“What’s that knocking noise?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“Is it that boy next door?”
Megan has met Elliot loads of times; there’s no way she doesn’t know his name. This fact makes me hate her even more.
“I don’t know why you hang out with him,” she continues. “He’s so weird.”
I lie on top of my arms to stop myself from leaping out of the bed and bashing her over the head with a pillow.
“Could I have some coffee?” she asks.
“Yep.” Even though she just insulted my best friend and even though she totally ruined last night and even though I want to kill her with a pillow, I’m so grateful for an excuse to get away from her for a few minutes that I leap out of bed and pull on my dressing gown.
• • •
Down in the kitchen, I find Dad sitting at the table, drinking a mug of tea and reading the paper. He’s an early bird just like me. His hair is still ruffled from sleeping and his chin is covered with a grey shadow of stubble.
“Hey,” he says when he sees me. “How’s the sleepover going?”
I look at him and raise my eyebrows.
“That good, huh?”
I nod, then go and turn the kettle on. A few weeks ago, when we were making a spag bol together, I told Dad that Megan and I hadn’t been getting on very well.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that it’s possible to outgrow a friend?”
He smiles and nods. “Oh yes. It happens all the time, especially at your age when you’re changing so much.” He gestures at me to sit down next to him. “Did I ever tell you about Timothy Taylor?”
I shake my head.
“He was my best friend all through junior school. We were as thick as thieves. But then, when we got to secondary school, he really changed and I just didn’t want to hang out with him.”
“Why? What did he do?”
“He started playing rugby!” Dad chortles. Dad is a total football nut and can’t understand people who prefer rugby. “But seriously,” he continues, “it wasn’t just that. He started getting really full of himself too. I didn’t have anything in common with him anymore.”
“So what happened? Did you fall out?”
“Nah. Just drifted apart really. And we both found other friends we had more in common with. So don’t worry about Her Ladyship.” He nods toward upstairs. “You’ll be fine—sometimes you just have to let people go.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I get up and kiss him on top of his head.
“No problem.” He laughs. “Who knew I could be so wise so early—and on so little caffeine!”
When I get back to my bedroom, Megan is up and fully dressed. I internally cheer—hopefully this means she’ll be going soon.
“Here’s your coffee.” I pass her the mug. She takes it but doesn’t say thanks. Instead she says, “So, what are you going to wear for your lunch with Ollie?”
I look at her blankly. In all of the stress of the Sleepover from Hell I hadn’t given it any thought.
“If I were you, I’d go for a really casual look. You don’t want to seem too keen. I’d lend you my hoodie but I don’t think the color would suit you.” She takes a sip of her coffee and smiles at me sweetly. “It’s such a shame your hair’s red. It doesn’t really go with anything, does it?”
I realize there and then that for me to have any hope of actually enjoying my morning and looking forward to meeting Ollie, Megan has to go. Like, right now.
“I’m so sorry, but my dad’s just told me that I need to help out with something down at the shop this morning.”
Megan frowns. “On a Sunday?”
“Yes. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to go.”
Megan actually looks disappointed. “Oh, but I was going to help you get ready.”
I force myself to smile at her. “It’s OK, I can manage.”
She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, absolutely.”
• • •
It turns out that actually, when it comes to getting ready to meet Ollie, I can’t manage at all. It’s half an hour since Megan left and my room looks like a nuclear clothes bomb has gone off. In my desperate whirlwind of trying things on and ripping them off again, not a single inch of bedroom space has been left untouched by some random article of clothing. I look at the stripy tights dangling forlornly from the light fixture and sigh. What am I going to wear?!
I’m in a real dilemma. The kind that people write to advice columns about. Normally, if I’m having any kind of fashion crisis, Elliot is the first person I turn to, but I can hardly imagine him wanting to help me when Ollie’s involved. I wander around my room sighing; even the sight of the sea on the horizon doesn’t make me feel any better. Not when I’ve got to be down by the sea in one hour’s time and I’M STILL NOT DRESSED!
Then a question forms in my mind. What would I wear if it were just up to me? I go over to the heap of clothes on the floor by my rocking chair and I pull out a black tea dress dotted with tiny purple hearts. I put it on with a pair of black opaque tights and look in the mirror. The dress is a perfect fit and makes my waist look really tiny. I’m about to pull on a pair of ballet pumps when that question pops into my head again. What would I wear if it were just up to me? I root around in the bottom of my wardrobe for my biker boots. Then I put on my black leather jacket.