My Invisible Boyfriend (21 page)

“What was that about A Real Boy?”

I blush, and fiddle with the end of my left braid, and start to explain.

Heidi and Fili, hanging out and talking about boys, like best friends do.

A dimly lit penthouse, which looks uncannily like a small, untidy attic bedroom belonging to a fifteen-year-old girl. Mycroft Christie, time-traveling private
investigator, is sulking, while Miss Heidi Ryder stares him down.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: This is absolutely…

HEIDI: (holding up a finger sharply) Oi!

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: But I’m merely…

HEIDI: Final warning!

MYCROFT CHRISTIE: My dear girl, this is quite—I say, why am I walking into the wardrobe? And closing the door? And putting this pair of socks into my mouth?

HEIDI: I’m sure a detective genius like you will figure it out.

MYCROFT CHRISTIE:
Mmffwwwwhhfff.

HEIDI: Couldn’t have put it better myself.

“I knew there was a reason I was single,” sighs Betsy, perching on one of the only chairs left in the strangely naked-looking Little Leaf.

“Trust me, I’m staying that way,” I tell her, dunking my chocolate chip cookie a bit fiercely into my tea. “No more boy action for Heidi. Not that I’ve had any boy action. But if any comes my way, I’m sending it right back to the manufacturer.”

“Oh, it’s going to come your way, honey. You’re quite the magnet. Straight girls, gay guys…”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I’m
not
going to miss you? Anyway, it was
Ed
who attracted Ludo, which is completely not the same thing. And I only attracted Henry
inside Dai’s crazy brain, which is all sorted out now, thank you.”

“What about your mystery guy?”

“Mysterious E? Out of the picture.”

“Oh, you figured out who that was then?” asks Teddy, shunting cardboard boxes across the floor with his foot.

“Nope. But I don’t care.
No more boy action for Heidi.
” I tink my spoon against my mug with each word, just to drill it in.

Teddy blinks, gives me a slightly perturbed look (which is probably fair enough—he doesn’t really need to know about my boy action), and escapes out of the door with his boxes.

“It’s probably for the best, hon. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but he does kind of fit your pattern.”

“My pattern? I have a pattern?”

Betsy dips her chin, so she can peer at me over the top of some invisible glasses.

“OK, let’s run through the selection of boys that seem to have been taking up all your energy lately. First up: Ed. Charming and all, but just a little bit on the imaginary side. Then we have the Mysterious E contenders, right? Which would be…”

“Eric.”

“Dating one of your best friends.”

Dating two, it turns out, in fact, though I’m pretty sure that’s not going to help my case exactly.

“Then Simon.”

“Dating another one of your best friends.”

Also dating someone else, though I’m pretty sure there wasn’t an overlap.

“Then Henry. Though
I
never thought that! All in Dai’s hyperactive imagination.”

“But he is…?”

“Dating one of my best friends.” It still feels a little odd saying “best friends” like that. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have any a week ago. But you can fit a lot of apologizing and “Can we just forget that ever happened?” into a week. I might still have a shot at belonging, after all.

I sulk into my tea, feeling guilty again.

“Yep, OK, I get it. I’m a big shameless boy-stealing ho. In my imagination, at least.”

Betsy takes the mug away, so I can’t lurk behind it anymore.

“No, honeypie, that’s not it. The pattern’s not that they’re people your friends are dating. The pattern is that they’re unavailable. Which makes them…safe. Like your gingerbread man. A boy can’t hurt you if you make him up. And he can’t break your heart if you’ll never, ever get to date him.”

“But that doesn’t make him
safe.
That makes him…sucktastic. Not to mention a buttload of work. I’ve done the imaginary boyfriend thing: Seriously, that is not a relaxing gig. I mean, not that it matters now anyway, but Mysterious E’s not the same deal at all.”

“Really? So what is it you like about him? His taste in music? The color of his eyes? His laugh, his walk, that cute
little thing he does when no one’s looking? Or do you like that he doesn’t have any of those things, so you can make them up yourself?”

I take my mug back, and frown into it.

“You can’t control everything, hon,” she says.

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest E,

Apparently I only ever liked you because you’re a figment of my imagination. Or something. So this is good-bye.

H

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest Heidi,

How unfortunate: I was rather looking forward to my grand unveiling. I thought a certain forthcoming end-of-term event might be a suitably dramatic occasion?

Wouldn’t you like me to prove my non-figment nature once and for all?

love & affection,

E

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest E,

No!

H

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest Heidi,

I’m not at all sure I’ll be able to carry out your wishes on this subject, my dear. We figments are rather stubborn that way.

You could always prove your utter disinterest by failing to reply?

love & affection,

E

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest E,

Honestly, I’m really not going out with people at the moment, so you really shouldn’t bother trying all this stuff.

H

to:
[email protected]

from:
[email protected]

Dearest Heidi,

Thank you. :)

love & affection,

E

The Finch is winding down for the end of term. The teachers have given up pretending to actually teach us anything, and lessons are now just finishing off bits of coursework, or falling asleep in the corner because you already have. The kitchen staff is all humming Christmas carols with a little ‘80s twist, thanks to the daily PAG rehearsals. I’ve even handed in a Poem on an Autumn Leaf to Prowse’s satisfaction.

It’s not all relaxation for me, though. As part of my newly reformed truth-telling mission (Ludo quietly excluded, so I don’t have to break her heart), I’ve confessed I wasn’t the one
who drew the costume designs to Venables. Cue my first ever personal audience with Mrs. Kemble, who is inconveniently not the Demon Headmistress after all (glowy red eyes, little horns hiding under her perm, mockable pointy tail) but the sort of person who says awkward things about me letting down my mum and dad, who aren’t very mockable at all. The Mothership and Dad Man have tried quite hard to blame the negative influence of Finches, but I’m trying to cure them of that. I feel so guilty about this whole term, it’s actually kind of a relief to be properly in trouble.

Plus my punishment is pretty entertaining. I’m on litterpicking duty every break time as penance. I get to walk around the gardens dressed like a plasticated beekeeper, with a big prongy thing and a plastic bag, which happens to be the ideal outfit for Dai’s birthday.

I do hesitate before heading over to the Lake common room, wondering if I really will be welcome. But I’m curious to know how an Unbirthday Unparty works, beyond the invitation’s demand to “Dress Unfestively.” And Henry doesn’t disappoint.

The common room has been Unimpressively Undecorated. There are popped balloons in multiple colors, flat limp blobs dangling pathetically off string. There’s a banner strung up along the wall above the TV (playing
Brazil
on mute), with the words H
APPY
B
IRTHDAY
masked out in black paint. On the coffee table sit jelly molds shaped like rabbits, all empty: A silver foil square of card has been speared with a single birthday candle, as if the cake in between the two suddenly
vanished. And presiding over all is Henry, dressed in black, wearing a cone-shaped party hat (painted black, right down to the streamers), swaying gently to some epically miserable cello music.

I’ve never been to a funeral, but I’m guessing this is pretty close. It’s horrible. It’s kind of tasteless. Dai’s going to love it.

We do the obligatory hiding-behind-the-sofa-SURPRISE! bit. Dai does the obligatory I’ve-no-idea-you’re-behind-the- sofa-I’M-SURPRISED! bit in return. Most of the Lower School PAG crowd turn up, all making the effort, suitably dressed down. It’s as if, just for Dai, half the school’s gone Novelty Goth—except for Scheherezade, who sticks out in her sparkly gold dress like tinsel in spring, and Fili, who has done her best to break with form, and is wearing a bright pink scarf of Ludo’s on top of the usual uniform.

And then there’s me, in my billowy plastic boiler suit, which turns out to be a bit sweaty when worn indoors.

“You’ve excelled yourself,” says Dai, grabbing the prongy thing and trying to pick up a plastic cup (filled with only water, naturally) with its pincers.

“Truly, the least birthday partyish outfit I’ve ever witnessed,” says Henry. “And waterproof, too!” he adds, as Dai’s prongy skills fail him.

I grin. “It’s also sprayed with an antibacterial formula, which smells a bit like fish. Don’t hug me.”

They shrink back, and wander off to prong Scheherezade in the head, though Dai sneaks back later and gives me a hug anyway.

“Best birthday ever,” he whispers, yanking on a braid.

I grin, stupidly. I might nearly have it messed up. I might never be able to tell him the truth about Ed, but at least I helped Henry get this right.

Ludo flumps down next to me in an armchair later, still somehow looking gorgeous, even wearing baggy pajamas with her hair dragged into a scraggly topknot. I still need to make all this up to her, somehow. I still see her pop up in UChat every now and then, looking for Ed, always hopeful that he might return from Peru.

I get a little ghost of an old idea. Just a gesture, like an early Christmas present. A really, really good, one-time-only, remember-this-forever Christmas present.

She leans over, tugging my plasticky arm.

“Oh my God, can you BELIEVE Dai thought you and Henry were, like, a thing?”

I look over to the two of them, mock-slow-dancing to the cellos in the middle of the room. Dai’s ears are bright red, his cheeks glowing in pink patches, as if even he’s just the tiniest bit self-conscious under all this attention. Henry’s laughing, his hair sticking out under the elastic of the party hat, as if he knows exactly what Dai’s thinking, as if he’s proud of making it happen.

I can believe it, sort of. Because inside Dai’s head he doesn’t deserve all this: not wilted balloons, not invisible cakes, not a boyfriend at all, let alone this one.

And I think:

OH.

That’s what I haven’t got. I don’t mean Henry. I don’t even mean the slow dance with someone’s hands at my hips, the silly whispered in-jokes, the eye lock as foreheads touch, then noses, then lips. Those I can invent: those I
have
invented. But I haven’t got a boy who’ll make me an Unparty while I’m not looking, because even though I say I don’t want one, I really do. I haven’t got a boy who knows me better than I know myself. And I think I might sort of need one, because I don’t think I know me at all.

Fili comes to join us, perching on the arm of the armchair, just as drawn into the slow dance of epic romance going on before us.

“They look so happy,” Fili murmurs, slipping her feet under Ludo’s legs to keep them warm.

“I know,” Ludo sighs, hugging a cushion to her chest. “Oh my God, like, LOOK at us? Three hopeless single girls, staring at the unavailablest boys EVER. We’re, like, SO pathetic.”

“Who says we’re all single?” says Fili, that increasingly familiar smile quirking her lips.

Ludo’s mouth opens wide as she looks first at Fili, then at me. Then it opens even wider, as she realizes Fili is nodding my way.

“Nuh-uh!” I say, my plasticlike arms making crinkly noises as I wave my hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Not
yet.
”

“Oh my God, Heidi! Tell us EVERYTHING. And no being
all secretive like last time! We need details. No, wait. Dai! Henry, stop snogging his face off and get over here!”

I shrink down in my antibacterial balloon, as Fili prompts me through an explanation of the adventures of Mysterious E (minus the extremely awkward bits). I keep expecting them to break out into total mockery at my pathetic attempts at romance, but instead they’re full of glee and questions.

“So is he a Finch? He must be a Finch.”

“Has he given you any clues?”

“Is he hot?”

“Ludo, she doesn’t even know his name. How’s she supposed to know if he’s hot?”

“She knows his name’s E. If that’s his real name.”

“Whose name begins with an
E
?”

“Dude, it’s probably a code name.”

“What’s the point of that? Doesn’t he want her to know who he is?”

“That’s all part of the game. You know, working it out?”

I glance up and catch Fili’s eye, hoping I can show her how grateful I am. But she’s glowing herself, at the easy, silly conversation: at being a part of it all, again, excited just as much as me. We’ve both missed this.

“Like detectives?”

“I suppose.”

“Can we be detectives?” Ludo nudges me with a pointy elbow. “I bet we’d be really good detectives.”