I’m about to ask Megan what she’d like to do again when she kicks off her shoes and wriggles back on the bed.
“What was up with you yesterday in the diner?” she asks, staring pointedly at her missing false nail. “Why did you act so weird?”
I think about coming up with an excuse. Then I remember my last blog post and how good it felt to open up about my panic attacks. I haven’t mentioned them at all to Megan. But maybe it will make things a bit easier between us if I’m honest.
I take a deep breath. “You know I was in that car accident with my parents a while ago?”
Megan looks at me blankly for a second. “Oh, yeah.”
“Well, ever since then, I’ve been getting these weird panic attacks and I feel just like I did when I was trapped in the car. Like I get all kinds of hot and feel as if I can’t breathe and—”
“Oh my God, do not talk to me about getting panicked!” Megan interrupts. “I can’t believe there’s only two days till the school play. I am so scared I’m going to mess up.”
“You won’t mess up. You’re the best one in it.”
“Really?” She looks at me, widening her chocolatey-brown eyes. “It’s just so much pressure, though, knowing that the success of the show is riding on my shoulders. Jeff said that I remind him of a young Angelina Jolie, which is, like, super-cute of him but it just makes the pressure even worse.”
“Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I feel a sour mixture of anger and hurt. Yet again, she has turned the conversation back on herself—even when I was trying to tell her something private and serious.
“I’m so glad I have such great chemistry with Ollie,” Megan continues. “Jeff says we’re like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in that movie they did together—you know, when they first fell in love.” Megan looks at me and gives me another of her tight little smiles. “Ollie tells me everything, you know.”
I feel a bit sick. “Oh, so you—you know about tomorrow then?”
She frowns. “What about tomorrow?”
My face instantly flushes. “He’s asked me to meet him for lunch.”
It’s almost as if I can see the cogs in her brain whirring as she processes this information. Clearly she didn’t know. Clearly Ollie doesn’t tell her everything after all.
“He’s asked to meet you? Where?” She’s still smiling but it’s so forced it looks as if her jaw might crack from the strain.
“At Lucky Beach around midday.”
“What? Just you?”
There’s something about her shocked expression and the way she says “just you” that makes me really mad. I know that Ollie is way out of my league in the stupid School Leagues of Attractiveness and General Greatness but if a boy has asked you out for lunch, shouldn’t your friend be happy for you instead of gaping at you like a goldfish? Unless . . .
“Do you like Ollie?” The question pops out before I have time to censor it.
Megan looks at me coldly. “Of course I like Ollie.”
“No, I mean, like like?”
Megan throws back her head and gives a fake little laugh. “No, of course not. He’s way too young for me.”
I stare at her and all I can think is, Who are you? Megan might have been one of my closest friends for six years but right now it’s like I don’t know her at all.
Chapter Six
If The Guinness Book of Records ever wants to feature the World’s Worst Ever Sleepover they need to get in touch with me. Seriously. I wake up while it’s still dark—never good on a Sunday—and lie there sending psychic messages to Elliot through the bedroom wall. When we were little, we used to try to have the same dream when we went to sleep. We thought that because we slept right next door to each other it would be possible, like we could float up into one giant dream bubble hovering over our houses. I’ve had the worst night ever, I try telling him.
Megan is still fast asleep on the other side of the room on the sofa bed. As I look at her, a new blog title composes itself in my head—CAN YOU OUTGROW YOUR BEST FRIEND?—and all of my hurt and anger at Megan starts welling up inside of me, dying to spill out. It’s so frustrating when this happens and I’m not able to actually write anything. Once, in the middle of a math exam, I got this awesome idea for a blog—at the time I was certain it would be the funniest, most interesting blog I’d ever written. I’d come up with a really clever title and everything. But then I got lost in a sea of algebra and when I came out of the exam the only letters I could think of were x and y. I still can’t remember what that blog post was supposed to be about.
Scared of losing my current idea, I take my phone from my bedside table and burrow under my duvet. I’d put my phone on silent when we went to sleep last night—at eleven thirty!!! Now I see that Elliot sent me a text at just gone midnight.
How’s it going with Mega-Boring? Are you missing me?! My project is making me want to poke my eyes out with a pencil. I mean, seriously, who needs to know about the Corn Laws? Why does corn even need a law?!
I start typing a reply.
Worst sleepover EVER! So bad I was already asleep when you sent your text!!! I think there needs to be a Corn Law and the law should be that hot buttery corn on the cob should be served with every meal. I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!
Almost as soon as I’ve sent the text I hear a faint knocking on the wall. One knock, followed by four, followed by three: I—love—you. I’m about to knock back when I hear Megan groan.