Читать книгу Head Over Heels - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 14

ome battles in life you win, and some you lose.

I think it’s obvious which one that was.

“Well,” I grin broadly, triumphantly putting my crossword down on the table. “We definitely won that one, huh, guys.”

Then I hold up my hand to high-five them all.

There’s a silence.

“Uh, Harriet,” India says, rubbing her top lip. “What are you drinking?”

Oh my God, why does everyone keep asking me that? “It’s coffee,” I say a little too defensively. “With caffeine molecules in it.”

Then I look to Nat for support, but her head is down, her shiny dark hair has fallen across her face and her shoulders are shaking.

“Did you know, Harriet,” Toby says, putting a finger on his top lip, “that in Mayan times the cocoa bean was used as currency because it was more valuable than gold?”

I blink and look back at Nat. She’s holding a finger up to her top lip now too.

OK: this is amazing.

We’ve obviously got some kind of gang gesture, even better than a high-five. My pals have become so utterly in-sync and synergised, we don’t even need to talk about it first. That’s how in tune we are with each other.

I beam and put my finger on my top lip too.

It seems a little inappropriate – especially in light of the Second World War – but who am I to question our clique motives?

This is what I love so much about us.

We work seamlessly together: like a prickle of porcupines, or a dray of squirrels, a journey of giraffes or a band of mongoo—

“Hey, genius,” Jasper says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen with a tray full of clean mugs, “you’ve got chocolate all over your face.”

Then he puts the tray down on the counter and disappears again.

I blink at the space Jasper was just standing in.

There’s a mushroom called the Omphalotus olearius that gives off a glow so bright it’s possible to read a book at night by its light. My cheeks are suddenly so luminous, I could power an entire nocturnal library.

Growing on me. Goatee. Mo’. Shave it for later. Manning up.

Must dash. Mustdash. Moustache.

Oh my God, Alexa didn’t think my expression was regal and majestic at all.

Unless she assumed I’m Abraham Lincoln.

Still shaking with suppressed giggles, Nat holds a hand-mirror up and sure enough: there’s a thick dark brown line on my upper lip and a large poo-coloured streak on my chin.

Sugar cookies.

“You know,” Toby says loyally as I bury my head in my arms with a humiliated groan, “beards actually make you 63% more likely to win a staring contest. No wonder Alexa left so quickly, Harriet.”

And that does it.

With an explosion of giggles, India and Nat collapse on the sofa and I remember again why I tend to hang out in places away from the public eye.

Maybe I didn’t win that particular battle after all.