Stuck on Me (2 page)

‘Love it,’ says Vix, without hesitation.

I stare at Rosie, trying to find something positive to say about her latest Stables Market find. The dress is ancient (from the seventies), smells like mothballs and has a horrible orange flower
pattern on it. It doesn’t even fit her properly. There’s only one word for it: rank.

‘Um . . .’ I begin. I want to lie, I really do. I don’t want to hurt Rosie’s feelings. ‘Um . . .’

Lying would be the kind thing to do, wouldn’t it? Rosie doesn’t want to know what I think; she just wants admiration. But, unfortunately, I just have to tell the truth. ‘Um,
sorry, but I don’t really like it,’ I say, finally. ‘If I’m honest, it’s a bit big for you. And it looks like it needs a good wash. You’ve got much nicer
dresses.’

Vix’s mouth falls open in shock. ‘Sky, what’s got into you?’

Rosie looks at me, hurt. ‘Blunt much?’ She glances down at her dress, grimaces and starts to remove it. She’ll probably never wear it out now. I feel bad.

‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ I say. ‘I’m not being nasty. But I really
can’t
lie to you.’

I can lie, obviously – I’m quite capable of it and I’ve done it in the past, usually just to be kind – but, as of today, I’ve decided that from now on, I
mustn’t. I’m far too superstitious and it’s much too risky. Why? Because if I ever do lie again, there’s the tiniest chance that the story Mum read to me as a child will
come true. My nose might start growing, Pinocchio-stylee. And that, frankly, would be a disaster on a world-ending scale.

I’m not exaggerating. My nose already casts its own shadow. A few more centimetres and it could block out the sun.

‘Don’t be stupid, you don’t have a big nose,’ says Rosie, when I explain this to her, by way of an apology for being rude about her dress. ‘It’s a
normal-sized nose.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Normal-sized for an anteater, maybe.’

‘Oh Sky, don’t be so down on yourself,’ says Vix. ‘I never even noticed your nose until you pointed it out. I always notice your pretty eyes, or your hair. There’s
nothing wrong with your nose.’

They’re both lying, of course. Lying to make me feel better. But it’s easy for them; they don’t have to worry about the consequences. Vix has a tiny, doll-sized nose and Rosie
has a perfectly proportioned, sharp little nose that fits the rest of her features. Mine looks like it’s been stuck on me like Mr Potato Head’s. I really must have told a hell of a lot
of lies in a previous life to deserve my hooter. Or maybe I
was
an anteater in a previous life.

‘Absolute nonsense,’ said Mum, when I once suggested this explanation. ‘You were definitely an Egyptian princess. I can see it in your aura.’

My mum believes in all that stuff: reincarnation, karma, chanting mantras and recycling compost. That’s why she took me and my sisters on a retreat in Goa recently. And why she persuaded
me to have my nose pierced while we were there. Most mums would have tried to talk their fourteen-year-old daughter out of it. Not my mum. She encouraged it, and then she had hers done too. And now
we’ve both got little red, sparkly jewels to the side of our right nostrils. Big mistake. My nose stud is like a neon sign, proclaiming: Big Nose Right Here.

Rosie and Vix disagree, of course. They think my nose stud looks cool.

‘I wish I could get one done, but Mum would kill me,’ says Rosie, stroking her neat little nostril. ‘She’d go on about hygiene and hepatitis and sharing needles.
I’m not even allowed to get my ears pierced until I’m sixteen.’

‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ I say. ‘Mum had my ears pierced when I was a baby. I didn’t get a choice. My baby photos look like an advert for Claire’s
Accessories.’

‘If you hate it that much, take it out,’ says Vix, always practical. ‘You’ll probably have to for school, anyway. But I think it suits you.’

‘I tried that,’ I tell her, ‘but it just leaves a slightly scabby hole, which looks even worse.’

‘It’ll heal over. And in the meantime, there’s always concealer.’

‘Hmm. That’s true. I wonder if I can conceal my whole nose?’

Vix slaps me playfully on the arm. ‘There is nothing wrong with your nose. Believe me. You’re gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, and you need glasses.’

I wish I
could
believe Vix and Rosie. But the evidence that they’re wrong is everywhere I look: in reflections, in photographs, in the shadows on my bedroom wall at night that make
me look so witch-like in silhouette that I frighten myself. Every morning, when I stare in the mirror, my nose appears to have grown longer and beakier, as if it’s making a bid for freedom
from my face. I know I’ve been going through what Mum calls a growth spurt, with my arms and legs and torso lengthening and even the shape of my face becoming leaner and less squishy. But my
nose? It’s sprinting ahead of the rest of my features. The scariest thing is, I don’t know where the finish line is.

My nose even gets in the way when I kiss my boyfriend, Rich. I can’t remember it being a problem in the past but now, every time we go in for a snog, our noses bash into each other, and we
end up doing this stupid dance with our heads until we find a better position, by which time we don’t feel much like kissing any more. Rich doesn’t have a big nose, so it must be my
fault.

‘When did your nose start bothering you so much?’ asks Rosie, coming to sit beside me on the bed. She’s taken off the vile orange dress and put her jeans and T-shirt back on.
‘You never used to have a problem with it.’

‘When it started growing out of proportion to the rest of my face,’ I say. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t felt growing pains.’

Rosie laughs. ‘What
are
you on about, Sky? You look the same as you always have. Just not like a little kid any more.’

‘Yeah, your face has got character,’ says Vix.

‘Thanks.’ I bristle. She means it as a compliment, but I know what ‘character’ means: it’s another word for ugly. Girls with
characterful
faces never get to
play the love interest in movies; they’re always the sisters or best friends.

I want to change the subject now. Rosie and Vix are both staring at my face so intently that I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable.

‘Forget it,’ I say. ‘It’s not important. Let’s watch a DVD or something.’

‘Sure thing,’ says Rosie. ‘Just don’t worry about it, OK?’

‘Course not,’ I promise, discreetly crossing my fingers. ‘I won’t mention it ever again.’

But as I say this, I’m sure I can feel a little tickle in the tip of my nose, as it extends by yet another millimetre.

ich and I have been together for ages, longer than any other couple I know. We’re coming up to our
six-month anniversary. That’s serious. ‘
Too
serious,’ Mum says. She thinks I should be ‘playing the field’ but what does she know? She hasn’t had a proper
boyfriend since Dad left. I’m pretty sure I love Rich and he told me he loves me too, although he hasn’t said it for a while (if I think about it). And (if I think about it harder),
he’s never said it first. I’d rather not think about that, though, because it makes me miserable. It’s bad enough that I’ve hardly seen him this summer, although
that’s not really his fault – I was in Goa for weeks and we couldn’t talk or message each other very often. If my mum weren’t so dippy, I might wonder if she planned the
holiday just to split us up.

I really missed Rich while I was away. I thought about him all the time and I didn’t even check out anybody else. Although, to be fair, I didn’t meet many guys who didn’t have
long, white beards. And long, curly toenails. Rich says he missed me too but . . . I don’t know. Something seems different now. I’ve been back for nearly a fortnight and we’ve
only met up alone twice, for a couple of hours, and once it was just so I could help him buy some new trainers. At the beginning, he’d come round all the time, to talk and listen to music and
stuff in my bedroom, but lately he seems to want us to go out with his mates instead.

Just like today. I’ve rung Rich because we have a vague arrangement to spend the day together, doing something fun, before school starts tomorrow. And, if I’m honest, I’d also
like to ask him if everything is all right between us. And if he thinks that my nose has grown since I went to Goa. And if that’s why he seems to be avoiding me.

‘Hey, Rich,’ I say, when he finally picks up. ‘Are you coming round, then?’

‘I can’t,’ he says, without even seeming to think about it. ‘I’m with my mates.’

‘Oh, right. It’s just that I thought you said we’d see each other today. I’d like to see you. I want to talk . . .’

I shouldn’t have said that. I swear I can hear him bristle. ‘What about?’

‘Um . . .’ What I really want to say is ‘About
us
’ but I know that will sound serious and make him freak out. And I can’t say, ‘About my nose’
either, because that sounds ridiculous. ‘Nothing special. Just stuff.’

‘What stuff?’ His voice becomes a whisper, as if he doesn’t want his mates to hear. ‘You’re not going all weird on me, are you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Right, well, I was going to text you anyway,’ he says, louder again. ‘I thought we could all go out together. To the bank holiday fair.’

‘Oh. I guess. I kind of thought we could have a day for just the two of us.’

‘Yeah, but we can do that any time. Why don’t you ask Rosie and Vix if they want to come too?’

‘OK, sure,’ I say, even though I haven’t planned to see my friends today. I told them I’d be seeing Rich for a romantic afternoon, and if I tell them it’s turned
into a group thing now they’ll start nagging me again about how Rich isn’t treating me right. Still, it’s better than staying in on my own. I know Rosie is meeting her brand new
boyfriend Laurie, but she can drag him along if she wants. Vix doesn’t like Rich’s mates, although she’ll be sweet and friendly to their faces. If I’m honest, I don’t
much like them either. They’re loud and lairy, and they make Rich act the same way.

‘Cool. See you at Camden Road at three, then?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. I take a deep breath. ‘Love you.’

But he’s already gone.

A few hours later, I’m standing outside Camden Road railway station with Vix, waiting for Rich to show up. Rosie has decided not to come; she said she wants to get to
know Laurie better first before she brings him out in public. I’m starting to think that I should have just told Rich that I’d see him tonight instead. There’s a fair at Hampstead
Heath every bank holiday and I always seem to end up going along with friends, even though I never enjoy myself much. I don’t like the crowds, or the rides which make me feel dizzy and sick
and mess up my hair. The only thing I do like are the dodgems. And the candy floss. I’ve never told anyone that before; you’re supposed to love fairs, aren’t you, especially if
you’re a teen? That’s why they’re called ‘fun’ fairs. Yeah, sure. About as fun as doing your maths homework, but hanging upside down by your legs, thirty metres off
the ground.

‘Hey,’ says Rich, rolling up with three of his most annoying mates in tow. I only know one of them: Luke, a guy from school, who still looks like he’s about eight and acts like
it too. Rich gives me a peck on the cheek, which is almost, but not quite, as passionate as the one I gave my mum when I left the flat. However, it still inspires Luke to make loud squelching
noises and to rub his hands up and down his chest like he’s having the steamiest snog ever.

Vix rolls her eyes at me. I know she’s thinking, What on earth do you want a boyfriend for?

‘Let’s go,’ I say, embarrassed. I grasp Vix’s arm and we walk ahead of the boys, through the ticket barrier and up the stairs to the platform. We can hear them behind us,
jostling each other and throwing bits of paper at our backs. Rich is never like this when he’s on his own with me. It’s weird: the moment his mates show up he starts behaving like
he’s a monkey in a cage at London Zoo.

Hampstead Heath isn’t far from Camden, just a few stops on the Overground line, but it’s a world apart. It’s much more chichi than Camden – full of delis and duck ponds
and posh people. It’s also incredibly green, like the countryside, which you wouldn’t expect to find in London. There’s acres of woodland, with every tree, flower, bird and
butterfly you can imagine. Mum used to take us here for walks and nature trails when we were little. She picked mushrooms here too, until she accidentally poisoned us all with a stir-fry and
decided she’d be wiser to buy them from the Wholefoods shop on Parkway instead.