You're the One That I Want (6 page)

It was when Robert’s dad started to inspect his injury that he yelped out in pain again, stopping the moment in its tracks and sobering us instantly.

A quick dash to the hospital told us that, as predicted, Robert’s leg was broken. Thanks to me, he spent the first
few weeks of life in year eleven on crutches with a massive bright orange cast on his wounded leg – which we all signed and put rude messages on. He might have been temporarily disabled, but he rarely complained. That’s mainly because it guaranteed him ample attention from everyone – the football team who missed him, the girls who cooed after him like he was a poorly puppy and the teachers who gave him preferential treatment. He got out of lessons early to avoid getting crushed by the crowds in the crammed corridors and was granted access to the front of the dinner queue … Well, as far as silver linings go, his wasn’t bad.

The only thing it didn’t help was his relationship with Daniella. She’d started going ice-skating every Saturday with her mates. Rob couldn’t exactly go along and, as a result, she met Russell. He was one of those more capable skaters who rushed around the ring as though he was about to knock everyone over with his menacing speed, putting the fear of God into all the nervous skaters on the ice. Evidently Daniella liked that sort of thing.

She dumped Robert by text.

Nice.

That had been my first experience of Robert having a girlfriend, and I hadn’t liked it one bit – especially after the incident under the tree. I teased him about his relationship and jibed him for being ‘under the thumb’ whenever her name popped up in conversation. That probably makes me sound like a spoilt brat, longing for his attention, but I just had this urge to get under his skin on the topic and to make sure I wasn’t being forgotten about.

With much guilt (although I don’t think it’s a surprising confession), I’ll admit that I was relieved Robert was no longer spending hours at his computer sending Daniella soppy messages. Being dumped hadn’t fazed him at all – he was as funny, witty and charming as ever.

I was thrilled to have him back!

Robert’s new-found single status meant that he was back with me and Maddy once more. I was chuffed to have him with us again, obviously, but it meant I wasn’t getting as much alone time with Maddy as I had since the start of the autumn term – and I can’t hide the fact that I’d been enjoying it. I’ll even admit that I felt deflated somehow at having to ‘share’ her again. It was the first time I’d become what can only be described as possessive over her.

Being a three again led me to feel a bit paranoid, and that irritating feeling had started to creep in even before Rob got dumped. The day he fell and broke his leg, I’d left a shaken Maddy and pain-stricken Robert beneath that tree to go and get help. I thought I was being heroic … taking control and being the leader for once. But when I got back, I was taken aback to find them wrapped up in each other looking like they hadn’t a care in the world – laughing and taking pleasure in each other’s silliness. I felt like I was intruding on something, and that was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation.

If it weren’t for the bone visibly protruding from his leg, I’d have thought I’d dreamed Robert falling and needing my help.

It irked me, even though I told myself it was nothing,
reasoned with myself that Robert was with Daniella and didn’t see Maddy in the same way that I did.

I was being hypersensitive … a douchebag! Still, it took a while for those feelings to simmer down and disappear and for me to feel like everything was normal between the three of us – between the two of them.

That summer changed my outlook on my own feelings, and not just because of the way I’d found them underneath the Big Green. I’d been to see
Pearl Harbour
at the cinema (I’d taken my mum out for her birthday), and was left feeling as though my heart had been ripped out. It might sound pathetic, but the message was clear – seize the day, love like there’s no tomorrow and declare your feelings before it’s too late. That’s how I’d come to realize that I could no longer bottle things inside. What, I wondered, was I trying to prove by living in the torturous barricade of my own heart? I’d let myself be tormented by what I hadn’t said, rather than what I had … paranoid about what others might be feeling, rather than just asking outright. Yes, I’d decided to take control, to put my feelings out there to be reciprocated or rebuffed. Either way,
something
was better than nothing.

With a trip planned in year eleven to the most romantic city in the world, I decided to bite my tongue a little longer. It was only a few months, I told myself, and I wanted the moment I finally decided to lift my silence and speak up to be memorable. And so, for months I thought of nothing but Paris. Vivid images filled my mind – of us together at the top of the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by the romantic view, and the look of adoration on Maddy’s face as I opened my mouth to utter my love confession. It fuelled
my sleepless nights that summer and gave me a giddy feeling of excitement in my gut.

It felt as though Paris had become, in many ways, the pinnacle of my very existence. Nights were spent ploughing through information on the web to formulate my plan, hours were spent with a pen and paper writing out what I was going to say when the moment of truth finally came. It was as though years of wonder and desire had led me to that point and to that precise spot I needed to reach at the top of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted, more than anything, for it to go right. It had to be perfect.

The best thing about taking Art as a GCSE was that you got to go on an art trip to Paris in year eleven. A week away from parents, exam stress and school work, traipsing around the millions of museums and eating trillions of crêpes and macaroons, understandably sounded very tempting. And that was why the three of us all decided to take up art when it came to filling out our options for the years ahead – yes, we all sat down and had a big chat about certain subjects we should all go for so that we’d get time together. Along with our compulsory subjects, we all opted for French over Spanish, Art over Drama, and History over Religious Education. I however went for Food, while Robert went for Physical Education and Ben went for Graphic Design – something he was insanely good at. Our plans did backfire a little bit when it turned out that each year group was separated into new class sets for the mandatory core subjects as well as those we’d optioned, but we found ourselves together in Art, and at least we all got most of the same homework to plough through together.

In the weeks leading up to that art trip I felt an endless wave of apprehension. No, I wasn’t worried about being stranded in the capital (that would have simply been an
adventure) and I wasn’t worried I’d get homesick (I couldn’t wait to get out of the house) … Nope, I was nervous because of a feeling that had been brewing inside during the previous months. Those feelings had nothing to do with Paris, but everything to do with Robert. A fact I was struggling to comprehend.

As a result of that afternoon underneath the Big Green, I was drawn to him like a piece of flimsy metal to a powerful magnet – there was no way of avoiding its strength. No way to resist. That unspeakable energy tingled away beneath the surface, giving me a surge of something unidentifiable every time I thought of him. It felt like we were on the cusp of a momentous change, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

Robert treated me as he always had – like one of the boys he could have a laugh with, or, at times, a little sister he was fiercely over-protective of. He was always draping an arm over my shoulder, or gently mocking me for something I’d said or done. It was how we’d always been. So, was I the only one looking further into every touch shared? Every gaze he placed in my direction? Embarrassingly, it seemed so.

Robert’s enchanting ways (which had naturally transpired from his confident role as our group’s leader) continued to capture more girls’ hearts than ever. He’d always been a charmer (his flirty and confident ways had been buried deep within his gorgeous exterior), but seeing him tease or fool around with any other girl after that moment under the tree was excruciating. Each suggestive glance, wink and mutter that he flung in another girl’s direction stung my teenage heart – a fact that confused
me beyond belief. Then there was the gossip that lingered around him – girls speculating over who he’d end up snogging while we were away. For obvious reasons I was never even suggested, but for once, that omission left me feeling jealous. Envious not to be seen as having a chance …

Of course I knew what those alien emotions meant, but I also knew that I wasn’t going to be the one to act on them. I wasn’t going to show Robert that I’d succumbed to his charms and found myself plonked in the middle of his fan club with tens of other girls. Oh yes, he really did have a fan club. The girls in our year, in fact our whole school, swooned over him relentlessly – more so when he’d broken his leg! Huddles of girls would frantically walk around the school to find him on his lunch break, they’d giggle as he passed them on the stairway, dribble at the smallest glimpse of him in the corridor, and if there was ever any accidental body contact, like arms brushing as he walked past, there’d be a near-fainting situation … It was mind-boggling and quite sickening to watch, but Robert loved the attention from his adoring fans and often played up to them, much to their delight. Due to their lovesick nature, his admirers continuously treated me with caution – I was, after all, a girl with unlimited access to Robert. It was something they could only dream of. I wasn’t too bothered by their occasional evil glances. In fact, I found the whole thing funny. Yes, I knew Robert up close and personal – but that didn’t just mean I got to see his handsome (there’s no disputing his good looks) face on a regular basis behind closed doors, but I also got to see him scratching his arse, popping his hand down
between his boxers and trousers for a quick squeeze (as though to check his bits were still intact) and a million other little idiosyncrasies that would leave other’s minds boggled. The Robert they saw, the charming, suave and well-groomed prince, was a tad different to my grubby friend Rob – and I loved it that way.

I had a secret piece of him.

Did I really want to give up that piece and turn into every other girl looking at him through rose-tinted glasses? Sadly, it seemed it was way out of my control. That’s what led me to be full of nervousness about going to Paris. If something
was
going to happen between us, then it was sure to occur there when we were cocooned in a bubble of holiday abandon. Right?

And if it didn’t?

If he ended up kissing someone else right in front of me?

Well, I just wanted to get on that trip so I could witness which of the two scenarios would win out. At least then the anxiety of not knowing could be put to rest.

On the morning we left for the trip, I experienced a rush of excitement as I wheeled my suitcase through the school gates and saw the green coach waiting to take us all across the English Channel. Instead of walking into school with Robert or Ben, my mum had decided to go with me. Partly because of the early start – it was six o’clock in the morning and still dark thanks to it being November – but mostly because it was my first ever trip abroad without her and my dad and she wanted to see me off safely. I could already see the tears of concern threatening to spill in her eyes and had to stop myself from
rolling my eyes at her – horrified that she was on the verge of embarrassing me with an emotional goodbye.

‘You just make sure you stick with the group, okay?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ I said, trying to stop her from worrying – although it was no use, she’d had her knickers in a twist ever since she and Dad got the first letter about the trip at the start of the school year. Honestly, you would have thought she’d be happy to have me, her premenstrual-screaming-raging-teenage-daughter-who-is-lovely-to-everyone-else-but-the-actual-devil-at-home, out of the house for a little bit. But it appeared
not
having me at home caused her just as much stress as having me there did.

‘And listen to everything that your teacher says …’

‘Mum, it’s going to be fine!’ I said for the umpteenth time. ‘I’m not a kid!’

‘Don’t you take that tone with me, madam!’

Luckily, Robert started walking towards us. Not only did a pang of nerves shoot through me, but it also stopped Mum in her scolding as she planted a welcoming smile on her face.

‘Hello, Robbie!’ Mum beamed, opening her arms and giving him a big hug. She was always delighted to see him.

When we were nine years old Robert and Ben melted Mum’s heart as they sat on their bikes at our front door asking for me to play outside – seven years later and they still had the same effect on her, although their relationships varied. Robert had my mum wrapped around his little finger. He was incredibly cheeky with her, always winding her up or telling naughty jokes – she couldn’t help but laugh at his funny ways. As for Ben, she was always going on about how respectful and polite he was
whenever he came over. The first thing he used to do in our house was ask Mum if she wanted him to make her a cup of tea or if he could help with whatever she was doing, like dinner if she was cooking, or the gardening if she was weeding on the patio. Their glowing personalities made them look like angels and me look like a hormonal brat, although I think that was just the joy of having a teenage daughter – gone was the little princess she’d dressed up in frilly outfits, replaced by an adolescent who huffed and puffed her way through home life. With that in mind, it’s unsurprising that Mum treated the boys as though they were her own delightful kids – the sons she never had. It was clearly a case of wishful thinking.

At sixteen years old, Robert had changed a considerable amount since I’d first met him. I’m pretty sure that, back when we were nine, we were roughly the same height. Not any more. During the summer the year before he’d shot up and become over six feet tall – the difference was astounding. The only trouble was that his body had put so much effort into growing upwards that it had forgotten to grow a little bit outwards too. He was incredibly lanky and clumsy with these long limbs that he’d miraculously accumulated overnight, but there was clearly something endearing about him as females swooned in his presence.

‘You excited?’ Mum asked Robert.

‘Yeah! Can’t wait. Have you got your camera?’ he asked me.

‘Of course!’

‘I’ve only let her take three disposable ones,’ Mum informed him. ‘That way she won’t have to worry if she loses them. You know what she’s like … careless.’

‘Thanks for clarifying that, Mum,’ I grumbled.

‘Have you forgotten what you did with your dad’s binoculars when you went to Dorset?’

I rolled my eyes. Here we go again, I thought to myself. She’d revel in any excuse to bring up how useless I was.

‘Yes, you brought them back covered in cow pat, and then you didn’t even bother to wash them – you just placed them back in the cupboard, where they waited for me and your dad to find them a month later. The smell, Robbie, was atrocious.’

Robert grinned at me as he shook his head.

Other people might have worried about their parents speaking to them, and treating them, like a child in public, but Robert and Ben had seen my mum talk to me in that way countless times, in fact she’d even spoken to them in that tone on numerous occasions (like the time we’d played tag in the garden and ruined some of her newly bloomed flowers – big mistake), so they found it amusing rather than embarrassing. A good thing when my mum was around.

‘So you’ve only let her have
three
cameras?’ Robert asked my mum with a smirk.

‘Is it a bit much?’ she frowned. ‘You know she likes to take an account of every little detail.’

‘You’re telling me. I’m surprised her face hasn’t morphed into a camera after covering her face with one for so long.’

‘Oh, Robbie,’ my mum giggled in response.

After badgering my parents endlessly, I’d been given a top-of-the-range camera for Christmas the previous year. They probably thought I’d get bored of it and discard it
like every other present I’d begged for in the past, but instead I took it everywhere I went. It was irritating that I wasn’t allowed to take it to Paris with me, the disposable cameras would be crap in comparison, but I also didn’t want anything to happen to my most prized possession, so I didn’t put up too much of a fight when they insisted I left it behind. Not that I’d have let them know that – such is the prerogative of a teenage daughter. I thought I was meant to argue against every boundary they set.

‘I was just wondering how on earth she’ll be able to annoy us when those three films have run out,’ continued Robert with a playful shrug.

‘Oi,’ I shrieked, acting insulted.

‘Come on,’ Robert laughed, grabbing for my suitcase. ‘I’ll take it round.’

‘You’re such a gent,’ Mum beamed.

‘I try,’ Rob smiled back before gesturing to the other side of the bus. ‘My mum’s over there talking to Ben and June.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realize your mums were coming too,’ said Mum, clearly happy not to be the only one that’d shown up.

‘What? When there’s a chance to embarrass us? Of course they’re here.’

‘You cheeky little monkey,’ Mum laughed. ‘I’ll tell your mum you said that.’

‘What have you got in this?’ Robert asked me as he tried to do the macho lift with my suitcase, rather than drag it along on its wheels like a girl.

‘Stuff,’ I shrugged. I’d definitely over-packed. I hadn’t had a clue what to take with me so had ended up bunging
in loads of extra clothes that morning, even though I knew I wouldn’t end up wearing half of it.

‘We’re only going for a week …’

‘Yeah, yeah … it has wheels, you know. Just use them if your muscles haven’t fully developed yet,’ I teased.

With this he lifted the whole suitcase up onto his shoulder and walked off to put it on the bus.

‘Show off!’ I called after him.

He turned and gave me a wink. I knew the hearts of other girls would have melted at the gesture, but I grimaced back to make him think mine hadn’t. Although, as soon as his back was turned, I couldn’t help a small smile forming on my lips – the nervous excitement bubbling away once again, no matter how much I tried to squash it.

As we walked around the bus we spotted Robert’s mum, Carol, Ben and his mum, June, huddled together in a small group and headed towards them.

Like Robert, Ben had also changed a lot over the years – he’d grown a good couple of feet as well, but he wasn’t quite as tall. Instead, his body had stayed in proportion as it
did
manage to grow outwards at the same time, giving him a much sturdier appearance. Much to Ben’s annoyance, though, he’d also kept hold of some of his puppy fat – that’s not to say he was fat, there was just a little more of him. Yes, I would have described Robert as a long stick and Ben as a round ball that you just want to squidge. He was soft and cuddly. And his dark facial features had maintained the cuteness that they’d always had. He might not have got the same sort of attention from the ladies as Robert did, but he was well loved by them all nonetheless … they were more likely to go to him for advice (or a
squeeze – he was the best hugger, he really held you tight) than to flirt. I don’t think that bothered Ben as he never really seemed into any of the girls that he talked to. My dad had actually asked me at dinner one night if he ‘batted for the other team’. I almost choked on my cottage pie. I told Ben what Dad had said on our way to school the next morning and he’d almost choked on the sweet he’d been sucking … Choking was obviously the standard reaction when questioning Ben’s sexuality. It put an end to that little query, anyway. He was straight, he liked girls, but seemed too laid-back to want to do anything about it.