My Invisible Boyfriend (9 page)

I keep on waiting for Fili to drop Ed a little note, too, even if it’s just to mope over the loss of the ultimate Goth brownie supply and not about me at all. But there’s nothing. I sit next to her in Chemistry, in French, in Prowse’s stupid English class (“No, Heidi, writing someone else’s poem onto a literal autumn leaf does not count: Do it
again
, please.”). I doodle little pictures of cupcakes and gingerbread men all over our
Martine’s Day Trip to Paris
comprehension worksheet, while she fills in all the answers as usual. But she goes on sighing, and working, and melts back into the two-headed handholding creature Filimon at the end of each lesson.

It’s hard for Ed not to take it personally. He’s a sensitive soul, after all.

But he’s definitely not the only one feeling left out. I catch up with Ludo and Dai on their way to the Performing Arts Block, and a certain gloomy figure is noticeably absent.

“No Fili?”

“She’s probably busy with her new best friend,
Yuliya
,” says Ludo, savagely swinging her bag at the wilting rosebushes that line the path.

OAK.

HEY.

Detective Heidi wasn’t seeing things after all: Maybe there really is a problem between Fili and Ludo.

“But I thought you liked Yuliya?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen them have an actual conversation, but then I’m not sure Yuliya’s managed that with anyone.

Ludo tosses her hair and says nothing. I look to Dai for further info, but he just shrugs.

“Don’t look at me. I only live here,” he says wearily. Then he seems to stop himself, as if remembering something, and suddenly there’s a broad grin on his face, and he’s wrapping an arm round my shoulder as we walk. It feels different from the squashy Big Dai hugs of the old days, but it’s still nice.

A second later, Ludo’s stringy arms wrap round my middle to give me a squeeze, too.

“What’s that for?”

“What, we can’t give Ryder a squish for no reason?”

“Yeah, HEIDI, can’t we give you a squish for no reason?”

“Or, you know, because we thought you might be entitled to some squishing?”

Apparently all Ed needs to do is throw in a little request, and they jump right in. I sort of want to cry, it’s so sweet of them.

“It must be SO hard, doing the long-distance thing,” sighs Ludo, giving me an extra tight squeeze. “You here, and your gorgeous Ed so far, far away…”

I wriggle a bit, feeling awkward, and not just because we’re trying to walk and hug at the same time.

“It’s not so bad, really,” I say, casually. “We talk a lot online. I mean, I miss him,
obviously.
Like, loads. Tons. Several tons. But then you don’t see your guys 24/7, either, do you? Eric’s mostly in different classes from the rest of us, and he’s often off doing his own thing. And Henry’s off with his Upper School mates, like, all the time!”

I feel Dai’s arm across my shoulder slacken and fall away.
Ludo stumbles along beside me, oblivious, still hugging, but Dai shoves his hands deep in his pockets.

“You’re not worried he’s going to go off with someone else, then?” he mumbles, staring down at the path.

OOPS.

Brilliant: I take the most belongingest moment imaginable, and manage to turn it into a paranoia fest.

I fumble and babble something about trusting the people that you’re with, and only spending time with people you can rely on to be honest, but the awkward feeling keeps getting worse and worse the more I talk. And then we’re at the door of the auditorium, and they head inside for their cast rehearsal, Dai still looking glum.

I’m still hanging around outside feeling ten kinds of guilty when there’s a skittery patter of footsteps on gravel.

It’s Fili, late for rehearsal, hundreds of skinny braids streaming out behind her as she runs. She skids to a stop beside me, her pointy pixie boots all dusty, looking sweaty and embarrassed and entirely un-Fili-like as she tries to catch her breath.

“I don’t think you missed much,” I say. “The others only just got here. And Venables is always late.”

She nods, still breathless, resting her hands on her knees.

I sort of want to say something else. I just don’t really know what.

She looks up at me with her big brown eyes. I wait for the eyebrow to rise, for the familiar friendly smirk to mock me for just standing there like a dork. But it doesn’t come. She
opens her mouth to speak, but maybe she doesn’t know what she wants to say, either, because nothing comes out.

“I still hang out by the garages at the end of the day,” I say, eventually. “On the balance beam? Just till my mum turns up. You know, if you were ever bored around that time, wanted to hang out…”

There’s the tiniest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. And then she’s in through the auditorium doors with a flash of silver rings.

I spend the rest of the afternoon feeling oddly nervous. But when I head around the back of Stables and see Fili perched there on the end of the balance beam, just like last year, I can’t remember why. I just grin, walk a little quicker, and clamber up beside her.

“So how was rehearsal?”

She nogs, lifting her hand and tilting it from side to side, in that “it was OK” motion.

“How’s Yuliya?”

“Good.” She considers it some more. “All right anyway.”

“You two getting on well?” I say, casually. “Spending a lot of time together?”

Another nog.

“Because it’s nice, I think. If you do get on. With her being your roommate and everything.”

I’m getting the patented Fili eyebrow raise now.

“I just mean…well, Ludo sort of noticed you haven’t been wanting to hang out with her so much, and, you know, if that’s because you’d prefer to hang out with Yuliya, then…”

I stop myself. I’m babbling, when I meant to be ultra-subtle and sneaky and Mycroft Christie-ish about the business with Ludo. And anyway the eyebrow is gone. She’s not looking mocking now. She’s looking…frightened?

I know Ludo’s wrath can be pretty scary and involve hair pulling, but that seems kind of extreme.

“If I tell you something,” Fili says, very softly, “do you promise to keep it a secret?”

I blink as her brown eyes settle on me, very, very serious all of a sudden.

I’m the ultimate secret-keeper, I want to tell her. I’m keeping the biggest secret of all, all day, every day. You can totally trust me.

“Of course,” I say. “Whatever. If you don’t want me to, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Not even Ed?”

She’s still staring at me.

“Not even Ed,” I say, shaking my head a bit too quickly. “I mean, not that he’d say anything. I mean, who would he tell? And you could totally trust him to keep it a secret anyway, even if there were anyone he could tell. Which there isn’t. But, you know, I wouldn’t be going out with him if he were that kind of a person, would I? Like, you wouldn’t be going out with Simon if he were that kind of a person, would you? You go out with people because you trust them, and they’ll be honest…and for other reasons as well, obviously, like, you know, the obvious ones…but you wouldn’t…I mean, you in general, not you personally…I mean, none of us are…”

I end up putting my hand over my mouth as if I’m scratching my nose, because it seems to be the only way to make myself shut up. But it’s already too late. I don’t even know which bit of my gibbering did it, but Fili’s closed up again. She’s looking down at the ground, her fingertips pressed together in her lap.

“Sorry,” I say. “Go on. Say whatever you were going to say.”

She presses her palms even harder together, as if she’s trying to crush something flat between them. Then she hops off the beam.

“Go home, Heidi,” she says, eyebrow turned up to eleven. “Go home and talk to your precious Ed.”

And then she’s gone.

I don’t really know what just happened, but apparently it’s not Ludo that Fili’s got a problem with: It’s Ed. Precious Ed. Gorgeous, thoughtful,
imaginary
Ed. I have no idea how I’m meant to fix that.

Or when I’ll get the chance. The next afternoon I’m back to waiting on the balance beam, all on my lonesome.

Betsy does her best to pretend everything is normal on Saturday, but we both know it’s not.

“Don’t, sweetie, you’re breaking my heart,” she says, as she catches me wistfully stroking the frilly bit on the bottom of my apron.

“You’re breaking my…intestines!” I pout back. “You have no conception of the trauma my insides go through the rest
of the week. I have a clinical need for chocolate chips and teacups come the weekend. And I think I may be genuinely addicted to your carrot cake.”

“That’ll be the teaspoonful of crack cocaine in every slice,” comes Teddy’s sleepy voice from the kitchen out the back.

Betsy throws an apologetic glance at the customers (all two of them), scrubs out today’s Daily Wisdom (NO,
WE DON’T DO CAPPUCCINO
!
OR ANY OTHER MONK-BASED BEVERAGES
), and replaces it with O
UR CARROT CAKE DOES NOT CONTAIN ILLEGAL NARCOTICS
.

Teddy ducks out of the kitchen, adds “
Today
” underneath, grins, and sneaks back out of sight.

“At least I’ve got a few months to detox, right?” I offer, weakly.

Betsy smiles, but I can tell her heart’s not really in it. She drops three mugs before 10
A.M
., and spends the lunchtime non-rush flapping at the smoke alarm with a wet tea towel, while a tray full of black, forgotten scones stinks out the kitchen. By midafternoon, she escapes upstairs with a headache.

“She really would be staying if she could,” says Teddy, propping floury arms on the counter. “
We
would, is what I mean. If the finances added up. Hey, just look around? Not exactly rushed off of our feet.”

I hop onto one of the stools at the counter, and dangle my feet as I look around. He’s not kidding: The summer rush is well and truly over. I think I’ve drunk more tea than I’ve sold today. Even the Finches are avoiding us: Instead of last
week’s cheery Sofa of Sex posse, there’s only a handful of Upper School preppie boys—Henry included, though he’s only given me the briefest of nods before going back to his friends.

They laugh. A lot. Henry looks comfy, relaxed. Henry rests his hand on Jonas Bergdorf’s shoulder. Henry leaves it there for quite a while.

Detective Heidi thinks: Maybe Dai’s right to worry.

“Gives us time to work on our project, though, right?” says Teddy, knocking on the counter to drag my attention back. “The artwork? Costume designs? Earth to Heidi, anybody at home in there?” This time he knocks on my forehead, tap, tap, tap.

“Sorry,” I mumble, coughing a puffy cloud of flour out of my face. “Distracted. Sorry.”

I wait for a snarky comment, but Teddy chews on his lip, and dips his curls toward me.

“Seriously, dude, what’s up? You OK? You seem a little…blah.”

I’d been looking forward to updating Betsy on the Gingerbread Ed situation today, but that’s not going to happen: She’s got enough on her plate. And I kind of need someone to tell, someone completely uninvolved in Finchworld. The resident prettyboy already knows I’m Heidi the Superdork Who Has To Invent Her Own Lovemonkey: I don’t think I can be more humiliated than I am already.

So I mumble a vague explanation of my woes (while deconstructing and remaking my left braid for cunning
eye-contact-avoidance purposes), and wait for him to mock my pathetic girly problems. Or pull a Betsy, and sensibly point out all the ways I’m making it worse. Instead, he just looks thoughtful.

“Wow,” he says. “Lot going on up in that noggin of yours, huh? And I thought my life was complicated.”

I’m about to eyeroll at the comparison, but then I clock the thoughtful look properly, and realize I’m not the only one with reasons to be blah. Me, I’m used to packing up and moving on all the time. Doesn’t make it easy. And I’ve never really had a life—or a Lovely Safak—to leave behind.

“Sorry, I guess all this ‘maybe moving to the other side of the world’ thing must be pretty strange for you, too, right?”

He nods slowly, chewing his lip and looking all pretty and sad at the same time.

“Well, if you want to de-blah yourself, I’m here,” I say. “And very discreet. Promise. I won’t even tell my imaginary friend.”

He laughs, shoots me a sweet smile, then shakes himself and slaps the counter.

“OK, enough! Since the both of us are feeling only ninety-five percent shiny right now, we need distractions. And sugar. And—thank you.”

He adds the last bit over his shoulder, while rustling up a plate of triple chocolate cookies. It’s cute.

“Same to you,” I say, as he lays out his sketch pad between us. “Seriously, though—you sure you want help me with this stuff? It will be used for dubious Finchy purposes.”

Mucking about with costume designs sounds like a great way to take my mind (and his) off all the weirdness—but the Lovely Safak goes to Mendip Road round the corner, and Mendies and Finches don’t exactly mix. There’s a sort of ongoing war, in fact. But I suppose Safak’s a bit above territorial fistfights in the Victoria Park fountain. Anyway, Teddy plucks a pencil from behind his ear.

“I’m all yours,” he grins.

“Okeydoke. But I warn you: My research into nineteen eighties’ style has left me mentally scarred, so yell out if the primary colors are starting to make your eyes bleed.”

The Mothership and Dad Man have been taking me on a trawl through their teenage record collections over the last few nights. Watching those huge wobbly black discs spinning round, crackling and skipping as an
actual needle
scraped across them, was kind of horrifying. The Mothership and Dad Man are very, very old, the needle seemed to say. They’ll probably die soon. They’ll want you to play “I Fell In Love With a Starship Trooper” at their funerals.

I’ve got some pretty clear ideas, though. I was going to talk them over with Simon, but whenever I see him he’s with Fili, and since I’m feeling more than a little awkward over the Precious Ed business, giggling about matching jumpsuits and neon socks with Teddy is definitely more fun. I write down the cast list, and wave my arms around trying to describe a Flock of Seagulls hairdo. Teddy draws lots of squiggles. Every now and then, we sell a cup of Oolong.