Love, Rosie (136 page)

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

I
look
like
a
goofball.

You
do
not
look
like
a
goofball.

Yes
I
do.

No
you
don’t.

You
don’t
even
know
what
a
goofball
looks
like.

What
does
it
look
like
then?

Me.

It
doesn’t.

208

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Cecelia
Ahern

How
would
you
know?
I
look
like
some
sort
of
futuristic
human

race
that
got
messed
up
with
robots.

You
don’t.

Oh
my
god
why
is
everyone
staring
at
me?

Katie,
we’re
sitting
in
the
back
row
of
the
classroom,
everybody
in

the
entire
room
has
their
backs
to
us.
They
are
NOT
staring
at
you.

Whatever.
I
can
feel
their
eyes
on
me.

Everyone’s
eyes
are
on
their
computers.
You’re
just
being
paranoid.

No
I’m
not.

Yes
you
are.
Unless
they’ve
got
eyes
on
the
back
of
their
heads.

My
mum
does.

Look,
they’re
only
braces
Katie.
It’s
not
the
end
of
the
world.
Any-

way,
I
know
how
you
feel.
When
I
got
my
glasses
I
felt
like
everyone

was
staring
at
me
too.

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

That’s
because
they
were.

Oh.
Could
you
do
me
a
favor?

What.

Just
say
sizzling
sausages
one
more
time.

TOBY!
That
is
so
not
funny.
You
said
you
wouldn’t
laugh.
I’m

gonna
be
stuck
with
these
stupid
train
tracks
for
years
now,
and
it’s

not
my
fault
they’re
giving
me
a
lisp.
I’ll
even
have
them
for
my

birthday
photos
next
week.

Toby:

Katie:

Big
deal.

It’s
my
13th
birthday.
I
don’t
wanna
remember
myself
in
photo-

graphs
when
I’m
older
as
being
the
one
with
the
gigantic
two

lumps
of
metal
jammed
in
my
mouth.
Plus
everyone’s
coming
to

the
party,
people
I
haven’t
seen
for
absolute
yonks
and
I
want
to

look
nice.

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Let
me
guess,
you’ll
be
trying
to
look
nice
in
black
again.

Yep.

You’re
so
morbid.

No
Toby,
I’m
sophisticated—the
black
suits
my
hair.
It
says
so
in

my
magazines.
But
you
can
wear
your
ratty
tatty
shorts
and
T-shirt

if
you
like.
No
point
in
changing
the
habit
of
a
lifetime.

love,
rosie

209

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

Katie:

Toby:

That’s
what
my
magazines
tell
me
to
do.

No,
I
no
what
your
filthy
magazines
tell
you
to
do
and
it’s
not
any-

thing
to
do
with
dressing.
More
like
undressing.

So
I’m
invited
anyway.

Maybe,
then
again
.
.
.
maybe
not.

Katie,
I’m
going
whether
you
invite
me
or
not.
I’m
not
missing
your