caught up with me, I’ve dropped it into some passing boy’s bag.
For the rest of lunchtime, Kat makes me walk around the school ringing her number, until we hear a drunk Smurf trapped in a Year Seven’s rucksack.
‘Sorry,’ says Kat, unzipping his bag and pulling out her phone. ‘A very silly girl put this in your bag.’
Before I go into Toby’s garage after school, I take a deep breath. Knowing it will just be the two of us makes me nervous. Usually when we’re rehearsing we walk to his place together, straight from school. Today, he wasn’twaiting in our usual spot so I came over on my own. I see him lying on the sofa, strumming his guitar.
‘Hey,’ he says, glancing up. ‘I reckon we make this a quickie.’ He glances at his phone then drops it back on the sofa. ‘You stand over there and I’ll play from here.’
I leave my bag by the door, but keep my coat on. It’s cold in here. I go and stand in the middle of the room. I’ve sung ‘Shut Up!’ so many times now, I could do it in my sleep. Toby plays the intro and then nods me in. Using the bored voice I know he likes, we run through the song, but I’ve only sung three lines when he stops me and makes me start again.
‘Can you get into it a bit more?’ he asks, leaning back on the sofa and frowning. ‘Like move around, or something.’
‘Like this?’ I say, running my hands up and down my body and wriggling about. I start to laugh. ‘Or this?’ I do a dance I’ve seen Bea’s sister do. It’s like a robot twerking.
Toby drums his fingers on his guitar. ‘No, not really like that.’
I shrug. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Like you’re really into it.’
I hesitate for a second and start to blush. I don’t know why, but I feel stupid standing up with Toby watching me. The thing is, I’m not into the song – I never have been – but I am into being here with him. I’m just going to have to fake it. I guess my mum had to do this loads when she did gigs. ‘Alright, but I don’t want you to watch.’ Toby rolls his eyes. ‘You come up here with me.’
With a sigh, he flops off the sofa and comes to stand next to me. ‘Better?’ he asks.
‘Much.’
He starts to play and I face his garage door, imagining it’s our school hall, packed full of students and parents, oh, and Mrs P, of course, watching me with a frown from the front row. I hang my head down and start to sing, ‘Shut up, shut up,’ through a curtain of hair, thenI grab an imaginary microphone with both hands and clutch it to me as I sing the rest of the song.
The song finishes and there’s a moment’s silence. I turn to face Toby.
‘Nice,’ he says, looking at me with a smile. ‘You nailed it, B-Cakes.’
‘Yeah?’
Suddenly the garage is very quiet and I have that feeling again – that something might happen, that I’m strapped in the Crazy Mouse and the carriage is heading for the big drop. I look at Toby’s arms hanging down by the guitar. Do I want him to reach out for me? To pull me closer? He steps over a trailing wire, moving closer to me. Panic rises in my chest.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I say in a rush.
He shrugs. ‘Don’t forget my party on Saturday.’
‘I won’t,’ I say as I grab my bag and head towards the door.
‘You should stay over.’ Toby lazily strums a chord.
‘What?’
‘On Saturday. Everyone’s going to crash here for the night.’ He slaps his hand down on the strings and the hum of the guitar stops dead. I must look worried because he adds, ‘Mum’s decided to stick around. It’s just a sleepover.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, as if having a sleepover at a boy’s house is a totally normal thing to do. ‘If your mum’s going to be here, I guess Dad won’t mind.’ He would massively mind and there is no way he can ever know about it. I wave goodbye to Toby and slip out of the garage.
I half walk, half run home, thinking about the lies I’m going to have to tell if I’m going to stay at Toby’s on
For the rest of lunchtime, Kat makes me walk around the school ringing her number, until we hear a drunk Smurf trapped in a Year Seven’s rucksack.
‘Sorry,’ says Kat, unzipping his bag and pulling out her phone. ‘A very silly girl put this in your bag.’
Before I go into Toby’s garage after school, I take a deep breath. Knowing it will just be the two of us makes me nervous. Usually when we’re rehearsing we walk to his place together, straight from school. Today, he wasn’twaiting in our usual spot so I came over on my own. I see him lying on the sofa, strumming his guitar.
‘Hey,’ he says, glancing up. ‘I reckon we make this a quickie.’ He glances at his phone then drops it back on the sofa. ‘You stand over there and I’ll play from here.’
I leave my bag by the door, but keep my coat on. It’s cold in here. I go and stand in the middle of the room. I’ve sung ‘Shut Up!’ so many times now, I could do it in my sleep. Toby plays the intro and then nods me in. Using the bored voice I know he likes, we run through the song, but I’ve only sung three lines when he stops me and makes me start again.
‘Can you get into it a bit more?’ he asks, leaning back on the sofa and frowning. ‘Like move around, or something.’
‘Like this?’ I say, running my hands up and down my body and wriggling about. I start to laugh. ‘Or this?’ I do a dance I’ve seen Bea’s sister do. It’s like a robot twerking.
Toby drums his fingers on his guitar. ‘No, not really like that.’
I shrug. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Like you’re really into it.’
I hesitate for a second and start to blush. I don’t know why, but I feel stupid standing up with Toby watching me. The thing is, I’m not into the song – I never have been – but I am into being here with him. I’m just going to have to fake it. I guess my mum had to do this loads when she did gigs. ‘Alright, but I don’t want you to watch.’ Toby rolls his eyes. ‘You come up here with me.’
With a sigh, he flops off the sofa and comes to stand next to me. ‘Better?’ he asks.
‘Much.’
He starts to play and I face his garage door, imagining it’s our school hall, packed full of students and parents, oh, and Mrs P, of course, watching me with a frown from the front row. I hang my head down and start to sing, ‘Shut up, shut up,’ through a curtain of hair, thenI grab an imaginary microphone with both hands and clutch it to me as I sing the rest of the song.
The song finishes and there’s a moment’s silence. I turn to face Toby.
‘Nice,’ he says, looking at me with a smile. ‘You nailed it, B-Cakes.’
‘Yeah?’
Suddenly the garage is very quiet and I have that feeling again – that something might happen, that I’m strapped in the Crazy Mouse and the carriage is heading for the big drop. I look at Toby’s arms hanging down by the guitar. Do I want him to reach out for me? To pull me closer? He steps over a trailing wire, moving closer to me. Panic rises in my chest.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I say in a rush.
He shrugs. ‘Don’t forget my party on Saturday.’
‘I won’t,’ I say as I grab my bag and head towards the door.
‘You should stay over.’ Toby lazily strums a chord.
‘What?’
‘On Saturday. Everyone’s going to crash here for the night.’ He slaps his hand down on the strings and the hum of the guitar stops dead. I must look worried because he adds, ‘Mum’s decided to stick around. It’s just a sleepover.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, as if having a sleepover at a boy’s house is a totally normal thing to do. ‘If your mum’s going to be here, I guess Dad won’t mind.’ He would massively mind and there is no way he can ever know about it. I wave goodbye to Toby and slip out of the garage.
I half walk, half run home, thinking about the lies I’m going to have to tell if I’m going to stay at Toby’s on
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