The Real Rebecca Page 8

  ‘So who do you sound like?’ asked Jessie McCabe.

  Of course, we don’t really sound like anyone yet. We’ve only really played one song, and that was by the Kinks.

  ‘Um, we’re still working on our general sound,’ I said. Then, of course, Karen, who was sitting at the next desk, had to stick her oar in.

  ‘Well, at least we know you can sing,’ she said. ‘At least, your alter-ego can. She was boasting about it in this ridiculous book.’

  I ignored her and started eating my sandwich.

  ‘Are you going to play any concerts?’ asked Ellie. ‘You have to tell us if you do.’

  ‘Well, we really want to play gigs,’ said Alice, although to be honest I’m not sure Cass actually does. ‘But, um, we’re not sure how. I think we’re too young to play most places.’

  ‘You should ask Rebecca,’ said Karen. ‘After all, Wildfire played a concert.’

  I rolled my eyes as if I was just mildly amused by Karen’s ravings, as opposed to wanting to kill her. This seemed to annoy her because she shut up for a while. And then we went out to sit in the playing field and eat crisps, and I managed to avoid her for the rest of the day.

  Alice doesn’t really care all that much about everyone knowing about the band, but Cass does. She says she didn’t want anyone to know about it until we were amazing musicians and had written loads of songs, rather than three girls who had only had one practice. ‘And only two of us can play our instruments properly,’ she said. ‘No offence.’

  ‘I’m not that bad,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Cass. ‘But you know what I mean. It’s not that you’re bad, you just haven’t had much chance to practise.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Fair enough.’

  Anyway, it’s done now, and there’s nothing we can do to change it, as Alice very sensibly pointed out. She also said everyone will forget about it soon, although that wasn’t quite as sensible. No one in our class seems to forget anything. They’re like elephants in hideous wine-coloured uniforms. Some of them still go on about the time Jessie accidentally called Frau O’Hara ‘Mum’ in class and that happened nearly a year ago.

  THURSDAY

  Have been practising the drums on the sofa cushions. I think I am getting better. In fact, I know I’m getting better. You just have to learn to relax your wrists. Of course, the pedal thing still freaks me out a bit, but I’ll figure it out. And I don’t really need to play a big bass drum very often (I hope). I’m kind of avoiding playing the cymbals for the same reason. Also, it turns out that playing the drums (or cushions) is very good way of letting out your rage. Obviously I have had lots of things to be angry about recently (Mum, Mrs Harrington, Karen Rodgers, Vanessa Finn) and after a good bash I do feel much better.

  To my amazement, I am not the only person who thinks I am getting better. Dad came in today while I was drumming away on the sofa and said, ‘Wow, Bex, you sound like a real drummer!’

  Maybe I really have found my calling.

  After reading Pride and Prejudice (which was very good. Especially as Elizabeth escaped her embarrassing mother in the end), I am in the mood for more old-fashioned books about people with horrible parents. Rachel gave me Jane Eyre, which was also written in the olden days. It is okay so far. Jane Eyre is an orphan which frankly doesn’t sound so bad to me right now. Although I suppose Dad isn’t that bad. Some of the time.

  FRIDAY

  Vanessa Finn is being so nice to me I’m starting to feel a bit sorry for her friend Caroline. Today she asked me if I wanted to sit with her for lunch, ignoring poor old Caroline. In our class we don’t go around asking people to join us for lunch, and I was already eating my sandwiches (wholemeal bread, cheese, ham and lettuce) and drinking a carton of juice (apple) with Cass and Alice, as usual. So that was weird anyway. Caroline just sat there, looking hurt. I politely said that I was having lunch with Cass and Alice, and Vanessa gave me a sugary smile and offered me some of her chocolate brownie. But I didn’t want to take any of it. I’m afraid she has ulterior motives. I just wish I knew what they were.

  And I had another conversation with Paperboy this evening. But I’m not sure if that was a good thing or not. I was at home practising the drums, as is my wont these days, and when the door rang I shouted ‘I’ll get it!’ and walked very calmly into the kitchen, got the paper money from the counter, and walked slowly out to the door (I ignored Rachel sniggering and saying, ‘Oh, Bex is answering the door at this time on a Friday, what a surprise’). Then I took a deep breath, smiled, and opened the door. And there he was, looking as lovely as ever. Oh, he’s so tall. I have to lean my head back to look up at him, even when he’s standing a step lower than me.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. I held out the cash. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, in a friendly way. ‘Did you manage to stay out of the papers this week?’

  Without thinking, I said, ‘Well, no, not exactly.’ As soon as I said it I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Or rather, lied. If he hadn’t seen the shorts photo, what on earth was I doing telling him about it? It was better if he never knew anything about it But it was too late now. And then it was like I was possessed. I couldn’t stop talking. ‘My mother did an interview with a newspaper and gave them a photo of me and my sister when we were little,’ I said. ‘We were wearing ridiculous shorts. It was pretty embarrassing.’ Which is why, of course, I am telling you. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

  But Paperboy laughed in quite a nice way. ‘Wow, you really are famous,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that I, a humble paperboy, should be allowed talk to you.’

  I should have thought of something clever or funny to say to that, but of course I didn’t, so I just laughed like a crazy person and he grinned and went off.

  I wonder if he thinks I actually am a crazy person? Or at least a sad idiot who appears in the paper by accident all the time.

  He was quite friendly though. And he was joking with me in a nice way, not a sniggering way. That was pretty cool.

  Hmmm.

  SATURDAY

  I don’t want to write about this but I suppose I have to. Something horrible happened today. We had an early band practice because Alice had to go and visit some relatives, and afterwards Cass and I went into town on the bus. Cass had to buy a birthday present for her brother in some stupid sports shop and she said she knew it wasn’t fair to make me go there, so we split up and said we’d meet in half an hour. I went off to potter around the shops, even though I couldn’t really afford to buy anything, and when I was coming out of Tower Records, Paperboy was coming in. We almost walked into each other in the doorway and when I realized it was him my stomach turned over with excitement and happiness. We just stared at each other and I was starting to say hello when I realised there was someone with him. A girl. She was tall-ish (taller than me, anyway) with brown hair and she was wearing a really nice coat and had a cool bag. She was quite pretty, I suppose.

  I froze for a split second and then said, ‘Oh, hi!’ I hope I sounded casual. I have a horrible feeling I didn’t. He looked a bit awkward and said smiled and said, ‘Hey.’ And the girl sort of looked at me funny. If we’d been in the street, I’d have just kept walking but we were still in the doorway so there was a stupid awkward bit where we all moved out of each other’s way in the same direction until finally I broke free and sort of bounded out into Wicklow Street. I said, ‘Um, bye then,’ and he waved and said, ‘See ya,’ and the girl just looked at me blankly, and then I walked down the street as fast as I could and I wanted to die. I wished I didn’t have to meet Cass at all because I just wanted to be on my own. I sort of wandered around the streets near the George’s Street Arcade until it was time to meet her, trying not to cry. We went for a hot chocolate and I told her what had happened. I tried not to show how awful I felt. Cass was all ‘oh no, he’s taken!’ but she didn’t seem to really care. And I do care. And I feel really embarrassed for caring.

  I keep running it over and over in my head. I wish I knew
whether they were holding hands or not. I mean I wish I knew that they weren’t – right now I think they weren’t but I can’t be sure. Not that it makes any difference. I’m clutching at straws. I wish I could tell myself that she was his sister or his cousin or just his friend but I don’t want to give myself false hope. I feel so, so, so stupid. I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about him so much, I really thought there was at least a possibility that there was something in it. I can’t believe I was all happy and hopeful about him last night. I can’t believe we were practically engaged in my dreams. I wish he liked me. I wish I knew him.

  SUNDAY

  Here’s something really shameful – I keep wondering whether Paperboy looked awkward when we met because he didn’t want me to know that he had a girlfriend. Because he likes me. But probably he just looked awkward because he thinks I’m just a silly little girl he bumps into every week when he’s doing his job and he doesn’t want to have to see me in public. I hope he doesn’t know I like him. If he did and felt sorry for me I would die. It’s the worst thing I can possibly imagine. Although he probably feels sorry for me anyway, with my unwanted fame. God, I’m so pathetic.

  LATER

  I rang Alice and told her everything, including how crappy I felt (I didn’t tell her about my shameful hope that Paperboy secretly loves me). I don’t know why it was easier than talking to Cass. I suppose it was partly because, after the first excitement, I don’t think Alice really cared about Paperboy. She preferred the boy who (still) goes past us on his bike on Calderwood Road. He actually sort of smiled at us the other day so perhaps she’s on the right track. But also it was because we have been friends for much longer than me and Cass, and although I do get on really well with Cass and she is very funny and I probably have more in common with her than I do with Alice, sometimes I feel that perhaps Alice understands me better, in a more serious way, not just about liking the same books and music and TV programmes and stuff like that. So yeah, I told her, and she was really nice about it, and said she understood, and told me about how once she saw Bike Boy exchanging waves with a girl in a St Mary’s uniform when we were on our way into school, and I hadn’t seen anything so she acted normally until we got there and then she went into the toilets and cried. Anyway, I felt a bit better after I talked to her.

  MONDAY

  I keep forgetting about Paperboy and his stupid girlfriend (it actually gives me a horrible pain in my stomach to write that) and then I remember and feel sick in my tummy. School is so boring, I have plenty of time to think about it. I was in such a daze in maths that I didn’t even notice that Ellie and Jessie were having a competition to see who could tip their seat back the furthest without falling over until Jessie actually did fall over and Mrs Condren spent the rest of the class telling us how we were meant to be grown-up now and it was disgraceful to see fourteen-year-old girls acting like babies.

  TUESDAY

  As if I didn’t have enough to annoy me at the moment, Vanessa Finn kept going on at me again today. What is up with her recently? I ended up having to sit next to her in German because Cass and I were late for class and there weren’t two free seats beside each other so Frau O’Hara ordered me to sit next to Vanessa. Anyway, we were meant to be practising talking about our favourite TV programmes ‘auf Deutsch’ but Vanessa kept talking about this ginormous birthday party she’s planning and asking me what I thought about it.

  ‘I haven’t decided whether to arrive on a big pink tank or a pink horse. What do you think?’

  What I thought was that she was a total lunatic but I just said, ‘Um, where are you going to get a pink horse?’

  ‘Oh, we’re just going to dye a white one,’ she said, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to do. Perhaps it is, for her. Perhaps she has a whole stable of horses of every colour.

  ‘And, well, where are you going to get a tank? Isn’t that, like, illegal?’

  ‘Dad has a friend who’s an army officer,’ said Vanessa. ‘He said we could just borrow one for the day.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘Yah. And we can paint it pink as long as we paint it grey or green or whatever boring colour it’s meant to be afterwards.’

  It was so mad I have to admit I was kind of fascinated.

  ‘Are you going to, like, ride through the streets in it? In a tank?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’ll be, you know, looking out in the top in my new outfit. Waving at people.’

  I always knew Vanessa was a bit peculiar and annoying, but I thought she was basically harmless. Now it sounds like she wants to be Hitler. Only more pink. Anyway, Frau O’Hara came along then so she had to shut up (in English at least). But she kept going in German. She was of course meant to be talking about telly programmes but I’m pretty sure she was still talking about the party (it is hard to tell as her German is even worse than mine). I heard the word ‘Pferd’ which means horse so maybe she is just obsessed with horses in general? Although she also said something about a ‘Fest’. As soon as the class ended she started talking about the tank as well (or Panzer, as I believe they are called ‘auf Deutsch’), but I said I had to go to the loo urgently and ran away (it was the only excuse I could think of). To be honest Vanessa’s mad party should be a distraction, but at the moment I can’t think about anything but Paperboy and that horrible girl. Why did I go in to Tower on Saturday? If I hadn’t seen them I wouldn’t feel so awful now. I mean, I know that it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going out with her (IF he is) but at least then I wouldn’t know about it. Every time I think about it I feel sick. And very, very sad.

  THURSDAY

  We had an extra band practice after school today. Alice asked her mum to let us do it, to cheer me up, which was very kind of her. I’m not sure it actually worked, because now I’m back home again and I feel miserable, but I have to admit that when we were actually practising it did distract me from my misery for a while.

  Maybe I should start writing poetry. I could turn my sadness into great literature.

  LATER

  Nothing rhymes with Paperboy.

  EVEN LATER

  If only I knew his real name. Although it’s probably something unrhymable, like Jonathan. Not that he looks like a Jonathan. I actually can’t imagine what his name might be. He doesn’t look like an anything, if you know what I mean. I mean, you wouldn’t look at him and think, ‘There’s a Dave,’ or ‘There’s a Rory.’

  Anyway, there isn’t any point in finding out what his name is. I’ll probably never talk to him about anything but newspapers. And I’m not sure I even want to do that anymore.

  FRIDAY

  I feel a bit funny. In a good way. Something very weird and potentially very, very good has happened. I don’t quite know what to think about it. I was really jittery when I came home from school because I knew Paperboy was going to call in a few hours. And I didn’t know whether to leave Rachel or Mum to answer the door or to brave it and do it myself. A part of me really wanted to see him but another part of me couldn’t bear the idea. But then I thought that if I didn’t answer the door, he’d think I was hiding from him (and he would be right). And then I felt ashamed of myself for being stupid enough to think that he’d even notice, or that he even remembers Saturday.

  I decided to distract myself by practising my drums. Rachel was up in her room, Dad wasn’t home from work yet and Mum was in her study, so I put on some music and started drumming away on the cushions. I was hoping I might get so lost in music that I would forget about the impending arrival of Paperboy but of course I didn’t and I kept looking over at the clock. When it hit six o’clock my stomach was churning and when the door rang at half six I thought I was going to get sick. But I yelled ‘I’ll get it’ (my voice came out a bit weird) and ran out to the door, still holding my drumsticks (and if I’m being totally honest with myself, and I should be if I want this diary to be an accurate description of my life when I look back on it in my old age, I have to admit this: I didn�
��t put the drumsticks down before going out because I hoped he would be impressed by the fact I play the drums. GOD I’M SO SAD).

  Anyway, I kind of flung open the door and there he was. I’d been thinking about him so much all week that it was a shock to see him in the flesh, in different clothes. In my head he looked exactly as he’d looked on Saturday. I felt my throat go all dry and I swallowed before I said, ‘Oh, hi, I’ll get the money.’ But before I could get away, the (possibly – I don’t want to tempt fate) cool thing happened.

  Paperboy said, ‘Um, I’m sorry about Saturday.’

  I sort of stared at him and, after what seemed like about five years but was probably only about five seconds, said, ‘What for?’

  Paperboy let out a long breath. ‘Em, I think I was a bit rude. By accident.’

  ‘No you weren’t,’ I said, but Paperboy was on a roll. ‘I’d just bumped into my ex outside Tower and it was all a bit weird because we haven’t really seen each other since I broke up with her and when we met you I was kind of surprised. So I might have acted a bit weird. Or rude. But just because I was surprised to see you there.’

  ‘So was I,’ I said. ‘It was weird seeing you, um, out of context. I mean, not doing your whole … paper thing.’ But while I said this I was just thinking. ‘His ex! HIS EX! HIS EX!!!’ and I thought I was going to die of happiness.

  ‘So yeah, I’m sorry if I seemed a bit, you know, off,’ said Paperboy, looking a bit awkward. Neither of us said anything for a moment. Then he suddenly looked surprised and pleased. ‘Hey, are those drumsticks?’

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m in a band.’ I didn’t add ‘and we can’t really play any songs!’ because that would not have been impressive. And Paperboy looked kind of impressed. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Wow, that’s brilliant. What are you called?’