Truly Madly Awkward Read online

  For Chris – and the wonderful staff of the NHS who helped keep my world together.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  “GET OFF ME, WEIRDO!!!”

  These four words, yelled so hard a bit of spit hit my nose, were not exactly how I hoped my in-a-dream-world-one-day-potential-boyfriend was going to greet me. Especially when screamed with such panic an entire playing field stopped in its tracks.

  The last time I’d seen anyone that shocked was when Mum opened the door to the postman forgetting she was having a no-trousers day (he shouldn’t have looked that surprised – it was the fourth time it’d happened. That month).

  Sure, it must be a BIT startling to be doing keepie-uppies and have someone run up behind you and laugh-breathe, “Well, helloooo there, straanger?!!” in your ear. (No idea why I’d done a cowboy voice either.) A two-handed prod tickle – prickle – in the ribs wasn’t exactly un-alarming either.

  But the prodee’s shock was nowhere near as big as mine, because another player was staring at me with even more confusion than the one backing speedily away from me.

  And that player – rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open – was Adam Douglas. Aka Fit Adam. Aka Fadam.

  Adam, the guy I’d had on thought-loop for thirteen- and-a-half months solid.

  Adam, the boy that one night I’d googled so intensely, I’d had to unplug our entire home internet in case I’d triggered some sort of security alert.

  Adam, the boy I try to accidentally-on-purpose run into so much, that last Wednesday evening I did my 10,000 daily steps walking circles of the same playing field (my poor boxer dog, Mumbles, with her shorter legs, must have done at least 40,000).

  Adam, the boy that, in my wildest imagination (and I once imagined that school is just a conspiracy theory for adults to get us out of the way while they go to Alton Towers) I hope might one day want me to be his actual girlfriend.

  But, no. Instead of saying a hello to this ultimate specimen of boy, I, Bella Fisher – in front of his entire football team (and an equally-confused away side) – had just made full mouth-to-ear contact with his teammate (which technically is only 12.6 centimetres from being a one-way unwanted snog).

  Was there any way to style this out? I looked around the gaping football pitch. And at the gapers on the football pitch.

  Nope.

  So I did the next best thing (which as I could only think of one option, was also joint worst).

  “DON’T MIND ME!” I two-handed waved like I was polishing a life-sized window. Face, don’t show panic that Adam doesn’t look any less less-impressed. Or should that be more less-unimpressed? ARGH. BELLA STOP THINKING ABOUT THE COMPLEXITIES OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND MAKE THIS LESS TERRIBLE.

  “Sorry! I thought this person …” I pointed at the real Adam (still not smiling), “… was that person.” I pointed at not-Adam. Nadam (smiling even less). “Cos from behind, in football kit, you all look the same.” I was still shouting. “Although obviously now you are all staring at me, I see you are all totally different, and I really respect you as individuals.” Still no one moved, except Nadam, who was now almost sprinting backwards. Not an excellent sign. “So I, er, won’t forget my glasses again.”

  I turned and pelted to the safety of the bench. The bench with my friends on. Friends who knew I didn’t wear glasses. Amazing how much humiliation can happen so quickly (that was approx thirty h/s – humils per second).

  I splodged down into the space between Tegan and Rachel, my peripheral vision pretending to my dignity that it couldn’t see Mikey struggling to hold in a laugh.

  I dropped my head into my hands.

  “C’mon, Bells, it could have happened to anyone.” Tegan always looked for the positive.

  “Straw poll. Has it?”

  Rachel absently pulled a strand of her hair across her top lip like a moustache. (The fact that she did things like this in public and was still the most-fancied girl in our village said a lot about how unbelievably beautiful – tache or not – she was). She was humming – which meant she was thinking. She’s like a car. If she’s in action, you can hear it.

  “Well, last Christmas I had a twenty-minute phone call with Granddad until he asked to speak to Aunty Sharon, and I told him I didn’t have one. And then I realized he wasn’t my granddad, he was just a granddad, who’d dialled the wrong number.”

  Mikey snorted, then stopped as he remembered solidarity meant he wasn’t supposed to be finding anything funny right now. I mean, it wasn’t exactly the same (as I assumed/hoped Rach hadn’t spent months lusting after this random granddad), but I appreciated the effort, so I opened my fingers just wide enough to give her a grateful look. But instead I suffered another major stomach lurch (MSL) as I caught a glimpse of Adam sprinting about. Like muscle coordination was NBD (when I can’t even blink around him properly).

  Tegan squeezed my knee.

  “Bells, seriously. No one will remember this. Everyone’s focused on the game that’s about to kick off.” She paused. “Right, Mikey?”

  Mikey had been our friend for yonks, and he totally adored Tegan, but not even unswerving loyalty to his girlfriend could make him suddenly turn into a convincing liar.

  “Er, yeah. Sure?”

  His question mark was almost as loud as the shouts on the pitch.

  But maybe Teeg was right? She normally was. My malfunction might be totally forgettable to anyone who had an actual life. And I could explain myself to Adam later.

  YES, BELLA. That was more like it.

  As I lifted my head, a football rolled against my foot. Using the chance to test Tegan’s theory I looked up at the rando boy chasing after it. Yup, he looked normal. Like he wasn’t freaking out. He probably hadn’t even seen me manhandle his teammate, let alone remembered it. See, freaking-out-bit-of-brain? Nothing to worry about.

  “Oi, Grabby Hands, kick us the ball?”

  Or not.

  I scrubbed through “They might forget about it” on my positive thoughts list. And added “Is it possible to be fifteen and have someone else’s face tattooed over my face?” to my must-check-when-I’m-alone list, and kicked the ball back. But I was suffering such intense mortification that I only managed to roll it about four metres. To save me from actually shame-melting (shmelting), Tegan leapt up and kicked it back, landing the ball perfectly at his feet.

  Please could today call it quits?

  I slumped back on the bench, wishing I could disappear. If humans
can invent popping candy why can’t they hurry up and figure out invisibility hoodies? Priorities, please.

  My wallowing was interrupted by a tinny version of “Let It Go” wafting across the playing field. Rachel sat bolt upright like a meerkat and started swaying along.

  “Wow! I didn’t know they had music. That’s so cool.”

  Tegan loud-breathed through her nose – her more polite version of an ordinary person’s eye-roll.

  “So cool – it’s actually an ice-cream van…”

  Mikey looked up from his phone. “Did someone say ice cream?”

  He smiled at Tegan the kind of way I dreamt Adam would some day look at me (sort of how I look at the person in the burrito place when they hand over my foil-wrapped parcel of dreams).

  Tegan and Mikey were at either end of the bench, Rachel and I sitting between them, like a third and fourth wheel (which technically would actually make a more balanced vehicle). But it didn’t feel awkward. We’d all been friends before they got together and from day one they’d made it clear that when we were hanging out we were four friends, not two of them, and two of us. Tegan gave Mikey a big grin back.

  “Yeah, I did – and now I’m saying, ‘Let’s go get one.’ Who’s with me?”

  Even though it was the height of British summer (aka cold and about to rain), ice cream, and getting my mega-blush face further from Adam’s view, was win-win. We all leapt up, including Mumbles (who had been napping after tiring herself out chasing a long bit of grass that she hadn’t realized was stuck to her head). In an attempt at normality, I waved a casual goodbye in the pitch’s general direction, but Adam was too busy having a team talk to see me. Or was he now pretending not to know me? ARGH. Be gone, vile thought.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on which one it was, as within seconds Rach had cried, “Snacktivation activation,” and our walk became a fast walk, which became a jog, and by the time we reached the edge of the field, was a big-laughing, full-on run to be front of the queue.

  Tegan got there first. She runs like a gazelle. I run like a baby learning to walk.

  “Right, what does everyone want?” She wasn’t even vaguely out of breath. I was panting so hard I could feasibly have inhaled a passing bird (pigeon-sized or below). I diverted attention by rummaging in my pocket. My empty pocket. Eurgh. Was fluff legal tender?

  “You know what, I think I’m kind of full actually.”

  Never have my two closest friends given me more of a disbelieving look, and I once told them I’d signed up for a triathlon with my sister (admittedly I forgot to mention it was as a supporter).

  “Bells, these are my shout.” Rach smiled. “NO ARGUMENTS.” Seconds later she shoved a cone into my hand. “Can’t go wrong with a ninety-nine. Extra pink sauce, obvs.”

  I murmured thanks and got stuck in. Rachel was always so generous with getting us stuff – with everything really. Although maybe it was easier when your parents were set to automatic “yes” reply?

  I stuck my tongue out to catch a falling sauce blob, but a gust of wind meant I also got a clump of Rachel’s long hair. FACT: hairy pink sauce deffo isn’t as tasty as the non-hairy kind.

  “Argh, sorry.” I tried to unpick it, but just smeared sauce all over my face. “I really thought I had some coinage, but forgot Mum has scaled back on the whole pocket-money thing. In a MAJOR way.” It sucked. “There should be a minimum wage for being her daughter. It’s basically a job.”

  But I shut up, cos the others had heard me moan enough already about my brokest summer ever. Mum had splurged my “savings account” – aka a shelf of loose-change jars – on a UK cruise with friends she’d met at a fortune-telling class. But they’d all got food poisoning and had to come home early, so obvs hadn’t learnt that much.

  The four of us stood and slurped, watching the game, which had now kicked off, Mumbles darting underneath us with her mouth open for any drips like a four-legged baby bird.

  A tiny invisible animal squeaked. Mikey looked around as Rachel reached into her pocket.

  “Chill out. It’s just Hillary. My new alert.” Hillary was her guinea pig.

  But in the time it took Mikey to say “obvs”, Rachel had started making an “mmmmmmmmm” noise and jiggling on the spot.

  “UPDATE?!” I demanded. Rach stuffed her remaining cone into her mouth so she could use her other hand to scroll. “And also chew. And breathe.”

  “Unooodedahelycnns.”

  Tegan and I looked at each other, eyes narrowed, trying to interpret. Tegan’s friend-lepathy got there first. “The Helicans?”

  Rach nodded so fast a bit of cone came out of her nose.

  The Helicans were our second-fave band of all time (on group average, they were Rachel’s first fave, but mine and Tegan’s third). The lead singer, Lis (Alisha to those not in the know), was a life idol – even her dog, Pastry, seemed to have been born extra cool. And the drummer, Amil, was so funny that new vids on his YouTube channel called for emergency group viewing.

  “They’ve made an ann-n-n…”

  Tegan finished off the “ouncement” as Rach did a bit more choking, and I did a bit of back-thwacking.

  But we knew exactly what she was talking about – and why it was leading to a semi-choke situation.

  This month had been the month of Rach doing everything she could – that we could – to get our local radio station, Radio Shire, into the final of a national competition. The prize was epic: an exclusive Helicans gig for the radio station. And as if having them share the same postcode air wasn’t enough, Radio Shire had then announced that if they won, they’d arrange their own competition for the gig to be at a local school. YUP. The amazing, world-famous Helicans, possibly playing in one of our weirdo school halls.

  It was TOO. MUCH. The whole thing had melted Rach’s mind – and along with it, burnt through all our free time and phone credit – as we’d embarked on a thumb-exhausting regime of voting.

  Judging by Rach looking like she’d just knelt on a plug, there must be news. But was it good or bad?

  Tegan looked at me in a “Ready for me to carry on?” way. Grateful for her perma-calm I gave her a silent “yup” back. She put a hand on Rach’s arm.

  “Rach, now – don’t talk unless there’s no more cone left, OK?” Rachel nodded sheepishly (although I’ve never seen a sheep nod). “What. Is. Going. On?”

  Rach safety swallowed, and took a deep breath.

  “Apaz-the-band-are-about-to-announce-which-radio-station’s-won.”

  She blurted it out so quickly it was one long mega-word.

  Mikey wrinkled his face. “You mean the finalists?”

  Rach gulped. “NO. As in, the ONE with most votes. Winning. Single. Only. Radio station.”

  Woah. This was unexpected.

  “And any second they’re going to post who it is, like it’s not the biggest news of the decade?!” She shook her phone again as if it would refresh quicker. “How could they do this to meeeee?! What about my feeeeelings?!”

  What about ALL our feelings?! We bunched round to look at the screen, but we didn’t need to – because Rach let out a squeak that put Hillary to shame, and confirmed to us (and any dogs in a hundred-mile radius) the outcome. Even the football game ground to a halt, the players thinking it was a whistle.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening.

  Radio Shire had done it. WE’D DONE IT!

  The Helicans – the amazing band who sold out world tours in seconds – were officially coming to our little town?! Where no bands ever played?!

  “Yeeee-hhaaaaw!” I yelled (then stopped, shocked that I seem to be reverting to cowboy impressions in all moments of high emotion).

  But who cares, y’all? This was BEYOND incredible. The four of us flung our arms round each other and bounced around in a happy, hopping, hooray-ing circle (with Mumbles sitting in the middle like she was above such things – must remind her, she’s the one who chews her own burps).

  All the time we’d spent voti
ng and asking friends and calling in favours from our parents had paid off.

  The Helicans were coming to Worcester.

  And a local school was going to win the gig.

  And we’d helped make it happen.

  I felt invincible!

  “All OK?” A voice I recognized interrupted our whooping.

  ARGH?! Adam. What was he doing over here?

  I suddenly felt totally vincible.

  He was holding a football on his hip (was it weird to be jealous of a football?), and smiling like impromptu group-cuddle-leaping was totally normal behaviour.

  C’mon, Bella. Just make polite conversation. Maybe apologize for earlier?

  “You’re holding a football.”

  NO, mouth. NOT what I was after. Just further proof that, despite eight-and-a-half close encounters of the speaking kind with him, my brain still gets so nervous-excited it goes into auto-pilot. And the kind of auto-pilot that would definitely crash any plane (after doing some really unnecessary loop-the-loops).

  But Adam the Ever Chill just laughed. “Sure am. So I guess it’s technically a handball.”

  How dare he smile so effortlessly?! All I could manage was a panic stare like he was an extinct species.

  I tried to think of a reply, but my brain was stuck on repeat pondering “How does sweaty-you look even better than normal-you?” and that was not the convo gold I was after.

  He looked back over his shoulder at the rest of the players who were standing still, waiting. “Anyway, just came to get this, so er…”

  Tegan stepped next to me. “Sorry, we’re just a bit all over the place cos we just found out that Radio Shire won that Helicans comp.”

  Adam’s whole face lit up. “That’s so cool! I must have voted at least ten” – he grinned at Rach – “no, sorry, one hundred times for you guys.” He dropped the ball at his feet. “I’m made up for you.”

  My jaw dropped in Rach’s direction. All the times I’d replayed every syllable I’d exchanged with him and she’d failed to mention she’d roped him in to voting?! She threw me an, “Oops, but it all seems OK, so don’t be cross with me,” guilty look. I eye-tutted back, but she knew I was over it already.

  And so was the convo.

  Adam turned back to the pitch, where shouts had started for him to get a move on.