Page 39 of A Flash of Neon
“That makes sense,” I say, nodding.
“Did you feel like that too?”
“Not really. I was just amazed Caitlin and Hannah wanted to hang out with me. They were both really pretty and loads of boys liked them, and I was so surprised they wanted to be my friends that I felt like I couldn’t say no.” I pause. “Sometimes I wonder if Caitlin only wanted someone to pick on, though.”
“No, I think she actually does like you. She’s just the sort of person who has to be Queen Bee.” Tilly wrinkles up her nose. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault you got stuck with them.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. Sometimes people grow apart. It’s OK.”
“Yeah, but they can come back together too.” Tilly throws back her head and laughs. “Sorry, that sounds so cheesy.”
I grin. “I don’t mind cheese.”
“Yeah, but that was, like,Stilton-level cheese.”
Having her here, I finally realise how wrong my friendship with Caitlin and Hannah was. Friends shouldn’t gang up on you. They shouldn’t make you feel bad about yourself. You shouldn’t have to hide so many parts of yourself for their approval. Maybe I invented Neon to get Caitlin and Hannah off my back, but I kept up the lie because I wanted a real friend again. A friend like Tilly.
“You must have thought it was pretty pathetic, me making up an online friend,” I say, once we’ve agreed that her comment was, at most, a solid Wensleydale.
“It’s not pathetic. Well, lying to people usually isn’t a great idea. But is it really that different from getting lost in other types of stories, like books or TV shows?” Tilly shrugs. “Some of the characters I love have really changed my life. Elsie’s dad is always going on at her to stop writing fanfic and get some proper hobbies, but I’m glad my parents aren’t like that.”
“Same,” I say, though I don’t know how my mums would feel if they knew how deep I’d fallen into my story about Neon. They both love books but, like Mutti said on Sunday, fiction isn’t a replacement for the real world. They wouldn’t want me to let a story take over my life.
But for a little while it did. Maybe, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my story about Neon, I would have moved on from Caitlin and Hannah sooner. I might have tried to make amends with Tilly or found another group to be part of.
“You know,” Tilly says, “if Neon does have to leave, you could maybe hang out with me and Elsie and Jamie if you like? I hope he can stay, obviously. But I thought I’d say, you know. Just in case.”
I try not to smile too widely, but I don’t really succeed. “Thanks. You don’t think they’d mind?”
“Nah, I’m sure they wouldn’t. Theywillmake you watch every single episode ofDoctor Who, though.”
I laugh. “I can deal with that. I actually watched a few a while back. They were good.”
“You did? Which ones?!”
Tilly makes me list off every episode, then rambles on for ages about her favourites. I don’t think I’ll ever be aDoctor Whosuperfan like she is, but I always liked hearing her talk about the things she loves: the way her hands dart from side to side, and how her voice gets slightly squeaky when she’s really excited. For the first time in almost two years, part of my life feels like it’s edging back towards normal.
“Oh, Saint Billie Joe Armstrong.” Neon presses his hands together and holds them up to the poster of Green Day that Mr Ross keeps pinned above his desk. “Grant us some inspiration.”
It’s Thursday lunchtime and we’re holding a rehearsal for the open-mic night in one of the music classrooms. It’s not turning out the way we’d hoped. Jamie tried out her stand-up routine, but she kept going blank and forgetting the punchlines. Tilly’s poems were really good but her voice was weirdly flat, like she was reading out a shopping list. Caitlin and Hannah were similar – all the steps of their routine were in place, but the performance wouldn’t pop. It has to be because of the Blanks. They’re snuffing out everyone’s spark.
The only person who doesn’t seem to be affected by them is Neon. He bops round the room, singing and throwing out ideas for songs that he and I could sing together, but none of them feels right.
“How about ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’?” he asks, pointing to the poster. “That’s a good one.”
I don’t know the song. I’m not sure how Neon does. Maybe Mr Ross has recommended him all that old punk-pop he likes so much.
“We can try it,” I say, “but it sounds a bit depressing.”
Neon takes a guitar down from the wall. “Yeah, maybe we need something more upbeat. Something that will get the crowd going.”
I swallow and try to ignore the nerves gnawing at my stomach. I really need this to go well, especially since Neon has roped loads of people from school into coming on Saturday – more than will be able to fit in the bookshop, probably. It’s not only that I want to prove to everyone who saw me chicken out the first time that I really can do it: I want to prove it to myself too.
“Why don’t you just do ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’?” Caitlin asks. “You guys practised so much for Friday Showcase, you might as well perform it again.”
“I don’t know.” I sit on the desk beside Tilly, trying to block out the memory of all those faces staring at me as I hurried off the stage. “It might remind me of last time and make my nerves worse.”
“That’s true.” Neon nods as he twirls the tuning pegs. “Plus, we don’t want people to think we’re a Journey cover band.”
