When we get to JB’s, Ollie dives straight into the booth next to me. I see Megan raise her eyebrows and I instantly feel like I’ve done something wrong. Megan’s very good at making me feel this way. I turn away and concentrate on the Christmas decorations around the diner instead—the swirls of green and red tinsel, and the mechanical Father Christmas who yells, “Ho, ho, ho!” every time someone walks past. Christmas is definitely my favorite time of the year. There’s something about it that always calms me. After a few moments, I turn back to the table. Luckily, Megan’s now absorbed with her phone.
My fingers twitch as the inspiration for a blog post pops into my head. Sometimes it feels as if school is one big play and we’re all supposed to perform our set roles all the time. In our real-life play, Ollie isn’t supposed to sit next to me; he’s supposed to sit next to Megan. They aren’t actually dating or anything but they’re both definitely on the same rung of the social ladder. And Megan never falls into holes. She just seems to glide through life, all glossy chestnut hair and pouting. The twins slide into the booth next to Megan. The twins are called Kira and Amara. They have non-speaking parts in the play and that’s kind of how Megan treats them in real life—as extras to her lead role.
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” a waitress says, arriving at our table with a pad and a grin.
“That would be awesome!” Ollie says loudly in his pretend American accent, and I can’t help cringing.
We all order shakes—apart from Megan, who orders a mineral water—and then Ollie turns to me. “So, can I see?”
“What? Oh, yes.” I fumble in my bag for my camera and start scrolling through the pictures. When I get to the one of Ollie, I pass it to him. I hold my breath as I wait for his response.
“Sweet,” he says. “That looks really good.”
“Ooh, let me see my one,” Megan cries, grabbing the camera from him and pressing at it wildly. My whole body tenses. Normally, I don’t mind sharing things—I even give half my advent-calendar chocolates to my brother, Tom—but my camera is different. It’s my most prized possession. It’s my safety net.
“Oh. My. God. Penny!” Megan shrieks. “What have you done? It looks like I’ve got a mustache!” She slams the camera down on the table.
“Careful!” I say.
Megan glares at me before picking up the camera and fiddling with the buttons. “How do I delete the picture of me?”
I grab the camera back from her a little too forcefully and one of her false fingernails catches on the strap.
“Ow! You’ve broken my nail!”
“You could have broken my camera.”
“Is that all you care about?” Megan glares at me across the table. “It’s not my fault you took such a terrible picture.”
In my head an answer forms itself: It’s not my fault you made me take it that way because you’ve got a spot. But I stop myself from saying it.
“Let me see,” Ollie says, grabbing the camera from me.
As he starts to laugh and Megan glares at me even harder, I feel a familiar tightness gripping my throat. I try to swallow but it’s impossible. I feel trapped inside the booth. Please don’t let this be happening again, I silently plead. But it is. A burning heat rushes through my body and I can barely breathe. The pictures of movie stars lining the wall all suddenly seem to be staring down at me. The music from the jukebox is suddenly too loud. The red chairs too bright. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to control my own body. The palms of my hands go clammy and my heart starts to pound.
“Ho, ho, ho!” the mechanical Father Christmas by the door calls. But he doesn’t sound cheery anymore. He sounds menacing.
“I need to go,” I say quietly.
“But what about the picture?” Megan whines, flicking her glossy dark hair over her shoulder.
“I’ll delete it.”
“What about your milkshake?” Kira says.
I take some money from my purse and put it on the table, hoping they don’t notice my trembling fingers. “One of you guys have it. I just remembered I have to help my mum with something. I need to get home.”
Ollie looks at me and for a second I think he actually looks disappointed. “Will you be in town tomorrow?” he asks.
Megan glares at him across the table.
“I guess so.” I feel so hot it’s making my vision blurred. I need to get out of here, now. If they keep me trapped in this booth for much longer, I’m certain I’m going to pass out. It takes everything I’ve got not to yell at Ollie to get out of my way.
“Cool.” Ollie slides out of the booth and hands me my camera. “Maybe see you around then.”
“Yes.”
One of the twins, I can’t tell which, starts to ask if I’m OK, but I don’t stop to answer her. Somehow, I make it out of the diner and onto the seafront. I hear the shriek of a seagull followed by a shriek of laughter. A group of women are tottering toward me, all spray tans on high heels. They’re wearing Barbie-pink T-shirts, even though it’s December, and one of them has a string of learner plates around her neck. I internally groan. That’s another thing I hate about living in Brighton—the way it’s invaded by stag and hen parties every Friday night. I dart across the road and head down to the beach. The wind is icy and fresh but it’s exactly what I need. I stand on the wet pebbles and stare out to sea and wait until the waves, crashing in and rolling out, coax my heartbeat back to normal.
Chapter Two
For most girls, coming home to find your mum posing on the stairs in a wedding dress would be a freakish occurrence. For me, it’s the norm.
“Hello, darling,” she says, as soon as I come in the front door. “What do you think?” She leans on the banister and throws out an arm, her long auburn curls cascading over her face. The wedding dress is ivory and empire line and has a border of lace flowers around the neck. It’s really beautiful but I’m still feeling so shaken up, all I can do is nod.
“It’s for the Glastonbury-themed wedding,” Mum explains, coming down the stairs to give me a kiss. As usual she smells of rose and patchouli oil. “Don’t you love it? Doesn’t it just scream flower power?”
“Mmm,” I say. “It’s nice.”