What’s Up With Jody Barton?, page 3
Or maybe, after all, the word beautiful means something entirely different.
In fact, the more I think about it, the more complicated the word beautiful becomes.
So I suppose the only thing I can do is try to explain what it meant to me at that particular moment. And what it meant was pretty much this:
Imagine a boy with light brown hair that is messy and overgrown, but which somehow manages to look absolutely perfect anyway. His hair falls naturally around his face and you can see immediately that no wax or gel or straightening contraptions have ever touched a single strand of it. His hair just looks good anyway. Hat-head is something that he doesn’t have to worry about.
And his face is not too round and not too ratty and not too scowly and not too spotty – it’s just a perfect picture of mathematical symmetry. With respect to the y-axis anyway.
Then there are his clothes. They give him a style all of his own. There isn’t a trendy label or a designer logo or a bling-tastic price tag on him. Because this boy is way too cool for fashion. He’s quite blatantly cooler than a polar bear’s toes. His coat is a moss-green parka with a big furry hood and it has a stripy Irish flag sewn on to the right sleeve. On the left sleeve, in big black chunky marker pen, there’s a weird squiggle. At first you can’t tell what it is, but, later, when you look again, you see it’s a hand-drawn badge for Queen’s Park Rangers Football Club.
To be honest, even if you don’t like football, you instantly start to feel yourself becoming ever so slightly interested in QPR.
The bottoms of this boy’s jeans are fraying where they’ve dragged on the ground, and on his feet he wears scruffy plimsolls which probably used to be white but are now a dirty grey. Most people would look skanky in an outfit like that. But not him. Not River Phoenix Boy. Even those plimsolls look great on him.
I noticed all this in the space of one single second. It was like time slowed down and my brain whizzed up to warp speed. And all the while that my eyes were drinking in these amazing details my ears were drinking in the sound of The Doors as Jim Morrison shouted out the words to “Light My Fire”,’ through the cheap fuzzy speakers of the cafe.
It was almost as if River Phoenix and Jim Morrison had been put on this earth specifically to add extra meaning to this one single second in my life.
Mrs Hamood likes to tell my class that mathematics is about a lot more than adding a few numbers together. She reckons it’s about everything. Because not only does it help us to manage money, tell the time, bake cakes, make music and understand art – it also allows us to make sense of our entire lives.
But usually it’s only me and Chatty Chong who are listening. Everyone else is either fiddling with a phone underneath the desk or using the numbers on their scientific calculators to spell out something side-splittingly hilarious.
Even though I usually agree with Mrs Hamood, I now know that she is wrong. Maths doesn’t provide the answer for everything. Some things in life are completely beyond any logical explanation. And for one strange but completely wonderful moment, I looked at the random boy in the corner and the only thing I understood was that I loved him.
And that’s when my super-confident serial-dating fourteen-minutes-faster sister nudged my arm and said, ‘See that fit guy there? I totally intend to go out with him.’
And suddenly everything about my life seemed seriously complicated.
‘You can’t,’ I whispered in a panic. ‘Not him!’
Jolene frowned. ‘Why? Do you know him?’
‘No,’ I said. Which was true.
‘So why the heck shouldn’t I go after him?’ said Jolene.
‘Because . . .’ I began, ‘because . . .’ But then I hesitated. I had to. I’d run out of words. And, besides that, I was suddenly experiencing a few other technical glitches – my mouth had gone dry, my armpits were prickling and my brain felt as if it had just been pulled out at the plug. I thumped the side of my head with the palm of my hand in a lame attempt to get it working again.
Jolene’s frown deepened. ‘You’re acting seriously weird! What’s up with you?’
‘Nothing,’ I whispered. Which was a lie.
Jolene looked unconvinced.
‘I’m fine,’ I added quickly. Too quickly probably. If my sister had even the tiniest drop of twintuition, she’d have sussed immediately that I wasn’t fine. I was excited and dizzy and thunderstruck and feeling weird and covered in goose pimples and slightly sick and also a bit oddly and madly happy – but, hand on heart, I can’t seriously say I was fine. To be honest, I was mostly totally freaked out.
‘Right,’ said Jolene, folding her arms. ‘So what’s wrong with him?’
I searched through my head and tried to think of something to say – but it was really hard because I was still freaked out. In the end, I just looked down at my hi-tops and said, ‘I’ve got this really weird feeling about him, that’s all.’ And then I clamped my jaw shut.
‘What?’ I could tell from her big frown that Jolene was getting more and more exasperated. For a moment her eyes left mine and she glanced anxiously over to the corner – no doubt to check that River Phoenix Boy was still sitting safely in his seat. And, even though I was desperate to glance over too, I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I was too terrified.
None of our customers had ever given me goose pimples before.
So, instead, I kept my eyes fixed firmly on Jolene and I saw her face relax a little. Clearly River Phoenix Boy was going nowhere fast. This made me relax slightly too. But only very slightly. Because half a second later Jolene’s eyes flicked straight back to mine and stayed there. And then she folded her arms even tighter and said, ‘What sort of weird feeling?’
‘I dunno,’ I said. I began to bite my thumbnail. This only ever happens when I’m anxious. It’s not a big deal or anything because I haven’t got stupid transfers all over my nails. Without moving my hand away from my mouth, I muttered, ‘He looks like an idiot, that’s all.’
Jolene’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘You seriously think that?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, and nodded. One hand was still at my mouth and the other was in the pocket of my orange apron to hide my crossed fingers. Normally, I don’t lie to Jolene. Not this much, anyway. After all, what’s the point of spinning a story to someone you’ve known since you were half-egg/half-tadpole?
But then again, what’s the point of telling the truth when it’s going to cause so much trouble?
‘He looks like a dork,’ I said firmly. For a second I almost believed myself. I definitely wanted to.
Jolene’s amazement deepened and her mouth widened. But then she pulled her face back together, shrugged her shoulders and smiled. A little bubble of relief burst inside me.
‘Whatever,’ she said. That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it. Just like I’m entitled to mine. And I think he’s a totally bufferlicious buffercake and I’m going over to introduce myself whether you think he’s a dork or not.’ And then she stuck her tongue out at me.
My relief evaporated. This wasn’t the result I’d been hoping for. Normally Jolene doesn’t go within a fifteen-mile radius of any guy who’s been dissed with the dork tag. Clearly my opinion on these matters didn’t count though.
Jolene winked at me and whispered, ‘Watch this. I’m about to get myself an A* in GCSE flirting.’
I panicked. ‘What are you gonna do?’
‘See if he wants a free top-up on his smoothie.’
‘Dad wouldn’t like that,’ I said. ‘You’re damaging his profits.’
My sister rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, lighten up, Jode. It’s just a bit of flipping fruit!’
I couldn’t argue with this so I just chewed my thumbnail and watched as Jolene untied the cords of her horrible orange apron and slipped it off. Then she took a couple of paper serviettes out of a box on the counter, scrunched them into two tight balls and quickly poked them down the front of her top.
I smiled then. I couldn’t stop myself. Jolene is so utterly flat-chested that you could put a heat-resistant vest on her and use her as an ironing board. Even I’m not as flat as her.
Jolene opened the fridge and took out a banana and some strawberries. To be fair to her, she remembered not to bother with any yoghurt. Then she paused for a second and said, ‘What’s this music? It’s horrible.’
‘It’s The Doors,’ I snapped. ‘You should know that by now – seeing as how they’re my favourite band.’
‘Yeah, well, they’re crap,’ said Jolene. ‘I’m putting the radio on instead.’
She turned round and reached up to where our dodgy old stereo is fixed to the wall. Quickly, I turned too and risked a glance at the boy in the corner. His head was still bopping along to The Doors and so were his scruffy white plimsolls. Obviously, we were into the same sort of sounds.
What else might we have in common?
I felt my heart sink. It wasn’t a question I could answer. Not now. Not ever. Not me.
I picked up a damp cloth and slowly began to wipe the counter.
Abruptly, Jim Morrison stopped singing and some random DJ from some random radio station started rambling on randomly about nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the mystery boy’s feet had stopped bopping. Jolene returned to the counter, threw her strawberries and half a banana into the blender, whizzed them up and then poured the mixture into a jug. And then she giggled and whispered, ‘Watch and learn, Jody. Watch and learn.’
I watched.
Jolene stuck out her serviette-enhanced micro-chest and did a sexy saunter over to the corner.
Even though she’s my twin, it took quite a lot of willpower to prevent myself from running after her and dragging her back by her hair.
But, still, I kept on watching. I didn’t want to, but I just couldn’t turn my face away. It was like car-crash TV.
I watched her jiggle her jug at River Phoenix Boy and say, ‘Wanna free top-up?’
I watched him look at her and smile.
And then, suddenly, I couldn’t stand any more of it. I really couldn’t. It was just too horrible. Sort of like winning the lottery but then being too terrified to stand up and claim the prize.
So I looked down at the counter and began to pick a bit of egg off it. I was feeling pretty bleak if you must know. On the radio, the random DJ had stopped rambling randomly on and a song was now playing. It was some slow number about being in love with somebody who doesn’t love you back. I could hear my sister laughing and making light flirty chit-chat. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and then moved closer to one of the speakers until my ear was practically touching it. Any closer and I’d have damaged my eardrum. But it was still better than listening to Jolene and River getting it on.
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over again. Jolene was standing way too close to River Phoenix and pouring him yet another smoothie. I felt my heart sink some more and turned my attention back to the radio.
The tear-jerker was coming to a close. The singer – it must have been Adele – was wailing on and on about how she’d just have to settle for second best and find someone similar to the bloke she was in love with but couldn’t have. I think it was probably the most tragically sad thing I’d ever heard in my whole life.
I heard Jolene and Drop Dead Beautiful laugh about something together. My heart was going down faster than the Titanic.
I stared at the damp dishcloth in my hand. And then I chucked it down on the counter and switched the radio off.
‘Love,’ I said, and curled my lip in disgust. ‘You can keep it!’
At least, I hope I said it to myself. To be honest, it’s hard to know. I was so fed up I’d reached that mad stage where I might have been mumbling out loud.
And then I heard the cafe door open and a few seconds later I heard a different voice say, ‘Hi, Jody. You nearly finished in here, yeah?’
I looked up and my heart hit rock bottom.
It was Chatty Chong.
Which would have been fine if I’d wanted to talk about maths. But I didn’t.
Chatty was carrying his school bag even though it was a Sunday afternoon. Plonking it down on the counter, he said, ‘You wanna come and start work on our trigonometry project later, yeah?’
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘Oh.’ Chatty Chong’s face fell. Then he said, ‘It was my birthday yesterday. My dad gave me a brand-new graphics calculator, yeah? It’s the most expensive one you can get in Argos.’ He unzipped his bag and took the calculator out. It was so new that it was still inside its cardboard box. Chatty began to unpack it. ‘I thought you might wanna have a go at using it, yeah? It’s got built-in USB technology and everything.’
I gave the calculator a quick once-over glance and then shook my head. ‘Not really,’ I said. In the corner, my sister was still batting her lashes at River Phoenix. He’d got his phone out. I guessed he was taking down my sister’s number.
‘Oh,’ said Chatty Chong, and started carefully packing his calculator up again. ‘You can do scatterplots and pie-charts and everything on this calculator. It’s the business, yeah?’
‘Great,’ I said. River Phoenix had taken a pair of massive silver headphones out of the pocket of his parka and was putting them on. This was an unexpected development. I leaned my elbows on the counter and continued to watch. Jolene stood up sharply and began walking back to the counter. She had a face like a melted welly.
Chatty Chong said, ‘Ain’t this a good time?’
‘Not really,’ I said. And then I said to Jolene, ‘Everything OK?’
‘I don’t get it,’ she hissed back in a low voice. ‘I was in the middle of telling him about the Under-18 Shakedown at the Spotted Dog next week and he just put his headphones on and started playing with his phone. I hadn’t even finished speaking! How utterly ignorant is that?’
She only said this to me. To Chatty Chong, she didn’t say anything at all. I don’t think she means to be utterly ignorant to Chatty – it’s just that most of the time she forgets he’s there. Even when he’s standing right next to her.
‘Maybe you were boring,’ I said.
Jolene looked shocked. ‘That’s a bit rich! I’m not the one who’s chatting to my boyfriend about maths, am I?’ She plonked her empty smoothie jug down next to Chatty Chong’s bag and added, ‘I’m going upstairs. I need a break.’ And then she walked over to the STAFF ONLY door, which leads up to our maisonette, and disappeared behind it with a big angry slam.
Chatty Chong scratched his head and said, ‘Why’d she call me your boyfriend, yeah?’ He’d gone a bit pink.
‘Because she’s my evil twin,’ I said. I think I’d gone a bit pink too. Sometimes, I actually hate my sister.
‘Oh,’ said Chatty Chong. Then he said, ‘And you definitely don’t wanna do no maths later?’
I glanced back to the corner. River Phoenix had picked up his refilled smoothie and was drinking it through a straw. His feet had started to tap again. I wanted to know what music was coming through those huge silver headphones and making his world rock. I wanted to know that more than anything. More than the meaning of life even.
Chatty Chong frowned. ‘What’s up with you, Jody? Are you even listening, yeah?’
‘Not really,’ I said. And then I hit the side of my head with the palm of my hand and quickly added, ‘I mean yeah. Of course I’m listening.’
Chatty put his calculator back into his bag and zipped it up. ‘Forget it, yeah? This clearly ain’t a good time. Catch you laters.’
Without another word, he stomped over to the door and disappeared into the street. For a moment, I just stood still and felt bad. Chatty Chong doesn’t talk to many people. I should really make a bigger effort to talk back to him.
But I didn’t have a chance to feel bad for very long because the cafe door suddenly flew open again. It was my dad. He was carrying a big box of frozen turkey twizzlers and several billion cartons of juice. Even though it’s February, I noticed he was sweating a lot. My dad’s inner thermostat is jammed on a very high setting.
He looked over at me and said, ‘All right, Sulky Sue?’ And then he glanced around and said, ‘Where’s the other one?’
‘She’s upstairs having a break,’ I said.
My dad put his frozen boxes down on an empty table, pulled a mobile phone out of his left pocket, pressed speed dial and said, ‘Oi, Loopy Lou! Get your backside down here, pronto. I leave you on your own for half an hour and you go skipping off upstairs! Do you think I pay you to sit up there and brush your hair?’
If you didn’t know my dad, you could make the mistake of thinking he’s a bit of a thug. He’s got a big bald head and he’s nearly always wearing a Tottenham Hotspur football shirt and grumbling at us in a loud voice. But anyone who does know him would tell you that he’s actually softer than a soggy Hobnob. My dad would rather walk down the street in his pyjamas than have a proper actual go at either Jolene or me. I know this for a fact because once, when my mum wanted him to shout at us for accidently racking up a bill of £82 on her iTunes account, this is exactly what he did. He walked up and down Willesden High Road for fifteen minutes in his Tottenham Hotspur pyjamas and training coat and then, when everyone had quietened down a bit, he came back and calmly worked out a way that Jolene and I could pay my mum back by doing extra cafe shifts.
Incidentally, when he’s not wearing a Tottenham Hotspur football top, he’s either wearing a checked shirt with a bootlace tie and a cowboy hat or an awful T-shirt that says . . .
Body by Baywatch
Face by Crimewatch
My dad is a legend. Everyone knows him and everyone likes him. And I absolutely love him. Even though he has this really random habit of calling me Sulky Sue.
‘Hey, Sulky Sue,’ he said to me. ‘Give me a hand shifting these twizzlers.’ And then he paused, nodded his head at River Phoenix and called out, ‘New customer?’
