Looking for a Hero (12 page)

‘I poured my popcorn over him and left. It was a rubbish film anyway. He called and apologised, but he’s history as far as I’m concerned.’

‘You go, girl,’ said Zahrah and high-fived her.

‘I heard about a boy who made a hole in the bottom of his popcorn carton,’ I said, ‘and he unzipped his trousers and put his thing in it and, when his girlfriend leaned over and put her hand in the box, well, let’s just say she got a bit more than popcorn.’

We all cracked up laughing. ‘Ewww,’ said Brook. ‘That’s so disgusting. Why are boys so stupid and obsessed with their things? They’re always wanting to get them out and show them or get you to touch them and it’s like, ewww . . .’

‘Bruno wasn’t like that,’ I said.

‘Give him time,’ said Zahrah. ‘Boys are all the same.’

‘No, they’re not,’ said Leela. ‘Some boys are nice and don’t push their luck. I’m not going to let one bad experience put me off. I wasn’t that into him anyway. Like, if I was, I might still have poured the popcorn over him but I might have talked about it with him afterwards. You know. Told him that I wasn’t ready’

‘Most boys are cool if you tell them that although most will try it on too,’ said Brook. ‘You just have to let them know it’s not on. How about you, Zahrah? How’s it going with Ryan, your new lover boy?’

Zahrah raised an eyebrow. ‘OK. We met on Saturday and mooched about bookshops, then went for coffee. Just getting to know each other really. He’s nice and I think he knows not to try anything on or he’d regret it.’

Leela laughed. Yeah like imagine if anyone tried the thing in the popcorn box with you, you’d probably grab it and pull it until the boy yelped for help.’

‘Or maybe accidentally on purpose I could pour hot coffee in there,’ Zahrah said with a wicked grin.

‘Oooch,’ the rest of us chorused.

‘That’s what he’d deserve if he tried a trick like that,’ she said primly.

I felt a tad sorry for Ryan or indeed any boy that Zahrah went out with. When she did finally meet her match, he would have to be well tough to survive – she was a force to be reckoned with.

Although it was only Monday, I still felt on a high from the weekend. I’d told the girls every last detail of what had happened in Ravello which was great because it was like I’d got to relive the weekend and it feel real again. We had so much to tell each other and it felt as if we’d been apart loads – longer than just a weekend. We spent the whole lunch hour catching up on each other’s news and how the love challenge was shaping up. So far, Zahrah and I were doing the best in that I had Bruno and she had Ryan, although she wasn’t giving away as much as I was about what went on between them. Brook and Leela weren’t put off by their lack of success though, because there was the party on Saturday night at Mikey’s house and we were all invited. I confessed that I was hoping that there might have been a text or an email from Bruno but, after the poem, there had been no contact.

‘Do you think I should text him?’ I asked after we’d had everyone’s news and I felt it would be OK to talk about Bruno again. (I didn’t want to hog the stage and go on about it too much, although it was tempting.)

‘No way. You mustn’t,’ said Zahrah.‘You don’t want to appear too keen. Boys like the chase.’

Yeah, maybe,’ I said,‘but it wasn’t like that with Bruno. That was what was so special. He wasn’t like a lot of English boys, playing it cool. He was really into me and didn’t mind who knew it.’

‘I think it might be nice if you sent him a text to say thank you for his hospitality in showing you around,’ said Brook. ‘That’s not being too keen, that’s just good manners and it sounds like he took you to some gorgeous places and, of course, it opens up the way for him to reply’

She didn’t have to tell me twice because I agreed with her. Mum always told us to write a card to say thank you if we’d been somewhere for dinner or lunch. It would be showing Bruno that I knew how to behave and it would be good for him to know that I had good manners for our future life together. As the bell for afternoon lessons went, I got out my phone and wrote a text:

Thanks for the poem, thanks for the weekend, thanks for being you.

I had already programmed his number into my phone in Italy before we left so I simply found it then pressed Send.

As we made our way to double maths, we passed Joe in the corridor.

He smiled when he saw me. ‘Hey, Ruspoli, good weekend in Italy?’

‘Fab,’ I said.‘Scenery meeting go OK?’

‘No probs,‘Joe replied.

‘She met the most divine boy in Italy’ interrupted Leela.

‘And he’s soooo handsome,’ added Brook, ‘like the most handsome boy in the whole of Italy’

Zahrah moved her shoulder forward in a casual shrug and gave him a ‘so there’ look.

I pretended that I was embarrassed, but secretly I was chuffed that the girls had blurted out about Bruno.
You’re not the only one who has other admirers,
I thought as Joe’s expression became slightly troubled. He soon masked it, muttering, ‘Cool, good for you,’ as he went off down the corridor.

‘Yeah, he is,’ Zahrah called after him.

* * *

In the afternoon break, I checked my phone but there was no reply from Bruno.

‘Oh God, maybe I was too gushy,’ I groaned, clicking my phone shut.

‘What did you write?’ asked Zahrah.

‘Thanks for the poem, thanks the weekend, thanks for being you.’

Zahrah sucked in air with disapproval.

‘That’s
so
sweet,’ said Brook. ‘Perfect.’

‘He’ll text back, don’t worry,’ said Leela. ‘He’s probably in a lecture or a meeting.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

But he didn’t text back.

Not that afternoon.

Nor that evening.

Nor the next day.

Nor the next.

It was so frustrating. Every part of me wanted to pick up the phone and call him, but I knew that I’d sound desperate if I did. Or accusing.

‘You can’t text him again,’ said Leela when I told her on Friday that I still hadn’t heard from him.

‘But maybe it got wiped off his phone by mistake,’ I said.’I‘ve done that sometimes, you know, deleted a message.’

Zahrah shook a finger at me. ‘You know it didn’t. Don’t go there.’

‘Maybe there’s a problem with his provider,’ I said.‘Or maybe someone stole his phone.’

‘Other people have phones. He could have borrowed one,’ said Zahrah.

‘So
why
would he say that he’d call and then not?’ I groaned.

‘He’s a boy’ said Zahrah.

‘But he
wasn’t
like other boys,’ I moaned. ‘He really wasn’t. Something has happened. Maybe he had an accident and is lying . . . ohmigod, do you think I’d better phone to find out if he’s all right?’

‘India, chill. No way something has happened to him,’ said Zahrah. ‘He could still have called you. If any of those things had happened or all of them, he could easily have got your number, especially if your dad and his are such good friends.’

Brook shook her head sadly and gave me a hug. ‘And you know the rules, India, you’ve texted him once. The ball’s in his court now.’

I kicked the wall. I knew she was right. I could come up with all the excuses in the world for why he hadn’t called but none of them washed. My new love had forgotten me the second my plane had taken off.
Love hurts,
I thought as we trooped out of the school gates and into the abyss of loneliness that was London on a dark evening in the rain.

My plan for the weekend was to hide in my room, play sad music and be every inch one of the tragic heroine types that I’d decided not to be. I’d thought I was different. I’d thought
Bruno
and I were different but, no, I was just another love-sick fool and my love was unrequited. On Friday night after supper and a night flicking channels (every one of them seemed to show people in lu-urve), I couldn’t sleep and part of my mind was urging me to call Bruno, to be adult about it and to just sort it out. He wasn’t a game player. If we spoke, I could just find the solution to his silence. So I called his mobile.

I got put through to voicemail and hearing his lovely accent made me feel all gooey inside. ‘Hi . . . it’s India ... oh shit!’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh er. . . never mind, sorry, wrong number.’
Oh bollards,
I thought when I clicked my phone shut.
That was really really stupid. I should have planned what message I wanted to leave. And now I really do sound desperate and oh nooooooooooo, he’ll know it was me. Arghhhhhhh.
I longed to talk to one of my friends about it, but I knew that the girls would be mad with me if they knew I’d phoned. I was mad with myself. I wouldn’t tell them. And I certainly wouldn’t tell Erin. She’d go ballistic. Even in the midst of her own troubles, she’d find time to remind me of the rules about boys – Number one: don’t get desperate – and calling a boy in the middle of the night surely counts as very desperate. Super desperate.
Oh arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

On Saturday, I told Mum that I wasn’t taking any calls unless it was Bruno, then I went and sat with my mobile at my window for ages and stared down at the wet streets below. The occasional person hurried by under their umbrella. I gazed up at the sky and clouds and thought,
He may be in Italy and I may be here in England, but it’s the same sky that covers us both and somewhere he’s under it, maybe even looking up from wherever he is.

I stared at my phone and willed it to ring.

It didn’t.

I called our landline from my mobile to check that it was working, and then regretted it because that might have been the very moment that Bruno was trying to get through on either of the phones (I had given him both numbers).

I stared at my mobile and the landline phone and willed them to ring.

They didn’t.

The words that Dad had quoted in the car on the way back from the airport played over in my mind: ‘Time is too slow for those who wait. . .’
But he could have left a message on my voicemail,
said my inner voice that I call Sensible Sadie. (I have three inner voices: Sensible Sadie, Paranoid Penny and Wimpy Wanda. They come out when I’m super-stressed and Sensible Sadie talks such common sense it makes me even more stressed.)

You’ve blown it now, idiot,
said Paranoid Penny.
You look soooo desperate.

I’m such a loser, all boys hate me,
said Wimpy Wanda.

Oh shut up,
I told them all, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was, just like Ophelia, a thoroughbred tragic misery.
I shall waste away and people will find my bones and, when they bury me, word will get to Bruno and he’ll come to the funeral and everyone will be crying and then he’ll be sorry,
I thought.
He’ll know it was his fault and be guilty for the rest of his life and I’ll be glad. In fact, I’ll haunt him and, if he ever falls in love with a girl and tries to kiss her, I’ll pull her hair and tweak his elbows and make his life a misery.

There was a timid knock on my door. ‘India, it’s Mum. Are you going to come down?’ She poked her head around the door.

‘I can’t, Mum. I can’t face anyone. How can I come down and be with the rest of you when my life is over?’

‘Still no word?’

‘Nothing.’

Mum came and sat on the end of the bed. ‘You’re still young, India. There will be others.’

‘Nooooooo,’
I moaned. ‘You don’t understand. I don’t
want
there to be others. I only wanted
him. He
was probably my
soul
mate.’ I felt my eyes fill with tears. I bit them back. ‘I hate boys. I
really
do. They so mess your head up.’

Mum reached out and took my hand. ‘Yes, they do but only some of the time. Don’t give up yet, India, I’m sure there’s an explanation. And if there isn’t, well you have to let him go. There are lots of nice boys out there. What about that lovely boy who brought you home the other week? He was nice.’

‘No he wasn’t. He hasn’t called either. I was thinking about him today. There was me all worried that I hadn’t got his number to call and thank him, but he knows where I live. He brought me back here. So why didn’t he call round to see how I was? If he liked me, he could have got in touch. Why does it have to be me who does all the chasing? It’s soooo not fair.’

Mum squeezed my hand.‘It won’t always be you, India. The right boy will come along and you won’t know what hit you.’

‘I thought Bruno
was
the right boy but look at me. It’s the weekend and I’m on my own —’

‘I thought Mikey was having a party. That’s tonight, isn’t it? There will be boys there.’

‘Not ones that I want. The ones I want don’t want me. What’s wrong with me?’

The corners of Mum’s mouth twitched slightly like she was going to laugh, but she caught herself just in time and made her expression serious and concerned. ‘Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re a lovely, kind and beautiful girl. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother. The right boy will come along. Don’t put the walls up. Not yet.’

Inside I felt all mixed up. I was bored sitting in my room being miserable – normally I’m not a depressed type of person. And I was starting to get hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. As always Mum picked up on my thoughts.