Six Steps to a Girl (3 page)

“A group of us – girlfriends – want me to go away with them to this spa,” Mum said nervously. “Just for one night. A week on Saturday. I said I would ask you, see what you both thought.”

I tried to look interested.

Chloe’s eyes widened. “You mean leave us on our own?”

Mum bit her lip. “I thought maybe you could both organise sleepovers but if—”

“No way.” Chloe thumped her fist on the table. “I’m sixteen! I’m perfectly capable of staying here overnight by myself. Send Luke off to a friend, but I won’t go.”

“Hey,” I said indignantly. “If she’s staying, so am I.”

Mum looked at us both as if she was trying to make up her mind.

“You should go, Mum.” Chloe’s voice was suddenly soft and gentle. “You deserve a break. And you don’t need to worry about us. I’ll look after Luke.”

I opened my mouth to protest that I didn’t need looking after, but Chloe glared at me. I shut up. Whatever. What did it matter really?

I would have taken a lot more interest if I’d known what Chloe was planning – and where it would lead.

Mum ran through the arrangements for what felt like the millionth time. “Uncle Matt’s going to stop by at nine – just to make sure you’re OK. Then I’ll call before I go to bed – probably about eleven. Any problems call Matt or go down to the Wilsons at number forty-five. And for God’s sake, Chloe, remember to lock up at night. Two twists on the Chubb and don’t open the door unless you’re sure who it is.”

I glanced at Chloe. She was taking all the fuss remarkably well, considering how moody she normally was. I guess she didn’t want any last-minute arguments stopping Mum from going.

Mum picked up her overnight bag and took two steps closer to the front door.

“Now, Luke, Chloe’s in charge for tonight. Whatever she tells you to do, you do.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”
Well that should get me nicely off the hook if Mum ever finds out about tonight.

Mum took another step across the hall, then clutched her forehead. “Oh no.” She dropped her bag.

“What?” Chloe said, with just the barest trace of impatience.

“I haven’t shown you where the stopcock for the water is. Or the fuse box.”

“ ’S’OK, Mum,” I said. “I know. Dad showed me.”

She smiled sadly at me, then picked up her bag. “Are you really sure about this, you two?”

“Yes.”

“Course, Mum.” I leaned forwards and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a good time.”

As the door closed behind her, Chloe punched the air.

“Yesss!” she hissed. “Now, come on. We haven’t got long to get ready.”

Chloe had worked on Mum for two days to convince her we’d be all right on our own. The reason was obvious – but Mum never guessed. We were going to have a party.

It was Chloe’s thing really. She’d gone a bit mad since Dad died, going out all the time; pushing it with Mum in a way she never used to. I overheard her talking about the party to one of her friends, saying it was just what she needed to get her mind off Dad.

Maybe.

I’d mentioned it to a couple of mates, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that excited about the party itself. Only in whether Eve would turn up.

My heart raced whenever I thought about it.

Eve. Here in my house.

And her boyfriend
, said an annoying voice in my head.

I told it to shut up.

“Luke, are you listening to me?” Chloe shook my arm.

“Yeah, right,” I said, quickly. “Tell me again.”

“I need you down here to open the door when people bring stuff round this afternoon.”

I screwed up my face. “Where are you going, then?” I said.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I told you. I’ve got to get ready.”

Chloe’s idea of getting ready meant spending three hours on the phone to her friends discussing the clothes they were going to wear and the boys they wanted to get off with – and then soaking in the bath for an hour.

During the afternoon I let in a number of blokes – most of them from Chloe’s class – each of them delivering a bottle of wine or vodka that they’d nicked out of their parents’ cupboards. They all asked to see Chloe, but with every arrival she’d just drift out into the landing, phone firmly clamped in her hand, wave down at them, then drift away again.

Three of Chloe’s girlfriends arrived at about six. They were all carrying armfuls of clothes and an assortment of bags and boxes. They vanished into Chloe’s bedroom, where loud squeals soon rose up over the music.

I stayed downstairs, wondering what the hell they were doing. I’d already cleaned my teeth, dragged a clean T-shirt over my head and used some deodorant. It had taken five minutes. Even allowing for putting on make-up, how much more was there to getting ready than that?

At half-past eight Chloe appeared in the kitchen.

I stared at her. She was wearing masses of make-up, an ultra-tight top and a skirt that barely covered her bum. She smiled distractedly at me, then crossed the room to the fridge and pulled open the door.

“Dad would hate you looking like that.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even realised I was going to say them.

Chloe whipped round, whatever she had wanted from the fridge forgotten. “Yeah, well, he’s not here is he?”

We glared at each other. For a second Chloe’s bottom lip trembled. “You bastard,” she said. She raced out of the room.

I sat there, feeling uncomfortable. When Chloe’s angry with you, pretty much anything can happen. But to my surprise, when she reappeared fifteen minutes later she was wearing a big cardigan over the tight top, and had wiped some of the make-up off her face. She even had on a slightly longer skirt.

“This isn’t ’cause of what you said,” she said haughtily. “It’s ’cause Matt’ll be here in a minute.”

“Right,” I said. But I noticed, after Matt had been and gone, that although Chloe took off the cardigan, she didn’t change back into the shorter skirt. Or, as far as I could tell, put on more make-up.

Mum phoned in at eleven. Chloe was all prepared for the call. She’d waited in her room for five minutes, telephone in hand.

When she reappeared to tell me I could stop fending people off the volume dial on her MP3 player she had a broad grin on her face.

“Nothing to worry about now,” she said, turning the music back up.

I wasn’t so sure.

For a start, there were already masses of people in the house. And more kept coming. Not just people from my year and Chloe’s, but quite a lot of the sixth form and a few others I didn’t recognise at all. Older blokes with high-heeled girls hanging off one arm and six-packs of beer in the other.

Somebody brought in this massive sound system and, minutes later, the deep bass of the music was making the whole house vibrate. It seemed to give the party this new dimension – darker and rougher. By midnight, most of the people from my year had disappeared and I’d lost sight of Chloe completely.

Eve arrived at eight minutes past midnight. She was wearing jeans with this white top that curled tantalisingly across her belly button. Unlike most of the other girls, she had hardly any make-up on. She didn’t need it. She was better-looking than everyone else at the party put together.

Her boyfriend had his arm clamped round her waist, as if daring anyone to try and take her away from him. I hadn’t seen him up close since the funeral. He wasn’t that attractive, I decided. His nose looked broken and he had a fat neck.

Anyway, he and Eve wandered into the living room. I followed. They stood in a corner and started snogging almost immediately.

I watched, hating it. Hating him. Rage surged up from my stomach, bitter in my mouth. I turned away, so full up with anger I didn’t know what to do with myself. It wasn’t just the stupid boyfriend either. I was furious with Eve for liking him. And with Chloe for letting the party get so out of hand. Who
were
all these people?

But, most of all, I was angry with myself for letting it all get to me. This was a party, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t I just chill? Get into the whole thing.

I looked round. There were loads of girls here on their own. And some of them were really hot. Not Eve-hot. But good enough.

Gritting my teeth, I marched through the dancing bodies that filled our living room, to a short, pretty girl with dark hair who was standing beside the light switch. I’d noticed her dancing with at least four different guys earlier. Now she looked bored.

This made me hopeful.

“Hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”

She stared at me. “Why?”

I shrugged, my nerve failing fast. “Wanna dance?”

The girl gave me a withering look. “With you?” she said.

I nodded, feeling my face and neck flushing red. The girl stared at me for several, long seconds.

“You have to be kidding,” she said. Then she stalked off towards the kitchen.

With a sigh I turned round and leaned against the wall. Humiliation now mingled with my anger. Why was it so hard? How did all these other guys do it?

I glanced over at Eve and Ben. They were sitting in Dad’s old armchair now, still snogging furiously. As I watched them, despair flooded through me. Ben’s hands were trying to get under Eve’s white top. She was pushing them away, but he got rougher, more insistent.

Why didn’t she just stop kissing him?

I clenched my fists and left the room.

I stomped upstairs. There were couples everywhere. On the steps, on the landing, in the bathroom.

I sat on the top step of the stairs and put my head in my hands.

A minute later I felt the step below me creak. For one glorious fantastical moment I imagined it might be Eve. I looked up. Ryan Kennedy – a boy I knew vaguely from the parallel class in my year – was standing in front of me. He had a wide mouth, dark, floppy hair and – I was pretty sure – had arrived at the party with lots of friends of both sexes.

“Hi.” He smiled.

“Hi,” I said, grumpily, hoping he would go away.

“I saw you downstairs,” Ryan said, sitting down next to me. “I know what you want.”

I stared at him. For a single, horrified second I wondered if he was hitting on me. Then I remembered seeing him earlier, dancing with the short, pretty brunette who’d just blown me off.

This didn’t make me feel any better.

“What are you talking about?”

Ryan lowered his voice, so I could only just hear him above the thump of the music. “Eve. Eve Ripley, the new girl in your sister’s class.”

I shrugged. “Dunno what you mean.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryan’s smile broadened.“It’s written all over your face. Like I said, man. I was watching you downstairs.”

Crap.
I glared at him. “Why don’t you piss off?”

Ryan appeared to take this as an invitation to stretch out his legs. We sat in silence, watching a girl in a pair of high-heeled boots tottering towards us up the stairs. As she pushed her way past, she giggled.

“Hi, Ry,” she said. “See you later?”

Ryan grinned up at her. “Maybe.”

The girl giggled again and stumbled off towards the bathroom.

I leaned forwards, intending to get up and go and shut myself in my bedroom.

“Hey.” Ryan’s hand on my shoulder pulled me back. “Don’t you wanna know how I can help you get her?” he said. “Eve, I mean.”

“No,” I snapped, shaking off his hand. “Funnily enough, I’m not in the mood for a humiliating wind-up.”

“OK.” He shrugged. “Your choice. But it’s not a wind-up. It really works.”

I frowned, curious in spite of myself. “What works?”

Ryan gave me a lazy, lopsided grin. “The Six Steps. They’re these steps you gotta follow. Get you any girl you want.”

“What?” I said.

“Six Steps, man. Like a list of things you’ve got to do.”

He had to be kidding me.

“What d’you mean?”

But Ryan was looking down the stairs again, waving.

A girl in a short skirt with a tumble of red curls was standing on the bottom step, smiling up at us. She was strikingly pretty. Not like Eve, of course. But still . . .

The girl waved, then tapped her watch. Ryan stood up. “Look, man, I gotta leave now. I’ll tell you about the Six Steps later, OK?”

I looked up. Ryan’s face was open, his eyes serious. Something told me that he meant what he was saying. That, for some reason, he really wanted to help me.

“I don’t—?”

“I’ll talk to you Monday – explain it all then.”

“Right,” I said, sinking back against the banisters, determined to look uninterested. “Whatever.”

Ryan grinned, then he slipped down the stairs and took the girl’s hand. I watched them weave their way towards the front door.

The music was even louder now. The bass pounded up through the floorboards, vibrating against my feet. I got up and wandered across to the landing window that looked over the front of the house.

Ryan and the girl were disappearing up the road. As they reached the corner Ryan stopped and pulled her into this massive snog.

I leaned my forehead against the cold window pane. Ryan wasn’t any older or better-looking than me. And yet he had girl after girl practically throwing themselves at him. What did he know that I didn’t?

I kicked the wall at my foot.

Without looking up from the girl, Ryan lifted one arm and waved lazily back at the house.

The living room was a total mess. Torn plastic cups, overflowing ashtrays and empty beer cans lay everywhere. All Mum’s CDs were on the floor. Three cushions were ripped and there were several dark stains on the sofas and carpet.

“After everything your mum’s been through this year,” Uncle Matt roared. “All she wanted was a little time to herself. And now she’s got to come home to this.”