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‘Oh my God, oh my God, you’l never guess what happened this morning!’ Francie’s eyes are burning with excitement, the corners of her cherry-red lips drawn up into a grin. I drop my bag on the floor and colapse on the seat beside her, my head stil echoing with Tiffin’s yels as he had to be dragged to school this morning after a furious row with Kit over a plastic Transformer at the bottom of a cereal packet. I close my eyes.

‘Nico DiMarco was talking to Matt and—’

I force my eyes open to cut her off. ‘I thought you were going on a date with Daniel Spencer.’

‘Maya, I may have decided to give Danny a chance while I wait for your brother to come to his senses, but this has nothing to do with that. Nico was talking to Matt this morning, and guess what he said . . . guess!’ Her voice spikes with excitement and Mr McIntyre stops screeching his pen against the whiteboard for a moment to turn and give us a long-suffering sigh. ‘Girls, if you could at least pretend to pay attention.’

Francie flashes him her toothy smile and then turns back round in her seat to face me. ‘Guess!’

‘I have no idea. His ego got so big it exploded and now he needs surgery?’

‘Nooo!’ Francie clatters her non-regulation school shoes against the lino in a tap-dance of excitement. ‘I overheard him teling Matt Delaney he was going to ask you out after school today!’

She opens her mouth so wide I can actualy make out her tonsils.

I gaze at her numbly.

‘Wel?’ Francie shakes me brutaly by the arm. ‘Isn’t this huge? Everyone’s been after him since he broke up with Anorexic Annie, and he’s gone and picked you! And you’re the only girl in the class who doesn’t wear make-up!’

‘I’m so flattered.’

Francie throws back her head dramaticaly and groans. ‘Aargh! What the hel’s the matter with you these days? At the beginning of term you were teling me he was the only guy at Belmont you’d ever consider snogging!’

I heave a sigh. ‘Yeah, yeah. So he’s hot. But he knows it.

I might fancy him just like everyone else, but I never said I wanted to go out with the guy.’

Francie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘D’you know how many girls would kil for a date with Nico? I think I’d even put Lochan on hold for a chance to snog Mister Latino.’

‘Oh God, Francie. Then you go out with him.’

‘I went over to find out if he was serious and he asked me if I thought you’d be interested! So of course I said yes!’

‘Francie! Tel him to forget it. Tel him at morning break.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not interested!’

‘Maya, d’you realize what you’re doing here? I mean, he may not give you a second chance!’

I drag myself through the rest of the day. Francie isn’t talking to me because I accused her of being a meddling cow when she refused to go back and tel Nico I wasn’t interested. But I honestly don’t care if she never speaks to me again. A cold slab of despair presses down on my chest, making it difficult to catch my breath. My eyes ache with suppressed tears. By mid-afternoon even Francie is worried, breaking her vow of silence and offering to accompany me to see the nurse. What could the school nurse offer me? I wonder. A pil to make the loneliness disappear? A tablet that would get Lochan to speak to me again? Or perhaps a capsule to turn back time, rewinding the days so I could break away from Lochan when we’d finished dancing the salsa, instead of remaining in his arms, swaying to the gentle crooning of Katie Melua. Is he angry with me because he thinks I planned it somehow? That the salsa was just a ruse to get him to slow-dance with me, our bodies pressed up against each other, the heat of his soaking into mine? I didn’t mean to stroke the back of his neck – it just happened. My thigh rubbing against the inside of his was just an accident. I never meant any of it to happen. I had no idea that something like slow-dancing could get a guy aroused. But when I felt it, pressing against my hip, when I suddenly realized what it was, I felt this crazy head-rush. I didn’t want to stop dancing. I didn’t pul away.

I can’t bear to think I might have lost our closeness, our friendship, our trust. He was always so much more than just a brother. He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning. I always knew I loved him more than anyone else in the world – and not just in a brotherly way, the way I feel about Kit and Tiffin. Yet somehow it never crossed my mind there could be a whole step beyond . . .

But I know it’s ridiculous, too stupid to even think about. We’re not like that. We’re not sick. We’re just a brother and sister who also happen to be best friends. That’s the way it’s always been between us. I can’t lose that or I will not survive.

By the end of the day Francie is pestering me about Nico DiMarco again. She seems to think I’m depressed and that having a boyfriend – especialy one of the hottest guys in school – wil help snap me out of my funk. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I need a distraction. And what better way to show Lochan that what happened the other day was just an accident, a bit of fun? If I have a boyfriend then he’l realize that none of that stuff meant anything. And Nico is very cute. His hair is the same colour as Lochan’s. His eyes are kind of greenish too. Although Francie is way off beam when she claims they are in the same league. No way. Lochan is ferociously bright, emotionaly inteligent, the kindest, most selfless person I know. Lochan has a soul. Nico might be the same age but he is just a boy in comparison – a spoiled little rich boy, expeled from his posh private school for smoking weed, a pretty face with an arrogant swagger, a charm as carefuly crafted as his clothes and hairstyle. But yes, I suppose the idea of dating him, kissing him even, isn’t totaly repelent. After the last bel, as we are crossing the playground towards the gates, I see him heading towards us. He’s been waiting, that much is clear. Francie gives a half-strangled squawk and elbows me in the ribs so hard I am momentarily winded, before swerving away. Nico is coming straight for me. As if drawn towards each other by an invisible cord, we walk and walk. He has removed his tie even though it’s enough to earn him a detention this side of the school exit.

‘Maya, hi!’ His smile broadens. He’s very smooth, very confident: he’s been doing this for years. He stops close to me, too close, and I have to take a step back. ‘How’re you doing? I haven’t had a chance to speak to you for ages!’

He is acting like a long-lost friend, despite the fact that we have barely exchanged more than a few words until now. I force myself to meet his gaze and smile. I was wrong: his eyes are nothing like Lochan’s – the green is muddied with brown. His hair is brown too. I don’t know why I ever saw any similarities.

‘Are you in a hurry,’ he asks, ‘or d’you have time for a drink at Smileys?’

Jesus, he doesn’t waste any time. ‘I have to pick up my little brother and sister,’ I answer truthfuly.

‘Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you.’ He places his school bag between his feet as if to indicate that this has turned into a proper conversation, and tosses the hair out of his eyes. ‘You’re a great girl, you know. I’ve always had – you know – a kind of thing for you. I didn’t think it was reciprocated so I haven’t said anything until now. But hel, you know, carpe diem and al that.’

Does he think he’s going to impress me with his command of Latin?

‘I’ve always considered you a good friend, but you know what? I think it could be even stronger than that, you know. Al I’m saying is – perhaps we could get to know each other a little better, you know?’

If he says you know one more time, I swear I’m going to scream.

‘I’d be realy honoured if you’d let me take you out to dinner one night. Is there even the remotest possibility I could get you to agree to that?’ He flashes his teeth at me again in what could almost pass for a wistful smile. Oh, he’s good at this al right.

I pretend to consider it for a moment. His smile doesn’t falter. I’m impressed. ‘OK, I suppose . . .

’

His smile broadens. ‘That’s great. Realy great. How would Friday suit you?’

‘Friday’s fine.’

‘Cool. What kind of food do you like? Japanese, Thai, Mexican, Lebanese?’

‘Pizza’s good for me.’

His eyes light up. ‘I know this great restaurant – serves the best Italian food round here. I’l drive by to pick you up at, say, seven?’

I am about to protest that it would be easier to meet him there when it dawns on me that having him come to the house might be no bad thing.

‘Al right. Seven o’clock on Friday.’ I smile again. My cheeks are beginning to ache. He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. ‘You’l have to give me your address!’

He produces a pen while I rummage through my pockets and find a crumpled receipt. I write down my address and number and hand it back to him. As I do so, he holds onto my fingers for a moment and flashes another of his high-wattage smiles. ‘I look forward to it.’

I’m beginning to think this might be quite fun, even if it’s just to laugh about him the next day with Francie. I manage a genuine smile this time and say, ‘Yeah, me too.’

Francie leaps out from behind the phone box at the end of the street. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, tel me everything!’

I wince and bring my hand up to my ear. ‘Aargh, Jesus – try and give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’

‘You’re blushing! Oh my God, you said yes, didn’t you?’

I briefly recount the conversation. Francie grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me brutaly and starts to shriek. A woman looks round in alarm.

‘Calm down,’ I laugh. ‘Francie, he’s a complete twat!’

‘So? Tel me you don’t fancy him!’

‘OK, maybe I find him slightly attractive—’

‘I knew it! You were complaining just the other week you’d never kissed a guy! As of Friday, you’l be able to cross that off your list.’

‘Maybe . . . Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m late for Tiffin and Wila.’

Francie grins at me as I begin to move off. ‘You’re gonna tel me everything, Maya Whitely. Every little detail. You owe me that much!’

I have to confess that the prospect of a date with Nico does make me feel fractionaly better. Fractionaly less abnormal, at least, and that’s quite something. That evening, as I sit at the kitchen table helping Tiffin and Wila with their homework, my mind keeps flicking back to the flirtatious exchange, the way he smiled at me. It’s not a lot – not nearly enough to fil the gaping void inside me –

but it’s something. It’s always nice being fancied. It’s always nice being wanted. Even if it’s by the wrong person.

I’d let it slip to Tiffin and Wila. I was ten minutes late picking them up, and when Tiffin demanded to know why, in my stupidity, stil a little dazed, I told him that I was talking to a boy from school. I thought this would be the end of it, but I’d forgotten Tiffin is almost nine. ‘Maya’s got a boyfriend, a boyfriend, a boyfriend!’ he sang al the way home.

Wila looked worried. ‘Does that mean you’re going to go away and get married?’

‘No, of course not,’ I laughed, trying to reassure her. ‘It just means I’ve got a friend who’s a boy and maybe I’l go and see him once in a while.’

‘Like Mum and Dave?’

‘No! Nothing like Mum and Dave. I’l probably only ever go out with him once or twice. And if I do go out with him more than that, it’l stil be hardly ever. And of course it wil only be when Lochie’s at home to look after you.’

‘Maya’s got a boyfriend!’ Tiffin announces as Kit slams through the door and executes a whirlwind tour of the kitchen, hunting for snacks.

‘Great. I hope the two of you wil have lots of babies and be very happy together.’

By dinner time Tiffin has other things on his mind – namely the footbal game his friends are playing loudly and unhelpfuly right outside the house while he is stuck inside, simultaneously being force-fed runner beans and griled on his times tables by Lochan. Wila is studying ‘materials’ at school and wants to know what everything is made of: the plates, the cutlery, the water jug. Kit, bored, is in one of his most dangerous moods, trying to wind everyone up so that he can sit in the eye of the storm and laugh at the chaos he has created al around him.

‘Four sevens?’ Lochan picks up Tiffin’s fork and spears two runner beans before handing it back to him. Tiffin looks down at it and grimaces.

‘Come on. Four sevens. You’ve got to be quicker than that.’

‘I’m thinking!’

‘Do it like I told you. Go through it in your head. One seven’s seven, two sevens are—?’

‘Thirty-three,’ Kit chips in.

‘Thirty-three?’ Tiffin echoes optimisticaly.

‘Tiff, you’ve got to think for yourself.’

‘Why did you put two beans on my fork? It’l make me choke! I hate runner beans!’ Tiffin exclaims angrily.

‘What are runner beans made of?’ Wila asks.

‘Snake poo,’ Kit informs her.

Wila drops her fork and looks down at her plate in horror.

‘One seven’s seven,’ Lochan continues doggedly. ‘Two sevens are . . . ?’

‘Lochie, I don’t like runner beans too!’ Wila protests.

For the first time in my life I don’t feel the slightest bit inclined to help out. Lochan has said exactly five words to me since coming home two hours ago: Have they done their homework?

‘Tiffin, you must know what two sevens are! Just add them together for chrissakes!’

‘I can’t eat al this, you’ve given me too much!’

‘Hey’ – Kit cocks his head – ‘did you hear those shouts, Tiff? Sounds like Jamie just scored another goal.’

‘That’s my footbal they’re playing with!’

‘Kit, just leave him alone, wil you?’ Lochan snaps.

‘I’ve finished.’ Wila pushes her plate as far away as possible, knocking over Kit’s glass in the process.

‘Wila, watch what you’re doing!’ Kit yels.

‘How come she gets to leave al her beans?’ Tiffin begins to shout.

‘Wila, just eat your beans! Tiffin, if you don’t know what four sevens are, you’re going to fail your test tomorrow!’ Lochan is losing his cool. It gives me a perverse sort of pleasure.

‘Maya, do I have to eat my beans?’ Wila turns to me plaintively.

‘Ask Lochan, he’s the cook.’

‘I think you’re being a bit free and loose with the word cook there,’ Kit remarks, chuckling to himself.