Dancing Daze (8 page)

I wait by the letter box on Monday morning for Mills, but she doesn’t appear. She’s clearly avoiding me. I’ll have to travel to school on my own. Maybe I’ll have to spend the whole day alone. School without Mills . . . The thought makes me shiver.

I take a deep breath, willing back the tears that are threatening to spill down my cheeks. I feel so on edge this morning, and the exhaustion isn’t exactly helping. I couldn’t get to sleep last night. My mind and emotions just wouldn’t shut down. I’m so angry with myself for being such an idiot, and I feel cutting guilt at upsetting Mills. If only I’d kept to the facts in my diary, like Claire does in hers, and not gone off on a self-indulgent moan, everything would be all right now.

I rang and rang and rang Mills’s mobile last night, but she wouldn’t answer, and eventually she turned it off. So I tried the house line, but Sue said Mills wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come to the phone. Then I stopped by, which was ultramortifying, as Sue answered the front door, her face all red and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Amy,” she said. “Mills doesn’t want to speak to you right now.” She lowered her voice. “She won’t tell me what’s happened, but I’m sure she’ll calm down in a few days. Just give her some time. This has happened before, remember, and you managed to patch things up. You two are such good friends, it would be an awful shame if, well, you know . . .” Sue gave me a kind, open smile just like Mills’s, making me feel even worse. Why, oh, why had I written those ridiculous things in my diary? Mills is a brilliant friend and I don’t deserve her. If only she’d just talk to me, let me explain . . .

In school, things are not looking good. Mills has been ignoring me all morning, turning away whenever I try to speak to her, and people are starting to notice. Annabelle Hamilton corners me at the lockers at first break. “You and Amelia having a tiffy wiffy, are you?” she asks. Nina is standing just behind her, peering at me like a vulture, all beady little eyes and scrawny neck.

“Leave me alone, Annabelle.” I slam my locker shut harder than strictly necessary.

“Temper, temper,” Nina scolds. She opens her mouth to say something else but is interrupted by Sophie. “Hey, girls,” she calls out. “The results of the All Saints tryouts are up on the notice board. We’re all still in. Natch! And a couple of the newbies got picked too.”

Before Sophie gets a chance to say who, Annabelle and Nina are racing down the corridor. Normally I’d rather follow a farting frog than Annabelle Hamilton, but I do desperately want to talk to Mills, and I know she’ll be keen to find out if she’s made the cut, so I tag along, walking several feet behind the D4s and trying to ignore their gibes.

“What’s that funky perfume Green’s wearing, girls? Anyone recognize it?” Annabelle says, sniffing the air. “I’m getting Parfum Desperation — no, wait, it’s Eau de Self-Loathing.” They all cackle like witches.

Mills is standing at the notice board, staring up at a sheet of paper and biting her lip anxiously. Nora-May is beside her, beaming. She’s obviously back on the squad. But it looks like Mills isn’t.

“Sorry you didn’t make it, Mills,” I say.

Mills’s eyes are still fixed on the notice board. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Amy. Actually, I’m in.”

“Congratulations,” I say quickly, hoping she’ll at least look at me. “You’ll make a great cheerleader.”

She looks at me now, her eyes steely. “Don’t be so sarcastic, Amy. It doesn’t suit you. And I have things to discuss with the other All Saints, so if you don’t mind . . .” She tosses her head at me, her ponytail swishing behind her. “Vamoose!”

“Things to discuss? As if.” Annabelle laughs nastily. “Let’s get this straight, Amelia Bedelia. You may be, like, on the squad, but that does not mean we have to speak to you outside training. I bet you were picked just because Bailey Otis is your boyfriend. So if you’re, like, looking for new fwendy-wendys, then you can forget it. Why don’t you crawl back to your primordial pond with Green, ’cause that’s where you both belong, with the lower species.”

Mills’s face goes bright pink, then white, and she looks completely humiliated.

“Mills, don’t pay any attention —” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“Just shut up, Amy,” she says. “And leave me alone.”

“Annabelle Hamilton, who died and made you president?” Nora-May asks, hands on her hips. She’s much taller than Annabelle and has wide, strong shoulders. She looks pretty imposing. “Now, scoot and leave us
proper
cheerleaders to talk.”

Annabelle pokes the All Saints notice with a false nail. “What does it say here? Gosh, I seem to be head cheerleader. Fancy that. So, actually, I am in charge, Nora-May, and don’t you forget it. You’re just, like, a blow-in. Go back to China.”

“Boston,” Nora-May says without blinking. “And I’m not scared of you, Annabelle. I’ve been cheering for years and I’m way better than you are. And I’m going to make it my business to train Mills up too. Bring — it — on.”

“You should be quaking in your cheap, tacky shoes, Nora-May,” Annabelle says, her eyes narrowing. “You’re, like, so messing with the wrong girl.” And she flounces off, followed by Sophie and Nina.

“Bravo, Nora-May, you showed her,” Mills says, ignoring me. “Tell me all about your cheering in Boston. I’m dying to hear about it.”

I walk away as Mills chatters on happily to Nora-May. I feel as low as a slug. I’ve been replaced.

That evening Mum comes into my room. I’ve been lying in bed, snuggled under my duvet since coming home from school. I told her I wasn’t feeling well, but I think she senses that something else is up.

“Mills dropped this off,” she says, handing me a long white envelope sealed firmly shut. “She didn’t want to come in. What’s wrong, Amy? Have you two fallen out again?”

“No, of course not.” I take the envelope from her and stare down at it, willing her to leave me alone so that I can look inside.

She gets the message. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I know you don’t feel up to eating, but I’ll bring you up a tray with some soup and toast a little later, OK? You won’t get better unless you eat. There are some nasty bugs doing the rounds at the moment and you do look a little flushed.”

I try a smile, but I’m sure it’s not very convincing. “Thanks, Mum.”

As soon as she’s gone, I rip open the envelope. It’s a letter, written on a sheet of paper. I unfold it and instantly recognize the neat, perfect handwriting.

I wince. She must have read the entry I wrote while waiting for Dad at Dundrum Shopping Centre as well. Ouch!

Without Mills by my side, school is a total nightmare on Tuesday. I try to respect her wishes and leave her alone, but it’s so hard. Our lockers are next-door neighbors, we have a lot of the same classes, and then there’s Bailey and Seth to contend with — the boys are so close these days that you need a knife to separate them.

“Mills,” I say in a low voice at break as she’s fishing her Irish books out of her locker. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me at the moment, but that will change, right? You’ll forgive me, won’t you? I know you need some time, but Seth was hoping to have us all over on Friday after school and —”

She bangs her locker door closed so hard that it sounds like a gun firing. Then, without even looking at me, she bundles her books into her bag and speeds off down the corridor.

“Mills,” I say, running after her.

She spins around and glares at me. “I’m warning you, Amy, stop following me.”

“Or what?”

She just shakes her head. “You’re being pathetic. Go and find someone else to annoy.” She gives a short laugh. “Oh, no, that’s me, isn’t it? The annoying one.” Then she starts walking again, leaving me standing there, staring at her back.

I make my way slowly back up the corridor to find Seth leaning against my locker, waiting for me. “Hey, Amy,” he says, smiling easily. “You all right? You look like someone’s just murdered your hamster.”

I sigh. I may as well tell him. He’ll find out eventually anyway. “I had a run-in with Mills.”

He doesn’t seem surprised.

“You know, don’t you?” I say. “About Mills reading my diary.”

He nods. “Bailey said something about it, yeah. She’s just a bit upset. She’ll snap out of it. Give her time.”

“I’d written loads of stuff about her, Seth, bad stuff. I was in a mood, and I took it out on her. But I didn’t even mean half of it. It was a horrible thing to do. I’m so ashamed. What was I thinking?”

He puts his finger on my lips. “Forget about it. At least she knows what an amazing kisser I am now.”

“I don’t write about you, Seth,” I insist, willing my face not to go scarlet, because it’s a complete lie. I documented our first kiss in forensic detail. “I’ve got far more important things to cover. Like world peace, and who’s going to win
America’s Next Top Model.
”

“Good to see you smiling, kiddo,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “Forget about Mills. I’ll be your best friend instead.”

“Thanks, Seth,” I whisper. I’m so lucky to have him on my side.

I’m finding it impossible to concentrate on my homework. Instead, I’m sitting at my desk, twanging an old red rubber band that’s looped over my fingers like it’s a tiny guitar.

Mum sticks her head through the doorway. “How are you getting on, Amy? Need any help?”

Why do olds always ask this? It drives me crazy. It’s not like she’s going to do my homework for me. She’s clearly just spying on me, making sure I’m not, oh, playing with a rubber band or something childish like that.

“Do you mean that?” I ask, calling her bluff. “About helping?”

“Yes,” she says cautiously.

“OK, then, you can write my English essay for me. It’s on death in the Shakespearean sonnets, and then you can research the Greek gods for this Parthenon project I have to do for classics.”

She looks taken aback. “I can’t
write
your essay for you, Amy. That wouldn’t be right.”

“But you can look up the Greek gods for me on the Internet,” I suggest. “Please! I have so much work, and you did offer to help.”

“I suppose. But I have to put Evie and Alex to bed first. And, um, clean up the kitchen, and deal with the washing, and —”

“Ha! Got you. It’s fine, Mum, I’ll manage all on my lonesome. But can I use the laptop up here for my research?”

She looks relieved. “Of course. And I’ll check on you again later. No Facebooking now.” She wags her finger at me, mock strict.

I smile to myself. There’s nothing like a bit of emotional blackmail to get what you want. Normally I have to use the laptop downstairs, where Mum can keep an eye on me. She’s convinced all teens waste their lives on Facebook. But, come on! How else are we supposed to have a social life when we’re chained to our desks?

In fact, checking Facebook is the first thing I do once I’ve set the laptop up on my desk. Obviously! For a second, I don’t notice anything wrong. Then it hits me. There are no posts from Mills. Usually there are loads — Mills is Facebook crazy. Her mum and dad let her have a page just a few months ago, and she’s been obsessed ever since. I check my friends list, but I can’t find her at all. She’s defriended me. I can’t believe it. It seems so brutal, so permanent.