Читать книгу Picture Perfect - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 14

pparently horses and rats can’t vomit.

Unfortunately, I am neither a horse nor a rat. It’s taking every bit of focus I have just to make sure I don’t get sick on myself for the second time today.

“Are you OK?” Nat says, putting a hand on my arm.

“Mmm,” I say chirpily. “Sure. It’ll be fine. Just fine. Fine.”

Then I bite my lips. Stop saying ‘fine’, Harriet.

“She doesn’t sound fine,” Toby observes, tugging his rucksack back on to his shoulders like a broken tortoise. “I don’t think Harriet sounds fine at all, Natalie.”

“Shut up, Toby,” Nat says kindly, and then she puts her arm round me. “Don’t worry, Harriet. I mean, it’s just a few scribbles. How bad can it be?”

“The way I see it,” Toby adds cheerfully, “the more information people know about you the better, Harriet. Personally, I’d like to know everything. I’m hoping she makes photocopies and distributes them around the classroom.”

I flinch.

My diary isn’t the ‘today it rained, I stroked a cat, we had spaghetti for dinner’ kind of report I kept when I was five and I thought every day was riveting and unprecedented.

Everything I am is in that book.

My hopes and dreams; my worries, my doubts. My most precious, perfect memories of me and Nick, written in unnecessary, humiliating detail. My lists; my plans; the bit where I attempted to rhyme Nick Hidaka with big squid packer.

My process of falling in love, page by page.

In short, I’ve just given Alexa the strongest weapon she’s ever had against me:

Myself.

Nat starts gently leading me away from the school fence. I can’t really feel my legs any more: I feel like I’m being rolled forward on rubbery wheels.

“Forget about it,” she says firmly and shakes her head. “Anyway, we should be celebrating.”

I blink a few times.

Celebrating. Exam results. It already feels like a billion years ago.

This is like when that guy leaked classified National Security Agency information that revealed operational details of global surveillance and threatened to take down all of America. Except that instead of the US spy programme, it’s my personal secrets that are going to be spread around the sixth form.

And instead of temporary asylum in Russia, I’ll end up in a cold corner of the classroom.

“I think,” I say slowly, “I should probably go home. My parents are going to want to know my results straight away.”

This is a lie, obviously. If they’re even awake it’ll be a modern-day miracle.

“Are you sure? Because Mum promised she’d take me shopping for new college clothes and I thought you could come with us.”

“Ooh,” Toby says. “Yes please. I think I need to buy new boxer shorts.”

“Never,” Nat says, rolling her eyes, “talk to me about boxer shorts again.”

“Briefs?”

‘No.”

“Swimming shorts?”

“Why would you be wearing swimming shorts when you’re not even swimming, you weirdo?”

I’m subtly edging away from my best friends in a little sideways crab shuffle.

“Shopping sounds great, Nat,” I lie again as cheerfully as possible. “Maybe another time?”

“Sure. I mean, I’m going to have lots on with college and stuff. But we’ve still got weekends, right?”

“Right,” I say in a tiny voice.

And I spin round and run home as fast as my legs will carry me.