wasn’t certain that it was going to, or that Xavier
properly liked me. He was shyer than usual all evening, more jokey, even putting me down a bit. But at the same time, I kept catching him looking at me, when he didn’t think I could tell, and
when we were in the kitchen he brushed against my leg and my elbow more times than could have been accidental. Looking back, I guess he must have been nervous.

‘To tell the truth, in the end, I sort of kissed him,’ I admit, blushing at the memory. I screw up my face, like it’s a bit painful to think about.

‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. Is that bad? Should I not have?’

‘God, no. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. I’m just surprised.’

‘Really? I couldn’t help myself. We were doing this stupid kind of dance around each other all night, and I kept thinking something was going to happen, and then it didn’t, and
in the end I just did it – spontaneously, without thinking. We were on the sofa by then, in the living room, sitting dead close together with our legs touching, talking about rubbish, and I
suddenly got the urge to kiss him. It just seemed like the obvious thing to do. If I’d thought about it too much I’d have chickened out. Luckily, he kissed me back!’