Have a Little Faith Page 5

  Ethan looked back over his shoulder all confused and when he got to the front Westy gave him a note from me which said, Nice bum! Ethan looked at his own backside and then shook his head while the rest of the hall were cracking up. Then Ethan said, ‘Mr Millet, Faith has got some costume suggestions for the boys.’ And turned round and waggled his bottom. Which was quite funny. He can take a joke. I like that in a boy.

  Then there was the dull part of rehearsal, i.e. all that singing nonsense. To stop myself suffering brain damage through boredom, I hid Angharad’s music, which sent her into a right old panic. (I don’t know why, she could always just make it up as she goes along, like I do. I find one note is much the same as another.) Anyway, she had to share Elliot’s music, which meant we all got to enjoy Elliot attempting to turn pages over without brushing Angharad’s arm. It was very touching and I was almost moved to tears when he said tenderly to her, ‘It’s quite fast that one, isn’t it?’ and she giggled and said, ‘Yes.’

  But my wedding planning was interrupted by Westy saying, ‘You know those trees?’

  ‘Not to copy French homework from, but I’ve chatted to a few.’

  ‘I mean, you know those tiny trees that they breed. Bonsai?’

  I knew I’d regret it later, but I said, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you think their children would be like that?’ He nodded at Ang and Elliot.

  ‘Do I think their children would be tiny trees? Steady on, Westy. Ang’s a bit squeamish about Biology in general; I think if she gave birth to a shrub it would finish her off. No amount of sticking her head under the tap would bring her back from that one.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded his head, like I’d really cleared things up for him.

  I didn’t have time to try to explain further because fit Finn appeared from nowhere and said to Megs, ‘Did you put those stickers on his bum?’

  Megs opened her eyes really wide and tossed her hair across her face. Before she had one of his eyes out, I helpfully elbowed her out of the way and said, ‘That was me.’

  He said, ‘Cool,’ and nodded to himself. ‘Pretty cool.’

  I laughed in an infectious way, but he was already ambling off.

  Angharad said, ‘I’m not sure that Finn entirely understood the more subtle nuances of that practical joke.’

  Westy said, ‘Yeah.’

  Ang and I turned to stare at him.

  ‘I’m just saying . . . he’s an idiot.’

  Then it was time for a bit more singing. At the end something really amazing happened. Someone Cameron is on a football team with called Ryan is having a party tomorrow and asked Cameron if he wanted to come and Cam asked if he could bring along some girls too (that’s us!).

  I said, ‘Does Ryan mind? Can we come?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? He was like, “Yes!” And then all, “Yeah, that’s cool, whatever.”’

  So we’re all going to a proper party, with boys, at someone’s house, while their parents are out. I feel so grown up and mature and sophisticated that I could do a roly-poly.

  So I did. Then I added a spin, a star jump and backwards roll. I was having a go at a handspring when I ran out of bedroom space and crashed into Dad on the landing. While he was taking my foot out of his armpit (I know, I will need to triple wash my poor toes before the party) I said, ‘Can I go to a party?’

  ‘Will there be boys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then no.’

  ‘I don’t need a lift. Megs’s mum is going to take us.’

  ‘Oh, all right then. Don’t be late.’

  I felt it best that we didn’t get into a discussion on the meaning of ‘late’. I think Mum’s late might be later than Dad’s late. I’ll ask her.

  Megs rang me this morning to discuss the party.

  ‘I said can your mum give Lily and Angharad a lift too?’

  There was a bit of a pause. ‘We don’t have to go everywhere with them, you know,’ she said.

  ‘If you’d rather that we toddled into a party where we’ll know almost no one with just the two of us looking like sad, lonely, old ladies, who probably live together and fight over who is going to feed the cats, that’s fine. I just thought arriving as a pack of stylish young women would suggest that we were popular and fun. But you know me, Megs; I don’t want to push you into anything.’

  Megs made some nose breathing noises. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll ask my mum. Now listen, what are we going to wear?’

  I said, ‘Unless you’ve got something with four armholes, I think that actually sharing the same outfit might be a bit restrictive.’

  ‘Well, I can’t go in jeans if you’re wearing a ball gown.’

  ‘I lent my ball gown to my Uncle Rob. Haven’t heard from him since he changed his name to Rebecca.’

  ‘Come on, Faith.’

  ‘All right, all right. We can’t get too dressed up because we’ll look like we’re trying too hard. But we don’t want to dress down because then we’ll blend into the background . . .’

  ‘And no one wants that.’

  ‘Exactly, no one wants that. So, I think the answer is obvious: miniskirts.’

  ‘Faith, that’s your answer to everything.’

  ‘And it’s a good one. I have no idea why Mrs Mac didn’t accept it as an answer to the question, “What do the female of the species do to attract males?”’

  ‘We were talking about insects.’

  ‘I cannot be expected to listen to every detail of Mrs Mac’s babbling. The point is that miniskirts fit in anywhere. Including a reasonably-sized handbag.’

  ‘Let me ask you something. What would you wear to meet the queen?’

  ‘A miniskirt. Plenty of leg freedom for curtsying.’

  ‘What about a mountain trek?’

  ‘A waterproof miniskirt. With pockets.’

  ‘A funeral?’

  ‘Black miniskirt.’

  ‘I’d better start exfoliating my knees.’

  She should probably shave her toes too, but I didn’t mention that.

  It’s all very well being sure about the miniskirt thing, but which miniskirt? In order to be sure I will need to try them all on. With a selection of tops. And accessories.

  It’s taken two and a half hours but I’m certain that the denim is the way to go.

  Or maybe the black one?

  Definitely denim. It gives me the casual air of jeans but the ooh la la of my legs.

  Last night was brilliant. Best. Party. Ever. Well, mostly. It didn’t start well. You see, when a boy says, ‘I’ll send you the directions to the party,’ you might expect to get some directions to the party, but that would mean that you have forgotten the golden rule: BOYS ARE DIFFERENT. A girl would provide you with step-by-step instructions from the town centre, mentioning helpful landmarks like Topshop and the massive house where that newsreader lives. A boy sends a road name. And nothing else. No house number, no cryptic clues, not even coordinates.

  I didn’t know any of this until Megs’s mum had dropped off me, Megs, Lily and Angharad on one of those new estates on the edge of town where all the houses look the same, except they’re each a tiny bit different. It’s like being forced to play spot the difference the whole time.

  I pulled my skirt down and my wonderbra up and asked Megs what number Buller Close we wanted.

  ‘Cameron didn’t exactly say,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll just walk down the road and listen for music.’

  Lily wasn’t impressed. ‘I’m not wearing walking shoes. I’m wearing looking-lovely-on-the-end-of-my-legs-while-I-recline-gracefully shoes.’

  ‘At least I got us invited to a party,’ Megs snapped back.

  You’d think a teenage party would be easy to spot in a quiet cul-de-sac, but the place was dead. We shuffled down the road holding up Lily and trying to casually peer in people’s windows. Then a pack of nine-year-old boys came around the corner on their bikes.

  Lily hissed, ‘Sto
p. I can’t walk when people are watching.’

  The little twerps were riding in circles and staring at us. I propped Lily against a handy lamppost. I was starting to get annoyed.

  ‘Megs, why don’t you just text Cameron?’ I said.

  ‘I can’t just text him! Not just out of the blue like that. What would I say?’

  ‘How about, where the hell are you?’

  The snot-rags erupted in laughter.

  Lily said, ‘They’re laughing at my shoes.’

  The biggest bratling shouted, ‘BOOBS!’

  ‘I don’t think it’s your shoes he’s looking at, Lily.’

  ‘Oh gross, we’re being perved on by a preschooler.’

  Fortunately, at that point Megs saw Zoe and Becky getting out of a car over the road. Turns out the party was in Buller Court, not Buller Close. So off we slinked.

  Also, the interesting thing about a row of pervy little boys on bikes is that if you push the first one over then the rest of them go down like dominoes.

  I’m just saying.

  Anyway, when we finally got inside, the first thing I spotted was Icky having a ‘water fight’ with Dan and about seven hundred and thirteen other boys. Mostly, they were splashing at her white tea towel of a dress and watching it turn see-through while she squealed. She is such a wonderful ambassador for girlkind.

  We shuffled into the sitting room, which was crammed with people. I recognised a few girls from school. Some of the boys were staring at us so I guided the girls into a corner.

  Lily was still whining, ‘Faith, I need a chair. I really need a chair. My feet are killing me. How am I supposed to recline gracefully without a chair?’

  I said, ‘Lily, all I can offer you is a pot plant. Failing that, Angharad isn’t a bad height for perching.’

  Angharad was gazing about like a little girl at Christmas. She was wearing a blouse. I kid you not, a full-on floral, puff-sleeved blouse and a knee-length pale blue skirt. I whispered to Megs, ‘I sent her a text saying we were wearing miniskirts, why is she wearing that?’

  ‘I think that is a miniskirt.’

  I’ll never complain about being short again.

  Then Ethan and Cameron arrived, followed quickly by Westy and another boy who was almost as wide and as high as he is.

  Westy bellowed, ‘FAITH! How you doing?’

  I was oddly pleased to see him. He’s like a gigantic scruffy dog. So I shouted, ‘All right. How are you, Westy?’

  ‘Not bad. Got this boil under my arm . . .’ Then his huge mate tried to lift up his shirt to have a look. Ewww. Westy threw him to the floor and they started hitting each other.

  Ethan said, ‘It’s nice that they’re comfortable enough in their manhood to roll around on top of each other, isn’t it?’

  I said, ‘Seems a bit sad to me that a boy has to have his skull fractured to get a cuddle.’

  Cam said, ‘I can get a cuddle. Megan will give me a cuddle, won’t you?’ And he put his arm around Megs, while she tried to look like boys hug her all the time.

  Westy scrambled up from the floor. ‘Is this a group hug?’ Then he flung his arms around me and lifted me off the ground. Man, he’s strong. So Megs was getting cosy with Cameron and I was getting crushed by the bear boy. I hope boils aren’t catching.

  Later on, I ended up chatting to Ethan in the hallway. I asked him if he was on the football team with Cameron.

  He said, ‘Despite my godlike figure, I’m not. I tend only to run when there’s something in it for me. You know, like not being mugged.’

  I agreed, ‘The only time I’ve run this year was when my form tutor started flashing everyone’s Year Seven photos up on the whiteboard. I had to sprint to throw myself in front of the board so that no one’s eyes would bleed from looking at a photo of me with a pineapple ponytail.’

  He was staring at me.

  ‘It was my mum’s idea,’ I explained.

  ‘I’ve only got a limited understanding of the science of girls’ hair. Does a “pineapple ponytail” mean you had fruit on your head?’

  ‘No. Then at least I would have had a snack. It just means I looked stupid.’

  He waggled his eyebrows at me. ‘I don’t know if you realise it, but you’re doing that now. Do you want me to throw myself over you to stop people’s eyes from bleeding?’

  ‘Ha ha.’

  It wasn’t the witty answer I was hoping would pop out of my mouth, but I felt a bit odd when Ethan was talking about throwing himself on me. What does that mean?

  Then I started to tell Ethan about Angharad and the pig’s heart incident. He was laughing a lot and I was enjoying myself when suddenly Icky bleeping Blundell appeared, wearing what looked like a wet hanky (seriously, her nipples could have had someone’s eyes out if she’d been tall enough, as it is there’s fairly nasty nick on my knee that I’m holding her responsible for), and she said, ‘Oooh, Ethan (pout, pout), there you are (saucy twinkle), I’ve been looking for you everywhere (bottom wiggle). We need you to play us that song.’ And he went off with her.

  Well! Up until this point I was thinking that Ethan wasn’t completely stupid, but clearly I was wrong. Anyone who follows any kind of instruction from Icky is obviously an idiot. They went to the garden where a load of Radcliffe boys were seeing who could make a guitar sound the most awful. It appears Ethan is quite good at playing the guitar. (How come Icky knew he played the guitar when I didn’t?) Not that I watched them. I had far too much pride. Actually, I couldn’t face weaving through the snogging couples in the kitchen, so I sent Angharad instead, as she’s pretty useful for spying jobs since she’s nearly small enough to fit through a keyhole.

  I was starting to think about ringing Dad and asking him what was the meaning of allowing me to stay out this late, and oughtn’t he to pick me up right now and say something finishing in ‘young lady’, when Finn walked in. I didn’t think he could look any more astonishing than he does in his school uniform, but he did. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt like most of the boys there, but somehow his T-shirt made you think about how lovely his arms are and his jeans made me think about his legs, and when I looked at his face I couldn’t think about anything because there was the sound of singing in my head.

  And then he was gone. I wandered through to the living room, but Megs had disappeared with Cameron and I couldn’t see anyone I knew. I flipped through the DVD collection pretending to be really interested in all the small print on the back, but still nobody came to talk to me. I squeezed through the crowds to look for the rest of the girls. The kitchen had cleared of snoggers and Zoe and Angharad were there comparing eyebrows in Zoe’s compact.

  Ang said, ‘I might just shave mine off. Do you think it would make me look more interesting, Faith?’

  ‘Maybe you could try hair glitter first.’

  I could see Icky and some St Mildred’s girls in designer jeans had formed a ring around Ethan and the other music types in the garden. I turned my back on them. I was starving. Is it polite to poke through someone you don’t know’s fridge? Probably not, but maybe these people should have raised their son to take better care of his guests. So I started fixing myself a little snack. Ang and Zoe squeaked about how rude I was – like anyone was going to miss a couple of slices of bread and a bit of squeezy cheese – and I could hear Icky slurping and giggling outside. Cow. I slammed my hand down on the cheese tube and – oh my – a glob of cheese shot out, through the air and landed on the chest of someone who’d just walked into the kitchen.

  It was Finn.

  I went bright purple and tried to climb inside the cheese tube. I thought he would say something really cutting, but he just said, ‘Whoa! Steady.’

  How nice is that? I kept saying sorry, and Ang and Zoe were stood there with their mouths open.

  Then Finn actually lifted up his T-shirt and licked the cheese off. I know it’s weird but that made me really like him. He might look like a god, but he licks cheese like a boy. He said, ‘I prefer it with a cracke
r. T-shirt fluff just isn’t as crunchy.’

  We all laughed. Zoe laughed so hard she snorted.

  He said, ‘Good sandwich.’

  Which I took to mean that he was helplessly attracted to me.

  ‘You go to Westfield, don’t you?’

  I said, ‘Yes.’ Which didn’t seem like enough of an answer, so I added, ‘I do.’ Which are two words you should not say in any boy’s presence. Ever. But he didn’t seem to notice.

  So we had an actual conversation. Finn and me (and Ang and Zoe, but I think Finn mostly spoke to me). He’s nice. He told us about being on the football team with Ryan and I found out that we both like a variety of cheese products. Anyway, we must have talked for at least ten whole minutes when Megs came to tell me that it was time to go.

  It was a good party.

  I don’t think I ever put the squeezy cheese back in the fridge.

  I’ve finally got to the bottom of Megs’s anti-Lily business.

  At breaktime I was chatting to Lily when Megs came stropping over. She got right in Lily’s face and said, ‘What is your problem?’

  Lily looked even more confused than usual.

  ‘Don’t give me that innocent idiot look. I can see right through you.’

  ‘Er, Megs,’ I said, ‘I hate to stop you because all the people who are staring at you are obviously enjoying the show, but what the hell are you going on about?’

  ‘I saw her! I saw her chatting up Cameron. Everyone knows that I like Cameron and that we’re practically . . . well, maybe not practically . . . but almost—’

  ‘Again, Megan, what are you talking about?’

  ‘She’s trying to steal my boyfriend! My nearly boyfriend! First she steals my best friend and now she’s going after Cameron.’

  And, having finished demonstrating just how utterly crazy she is, Megs ran off to the toilets.