I look at him, my face flushing. “I know. I didn’t think she’d want to come, to be honest.”
“So why did you ask her?”
“I thought it would be fun,” I reply with a shrug.
“Hmm,” Elliot says. “About as much fun as a night in with my parents, which is what I’m now doomed to.”
“I’m sorry.” I link arms with Elliot. He’s wearing his vintage woolen coat. It feels all warm and snug.
“Never mind,” Elliot says with a sigh. “I’ve got a massive history project to finish by Monday so it’s probably best I stay in. Hey, did you know that the house over there used to be the Sussex and Brighton Infirmary for Eye Diseases?”
That’s one of the things I love the most about Elliot—he can never stay cross for more than about ten seconds. If only all friends could be like that!
We walk past Choccywoccydoodah, just as a couple is coming out, bringing with them the sweet smell of cookies baking.
“Shall we pop into Tic Toc for a hot chocolate?” I ask. I still have half an hour before I have to be at the shop.
“Er, shall the moon rise tonight?” Elliot says theatrically. He opens the door and waves me in.
Inside the café is steamy and warm. There is no denying Tic Toc does the best hot chocolate in Brighton. And Elliot and I ought to know, we’ve conducted a scientific survey into it. As Elliot checks out the cakes on the counter, I sit down at a table and quickly text Megan back.
Sure. Come round about 8 Px
“OMG!” Elliot says as he gets back to the table. “They’ve got a new flavor cupcake!” His eyes are as wide as saucers. “Raspberry and Mocha.”
“Oh wow.”
“Do you want one?”
I nod. Even though I’m still pretty stuffed from breakfast I always have room for a cupcake.
“Cool. I’ll go and order.”
As Elliot heads back to the counter I lean back in my chair, letting the warmth of the café seep into me. Then the door opens and a boy walks in. I recognize him immediately as Ollie’s older brother, Sebastian. Ollie comes strolling in behind him. I grab the menu card and pretend to study it, hoping that he won’t see me and they’ll go and sit in the far corner. But then I hear the chair at the table next to me being scraped back on the wooden floor.
“Penny!”
I look up and see Ollie grinning down at me. There’s no denying it—his grin is puppy-dog cute. He sits down in the chair next to me. Across from him, Sebastian stares at me coldly. Sebastian is two years older than us and he’s one of the most popular—and arrogant—people in sixth form. He’s also a regional tennis champion. Rumor has it he once told Andy Murray he ought to work harder on his backhand. I can believe it.
“What do you want?” he asks Ollie tersely.
“Can I get a chocolate milkshake?” Ollie says.
Sebastian scowls at him like he’s just asked for a cup of vomit. “Seriously? Please don’t tell me you want sprinkles and a flake too?”
Ollie nods, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look embarrassed.
Sebastian shakes his head and sighs. “You’re such a kid.”
“All right. I’ll have a coffee then.” Ollie’s cheeks are bright red now. It’s weird seeing him so unconfident. I feel really sorry for him.
Sebastian goes over to the counter and queues up behind Elliot, and I start panicking about what Elliot will do when he sees our table has been crashed by the Walking Selfie.
“It’s so strange bumping into you like this,” Ollie says, taking off his scarf. “I just texted Megan about half an hour ago asking for your number.”
“Really?” My voice comes out in a squeak. I cough and try again. “Why’s that?” My voice now sounds as deep as a man’s. I look down at the tablecloth and wish that it would magically come to life and wrap itself around me to hide my shame.
“I was going to ask you if you fancied meeting tomorrow lunchtime?”
I glance at Ollie, wondering if maybe I haven’t woken up yet and everything that’s happened so far has just been a dream. I pinch my leg under the table to check—a little too hard.
“Ow!”
Ollie looks at me, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I . . .”
“You looked like you were in pain.”
“I was. It was—it —” I rack my brains for some kind of explanation. “I think I’ve been bitten.”
“Bitten? By what?”
“Er. A flea?”
NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! my inner voice yells at me.
Ollie moves away slightly in his seat.
“I mean, i-it wasn’t a flea,” I stammer. “Obviously! I don’t have fleas or anything—it just felt like . . .”
I shift uncomfortably and the leather padding on my chair makes a loud noise. A loud farting-type noise.
“That wasn’t me—it was my chair!” I yelp. Why, oh why, did I have to sit in the chair with some kind of built-in whoopee cushion? I shift again, trying to make the same noise, to prove to Ollie that I didn’t just break wind, but now, of course, my chair remains deadly silent.
Ollie stares at me. Then he sniffs—he actually sniffs the air with a pained expression on his face. Oh my God—he thinks I farted. He thinks I have fleas and I farted! I start praying for an asteroid to hit the café, or for the zombie apocalypse to start—anything to make Ollie forget what has just happened.
“Oh no! Is that the time?” I say, not even bothering to look at my watch or my phone. “I have to go. Have to get to work.” I stumble up from my chair.
“But what about tomorrow?” Ollie says.
“Yes. Absolutely. Text me.” Finally, I say something that doesn’t sound insane. That actually sounds quite cool. But then, as I gather up mine and Elliot’s coats, I trip on my scarf and crash into a waitress carrying a tray of toasted paninis. Cutlery is sent clattering to the floor and a terrible shocked silence falls upon the café. I can feel everyone’s eyes burning into me. Somehow I make it over to Elliot without any further disaster. “We have to go,” I hiss at him.