Undone (17 page)

I giggle and scoot out from under her hand. ‘You’re crazy. People at school have no idea how weird you truly are, do they?’

She pulls a face. ‘Nope, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much! Now, seriously – Lucas . . . yay or nay? On the pro side, I can tell you that the sex is exceptionally good. I’ve trained him well – you can thank me later.’

‘Ewww! I don’t want to hear it!’

‘On the con side, he spends far too much time in front of the mirror. And his obsession with football might get on your nerves a bit. Any questions?’

I’m blushing, I can feel it. The redness
must
be powerful enough to break through the layers of makeup. ‘Why are you telling me all this? It’s . . . kind of weird, isn’t it?’

‘Here’s the way I see it. I like Lucas and I want
him to be happy. I like you and I want
you
to be happy. Lucas fancies you but it remains to be seen whether you fancy him. So . . . ? Do you?’

‘I–’

An insistent beeping sound comes from the oven timer and Sasha leaps off the counter, brandishing the oven gloves. ‘Saved by the bell!’ She goes to open the oven, then changes her mind and turns to face me. ‘Actually . . . I’m not going to let you squirm out of it that easily. I’m not getting those pizzas out until you tell me. If everyone has to eat burnt pepperoni I’m blaming you, so you’d better spill . . . What do you think of him?’ She flicks the oven gloves over her shoulder, then crosses her arms looking as smug as you like.

Something tells me that Bugs wouldn’t be too happy if I ruined his dinner, and Sasha’s clearly not budging, so I have to say
something
. My mind flits between all the possible things I could say, before eventually settling on the truth.

‘I have no idea how I feel about him.’

I’d forgotten what it feels like to tell the truth.

Sasha narrows her eyes and she’s about to say something when Bugs comes barrelling into the kitchen shouting, ‘I WANT MY PIZZA, WOMAN!’ He picks Sasha up, hoists her over his shoulder and
proceeds to circle the kitchen making an assortment of unappealing grunting noises.

For the rest of the night I do my best to make sure I’m not left alone with Sasha, and I watch Lucas for any signs that she could be right. But it’s so far outside the realms of possibility that my brain has difficulty taking it seriously. Still, Sasha seemed so sure, and why would she say something like that if she didn’t think it was true? And Lucas
has
been friendly to me – way friendlier than I would have expected after observing him from a distance all these years. But this is ME we’re talking about. I may look different now, but underneath it all I’m still Jem Halliday. And Jem Halliday is definitely not the sort of girl to catch the eye of someone like Lucas Mahoney. Stand me next to Sasha and it’s not even a contest.

But I can’t seem to silence the tiny stupid voice in my head whispering,
What if it
is
true? What would you do then?
There’s no doubt that getting in with Lucas would give me more options when it comes to the Plan. Some
very
interesting options. It’s got to be easier to humiliate someone you’re really close to – especially if they tell you their secrets, their hopes and dreams. Of course, you’d usually
care
about someone you’re close to, so humiliating them would be the last
thing on your mind. But the beauty here is that I
don’t
care – not even a little bit. I keep coming back to Sasha breaking up with Lucas and him not wanting anyone to know that
he
was the one who’d been dumped. This useful little nugget of information is firmly lodged in my brain.

But could I do actually it? Could I pretend to like Lucas, for Kai’s sake?

Finally a question I know the answer to without even thinking.

Of course I could.

I didn’t have much time for plotting before GCSEs crept up on me. Exams are pretty much all I can think about right now, which is strange, because I’ve never really cared about this stuff before. But now I’m actually studying and it’s sort of nice to have something else to focus on. Of course I’ve been complaining to Mum and Dad every chance I get. They’d think there’s something seriously wrong with me if they knew I was enjoying revision.

I’m pretty sure I’ll do better than my teachers are expecting, but not as well as Dad thinks I will. He seems to think that hard work should mean top marks, but he should really know better. Life’s not like that. Some people don’t need to lift a finger and they’ll get more A*s than any one person could possibly need. And some people will sweat and toil away for weeks on end and come away with mediocre grades at best.
Life
isn’t
fair. It’s the same with popularity, if you think about it. You can’t make it happen by being nice and friendly and kind – otherwise Jasmine James would rule the school instead of having to deal with the repercussions of rumours started by yours truly.

I’ve been trying to tell myself it’s not my fault, but it’s
clearly
my fault and I feel horrible about it. I really do. I don’t know for sure which one of Team Popular decided it was perfectly OK to start spouting off about it at school, but it doesn’t matter. The fact is, I should have known this would happen.

I’ve overheard at least three people talking about it already this week, and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure Jasmine knows. Yesterday in history I had this awful feeling that she wanted to talk to me about it. I could sense her glancing over at me way more than she normally does. I’ve never stared so hard at a textbook before. It must have done the trick; she didn’t say a word.

Hopefully everyone will forget all about it soon, what with the exams and everything. If not, all I can do is hope that Jasmine’s strong enough to weather the storm. Unlike Kai.

I devour the May letter far too quickly. I’ve got a maths exam today; I hate maths more than anything. My head
is swimming with formulas and right-angled triangles. I stuff the letter under my pillow and promise myself I’ll read it again as soon as I get home.

Today’s the day. Bugs passed his test without even a single minor fault. I even hugged him when he told us the news.

Mum’s been nagging me about revision, but she eventually came round to the idea that a day out might be just what I need. Plus I told her I’d work extra hard as soon as I get home this afternoon – I said she can even test me if she likes (Kai was right
–
it’s one of her favourite mother–daughter activities). Besides, she’s over the bloody moon about my ‘new friends’ as she keeps calling them. She’s always asking questions about Sasha.

I went to the shop first thing this morning. Right on the other side of town, of course. There was an old
lady behind the counter and she gave me the longest, hardest look. The old Jem would have crumbled and mumbled and reddened under the gaze of her watery eyes. I just stared right back at her, daring her to say something. She was the first to look away. When it comes down to it, most people are weak. Too afraid to say what they’re really thinking – especially to a stranger.

I shoved my purchases into my bag, looking over my shoulder to check no one was watching. Which is exactly the kind of shifty behaviour that makes people notice you.

I breathed a shaky sigh of relief as soon as I escaped from the shop, swiftly followed by a giggle that bubbled up from nowhere. Also the kind of shifty (or deranged) behaviour that makes people notice you. Sure enough, a kid leaning against the shop window looked at me strangely. Normally I’d ignore it and scurry away like a particularly pathetic mouse. Not this time though, this time I told him to fuck off. His eyes widened and he looked embarrassed. I felt bad; I wanted to apologize. But I didn’t. I walked away feeling ashamed of myself. He was just some poor kid, who happened to look at some mad girl who was laughing to herself. What was wrong with that?

What was wrong with me?

*

I couldn’t resist taking a peek at what I’d bought as soon as I got home, especially since I didn’t exactly take time to study them in the shop. It was more a case of grab whatever I could off the shelves as quickly as possible. There was no more giggling. Looking at them made me feel beyond uncomfortable, and of course Noah chose that exact moment to burst into my room without knocking. Lucky for me he’s so spectacularly unobservant I was able to cover up the evidence with a pillow. He narrowed his eyes, dived under my bed and stayed there for a second or two before scrambling out again. ‘Good. No zombies. You’re safe. As you were, soldier.’ Then he did what I can only assume was some kind of commando roll, saluted me and ran from the room, ignoring my shout to ‘CLOSE THE BLOODY DOOR!’ My brother might just be even weirder than I am.

They arrive thirteen minutes late. No one bothers to ring the doorbell. Instead the car horn toots some annoying unplaceable tune and I hurriedly shove things into my bag and run down the stairs, nearly spraining my ankle jumping the last four steps in one go. I shout goodbye to Mum and scarper before she can ask me where I’m going and who with and what time I’ll be back.

The car is as ridiculous as I expected. It’s white, for a start. What kind of an idiot chooses a white car? Especially when you’re as slobbish as Bugs. It has this weird sort of wing thing on the back, which is supposed to make it look more aerodynamic, I guess. The windows are tinted and the rims are super-shiny. But take all that away and you’re left with a car your mum would drive.

This is the first official outing for what Stu has christened ‘The Pussy Magnet’, in typically revolting fashion. Bugs has been dreaming of this car for years. I assumed his parents had bought it for him, but he took great pride in telling me that he’d saved up every penny. Three years it had taken him. I’m more impressed than I’d like to admit.

The pavement is practically vibrating with the thumping bass. I can only hope my ears make it through this experience intact. The tinted windows make it impossible to see who’s in the car, so opening the door is a little like dipping your toe into water you’re pretty sure is infested with sharks.

Bugs is in the driving seat, his big moon face looming between the seats, meaty arm slung over the passenger seat. Sasha’s sitting next to him, and you can just tell by the look on his face that this is a dream come true for him. Well, it would be if it wasn’t for
the boys in the back. I squeeze in next to Stu, which I definitely wouldn’t have done if the stupid windows hadn’t deprived me of the choice. Getting up close and personal with Lucas would have been a far more attractive option. There’s only room for five in the car, so that means no Amber, no Nina. I can’t help thinking this could be significant – am I higher up the pecking order
already
? Or am I reading too much into things, as per usual?

The back seat is cosy, to say the least. Stu’s leg presses up against mine and I can feel the strength there. There’s a hole in the knee of his jeans. I remember it from that night in the greenhouse. His knobbly knee sticks through, and if you weren’t careful you might find it kind of endearing. You might think he was a little boy who’d fallen off his bicycle. You would be very, very wrong.

We head out of town, and Bugs is driving way better than I would have expected. Boy racer he is not. Every time I glance at the speedometer it’s
exactly
on the speed limit. Stu keeps taking the piss, shouting things like, ‘My gran drives faster than this . . . and she’s been dead for two years,’ and, ‘What’s the point in that beast of an engine if you’re going to drive like a woman?’ The latter is swiftly followed by a ‘no offence, ladies’ and what he thinks is a disarming grin. Stu’s
ability to be a complete tool never ceases to amaze me.

Bugs tells Stu to shut up on more than one occasion, and every furtive sideways glance at Sasha (of which there are many) makes it abundantly clear that
she’s
the reason he’s driving so carefully. Either he doesn’t want to crash the car and risk damaging her beautiful face or he wants her to think he’s mature and sensible and other things he most definitely is not.

The journey takes about an hour, which is a very long time to be trapped in a tiny car with anyone, let alone four people you can’t stand. I mostly stay quiet and look out the window. If I try really hard I can block them out and imagine I’m on my way to somewhere amazing. With someone amazing.

By the time we pull into the car park it’s starting to rain. The prospect of this little outing being ruined cheers me up a little. The others have this big debate about what we should do. Bugs and Sasha want to head to a cafe, Lucas and Stu want to go to the beach (‘It’s only a bit of rain, for fuck’s sake. We’re waterproof, aren’t we?’). Sasha’s worried about her hair, and if I’m being completely honest I’m worried about mine too. I never used to be the kind of girl who worried about her hair.