2: Chocolate Box Girls: Marshmallow Skye (21 page)

‘Wow,’ Coco grins. ‘The gypsy caravan might be famous!’

I think of a dream: bright caravans parked together in the woods, a fire blazing, music, laughter, and a beautiful boy who doesn’t exist. I can’t help smiling.

29

An hour watching Millie stare into my dressing-table mirror while testing out dozens of glittery eyeshadows and lipglosses has me so bored I am practically asleep.

‘Does this look sort of retro?’ she asks, half a false eyelash dangling from the corner of one eye. ‘Vintage? It’s very sixties, right?’

‘Um … kind of,’ I say.

‘But will it clash with my dress?’ she wonders out loud as the eyelash drops off and lands in her glass of Coke. ‘Rats. I don’t think I attached it right. I wish Summer was here – she knows about make-up.’

‘She’s at ballet,’ I sigh. ‘She’s in a different class now. The times have changed.’

‘I forgot,’ Millie huffs. ‘When will she be back?’

‘Soon,’ I say hopefully.

Not soon enough
, I think.

‘Want to take Fred out for a walk in the snow?’ I suggest. ‘Build an igloo maybe? Make snow angels?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘I’m not exactly dressed for it. Isn’t Honey here? Or Cherry? I didn’t think it would just be us.’

‘They’re out,’ I say. ‘Coco’s helping Paddy down in the workshop, though. I don’t suppose you …’

‘No way,’ Millie says, piling her hair up on top of her head so that it looks like a demented pineapple. ‘I’m cutting down on chocolate.’

Millie isn’t cutting down on heart-shaped cookies, however. She has eaten at least six, in between telling me about the Valentine’s cards she is planning to send, one to Alfie, one to Aaron and one to Sid. I stifle a yawn.

‘Are you sending any?’ she wants to know.

‘No.’

Millie fixes me with a pitying look. ‘It’s OK, you know,’ she says. ‘Growing up is not a race. Some people can be
very mature at thirteen, and others aren’t at all. You’ll catch up, Skye.’

I blink. I think my best friend just called me im-mature.

My feet crunch through a thick crust of snow as I walk down to the village and along the lane to the sledging field, my face stinging from the cold. As I approach, I see a lone figure with an old wooden sledge plummeting down the hill towards me.

Alfie swerves his sledge to a halt beside me, spattering me with snow. ‘You came!’ he says. ‘Cool! And only an hour late!’

‘I had to wait until Millie went home – I told you,’ I say. I don’t tell him that I’d been counting the minutes until then. I feel bad just thinking it, but Millie’s obsession with boys is starting to get to me, big style.

I look at Alfie and the seed of an idea takes hold – crazy but possibly brilliant.

‘Listen, I have been thinking, Alfie. You probably have a lot in common with Millie. And she is quite pretty, really, have you noticed?’

‘What are you trying to do?’ Alfie growls. ‘Set me up with Millie? I don’t think so! My heart belongs to Summer.’

‘OK, I am just saying. Millie is getting quite interested
in boys,’ I tell him. ‘More than Summer, anyway. All she ever talks about is ballet. So maybe you should consider Millie? If you want to practise your kissing and stuff. I think she might quite like to kiss someone. She has been talking non-stop about boys and make-up and whether you can learn to kiss by snogging the inside of your elbow –’

‘Can you?’ Alfie asks, perking up. ‘I didn’t know that!’

‘My best friend is full of tips like that, these days,’ I say sadly. ‘Seriously … I sometimes think the old Millie has been snatched by aliens.’

‘You believe in aliens?’ Alfie asks. ‘Awesome! I do too! They could be watching us right now, and they have Millie, and they are planning which of us to capture next … how cool would that be?’

‘I was joking, Alfie,’ I say, and his face falls.

‘I knew that,’ he lies, jumping off the sledge to drag it back up the hill. ‘Anyway … I do not fancy Millie, OK? I wanted to talk to you about the party. It’d take more than an alien abduction for me to miss out on that! Wait till you see what I’m wearing. I have a real vintage tailcoat! It used to be Dad’s, but it is very cool, Victorian or something. Should I wear a trilby with it, or a top hat, do you think?’

‘Top hat, definitely,’ I say, trudging after him up the slope.

‘That’s what I thought. I don’t have one, though. I might have to settle for a beanie.’

‘Too bad.’

‘If Summer doesn’t notice me in that tailcoat, she never will,’ he says. ‘I have a good feeling about this party, Skye. Things are going to change. I am going to prove Mrs Lee wrong – I don’t see why my love life should have to be complicated. I’m changing tack. There will be no more secret Christmas cards and mystery presents. It’s time to be upfront.’

‘Do we have to go right up the hill?’ I huff. ‘I am getting frostbite here, I’m not joking.’

‘You’re not listening,’ he frowns. ‘This party is my big chance, Skye. It’s Valentine’s Day. I can’t wait around forever for Summer to notice I exist. I have to show her that I am the perfect boy for her!’

‘Alfie, are you sure about this?’

‘Never surer.’

We finally reach the top of the hill and I flop down on the sledge to catch my breath.

‘I have been wondering,’ Alfie says. ‘Why is Summer
called Summer when her birthday is in February? It doesn’t make sense!’

‘It does, kind of,’ I say. ‘Back when Mum and Dad were young and in love, and when Honey was just a tiny baby, they spent a long summer break on a Scottish island called Skye. And nine months later, we came along … they called us Summer and Skye.’

‘Cool,’ Alfie says. ‘I like that story. I’ve got another question too. What IS Summer’s perfect boy, exactly? What is she looking for in a boyfriend, do you think? What’s her type?’

I sigh. ‘Summer doesn’t want a relationship,’ I tell him. ‘She’s so hung up on ballet she doesn’t have time for anything else. It’s her dream, and trust me, it doesn’t leave room for romance.’

‘She looks awesome in a tutu,’ he grins. ‘I’ve got that picture from the Sunday paper’s magazine up on my bedroom wall.’

‘Too much information,’ I tell him. ‘Seriously, though, if you want to grab her attention you should probably enrol in dance classes and get yourself a pair of tights.’

‘Not happening,’ he says gruffly. ‘No, I have decided. I
am going to stop mooning about and take the direct approach. I am going to ask her out.’

‘Alfie –’

‘I have to, Skye,’ he insists. ‘The way I figure it, she can either say yes or no. I have nothing to lose, right?’

‘I guess,’ I sigh. ‘Alfie, I think my toes have frostbite. I thought you promised me hot chocolate?’

‘Sledging first, hot chocolate second,’ he says. ‘Where is your sense of adventure? It hardly ever snows here. We can’t waste it!’

‘I haven’t wasted it,’ I tell him. ‘I have built a snowman and had a snowball fight, and walked down to meet you. But I am freezing, and it’s a long way down. I don’t think I have ever been sledging. I am going off snow, seriously. Why don’t we just leave it for … 
yeeow
!’

Alfie shoves the sledge forward and jumps on behind me, and suddenly we are flying down the slope, skidding from side to side, at about a hundred miles an hour. I try to curl myself into a tiny ball, leaning back against Alfie whose legs are sticking out on either side.

‘Hold tight!’ he shouts into my ear.

I am screaming and Alfie is laughing and we’re at the
bottom of the hill and still going strong, and when I yell out to ask where the brakes are he just pulls on the rope at the front and puts his feet down in the snow. We skid and swerve and jolt and the sledge flips over, and I land face down with my mouth full of snow.

Everything hurts, and I have never been so cold in my whole, entire life. My cloche hat has vanished under a snowdrift and my hair feels like it is full of icicles. There is snow on my eyelashes and up my nose, snow slithering down my neck and melting icily inside my socks and gloves. I would cry, but the tears would freeze before they had a chance to fall.

Alfie rolls me over, leaning over me with an anxious expression. ‘Skye?’ he whispers. ‘Skye? Speak to me!’

‘You are in SO much trouble,’ I mutter, spluttering snow everywhere.

Alfie grins. He hauls me up, and I stagger slightly, my teeth chattering. ‘I’m sorry, I’m REALLY sorry. It went a lot faster with two of us on board. But hey, no broken bones!’

‘There might be when I catch hold of you,’ I say through gritted teeth.

He rescues my hat and empties out the snow, jamming it back on my head and carefully tucking a stray curl of snow-caked hair behind my ear. His fingers are surprisingly soft and warm against my cheek, and his eyes catch on to mine and hold for a long moment.

Alfie Anderson has the most amazing chocolate-brown eyes. Who knew?

His lips part a little as if he wants to say something and then thinks better of it, and I can see a little crease of confusion between his eyebrows. My heart beats a little harder and I realize his fingers are still warm against my cheek, which feels very strange but not entirely unpleasant.

And then I think of Finch, a ghost boy who only exists in my dreams. Finch makes my heart beat faster than Alfie ever could. I step back and Alfie takes his hand away, uncertainly, brushing the snow from his jeans and jacket. The moment is lost.

I blink.

Falling for a girl who has an identical twin sister must be kind of strange. Complicated, as Mrs Lee would say.

I know something, though. My days of being second
best are over, and I won’t settle for a second-best boy either. It might sound crazy, but a dream boy is better than the wrong boy …

30

I always thought that having a birthday on Valentine’s Day was pretty cool, but I guess I didn’t think it through. I did not predict the ways it could go wrong now Summer and I are teenagers, or that three cartoon Valentine’s cards addressed to my twin could actually hurt so much.

‘Three!’ she says, cheeks pink with pleasure. ‘Wow!’

‘Great,’ I say flatly. ‘Awesome.’

‘Oh, I think there’s one for you!’ she says. ‘Look!’

I open the pale blue envelope hopefully, but it’s just a birthday card from Mum’s cousin Lucy, who always sends us a card each even though most people send a shared one.