Waiting for Callback (10 page)

‘No, it’s because they, like, swim along, hoovering stuff up from the sea floor.’

‘Wow, so much general knowledge.’

‘What can I say? My
Children’s First Encyclopedia
serves me well. There are tons more Maltesers in the box or are you enjoying the chase?’

‘I only like Maltesers when they play hard to get. They may roll away, but that’s just tactics. Mmm . . .’ Moss finally caught one. It was obviously the start of a beautiful
relationship.

‘Are you practising for this evening? The chase part, not the stingray part obviously.’

‘I live in hope. Also I’m a bit bored. I mean, I don’t have a Hollywood action film to keep me occupied.’

‘Yeah, right. I wish. I’m so not getting that
Straker
part. The clue is in the word “action” which isn’t exactly me.’ I was pretty sure that none of my
sports teachers would have endorsed me for a role requiring ‘tough inner and physical resilience’. ‘Anyway, Stella phoned to say the audition’s been postponed again so
it’ll probably never happen.’

‘It
has
to happen. It’s got everything: post-apocalyptic harrowing events, romance,
psychological damage
.’

Of course I’d told Moss about my ‘confidential film project’. More than half our conversations were about ‘secret’ things (and about half of them actually were
secret). And, not only had I told her, I’d shown her the scenes and practised them with her too. I would not have been a true friend if I hadn’t given her the opportunity to try and say
the line ‘EAT the bugs, Straker. Just EAT the bugs!’, with a straight face (she failed).

‘Well, if it does happen, it won’t be with me. It’s a big part so it’ll go to someone who actually knows what they’re doing. And literally
nothing
else is
happening on the acting front.’

‘Does it get to you?’

‘What?’

‘Waiting.’

I shrugged. I knew it was part of the process, so I wanted to be all cool about it. But I was no good at being patient. At all. Ever.

‘If you want a lift, you need to come now,’ called my dad from the bottom of the stairs.

We stampeded down and there was a bit of pause when Dad saw us. I like to think it was awe. Well, it was something anyway.

Mum came out of the kitchen to check us over. ‘I think I may have had that very skirt,’ she said. As ‘that very skirt’ was a ball of lime-green taffeta that made me look
like I was half girl-half Granny Smith apple, I hoped she was joking.

The hall was all decked out with random garlands. I think the ugliest ones had been put there to add to the eighties vibe, but the highest-up ones were just left over from
various sporting events. It was dark which was a sound design decision. Most of the girls had gone all out with so much neon netting and Lycra it was a full-on fire hazard, but the boys had ducked
the theme. (Except for one boy wearing tight orange leggings. Brave but misguided. He was like a walking biology diagram.)

Moss and I made a beeline for the food, partly to give us time to acclimatize to the shock of being in the same room as the opposite sex, but mostly because, well, it was food.

‘Ohmigod, they have Party Rings.’ I hadn’t seen those things since Year Two birthday parties and it was irrationally exciting.

‘Shall we just take the bowl and go and eat them at home?’ asked Moss hopefully.

Tempting but no. Socials were a rite of passage. We needed to experience at least one – if only so we could be as rude about them as all the girls in the upper years.

‘This is like some messed-up, twenty-first-century version of the Meryton Assembly in
Pride and Prejudice
,’ I said, surveying the room. (Surveying the room is very much what
people do in Jane Austen novels and
Pride and Prejudice
was our set text for English.)

‘That is a freakishly geekish thing to say,’ said Moss. ‘And
how
is it like that?’

‘
One
, all us girls have been looking forward to it for weeks because we never get to see boys.
Two
, more girls have turned up than guys and that fact is really annoying the
girls and they’re becoming competitive with one another to get the most attention.
Three
, there are lots of single-sex groups and occasionally two girls “take a turn about the
room” to increase their chances of getting pulled.
Four
, the boys will all complain about how lame it was and the girls will talk about it for months.
Five
, none of the fathers
will have any interest in what happened and all the mothers will ask too many questions.’

‘You’re right. We are totally at the start of a Georgian romcom,’ said Moss. ‘With the sad exception of costumes.’ She tugged down her purple puff ball, which was
riding up, but unfortunately only on one side. I passed her a purple Party Ring as an edible accessory.

‘I’d forgotten how good these were. I didn’t appreciate them properly when I was seven. They’re so—
Eurgh!
’ Moss recoiled in horror.

‘That was a quick change of opinion.’

‘No,’ Moss whispered, ‘look at
that
.’

I followed her gaze to a gymnastics bench in a corner, not nearly far enough away from the table, where Flissy was sucking some poor guy’s face. It really put me off my Party Ring (they
may be ruined forever by the association). We both stared. It was oddly compelling: as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away.

‘That’s repulsive,’ said Moss way, way too loudly.

‘Oh, hey, guys.’ Flissy sat up proudly. She was wearing little more than an electric-blue leotard and very shiny footless tights – she’d probably matched her costume to
her make-out location. She rarely addressed us, but she had a point to make. ‘This is my
boyfriend
James.’

‘It would be a bit weird if it was some other guy.’

‘What? Why?’ James asked. He seemed deeply confused by the sophistication of the conversation.

‘Because you’ve been sucking each other’s faces for the last five minutes.’

‘Oh, it’s been much longer than that.’ Flissy smirked.

The token PTA father in charge of refreshments looked deeply uncomfortable.

‘Let’s leave them to it,’ said Moss because a) they were already back on it and b) it was depressing.

The music was being provided by one of the many ‘DJs’ the boys’ school had to offer – guys who’d selflessly volunteered to take charge of the music in return for a
raised platform on which to show off gravity-defying gelled hair and get a bird’s-eye view of the dance floor for more time-efficient perving. The whole ‘I’m a DJ thing’ was
clearly working for this one because Talia and three other girls had already joined him.

The music was really dance-y and Moss and I got properly into it. We got some attention, but I can’t be sure that it was the right sort; my dancing style is not universally appreciated. I
was halfway through an original rendition of the
Grease
finale (well, that’s what I’d say if challenged) when Moss grabbed my arm.

‘Elektra, I know that boy.’

‘What? Where?’ Her enthusiasm suggested that it wasn’t anyone I knew. This was a bit of a breakthrough.

‘He just moved in practically next door to us.’ She pointed at a guy with shaggy white-blond hair who was leaning against a pillar and watching the party like it was some sort of
nature documentary. He was fit if you liked the skinny, arty-boy vibe. Which Moss plainly did. But she was not alone; a small huddle of girls on the other side of the room were watching him too and
swaying awkwardly. Moss looked at them bitterly. ‘Look at Kasha and Melly perving on him. Bit desperate – they don’t even know him.’

‘You didn’t tell me about winning the boy-next-door lottery.’ What were the odds? A sixty-five-year-old single accountant lived next door to me. On the other side there was a
woman with seven cats.

‘Torr!’ Moss called, waving her arm only slightly manically.

Blond boy looked around, confused.

‘Torr!’ Moss tried again, going bright red, as well she might.

He caught sight of her and grinned.

‘Oh. My. God. He’s got a
sexy-lopsided-grin
,’ I whispered. This was something we’d read about, but never (despite intensive research) encountered in the flesh. It
was fortunate that skinny, arty boys were not my type: Moss and I had a strict non-compete policy.

‘It’s Moss, right? How are you?’ He came towards us.

‘I’m good. What are you doing here?’ Moss giggled, more (I hope) for the benefit of the staring girls than for Torr.

‘I’ve just started at St John’s . . . Strangely enough, I didn’t choose to crash this thing.’

‘Yeah, I know, so
lame
, right?’ said Moss.

‘I’m coming round to the neon fishnet look actually,’ I said.

Moss dug her nails into my arm. ‘Ha, funny.’ I hadn’t been joking. ‘Torr, this is Elektra.’

‘Good to meet you, Elektra.’ Torr cracked out his arty-boy speciality grin.

‘We came ironically, but this is killing me,’ said Moss. She was clearly trying to reassemble (assemble?) the aloof and mysterious arty persona that had been destroyed by the Party
Rings and cheesy dancing.

‘Yeah, I feel you. This is not really my kind of scene.’ (He was doing the whole Darcy ‘above the company’ thing.)

‘What is your scene?’

‘I’m more into gigs and stuff.’

‘Oh, yeah, us too.’ Moss nodded.

That was a lie. We’d never been to a gig in our lives.

‘I’m gonna go and get a drink. Would you girls like anything?’

‘Yeah, I’d love one. I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ I’m not going to lie: Moss
simpered
.

‘There’s literally only squash.’

‘Oh, right.’ She giggled awkwardly. ‘Squash is good.’

‘What about you, Elektra?’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine, thanks.’

He sauntered to the refreshments table where PTA man was still desperately trying to ignore Flissy and James’s PDA.

‘Elektra, I was legitimately so awkward,’ Moss wailed.

That was a little bit true; also she’d been speaking in a strange American accent and saying odd things, but now was not the time to point any of that out.

‘Come on, Mossy, he was flirting so much. You definitely were too.’

‘No I wasn’t.’

‘Yes you were, you harlot.’

‘OK, yes, I was attempting to and failing miserably. That’s even worse. What if he asks me which gigs we’ve been to?’

‘Chill, that’s what Google’s for; we’re experts at last-minute revision.’

‘I can’t believe I actually said, “I’ll have what you’re having.”’

‘He loved it.’

‘He looked at me like I was insane.’

That was kind of true actually. ‘Insane in a good way. He practically offered to buy you a drink. That’s how all romcoms start.’

‘Free squash does not count.’

Maybe she had a point. ‘So, what’s the plan of attack?’

‘I don’t know. Of course I don’t know.
How
would I know?’ There was a distinct note of panic creeping into her voice.

‘I’m going to disappear so this thing can intensify.’

‘No, Elektra, you can’t abandon me. I’m too awkward for this.’

‘No you’re not. Your flirt game was strong. Just carry on doing what you’re doing. You’ll be like Flissy by the end of the night.’

‘Ewww, can you not?’

‘I’m going to go and find Jenny and leave you two alone. Text me regular updates?’

She just nodded; she was still panicking.

‘Come find us later and you can tell me everything.’

She nodded again. He was on his way back over.

‘Love you. Good luck.’

The next morning, Moss arrived at my doorstep ready to spill her news from last night, and I paid her in kind by getting my mum to make blueberry pancakes.

‘Tell me everything,’ I said once I’d managed to get Mum out of the room and out of earshot.

‘Nothing happened.’ Moss sighed and stabbed a pancake.

‘What? Why not? Torr was definitely into it.’

‘Maybe, but, like, I don’t really know him yet and stuff. And then he had to leave early.’

‘Ah, that’s so annoying.’

‘I know,’ she said as though it were an infringement of her human rights. ‘He had to go to some stupid
gig
.’

She stabbed her pancake again. Between the knifing and the blueberry sauce, they were starting to look like the victims of a violent gangland attack. ‘I came to find you guys, but
you’d disappeared and you weren’t answering your phone.’

‘Sorry. I sort of misplaced it during the George Michael singalong and then the guy that Maia was with vomited on me so I bailed and got Mum to pick me up early. It was a fun night till
then though.’

Moss’s phone buzzed.

‘That’s Torr, isn’t it?’ It wasn’t really a question. Her smile wasn’t subtle.

‘
Mayyybeee
.’

‘What did he say?’

‘“Hey, Moss.”’ She read out the text in a weird accent that was actually worryingly accurate (sort of East End via Gloucestershire). ‘“Good to see you last
night. Sorry I couldn’t stay. We should do something soon.”’