Love-shy (12 page)

18:15
The stalker-girl tried to talk to me today. It was as if she could read my thoughts. She knew I was faking it on my mobile phone – it doesn't even have a sim card. It was awful. I felt completely naked, and she mocked me and stole my phone. Bitch. I wish they'd all just leave me alone. I can't ever speak to any of them. I'm too shy and anxious and useless. Nothing would ever come out and I'd stand there like a gaping fish while they pointed and laughed. Or worse, something bad might happen again. I've got a good thing going at this school. People leave me alone, mostly. The clothes help. I don't want to have to change schools again.
LEAVE ME ALONE.

I wanted to slap him. He was just so
melodramatic
. Didn't he see how ridiculous and self-indulgent he was being? Couldn't he just snap out of it?

And what did he mean by
something bad might happen
again
? Why
had
he left his old school?

7

I
COULDN'T FIND NICK ANYWHERE AT
school on Wednesday. I guessed I'd scared him off. I spent the day checking his blog and
loveshyforum.com
every five minutes to see if he'd posted anything. In the end Ms Tidy took my phone off me, with an apologetic look.

‘You can have it back after school.'

Traitor. And after I'd helped her out by pointing out the spelling mistakes in the study notes she'd prepared.

I went home in a bad mood, and was surprised to find Josh sitting at the kitchen bench, frowning over a notepad.

‘Oh,' he said, rubbing his head in a tired sort of way. ‘Hi, Penny.'

‘Where's Dad?'

‘He's on his way home,' said Josh. ‘We've got tickets to Roller Derby tonight, and he said I should meet him here, so I let myself in. I hope that's okay.'

Dad should have told me he was planning to give Josh a key. That's a big thing. I wondered if Josh had a drawer in Dad's room too. Oh! Was that spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet not a spare at all, and actually Josh's? I'd just assumed it was a spare. I'd actually used it once, when I'd already packed mine away for our SRC camp last year. Ew.

‘Of course it's okay,' I said, although I wasn't sure it was.

‘How was your day?' asked Josh. ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or something?'

I shook my head, and realised that Josh and I had never been together without Dad before. ‘No thanks. My day was pretty crappy. I'm trying to talk to someone for a story I'm writing. But he doesn't want to talk.'

‘Why not?'

I shrugged. ‘I don't know. He keeps avoiding me.'

‘Maybe he's just shy.'

I snorted. ‘Maybe. How was your day?'

‘Pretty crappy too,' said Josh.

‘Why?'

‘Oh.' Josh sighed. ‘Just money stuff. You know. Bills. Debt. The usual.'

I frowned. Josh wouldn't . . . he wouldn't use my dad for his money, would he? A million dreadful scenarios ran through my head, ending with a particularly lurid one where Josh fell in love with a tattooed drug dealer and used his key to get into our flat when we weren't here and sold our TV and Blu-ray player for crack.

‘Don't look so worried,' said Josh with a smile. ‘I'm fine. It's fine. It's just boring having to go through it all.'

I nodded.

‘Hey, Penny? I just wanted to thank you.'

‘What for?'

Josh smiled again, and there was a kind of understanding frown that went with it. ‘I know it must have been really hard, finding out about your dad. And your mum leaving, and everything. That's a lot of change for anyone to go through. And I know you could have totally resented your dad, and you would have had every right to be mad at him. And you also had every right to hate me. So I'm glad you didn't. Glad you don't. I think we get on well, and it makes me happy, because you're a pretty awesome person. And I know it makes your dad happy too.'

I immediately felt guilty for imagining Josh falling in love with a tattooed drug dealer. Of course Josh loved my dad. You wouldn't do stupid jigsaws with someone on Friday nights unless you loved them. And I'd seen the way they looked at each other, the way when we were watching TV, Josh would reach out and touch Dad's hand, and Dad would smile over at him. That wasn't fake.

‘You needn't thank me,' I said. ‘I should be thanking
you
for making Dad happy. You've been really good for him.'

And I meant it. Even though sometimes I missed being able to spend Friday nights with just Dad, I was glad Josh was around.

‘I think we're both good for him.'

I grinned. ‘Agreed.'

I heard Dad's key in the lock, and Josh winked at me as Dad came in, full of stories of exploding toilets and blocked gutters from his staff meeting that afternoon.

I retreated to my bedroom with a smile still on my face, as Dad and Josh left for Roller Derby. My bad mood had vanished. I
was
a good person. Josh was right. And I
would
get Nick to talk to me.

I was waiting in front of Nick's locker before the first bell went on Thursday, all ready to ambush him. But the moment he came around the corner and saw me there, his face clammed up and he turned and left the building. He'd probably run straight home again. My bad mood returned, descending like a thundercloud.

This was too
hard
. How was I ever going to get him to talk to me?

I slumped against his locker and slid down it until I was sitting on the floor. There were plenty of people around, putting bags in lockers, pulling out books, and avoiding going to class assembly. Jack Horwicz walked down the corridor holding hands with Anya Pederson, looking as though he might burst with joy. Clearly his poem had done the trick, almost certainly due to my notes. James O'Keefe and Caitlin Reece emerged from the photography lab looking rumpled. Clayton Bell marched past, his arms full of rainbow-coloured bunting for the Gay–Straight Alliance Lamington Drive. I'd spoken to all of these boys without a problem. What did I have to do to get Nick to open up? All my journalistic tactics were useless if I couldn't get him to speak to me at all.

There had to be a way.

‘You're looking rather
PEZZ
imistic
.'

It was Hamish. I was surprised
he
was speaking to me at all.

‘I'm having a bad day,' I said.

‘I'm having a bad life,' he replied. ‘Wanna swap?'

I looked up at him. He wasn't love-shy at all. He was just a dork. But maybe he could help me get to Nick. And he might also be able to help me with my plans regarding Rin.

‘Can I buy you a coffee?' I said. ‘Or whatever concoction of cream and sugar you would like to pretend is coffee?'

Hamish looked wary. ‘Why?'

I thought of what Rin had said, about her being invisible. ‘I have a proposal,' I said, standing up. ‘I think I can help you, if you promise to help me. Meet me after school.'

We went to Scuttlebutt, a café near school that I liked because it was dingy and atmospheric, and made me think of newspaper reporters leaking exclusives to each other. And also pirates.

The bearded hipster behind the counter gave me a reproachful look when Hamish ordered a peppermint-mocha whip with chocolate sprinkles. I had a flat white.

Away from the bustle of school halls, Hamish seemed all nervous again. I supposed he wasn't used to one-on-one encounters with girls. I decided to skip any small talk, as I knew he'd be rubbish at it and it'd just make him more anxious.

‘I need your help,' I said. ‘Nick won't talk to me.'

Hamish raised his eyebrows. ‘So you figured it out.'

‘That
PEZZ
imist is Nick? Of course I figured it out. But now he won't talk to me.'

‘You frighten him.'

‘But I'm trying to
help
him,' I said. ‘I'm not like those other girls. I'm not trying to get into his pants.'

Hamish spooned sugar into his coffee. ‘Are you sure about that?'

‘Are you kidding? Nick's totally neurotic.'

Hamish just raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

I observed him carefully. He was a good few inches shorter than me, and slightly plump. His dark brown hair was whisper-fine, the kind of hair that would all fall out once he turned thirty. But he had nice eyes behind his glasses. His skin wasn't
too
bad, and the freckles on the bridge of his nose were kind of cute, if you went for that sort of thing. He wasn't a total lost cause. It was just the angry attitude that was going to repel the ladies.

‘Why did you say
I wish
, when I asked if you were
PEZZ
imist?' I asked.

Hamish licked sugary foam from his spoon. ‘He's got a lot more to work with than I do,' he said. ‘He's tall, he's good-looking. All he needs to do is get over himself.'

I considered mentioning something about pots and kettles exchanging words, but decided against it. ‘What do you want, Hamish?' I asked instead. ‘If you had one wish.'

He answered immediately, without thinking, ‘A girlfriend.'

‘But why? Why is having a girlfriend so important? Heaps of people don't date at school.'

‘And look what happens to them,' he said darkly.

‘They study more? Get better grades?'

‘You don't understand.' Hamish threw down his spoon with an angry clatter. ‘Having a girlfriend means
everything
.'

‘That's nonsense,' I said. ‘That's just what romantic comedies and pop songs have brainwashed you into believing.'

‘You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? Well, you're wrong. A Harvard University paper studied a bunch of high-school leavers for ten years, until they were twenty-eight. And the ones who hadn't dated in school had an initial advantage, because they stayed home and studied more. But it didn't last. The ones who
had
dated ended up richer, happier and with better jobs.'

‘I find that hard to believe.'

‘Did you know that 70 per cent of the best white-collar jobs are obtained via informal social networks? And that 90 per cent of job terminations are because of a lack of interpersonal skills, not a lack of knowledge or technical ability?'

I blinked. Well, at least it wasn't small talk. ‘But—'

Hamish continued, his voice getting louder and louder so that other people in the café turned to stare at him. ‘If you're in a couple, you're more likely to recuperate faster when in hospital. You're less likely to be vulnerable to psychiatric disorders. You'll live longer and be healthier. If you're a woman you're less likely to suffer complications when giving birth, and if you're an alcoholic you're more likely to stop drinking. It's a fact, Penny. Couples have it better than single people.'

I thought about my parents. Did they have it better when they were still together? My mum certainly did. She doesn't sound happy when I talk to her on the phone. But what about Dad? I thought about the way he was when he was with Josh – comfortable, happy, relaxed. I remembered the lines that developed on his face in the weeks before Mum had left, and the grey patches of hair that appeared above his ears. He hadn't been happier then. And neither had I.

But Dad had Josh now. I wondered absently if Dad would like Josh to live with us. Would they be living together already if it weren't for me? They'd only been together for six months.

Dad
had
someone. And he was happy. Mum didn't have anyone, and she wasn't happy. Nick didn't have anyone, and he wasn't happy. Hamish didn't have anyone, and he wasn't happy.

And
I
didn't have anyone.

Was I unhappy? I didn't think so. I mean, maybe I'd fall in love one day, but I had so much to
do
before then. I didn't want to mess around with
dating
and
boyfriends
and all that nonsense. What a total waste of time. I wasn't going to date boys who I didn't think I'd last with. So I preferred to wait until I found the right guy, the
one guy
, and then fall in love, once I'd established myself as an internationally successful journalist.