Starting Over (3 page)

‘Dylan . . .'

‘Yeah?'

‘Put a sock in it.'

Mornings have never been my best time and it had been a rude awakening to be reminded that there are two seven o'clocks in the day. One nice one (in the evening) and one
horrid
one first thing. I was going to miss being able to sleep in, it was one of the best perks of holidays.

Dylan's face betrayed the tiniest hurt and I realised that, behind his bravado act, he was as nervous as I was. He always
rambled when he was worried about something. Actually he also rambled when he wasn't. Dylan could talk for England, but he could charm too. He was a sweet kid with an appealing face and he looked so cute in his uniform with his black-and-yellow tie done up. He'd make a pile of mates in no time. I regretted being sharp with him. It wasn't his fault we had to go to a new school or that I had been dragged from under my cosy duvet and out into this wet September day.

About a metre before we reached the main road that led to our school, Dylan suddenly put his hand up to his mouth, turned towards a wall, bent over, gagged and threw up.

‘Ohmigod! Dylan are you OK?' I went over and put my hand on his back.

After a few moments, Dylan straightened up, nodded and looked around anxiously. ‘Nobody saw me did they? Nobody in the same uniform?'

I followed his gaze around the area. ‘No. Only me. Don't worry.'

Poor, poor Dylan,
I thought as I looked at his pale face and watering eyes. ‘Are you OK?'

He nodded shakily. ‘Got a tissue?'

I pulled one out of my pocket. ‘Do you want to go home?'

He shook his head. ‘You
sure
no one saw?' he asked as he wiped his mouth.

‘No one,' I said and I gave him a hug. ‘And no one saw that either. You'll be fine, Dylan Ruspoli. Everyone going into your year is going to be anxious. There will be kids throwing up all
over Notting Hill today. It's going to be puke city . . .'

Dylan pulled a face. ‘Ergh, India, visual overload.'

‘I'm just trying to say that you're not alone. And I bet you, give it half a day and everyone's going to be queuing up to be your friend. Secondary school is a gas.'

‘Oh really? So why are you Miss Doom and Gloom even more than you usually are this morning?' he asked as he pulled on my arm to indicate we should walk on.

‘I'm not,' I said, although, actually, I was
Queen
of Doom and Gloom. I was feeling miserable - and not just because of the early rise. It was because of Kate. My lovely, compassionate, sensitive, warm-hearted cousin. Not. When we were having breakfast earlier that morning, I had asked if I could go in with her. She had put down her toast, sighed as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders then given me a long speech about ‘stuff' she had to do on the way,
plus
she was meeting up with her mate Chloe,
plus
she was going in later today as Sixth Formers had different schedules - and
oh
the pressure of A-levels, stress, all too much. I think she must have seen my face fall (I'm not very good at hiding my feelings) because she then tried to backtrack with some spiel about me needing space and that I needed to find my own set of friends and identity, blah de blah de blah. She was blowing me off and we both knew it. I knew what it was like in schools. Sixth Formers simply don't mix with the younger years.

As we turned into the road that led to the school, my phone bleeped that I had a text message. It was from Erin.

Rmembr to smile; of all the things u wear, it's the mst imprtant.

That's sweet,
I thought,
and a good job that she'd texted as I might have forgotten to turn my phone off.
It would have been so embarrasing if it had gone off in my first assembly. I was about to turn it off when it bleeped another message. This time she'd written:

Don't smile 2 much tho or peeps will thnk ur a loonie.

I laughed.
Thanks for the advice, Erin,
I thought, then I switched it off and stashed it in my rucksack.

The traffic became more congested as we got closer to the school. Fleets of four-wheel drives and people carriers were double parked, horns blared from cars who were held up behind them and couldn't get through, and droves of pupils in black-and-white uniforms were swarming towards the school from all directions, some getting out of cars, others off buses, a few on bicycles, others, like Dylan and I, arriving by foot. I felt my stomach lurch with nerves as the noise level grew as old friends greeted each other, linked arms and headed in through the gates. I turned to glance at Dylan. ‘OK?' I asked.

He nodded but he still looked pale. ‘Got any fags?' he asked.

‘Dylan! I know you don't smoke.'

‘Thought I might start,' he said. ‘That and drinking hard liquor.'

That made me laugh as Dylan is Mr Healthy. He reads all the labels on everything, looking for hidden preservatives. For a brief moment, I felt protective and tender towards him, as I
could see that he was trying to put me at ease as much as I was trying to reassure him. And then he turned from white to green.

‘Oh God . . .' he gasped and ran back in the direction that we'd come from.

I looked towards the school. We'd timed it to perfection so that we weren't too late and weren't too early. I heard the bell go and pupils began to speed up. But there was no way I could go in without Dylan. I turned and raced after him.

To the left of the main road, there was what looked like a quieter road, and that's where he'd gone. I turned the corner and saw him disappear through someone's gate beside a tall privet hedge. I could immediately see why he had done that -a bunch of boys in our uniform were coming along the pavement. I knew that the last thing Dylan wanted was to be seen doing the technicolor yawn on his first day. I walked past the hedge then casually turned into the gateway as if I lived there. I could see Dylan in the corner of the garden, ducked down behind the hedge. I turned back to check the other boys had gone past then looked up and down the street. ‘Coast is clear,' I said. ‘You going to hurl again?'

Dylan shook his head and came back on to the path. ‘Don't think so. Ergh . . . Urghhh . . .' His timing was impeccable. The front door of the house opened and an elderly lady in a hairnet appeared in a long, pink, fleecy dressing gown. She didn't notice us at first because she was looking down at her step. She bent over to pick up her milk and it was
then
that she saw Dylan. She couldn't have missed him really as it was at the exact moment that
he lost it and threw up for a third time, all over her front steps.

Her face was a picture. Like she'd seen a ghost. ‘Whah . . . Who?' she blustered.

I went into a strange hopping dance behind Dylan. ‘Oh God. Oh Lord. I am sooooo sorry. New to the area. Wrong house. So sorry.'

The lady straightened up, pulled her dressing gown tight around her, ducked back in and slammed the door shut. Seconds later, I saw a curtain twitch at the window and she peeped out from behind it.

Poor Dylan was still on his knees.

‘Oh bollards. Dylan, are you OK?' I said as I bent over him.

He nodded weakly.

I glanced back at the window and the lady darted back behind the curtain. ‘OK, then we need to leg it.'

Dylan got up and hobbled out to the gate then on to the pavement, where we ran to the corner. He was shaking like a leaf. Luckily the street was free of fellow pupils as they had all gone into assembly.

‘Take a few deep breaths,' I said and he did as he was told, gasping in gulps of air.

‘I'm OK now,' he stuttered, but he still appeared to be shaking. I went to steady him, but when I put my arm around him, he burst out laughing.

‘Oh . . . oh,' he wheezed. ‘Oh that woman! Oh God. I am sooo sorry. I'll take her some flowers ... I'll .. . I'll take her a card but . . . but . . . did you see her face?'

‘I did. “Freaked out” would be an understatement.'

‘She . . . she . . .' Dylan couldn't stop laughing.

I looked around to see if anyone was watching. ‘Dylan, are you OK?' I asked. I was seriously worried by his behaviour, but then I remembered about people having hysterics.
Should I slap him like they do in the movies when someone's lost it?
I wondered. ‘Dylan, stop laughing. It's not funny.'

‘I know but . . . her face . . . and . . .'

And then I began to see the funny side too. Poor lady. A puking schoolboy is not what you expect to find when you open the front door to bring in your milk first thing in the morning. We stood for a while and had to hold our sides from laughing. When we had calmed down, I asked Dylan what he wanted to do.

‘Actually I feel a bit better now,' he said as he looked towards the school. ‘So come on, let's do it. Let's go in. I don't think I could bear to put it off another day. It would only make this awful feeling last longer.'

‘Good man,' I said. ‘Plus, I think if that lady found you on her doorstep again tomorrow, she might have a heart attack.'

Dylan nodded. ‘I
will
take her flowers. And, India . . .?'

‘Yeah?'

‘Don't tell anyone, will you? Please. Not Mum or Ethan or Lewis?'

‘Course not,' I said. I knew it was hard for Dylan being the youngest sometimes and even though our two elder brothers don't live at home any more, Dylan still felt that he needed to act grown up sometimes.

‘Not even when you hate me and could use it against me?'

‘I solemnly promise, Dylan. It's our secret... although maybe just once when you have the TV remote and there's something I want to watch I might . . .'

Dylan pinched my arm then looked at his watch. ‘Holy shitoly! We're late!' he said and then he realised that he hadn't got his bag. ‘My rucksack! Shit. Shit. Shit! Where is it? Oh. Oh God, it's under the hedge in that woman's garden! I have to go back.'

He was about to retrace his steps, but I pulled him back. ‘I'll go. You stay here.'

I raced back towards the gate just as the skies opened and rain began to lash down. When I reached the hedge on the outside, I did my best to flatten myself against it and edge my way along, the way that spies do in movies. In the distance, I could see someone in a black-and-white uniform was approaching on a bicycle so I quickly darted into the garden, got down on my knees and crawled along by the flowerbed in the hope that if the lady was looking out of the window, she wouldn't see me. I could see the rucksack, and once I had it in my hand I swivelled around, but somehow lost my balance and fell on my back into the flowerbed.

‘Drat,' I said as I floundered to get up and wiped the rain dripping from my forehead.

At that moment, a head appeared around the hedge. A familiar head in a black baseball cap.

‘Hey, India Jane,' said Joe. ‘I thought it was you. You don't live here.'

‘Er, no ... I was .. .just visiting,' I said as I got on to my knees and pulled down the skirt that had ridden up. I indicated the rucksack. ‘Left something.'

Joe's eyes filled with amusement. ‘Ah. Yes. And in the hedge, I see.'

I tried to get up with as much dignity as I could muster, but my legs were covered with mud and rivulets of water were dripping down my face and nose as the rain continued to fall. ‘I ...'

At that moment, the front door opened and the lady who lived there, who had now got dressed, appeared with a broomstick which she brandished at me. ‘Out! Get
out
of my garden right now.' She looked at Joe. ‘How many of you are there? You too. Hooligans! Off my property!'

Joe disappeared and I skipped out of the garden, then ran as fast as I could with the lady in pursuit.

‘And I'll be reporting you to the school,' she yelled as I hot-footed it down the street, making shooing signs to Dylan who was hovering anxiously on the corner. ‘Don't think I won't remember your face.'

‘Go, go,' I shouted at Joe, who was back on his bike but was holding back and watching me with concern. ‘Go, go . . .'

‘Later,' he called over his shoulder and he cycled off and disappeared around the corner with a brief wave at Dylan.

‘Later,' I said as I panted round the corner, grabbed Dylan's arm and we ran into the school.
Later,
I thought as my fantasy romantic reunions with Joe smashed into a thousand smithereens.

‘So, how 's it going?' asked Erin when I got through to her in morning break. I knew it would cost a fortune to call at that time of day rather than text but it felt like an emergency and I knew I had just about enough phone credit. It was hard to hear her voice above the din in the main hall where all the Year Ten and Elevens were congregated. We had been allowed to stay in because of the torrential rain outside and the noise level was deafening.