Torn (15 page)

The Natural History Museum. Clearly Jack is not interested in me. At least not in that way. No one goes to a museum on a date. You go to museums with your
mum or your gran or your school. Not with someone you fancy. He really
does
just want to take me out to say thanks. My overexcited heart shrinks back inside my chest, feeling sheepish.

I chuck down my phone and it slides right across the table and onto the floor. Stupid phone. Here I was, perfectly happy, doing my homework like a good little girl, minding my own business. And then my bloody phone has to go and ruin everything.
Jack
has to go and ruin everything. Why couldn’t I have enjoyed that teeny kernel of hope for a few more days before it went POP?

The truth is, I hadn’t even realized that I’d
had
any hope until it was gone. Now I can admit to myself that a part of me (and not even a small part) had thought that something could happen between us. And that part of me wanted it to happen so badly that it forces a couple of tears out of my eyes before I can do anything about it.

A museum. A stupid, dusty, boring museum full of hyperactive kids. Fantastic.

I’m going to have to spend Saturday with Jack, knowing that a) I as good as murdered his sister, and b) he does not want to kiss me. A normal person might not be able to think these thoughts simultaneously. A normal person might be more concerned about a) than b). Clearly there is something very, very wrong with me.

I
know
I should stay away from him. I should make up some excuse and bail. He might text me for a bit, eager to thank me for telling him about the trip. But I could make up more excuses, and then he’d surely stop bothering after a while. It would be simple. I’d never have to worry about saying the wrong thing or giving anything away or accidentally confessing. This would be the right thing to do, no question.

But I want to see him. Even if it has to be at some
stupid museum … as
friends
. I just want to be near him and I’m not entirely sure why.

Ghost Tara tries her best to annoy me about the whole thing, but I’m getting better and better at blocking her out. One of her barbed comments will occasionally hit the mark, making me feel ugly and worthless and guilty. Like when she points out that my new top looks fine … as long as I suck my stomach in and don’t make the mistake of breathing. I scrunch the top into a ball and chuck it in the bin in the kitchen. Dad finds it (of course he finds it), but I think he buys my story about dripping olive oil all down it. And since the top is now spattered with leftover curry and soggy teabags, he can’t really tell.

I tell Cass that Dad is taking me to visit Nan and Grumps. She smirks and says, ‘Rather you than me.’ Cass only has one grandparent left – her mum’s mum, who lives in Sydney. Cass has seen her three times in her whole life. Old people freak Cass out, whereas I kind of like them. They always seem so … sedate. Well, maybe it’s just the ones I know, but Nan’s always all
What’s the hurry? You’ve got time for another cuppa, haven’t you?

I wish I
was
going to see Nan and Grumps. They live near the beach in Sussex. It’s a pretty chilled
sort of place too – the kind of place I could really do with being right now. Nan’s been phoning since I got back from Scotland, trying to get me to go and visit, ‘to get away from it all’. If only it was that easy.

It takes me ages to decide what to wear on Saturday, particularly with Tara wittering in my ear the whole time. ‘Hmm … I don’t think Jack will like that colour,’ and ‘Well, if
you
think that top goes with those jeans then I’m sure it’s fine. Really.’ I went for the nicest clothes I could go for without tipping over into Date Territory. Not that I know all that much about what people actually
wear
on dates. So I’m wearing my favourite jeans and a red top. People always tell me I look good in red. I don’t know why and I’m not sure I believe them.

I check myself out in the mirror (with Tara smirking over my shoulder, of course) and I think I look fine. Not crap, not amazing – just fine. I suppose the red does look sort of good against my super-pale vampire skin. Minimal make-up: a couple of swipes of mascara and a dab of lip gloss. I tie my hair back in a messy ponytail and I’m good to go. Nearly. I open up the top drawer of my dressing table and grab Mum’s necklace. It’s an emerald on a silver chain – very simple and completely beautiful. Mum said the
emerald matched my eyes, and I always wished that was true. Whenever I admired it, she’d say, ‘This will be yours one day.’ We never thought
one day
would arrive quite so soon.

I fasten the necklace and it sits in that perfect spot on my collarbone. The one perfect place on my body. I shut the drawer, but not fast enough to ignore what’s nestled there among the rest of my jewellery. The ring. Tara’s ring.

It’s beyond risky keeping it here, but I don’t know what else to do with it. I can’t just get rid of it. That wouldn’t be right. And I don’t want to hide it in my sock drawer or something. It’s precious and it deserves to be looked after.

I check over my shoulder – Ghost Tara is gone. I open the drawer again and take out the ring. It’s slender and pretty – three strands of silver plaited together. Tara wore it on the pinky finger of her right hand. She never took it off – not even when she was swimming. Back when she and I were friends, she wore the ring on her index finger. She used to twist it round and round when she was nervous about something. I don’t think she does (I mean,
did
) that any more. Not so much to get nervous about when you’re reigning supreme at the top of the social pyramid, I suppose.

Before I can think about what I’m doing, I slip the ring onto my pinky finger. It fits perfectly and looks just right. Strangely, the idea of wearing it doesn’t creep me out in the slightest. Something about it makes me feel a little less wrong, a little less … Alice. I twist it round my finger, just like she used to do. It’s comforting. But of course I can’t ever wear it, and especially not today. So I put it back where I found it and shut the drawer more firmly than I need to.

On the way to meet Jack, the ring is all I can think about. Specifically, how it slid off Tara’s finger into my hand as we let her go. What were the chances of that happening? It’s almost like I was
meant
to have it. So I’d never be able to move on. Never be able to forget.

London’s looking beautiful today – not grey and grimy like usual. The first bit of sunshine we’ve had in weeks, and I’m going to be stuck in a museum. Fabulous.

There are loads of people sitting on the steps outside, even though it’s pretty cold. A boy and girl are snogging as if they’re going for some kind of world record. It’s hard not to stare. I think for a second that maybe museums
are
date-worthy after all, but then I notice their rucksacks and cameras. Tourists. They don’t count.

I head for the door before the boy-tourist and
girl-tourist decide to get horizontal and make me puke. It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust after the brightness outside. The place is completely rammed. People
everywhere
. And it’s loud. It makes me feel a bit panicky for a second, but then I see him. And the panic melts away.

He’s sitting on the floor next to the massive dino skeleton. He’s reading a battered old paperback and he’s completely oblivious to everyone and everything around him. His hair keeps falling down over his eyes and he keeps pushing it back in a battle he’s never going to win.

I know I should go over and say hi, but I don’t want to – not yet. It feels like there’s a
possibility
in this moment. Not a real possibility, but if I pretend hard enough I can imagine that I’m his girlfriend and he’s waiting for me, trying to get lost in his book when really all he can think about is me. Or something.

He looks up and catches me staring. Embarrassing. He waves and clambers to his feet. I make my way towards him, nearly colliding with one of those scary off-roader-style pushchairs. Jack doesn’t notice though – he’s too busy stuffing the book into his messenger bag.

There’s an awkward moment when I stand in front of him and sort of wave, as if
that’s
how you
greet someone. He goes in for a hug and I thank God that at least one of us knows how to be normal. He smells so good: sort of fresh and zesty. He’s definitely wearing aftershave. I do my best to ignore the little voice in my head that gleefully shouts, ‘Aftershave = date!’ I also do my best not to bury my face in his shoulder and stay there forever. Because that might scare him.

After the hug there’s a little silence.

‘So … the Natural History Museum …?’

‘Um, yes. As soon as I sent that text I realized you’d think I was a complete weirdo. I just … really like it here.’ He looks like a bashful little boy.

‘No, no, it’s fine! I haven’t been here for years.’

‘Oh man, you’re gonna love it! There’s so much cool stuff here.’ He winces and puts his hands on my shoulders. I think I might pass out. ‘Alice, there’s something I have to tell you.’ Oh God. ‘OK, here goes. I am a
massive
geek. I never quite got over my dinosaur obsession. I’ve seen
Jurassic Park
thirty-seven times. I have a lot, and I mean
a lot
, of dinosaur books at home.’ He takes a deep breath and hangs his head. Then he looks up at me through his hair. ‘So now you know my secret. I completely understand if you want to bail. I just thought you should know what you’re getting into …’ Getting into? What
does
that
mean? Nothing. It means nothing. Calm down.

His eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘So now that’s out in the open, I reckon it’s your turn … What’s
your
dirty little secret?’

My stomach contracts and I think I might vomit all down Jack’s T-shirt.

I manage to pull myself together, somehow. ‘Where do you want me to start? How about the fact that I used to obsessively collect elephants – not real ones, obviously. Or the fact that my Dad and I play Scrabble at least three times a week. Or, here’s a good one … I spend most Friday nights in the library.’ What. Have. I. Done?!

‘Wow. That is truly impressive geekery. You win. You are
definitely
a bigger geek than me. I bow down to you, Queen of Geekdom.’ And he actually does a little bow.

I pout and frown at the same time, until I realize this might not be the most attractive look in the entire world.

Maybe the whole pouty/frowny look was too
convincing, because his smile slips. ‘I’m sorry! I don’t think … You’re not …’

I laugh and grab his arm. ‘It’s OK, I’ve been called worse!’ Mostly by your sister. ‘Now come on, show me some dinosaurs.’ He lets me drag him in the direction of the dinosaur gallery. His arm feels wiry and strong beneath my fingers.

So we trawl round the dinosaurs, and it’s about a million times more fun than I would have thought. Jack really knows his stuff, and he’s very cute when he gets all enthusiastic and stumbles over his words trying to get me interested too. It doesn’t take much – before long I’m asking him questions (and genuinely wanting to know the answers).

A couple of times he stops himself mid-sentence. ‘I’m not boring you, am I?’ I laugh and tell him that I’m enjoying myself, and his smile makes me forget everything but this exact moment. Here. Now. Jack. Me. And a room full of dead lizards.

As we trawl round some of the other galleries I somehow manage to forget about the obvious nondateness of the occasion. And even more surprisingly, I manage to forget about Tara for minutes at a time. But then Jack will say or do something that reminds me of her and it’s like all the breath in my body whooshes out at once.

It’s not that Jack
looks
like her or anything. But there’s a definite family resemblance in some of his features. His eyes and hair are darker than hers, but his nose is the same and his lips are perfectly lip-shaped, just like hers. If I had any artistic ability whatsoever, that’s how I would draw a mouth. I need to stop thinking about Jack’s mouth now.

It’s not the way he looks that makes me think of Tara though. It’s the little things. Like the way he runs his hand through his hair. And the half-smirk on his face when he teases me. And the really intense look he has in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking.

Three hours of museuming and my feet are killing me. Luckily, Jack seems to sense I’ve had enough and suggests we go and sit on the steps outside. Snogging Couple have snogged off somewhere else, thank God, but I can’t help but smile when Jack sits in the exact same spot.

It’s a lot colder now. We’re the only ones sitting on the steps.

‘Thank you, Alice.’ The intense look is back and this time it’s got me pinned down.

‘For what?’ I say softly.

‘For helping me forget for a little while. I didn’t think it was possible.’ He exhales loudly and
continues before I can say anything. ‘I shouldn’t forget though, should I? It’s not right …’ A tear springs from nowhere, surprising us both. He swipes it away. ‘Sorry. Man, this is embarrassing.’

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

Another tear, this one treated with the same disdain as the first. ‘It’s just … how can I be here with you, having an amazing time and laughing and stuff, when she’s …’ He stares at nothing in the distance.

Before I can think about what I’m doing, I grab his hand. ‘Jack, listen to me. It’s OK. You’re allowed to have fun sometimes. It doesn’t mean you miss her any less. And you’re allowed to cry.’

‘I don’t want to cry any more. I’ve cried enough. She wouldn’t want me moping around feeling sorry for myself. She’d want me to get on with my life.’ He looks down at our hands and I wish I knew what he was thinking.

And then he looks right at me. His eyes are shining and melty brown and I would do anything to make the hurt in them go away. And suddenly I know what he’s thinking after all. He’s thinking about kissing me. He moves his head closer to mine, ever so slightly. You wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t looking for the signs. I tell myself I’m imagining things – Jack would
never want to kiss me. Never ever in a million years. But somehow, I
know
. His lips are parted a little. I can almost …