My Best Friend and Other Enemies Read online

  For Rich, Kim, Suzy and Duncan.

  Thank you.

  C. W.

  “OK, Jessica, we’re going to McDonald’s now,” says Natalie as we all get off the school bus in town.

  “Great,” I say.

  “No,” sneers Amelia. “We’re going to McDonald’s now. Natalie and me. You’re not invited.”

  I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I’m suddenly worried I might cry. I won’t cry. I’m too angry to cry.

  “You don’t own McDonald’s, Amelia,” I retort. “It isn’t invite only. You don’t exactly need to RSVP to get in.”

  Amelia sighs and rolls her eyes. I hate Amelia. Natalie, my supposed best friend since Year One when we shared finger paints, shuffles her feet awkwardly.

  “The thing is, Jess, Amelia and I need to talk about something,” says Natalie.

  “Something private?” adds Amelia, in a tone that suggests I am a tiny child.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” says Natalie. “We’ll go to McDonald’s another time. Just you and me. Yeah?”

  Checkmate. I can’t argue with that. Well, I can – but not if I want to maintain the dignified moral high ground.

  “Oh, OK. No, of course,” I say. I do the new fake smile I’ve been practising so much lately. “Have fun, you crazy cats!” I slightly shout. Then I turn and start walking towards my house. (Crazy cats? Wish I hadn’t said that. That’s just given them something else to laugh at.)

  My throat feels tight, as it often does whenever Natalie and Amelia tell me they are going off to do some new thing together.

  I briefly wonder about doubling back and turning up at McDonald’s anyway, and saying, “Oh, this is a coincidence!” and then they’d have to let me join them. But (a) I have no money, and (b) I have some pride. Some.

  What has happened to Natalie? Honestly, what has happened to her? We used to do everything together. And it was brilliant.

  Now it’s like she doesn’t even remember the time we made a den in her living room (with bedsheets) and sat in it all night eating Fizzy Wands and looking for ghosts with our torches; or the time we decorated these T-shirts with matching rainbows and pretended we were in a new kids’ pop band called Scoop (I don’t know why we did that now, but it was really fun).

  And she never used to ignore me like this. She was always there for me, always.

  When my mum read that report on the dangers of E-numbers, and banned me and my brother from having chocolate for two weeks (she gave us fruit for school break time instead. Fruit!) Natalie brought in an extra Club bar for me every day.

  Natalie’s always been so awesome. But since Amelia’s joined our school, it’s like she’s a different person.

  Anyway. I don’t need them. I can amuse myself. Plus I have plenty to get on with at home. Plenty. Like … well … I mean there’s … well, for instance … um. Hmmm. OK, that’s not a good sign.

  What did we all do after school, before Amelia came along and convinced everyone that McDonald’s is the place to be?

  Well, Nat and I were quite outdoorsy and we used to spend a lot of time in the park. We used to go really high on the swings, and sometimes we’d play It and British Bulldog with the other kids in the neighbourhood. Sometimes we made dens in the shrubbery. But Amelia didn’t think that was a very glamorous activity.

  Honestly. Amelia arrived here six months ago and has been nothing but trouble. (In my opinion.) I mean, everyone else seems to think she’s quite cool. But that’s because she hasn’t tried to steal their best friends away.

  Not that she’s succeeded. Natalie and I are still best friends. Well, kind of. We are still best friends, but we just hang out less. But anyway, the point is, I’m brilliant. It’s just that no one realises.

  I haven’t been home long when there’s a loud crash outside my bedroom window. I get up and look out. My mum has just tripped over the assortment of toys my little brother always leaves on the front lawn.

  As I look out, my mum is picking herself up and the crashing noise subsides and is replaced by shouting. She starts furiously waving a red fire engine in one hand, and a blue space hopper in the other. I catch snippets of “black bin liner … I mean it … warned you so many times …”

  My dad opens the front door and ushers her inside. He speaks in much more hushed tones, so I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I imagine it’s something along the lines of “don’t need the neighbours to hear”.

  My parents are quite into keeping up with the Joneses. The trouble is that the Joneses (or, in our case, the VanDerks) are quite a lot better at most things than us.

  Their front lawn is much greener, and doesn’t have any dandelions or daisies (or toys) strewn about on it. Their children, Harriet and William, learn musical instruments – properly. They actually practise and seem to care about it. Harriet is in my year, though she’s in the parallel class, and she’s top of practically everything.

  The VanDerks’ house is just much more serene in general. Harriet and William don’t seem to run and shout as much as Ryan and I do. (Or my older sister, Tammy, who’s left home already, sometimes did.) And their car is much cleaner.

  My parents sometimes mock them behind their backs for being obsessed with cleaning their car, but to their faces they are almost sickly sweet.

  I remember when the VanDerks got a new surround-sound system, because they left the box it came in outside their front door for a week. My dad scoffed that they had obviously done this just so that we would see it and be jealous, and that they should be embarrassed for being so showy; but I think the real reason he was upset was because their surround-sound system was better than ours. (The box of which we’d left outside for a week the month before.)

  Honestly. Sometimes I think adults can be very immature. I’m eleven, and you don’t catch me getting into petty rivalries like this. Well, except maybe with Amelia, but that is not really my fault.

  Amelia is much worse than the boring old VanDerks. The VanDerks don’t tell me my jacket reminds them of the time their sister was sick on the dog. And they certainly don’t invite Natalie over for the weekend, but not me, and then go on about all the popcorn and chocolate ice cream they are going to eat while watching 15-certificate films, right in front of me. I mean, if the VanDerks did do that, I could understand why my parents were bothered by them.

  The front door slams and I hear what my mum’s shouting more clearly. “Ryan? Ryan! Are you even listening to me?”

  Poor Ryan. He’s only six; it’s not his fault. He’s always in trouble. I mean, I know he can be quite boisterous, but that’s just the way he is. It’s almost like my parents have decided that he does it on purpose or something.

  “Oh, I’m overreacting, am I?” My mum is obviously responding to my dad’s efforts to calm her down. “Tea? That’s your answer to everything.” (That’s true; my dad is very pro-tea.) “All right, fine. If you think tea is so brilliant, I will sit down.” I pause, waiting for any more shouting. No, that does seem to be the end of it. Phew. Well done, Dad, with the tea.

  Don’t get me wrong, my parents are lovely people. Lovely. But they are especially lovely when the world is neat and tidy and everything is going well. They do go from nought to sixty a bit quick when things go wrong, though.

  I become aware of an odd noise. My phone is vibrating somewhere at the bottom of my bag. I dig it out and see I have a new text message from Natalie.

  Hi eaten 2 much ice cream I feel sick LOL. UR better off not cumin. CU 2moz! X

  I don’t know what to make of this, but I am spared wondering for too long, as my dad starts shouting up the stairs. “Kids! Dinner!”

  Ryan and I open our bedroom doors and
look at each other. Ryan is wearing his space helmet.

  “All right, my little astronaut?” I say. Ryan smiles shyly and nods.

  We go downstairs, Ryan hanging back a bit, not sure if he’s still in trouble. I walk along the hall and Ryan tiptoes behind me like a ninja.

  I open the kitchen door, and my mum completely ignores me and shouts, “Ryan! Come here, love. I’m sorry I shouted at you. Give me a hug, poppet.”

  Ryan hugs my mum, his space helmet bashing her in the chest and ribs. She winces in pain but lets this go.

  “Helmet off, please, Ryan,” says my dad, who is already seated at our kitchen table.

  “But I’m a spaceman,” says Ryan.

  “Off. You’re lucky your mum’s forgiven you. You were very naughty leaving your toys everywhere again. You are in no position to negotiate.”

  I don’t think Ryan knows what the word negotiate means, but he does know he was just in trouble and so probably shouldn’t kick off again too soon, so he takes his helmet off and sits down obediently. He starts chatting away to my dad about how good he is at rounders, as if there’s been no row at all. I wish I could get over being upset as quickly as Ryan.

  “Jessica, love, will you thank Lisa for the flowers when you see her? So kind of her,” says my mum.

  Lisa is Natalie’s mum. Last week, Natalie and I planted some purple tulips and white anemones in my parents’ back garden, because Lisa didn’t need them all. My mum loves them. They do look pretty good.

  “Yes, of course,” I reply.

  “Actually, maybe I should give her a call, thank her properly. Unless you’re going round there soon? You used to be round there every night.”

  “Um, I’m not sure. Maybe you should call her.”

  “Are you and Natalie going swimming at the weekend? We’re going to have to get you a new swimming costume soon, you just keep growing.”

  “Um, no, Natalie is having a sleepover with another girl instead,” I reply.

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” says my mum absently as she clatters a saucepan about.

  My dad has come late to our conversation. “Are you talking about Natalie? How is she? I feel like I haven’t seen her for ages!”

  “You saw her last week when we planted the flowers,” I reply.

  “Oh, yes. You will remember to thank her mum for those, won’t you?” says my dad.

  “Yes, Dad,” I reply dully.

  “And how was your day, Jessica?” my dad continues, possibly feeling he’s heard enough about rounders now.

  “Um.” I pause. I consider telling my dad that every day is a constant battle to overcome my jealousy and not cause a scene. Hmm. I consider showing him Natalie’s text, and asking him if he thinks that means she feels guilty about sacking me off. In the end, I opt for, “I learned some new French.” (We learn French in Year Six at my school. I know, get us.)

  My dad says, “Bon!” which is the only French word he knows, and my mum serves up our dinner of beans on toast, and advises us all to tuck in.

  “But, Mummy, we had beans on toast yesterday,” says Ryan, looking a bit disappointed as he picks up his knife and fork.

  My mum shoots Ryan a hurt look that seems to fizz with wronged anger. “Ryan, are you the Chancellor of the Exchequer?” she asks him sarcastically.

  Ryan looks like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to laugh or not. I also can’t tell which way this is going to go. “No,” he replies.

  “I see,” continues my mum. “So are you a financial whizzkid of any kind?”

  Ryan seems to resign himself to being in trouble. “No,” he says sadly.

  “Right,” says my mum, as if this is news to her. “Then I don’t think you can possibly imagine the dire straits the economy is in, and why people all over the world are having to tighten their belts. If you only knew the half of the hardship other families are suffering, or the lengths and sacrifices your father and I are going to, just to make sure we can still put food on the table, you’d be very glad of beans on toast!”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” protests Ryan, probably feeling this speech he roused from my mum is unwarranted. “I do like it.”

  My mum ignores this for now. “The entire nation is being threatened with financial collapse!”

  “I’m sorry,” says Ryan, possibly not realising that he is not personally responsible for this state of affairs.

  “Mum, leave him alone,” I say. “He just made an innocent comment about beans. He doesn’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re right, love. Sorry, Ryan,” says my mum, instantly calm again (even though no one has made her a cup of tea). “Well, just so’s you both know, as of now, this family is on an Economy Drive.”

  So it turns out an “economy drive” just means my mum isn’t going to go shopping until we have eaten everything that’s in the freezer. Apart from milk. She will still buy milk. (Honestly, she’s so dramatic, I thought something terrible had happened.)

  As I ride the bus to school the next day, I wonder if I am the only sane one in my family. They all took it so seriously. Ryan was particularly upset that the gravy train of Kit Kats is temporarily ending, and ending because there’s a load of muesli bars at the back of the cupboard that “no one ever eats”. Well, duh – they’re muesli bars.

  Plus there is to be no discussion of pocket money raises. Luckily I am cheap to keep, and never get invited to McDonald’s anyway. See, there is an upside to being unpopular. Oh God, I do hope Natalie and Amelia didn’t have too much fun last night without me.

  I feel nervous as I enter my form room, 6C, and see them sitting on their desks, chatting. This really is getting ridiculous. I shouldn’t feel nervous entering my own form room.

  “Good morning!” I say brightly as I go over and sit down. They’re my desks, too.

  “Oh, hello,” says Amelia disdainfully, like I am a carpet stain.

  “Hey, Jess,” says Natalie brightly. “Good night last night?”

  Well, let’s see. My family announced we’re poor while you stuffed your face with ice cream. “Yeah, it was all right,” I say vaguely.

  “What did you get up to?” asks Natalie.

  “Oh, this and that,” I say. Mainly playing video games with my six-year-old brother. (You know, I’m keeping it real.)

  “By the way, Jess, before I forget, my dad Sky-plussed this ace-looking programme on dinosaurs last night.” (Natalie and I are really into dinosaurs at the moment.) “It looks really good. I haven’t watched it yet. I was thinking you should come round, and we could watch it together one night.”

  “Oh my God, I’d love to!” I say. “Hey, and when we watch it, we could eat dinosaur biscuits!”

  “Yeah!” cries Natalie, enthused. “Or, even better – let’s make them! Let’s bake dinosaur biscuits and then eat them and watch the dinosaur programme.”

  “Yes. This is a brilliant plan,” I proclaim. “I can’t wait.” Natalie grins.

  “Anyway,” sighs Amelia, as if this has all just been some terrible interruption of something amazing she’s been saying. “How funny was that last night, when Joe put ice cream in his Coke?”

  “Oh, I know!” cries Natalie. They both giggle, remembering.

  What the what? They were supposed to be having some stupid deep and meaningful conversation last night in McDonald’s. That’s the reason they said I couldn’t come. Was that a lie? Did they fob me off so they could meet boys without me?

  “Hey, how come you met Joe?” I ask. “I thought you said—”

  “Oh, Joe is such a laugh,” Natalie interrupts. “He and Daniel are hilarious.”

  So Daniel was there, too? Why not just invite half the basketball team to McDonald’s? What is this conspiracy to exclude me from fun, and ice cream and Coke being mixed hilariously together?

  “Yeah, they’re so fun,” agrees Amelia fondly.

  Stop saying it was fun!

  You know what? Actually I doubt it was that much fun. I mean,
sure, Joe and Daniel are good at playing sports for the school, and sometimes do say funny things in lessons, but they’re not that great. And I happen to think Daniel has quite stupid hair, so there.

  “So you met up with Joe and Daniel in McDonald’s?” I venture.

  “Yeah, it was hilarious, you should have come, Jess,” says Natalie, as if she has absolutely no memory of the previous night’s conversation.

  “You told me not to, remember?” I reply shortly.

  “Did I? Oh yeah! Oh, that’s right. Yeah. Amelia and I had stuff to talk about, but then we randomly bumped into the boys, and Amelia and I had finished talking by then, so we told them they could join us if they wanted. I was going to text you to come back, but I figured you’d be home by then. It’s a shame you weren’t there, though. You’d have loved it.”

  Oh yes. What a shame. What a sham, more like! Is this true? It sounds plausible. I can never tell if I am overreacting any more.

  “Oh, it was so much fun!” Amelia sighs happily. “Natalie, that’s what it used to be like at my old school all the time, babes,” she explains. (Babes?) “There was a group of us that always hung out. A mix of boys and girls. I was kind of like the leader.”

  (Oh yeah, right, she was the leader. There just happens to be no proof for us to check. Oh yeah, I’m the most popular girl in the school “back home”.)

  “I always made sure we had a really good time,” continues Amelia. “I was kind of like, totally this party planner.”

  “That’s so cool,” gushes Natalie.

  No it isn’t, I think. Shut up, Natalie.

  “Yeah,” says Amelia, agreeing with how cool she is. “It was a lot easier there. Everyone was into fashion and stuff. People at this school seem a bit immature.” She glances at me. “This school is kind of wack.”