Not Quite Perfect Boyfriend (13 page)

I feel as if I'm split in two. A part of me is absolutely disgusted by him, and at myself for letting him use me. But another part is remembering how special I felt when we kissed on the couch at the party. How proud I felt to walk down the hall at school holding his hand. How I loved the sound of his English accent tickling my ear over the phone.

‘That blonde girl,' I say. ‘The one you were talking to at the party.'

‘What about her?'

‘Did you kiss her?'

Ben shrugs. ‘You left.'

‘You cheated on me.'

He snorts. ‘I'm not sure you can call it cheating when we're not really going out. It's just pretend, remember?'

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘I remember. And I don't want to pretend anymore.'

‘Whatever,' says Ben. ‘It was getting boring anyway. Just make sure my project is done on time and we're even.'

‘What?' I say, incredulous. ‘I'm not doing your project. It's over, Ben. The deal is off.'

Ben hesitates for a moment, looking at me carefully. ‘Are you sure?' he says. ‘You realise that means I'll tell everyone the truth.'

I swallow. ‘Fine.'

‘Everyone will know about how you made up an imaginary boyfriend and then bribed me to pretend to be him.'

‘I don't care,' I say. ‘I just want this to be over.'

He shrugs. ‘Fine. But you'll regret it.'

As he turns to the door to go back into the corridor, it sort of bangs, like someone had been holding it ajar and let go.

Was someone listening?

12
as·suage

–verb; to make milder or less severe; relieve; ease; mitigate: to assuage one's guilt; to assuage one's pain.

– The Wordsmith's Dictionary of Hard-to-spell Words

The rest of the school day passes without excitement. Ben doesn't run around the school telling everyone what a loser I am. Maybe he won't.

I hope he won't. I know I said that I didn't care. But of course I do. I don't want to be immortalised as the crazy girl who bribed some guy to be her boyfriend.

Ben isn't really a bad person. I'm sure he won't say anything. Anyway, it'd reflect badly on him too. Destroy his image of perfection.

I see Tahni in the distance a couple of times during school. She looks pale and quiet.

I want to talk to her – tell her I'm sorry for being such a bad friend. But I'm scared she hates me.

It takes me a whole week to pluck up enough courage to act. I've been hiding in the library at recess and lunch. Tahni's not talking to me. I'm not talking to Ben. The only person I've spoken to (excluding parents and teachers) is George. And even he's acting a bit strange – I suppose he's still upset that I called him a weirdo.

I feel bad – but really, he's blowing this out of proportion. So I called him a weirdo – he
is
a weirdo! He should embrace it! Be proud of his weirdo-ness. I remember what Tahni said about him getting kicked out of his old school for putting a kid in hospital and stashing pictures of weapons in his locker. I remember the bandage on his wrist and wonder if it could be true.

Still, we've done some productive work on our project and the Secret Project website is up and running. Now we just have to wait for people to submit their secrets.

I miss Tahni. I'm sitting in the library, gathering every scrap of courage I have. But I'm a coward, because I don't have enough courage to actually
talk
to her or even call her. So I send her a text message.

Sorry 4 everything.

I spend the rest of my lunchbreak staring at my phone, waiting for a reply.

I remember when Tahni and I first got mobile phones, in Year 7. We used to text each other in class, and at recess when we were sitting together. We kept each other updated every single minute, with dumb messages like ‘walking home' and ‘nothing in fridge' and ‘tofu for dinner' and ‘homework sucks'.

When Mum got my first phone bill, she went ballistic. It was over $200. Tahni and I were both grounded, and had our phones confiscated. It took us six months of pocket money to pay off the bills. Six months without chocolate. And we were changed over to prepaid phones, instead of monthly plans.

By the end of lunch, there's still no reply. I wonder if she'll ever forgive me. I think of dumb things I could do, like serenading outside her bedroom window, or sending her a yellow rose every day for the next month.

I leave my phone on for Maths and History. Getting a text from Tahni would be worth a detention.

I slip my hand into my pocket and feel the hard curves of my mobile. I make a silent deal with the universe: I can get a detention, George can keep being cold and distant, as long as I can have Tahni back.

The universe must be listening, because as the final bell rings, my phone beeps along with it.

No worrys old freind. Talk 2nite.

I am so happy that I barely notice Tahni's appalling spelling. As I walk home from school, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I am a single girl once more. I never thought being single would feel so good. Tahni has forgiven me. Ben is gone. Everything will be all right now.

There're no enticing cooking smells at home, but I suppose I can't have everything. I go upstairs and check the Secret Project. Three new secrets!

I lied when I said my mum wouldn't let me sleep over at your house – it's
really because I can't sleep without my toy bunny.

I know I'm supposed to be supportive, but you can't sing.

It wasn't drugs. It was oregano.

I send George an email.
The project is working!
At five-thirty the doorbell rings. It's Tahni.

I thought she'd look different. Even though it was a whole week ago that she went to hospital. But she looks just like normal Tahni. She smiles and we hug and everything is okay again.

‘Let's go to your room,' she says. ‘I've got something
amazing
to tell you.'

It's weird, but we don't talk about what happened. I don't mention Ben, and she doesn't mention the party or going to hospital. I suppose it's better that way. We know each other so well, we don't need to go into it all. There are some things that just don't need to be said.

We talk about school, and how Mr Loriot can't spell, and how Mrs Green's spitting-while-talking problem seems to be getting worse. Tahni tells me about this new computer program she downloaded that ‘removes noise' from photos. I'm not really sure how a picture can be noisy, but I go along with it.

It feels so good and comfortable to be hanging out with Tahni again. I didn't realise how much I missed her. We haven't really hung out since last year, before she went to Queensland for the summer holidays. Since she got back, I've been too busy with the two Bens – imaginary and real.

‘So what's the big amazing thing?' I ask.

Tahni takes a deep breath, and puts her hands palms-down on my bedspread. ‘O.M.G.' she says. Her eyes are shining with excitement. ‘You will simply never believe it.'

I laugh, she's so excited. ‘Go on,' I say.

‘It's the New Guy,' she says. ‘I found out his secret.'

I think about the Secret Project and remember how Mum asked me if I was submitting a secret. Is George?

‘What secret?' I ask.

‘He's not a serial killer,' she says. ‘Or a spy or a drug dealer. He's a . . .' words seem to fail her for a moment. ‘He's a straight-up honest-to-God
freakazoid
.'

I'm sitting in the same chair George was sitting in last night. I was sitting on the bed where Tahni is now when I called him a weirdo.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well,' says Tahni. ‘When I was in hospital on Saturday night, he was there too.'

I feel uncomfortable that our silent pact not to talk about the hospital/party thing has been broken.

‘I was pretty out of it at first,' says Tahni. ‘But later on I was in this recovery ward, with a curtain around my bed because . . . you know . . . charcoal is pretty gross once it's been through your stomach.'

The uncomfortableness settles in for a good long stay.

‘Anyway, so I'm lying there, waiting, in case any more comes up, and because they need to observe you for a few hours before they can send you home. And I hear this doctor talking to a patient in the next bed.'

I try not to think of Tahni lying in a hospital bed, waiting to vomit up more slippery black charcoal. It doesn't seem to bother her, though. She's still as bright and shiny as a button.

‘And the doctor says this really crazy thing. He says, “If I were you, I'd hold off from the jousting for a few weeks. And maybe in the future you could avoid getting into fights with dragons.” And I think,
ce qui
? Dragons? Jousting? What kind of hospital is this? So I peek out from behind my curtain, and there's this guy sitting on the hospital bed wearing a fricking
suit of armour
, for serious. It's not a very good one, it looks all homemade and it's got great big dings in it and the guy doesn't look anything like Viggo in
Lord
of the Rings
. But it's still a
suit of armour
. And there's a spear or something leaning against the bed. It was seriously freakish!'

She laughs, and I laugh with her. It does sound crazy.

‘So, for a moment I think I'm either still drunk, or they put something in my charcoal and I'm hallucinating. But there really is a knight sitting on a hospital bed, getting his wrist bandaged.'

I suddenly realise where this is going, and feel strange.

‘Anyway, he turns his head to the side, and for the first time I see his face. And I seriously nearly fall out of my bed.'

‘Who was it?' I ask, even though I already know.

‘New Guy! He thinks he's a knight. New Guy dresses up in armour, and pretends to fight dragons. He's a psycho.'

Tahni flops down onto her back and laughs so hard I'm afraid she'll start throwing up charcoal again.

‘Maybe he's in a play?' I say.

‘He was covered in mud,' Tahni replies. ‘He'd definitely been outside.'

‘I'm sure there's a good reason for it,' I say, although I can't think of one. But I know George isn't crazy. He's strange, but he isn't crazy.

Tahni sits up and rolls her eyes at me. ‘Don't be lame, Midge,' she says. ‘I know you're doing your project with him, but you don't need to stick up for him. He's a freakazoid. End of story.'

‘He isn't a freak,' I say.

What am I doing? Why am I sticking up for George? What happened to my deal with the universe?

I just can't help thinking that if we hadn't talked last night about the party, Tahni and I'd still be fighting.

‘What's wrong, Midge?' asks Tahni. ‘Do you
like
him or something?'

‘Of course not,' I say. ‘But he's okay. He's not a freak. He's just a bit weird.'

Tahni raises her eyebrows. ‘You
do
like him,' she says. ‘You
love
him.'

‘I don't,' I say. ‘Not all of us fall in love with every single boy that we clap eyes on.'

Oops.

Tahni's lips go thin and pinched. ‘Right,' she says. ‘Sorry, I slipped out of character there, for a moment. It's so hard to remember sometimes. But
I'm
the slutty one, right? And you're the perfect one who knows everything.'

I sigh. This isn't what I imagined at all.

‘It's a shame, really,' Tahni continues, shaking her head. ‘It's a shame you don't like George. You'd make a lovely couple. Two freaks. Maybe with you helping, he could pretend his way up to a better suit of armour.'

I don't say anything.

‘What will Ben say?' Tahni gasps theatrically. ‘You'll break his heart.'

I realise she doesn't know that I ended it with Ben. This would probably be a good time to tell her, but I don't. I'm really angry with Tahni. I didn't want to fight with her. I didn't. So why is she being such a cow? And why am I sticking up for George? The universe hates me.

‘Oh well, never mind about Ben. You and George will be so romantic together,' says Tahni. ‘You can sit around on cold wintry days, holding hands, pretending things together. Because that's what you're really good at, isn't it, Midge? Pretending?'

I don't like the turn this conversation has taken at all. ‘I think you're still sick,' I say to Tahni. ‘You'd better go home.'

She ignores me. ‘
Pretending
you're so perfect,' she says. ‘
Pretending
that everything's okay.
Pretending
to care about anyone else in your life other than yourself.'

She stands up.

‘I'm done,' she says. ‘I'm sick of pretending.'

And she leaves.

Later that night, I finally get hungry, and go downstairs. It's dark. Mum and Dad don't seem to be home. I'm fixing myself some two-minute noodles when Dad rings.