Model Misfit (24 page)

There’s nothing I can say: she’s absolutely right. Without Nick, I would have stood there and quietly drowned in my own panicky mucus.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly as my eyes start to go blurry.

“If I hadn’t already invested so much in you, Harriet, you would be going home now.” Every word sounds like it’s been bitten off. “Do not make me regret this decision any more than I do already.” And before I can say anything, Yuka turns and walks out of the building.

I stare after her, open mouthed.

“The
mawashi
,” Nick says after a few seconds, raking a hand over his head. “It was a joke. I never would have—” but I’ve stopped listening. I’m already pushing through the doors and running back to the edge of the stage.

If I can just find the note – if I can show it to Yuka – maybe she’ll believe me. She’ll see that I do respect her, and that I love Japan. That I know I’m lucky to be here, and I’m trying as hard as I can.

That I’m not the person she thinks I am.

But it doesn’t matter how hard I look.

The note is gone.

have so many questions, I don’t even know where to start.

Actually, that’s not true. I totally do.

As soon as I’m back at the flat, I charge straight into the bedroom. Rin’s lying on her front on the bottom bunk, reading an English dictionary with her head cocked to one side: pink lace dress on, purple-socked feet crossed behind her. Kylie’s sprawled out across the small of her back in exactly the same outfit. Poppy’s perched against the wall of the top bunk, carefully painting her nails pink and humming a riff from
The Sound of Music
over and over and over again.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

They stop what they’re doing and look at me.

My cheeks are hot, and my breathing is getting faster and faster. There’s a tight feeling around my throat. “You left early this morning, Poppy. Why didn’t you wake me up before you went?”

Poppy looks blank. “What for?”

“For my photo shoot with Yuka! You knew I had to be—”

Rin knew about the job, but Poppy didn’t.

“Oh no,” Poppy says, her hand flying to her mouth. “Did you have a shoot this morning? Did you miss it?”

I shake my head. “Rin – you didn’t hear the alarms?”

Rin’s chin is starting to wobble. “I hear no alarm, Harry-chan. I have whales on.”

“What about the doorbell? It was being rung for two hours and none of us heard it?”

Poppy’s eyes fly open. “Oh, Harriet, it’s been crackling for ages and it finally broke. I left a note about it for you.” She points at a small piece of paper duly stuck next to the bed. “And we left another one on the front door asking visitors to ring our phones.”

My phone.

I crouch down and start fumbling around under my bed. After three or four seconds, I find it tucked behind a stray pillow. The battery is totally dead.

Oh my God.
What is wrong with me? What kind of person am I?

Actually, I’d really appreciate it if nobody answers that.

Then something else in my head clicks. I run to the bird alarm, pick it up and sure enough: it’s still on
British time
. All my alarms are set to go off three hours from now.

The entire morning has been my fault.

But what about the shoes
? I think. Except …

Nobody actually told me to put them on, did they?

Maybe they were a gift. Maybe the note was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Maybe they weren’t even for me.

This is exactly what happens when you just blindly do what notes tell you without asking appropriate questions first. Did Lewis Carroll teach me
nothing
?

Rin and Poppy are staring at me with wide, slightly reproachful eyes, and suddenly I don’t want to be here any more. I want to be far, far away, in a universe where I am not such a horrible human being. In a nicer, alternative world where I take responsibility for my own mistakes like a nearly adult, instead of stropping about, ruining things and then blaming everyone else like a spoilt little child.

It’s moments like this when my unpopularity is nowhere near as much of a mystery as I’d like it to be.

“I’m so sorry,” I say for the billionth time, my face getting steadily hotter. I start backing out of the room. “I didn’t mean to … I don’t know what I’m … I’m” – I blush even deeper – “I’m so, so sorry.”

And in a wave of shame, I grab my mobile and the charger, run into the hallway and climb into the cupboard.

efore you say it, no.

There is nothing weird about hiding in a cupboard. C. S. Lewis based an entire series of books on the premise that this is what normal people do on a regular basis. Anyway, I don’t have any other choice. This is the only piece of furniture in Japan I can fit either into or under.

I shut the door firmly, turn on the light and slump into a large cardboard box full of towels and drying-up cloths. Then I plug my phone in and rummage around until I find one of Poppy’s banished chocolate bars. I cram as much of it into my mouth as will physically fit, turn my phone on and hit speed dial.

“
Hi. It’s Nat. Leave a message or don’t. Whatever. I’ve probably already been eaten by a sheep anyway and this phone is now lying in a big pile of poo, just like my life.
”

BEEP
.

I guess Nat is still pretty angry with her mum. At least I hope she is, or judging by that message this is going to be the beginning of a really weird and slightly depressing sixth form.

“Hey,” I say. “It’s me – I just needed to …”

This is not OK. I can’t just steal my best friend’s modelling dream and then sit in a cupboard, whining about it. A soulmate’s job is to make somebody’s day better, not worse.

I swiftly adopt my brightest, breeziest, happiest voice and spoil the surprise present I bought for her.

“Umm … Nat, you know you said that looking like a My Little Pony was super cool, right? Well, I found these amazing rainbow hair extensions in Harajuku. What colour would you like? Pink? Purple? Turquoise?” I pause and try to swallow a hard, distinctly unbreezy lump in my throat. “Anyway. Hope things are getting better in France. It’s all amazing here and I’m having soooooo much fun.”
Rein it back, Harriet.
“I miss you. Bye.”

Then I hang up, shove another chocolate bar into my mouth and try a different number.

“
Hello. This is a digital recording of the electromagnetic wave of Toby’s voice, which has been encoded on to a binary system of data. Leave your own electromagnetic wave, and I will call you back when I’ve finished playing Plants versus Zombies but that could be a while because frankly it’s almost impossible to get through the iron bucket on their head with a few bits of sweetcorn and a cabbag—
”

BEEP.

I swallow the chocolate whole. Nat can be quite flaky in the mornings, but Toby always answers his phone. Especially when it’s me. It’s one of his most redeeming characteristics.

Seriously, what is the point in having a stalker if they’re not at your beck and call whenever you need them?

“Toby? It’s Harriet. I’m just ringing because …”

Because everything’s going wrong and I want him to make me feel better? Because even though I left without saying goodbye, it’s his job to be there for me regardless? Because all I’m thinking about is myself?

Again?

“Umm …” I clear my throat. “I thought you should know that if you laid all the Lego bricks sold in one year end to end they would stretch five times round the world. You can put that as a pop-up box in your
Lord of the Rings
video. You know, make it a bit more interactive.” My phone makes a tiny pinging noise. I knew those facts about Lego would come in handy one day. “I hope you’re having a great summer, Tobes. Speak soon.”

Then I hang up miserably and click on the text that’s just come through:

HARRIET STOP RING ME ASAP STOP WE NEED TO TALK STOP WILBUR KISS KISS STOP

I stare at it in confusion – my agent seems to be under the impression that his phone sends Morse code – and then close my eyes.

Did Wilbur just call me
Harriet
?

Oh my God: I am in
so
much trouble.

Eyes starting to well up again, I desperately search through my contacts for somebody else to talk to and realise I’ve run out of options already. Unless I want to confide my problems in one of my local bookshops or the National Trust.

Which means I’m going to have to do what no self-respecting teenager does under any circumstances.

I’ll have to ring my parents.

t takes a good six minutes for Dad to pick up.