The Parent Problem (9 page)

Not if I see you first,
I think.

GAH! Turns out I didn’t get a chance to see him first . . .

DOUBLE GAH!!

Today is going to be the most humiliating day of my life. How do I know this? Because I am sitting in the car
next to Finn
on my way to school.

I KNOW! I never get a lift to school, so I should be pleased. But (a) I am being driven by Mum, who is wearing possibly the most insane outfit ever seen on another human being in real life (more on that later); and (b) I am sitting NEXT TO FINN.

If Aubrey sees us arrive together I will be dead on so many levels I may as well start planning my funeral right now. She texted me last night asking me AGAIN when I was going to introduce her to Finn. I avoided the subject. I am not going to be able to avoid it when I arrive at school with him BY MY SIDE, am I?

Aubrey also sent me another text before signing off which was a bit bizarre. It said:

When I texted back –

– she replied:

I was puzzled and thought my best friend was being a bit needy. But hey, at least my thoughts about us growing apart were probably not justified. So I was looking forward to seeing her too.

UNTIL NOW!

Let me backtrack to explain . . .

The day started at 6.30 a.m. with hooting and shrieking and the most appalling music coming from the kitchen, which is right underneath my room. At least it meant that Gollum was not sitting on me, suffocating me again. She was as shocked as I was by the racket coming from downstairs and had taken refuge on top of my wardrobe.

I shuffled down to breakfast, my face heavy with sleep, to find Mum, Harris and Pongo spinning round and round while Harris twirled something above his head and made loud whooping noises.

I walked over to the radio and turned the music off. Harris whined and immediately raced over to switch the radio back on again. I put my hand out and pushed it against his forehead to stop him running into me.

Then we were rolling on the floor, fighting and screaming at each other and Pongo was joining in, wagging his tail and licking my face.

So far, so normal.

Mum, of course, did nothing to stop any of this. She merely raised her eyebrows, took a sip of her coffee and said, ‘Oh dear, someone’s got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.’

Coming from the woman who looked as though she had fallen into the
clothes recycling bin outside the supermarket
! She was wearing a lime-green satin dress with black lacy trim. And dancing to ear-injuring 1980s power ballads with her eightyear-old son and a dog.

At breakfast! On a weekday! What if the postman came and rang the doorbell? What if one of the neighbours popped by? Then she would be seen IN PUBLIC like this.

She thought I had got out of bed the wrong side? I say she gets out the wrong side every day and smacks her head against the wall. It is the only way to explain her complete and utter inability to behave like a normal human.

Then, just to put the icing of disaster on my cake of doom, the doorbell DID have to ring, didn’t it? And guess who it was?

Finn and Rob.

For one moment I had hoped they were coming to complain about the rumpus Mum and Harris had been making, but no. They wanted to remind us that the bus wasn’t running this morning because of the roadworks in town, so could Mum possibly give Finn a lift to school with me because Rob had just been called to an urgent meeting and had to leave early. They had heard the music and assumed we would be up. (So the music really
was
that loud. The shame!)

From the look on Rob’s face, he hadn’t assumed that Mum would be practising the salsa wearing a dress which looked like a nuclear-reactive bin-bag.

And from the look on Finn’s face, he was loving every second of my very obvious mortification.

At least I am not having to speak to him on the way into school: he has plugged himself into his headphones and turned his back on me. I don’t blame him. Mum and Harris have put the radio on and are singing along to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ at top volume. Harris is doing the ‘Galileo’ part at a pitch that will soon have all the neighbourhood dogs chasing our car if he doesn’t tone it down a bit.

I know I say I don’t much want to change and grow up and stuff, but sometimes I wouldn’t mind being able to leave home.

Oh no, we’ve pulled up in the car park at school and I can see Aubrey and the VTs are walking in together, heading towards the locker area already. Hide me, someone, PLEASE!

Finn gets out of the car as soon as Mum pulls up at the railings and mumbles, ‘Thank you, Mrs Green.’ Then he slouches off, headphones still on, head down, shoulders hunched.

‘Aww,’ says Mum, watching him go. ‘ “Mrs Green”! Isn’t that cute?’

‘Pur-leeeze!’ I mutter. I am impressed with Finn’s quick getaway, though, so I attempt the same technique, but I am fumbling too much with my notebook and school bag. I don’t get more than three paces away from the car before Mum has wound down the window and is calling after me.

‘Skye, darling!’ she wheedles. ‘Don’t I even get a kiss?’

I freeze as the group of people in front of me turns to see who’s shouted those cringe-making words. I keep my back resolutely turned on Mum and fix my eyes on the ground, hoping she’ll get the message, shut up and drive off.

However, as I see expressions on the faces of the people in front of me change from mild interest into full-on glee and amusement, I hear Harris yell:

‘Skye! Skye! I can see your knickers – your skirt is tucked into them!’

Mum decides it is time to leave at that point and the car pulls away. It is too late, though. Everyone is looking at me and laughing. ‘Everyone’ being the VTs and their sidekicks who have miraculously reappeared as if drawn like magnets to my public humiliation. And peeking over their shoulders is Aubrey.

My stomach falls as though I am in a rollercoaster doing loop-the-loop. I reach back and grab at my skirt and yank it. My face burns while I pray no one saw my knickers.

My prayer falls on deaf ears. Or rather, it has the opposite effect: there is a pop and a slightly tearing sound as the button pings off the waistband of my skirt. I have pulled at the fabric too hard. My skirt comes away in my hands and falls to the ground before I can stop it.

I shriek and drop into a crouch to gather my skirt back up again. Never in my life have I wanted to fall through a portal into another world so much as I want to now.

‘We can definitely see your pants now, Skye!’ says Livvy.

I can’t get up. I am curled in a ball, clutching my skirt to me, willing the bell to ring, for a teacher to come – anything to get everyone to move away from me.

‘Yeah – what are you doing?’ says Izzy. ‘Auditioning for one of your mum’s Latin dance routines? You’re not supposed to rip your
own
skirt off. You’re supposed to have a partner to do that.’

‘Ha! Maybe she was hoping that hot Finn Parker would do that for her,’ says Livvy.

Tears are threatening to spill down my cheeks. I blink hard and bite my lip. I can’t let them see I am upset. I’m going to have to style this out somehow. I will get up and calmly walk past them all, holding my head in the air (and my skirt up too, obviously). It’s no good, though, I can’t make my legs work.
Why
doesn’t the bell ring?