Chapter 5 – Sweet Feet

'You're never gonna let this go with every little look she gave

and every move she made, she's got you on the tip of your toes.'

Usually when my phone rings, I dance internally to thoughts of immense popularity – despite my meagre contact list. Usually a mini fiesta sounds in my head with many maracas and cries of 'ARRRRRRRRIBAAAAAA!' and 'Ayiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!' would take to the sky as Spanish people in garishly bright colours surround me as I answer the phone.

But now; now when my tech-brick jiggles I panic the fuck out – I'm fairly sure I resemble a startled deer on crack. Most of the time I just stare at it warily like it's a rabid dog until it rings out. Others though I have picked up. It's basically me picking up the phone screaming, "Leave me alone you twat-face!" and hanging up, feeling relieved for about 3 seconds before it starts ringing again.

How Scott even got my number is beside me.

It's gotten to the point where I have to turn off my phone in school to avoid his texts – and by turning off my phone I also avoid Dan's texts which really pisses me off.

Our closeness remained close even after the whole party mishap (which is never, ever, ever mentioned at all, except perhaps in a few wanton glances we send each other's way.)

Even the crew have begun to pick up on the tenseness of my shoulders and the worry lines that grow ever more prominent with every text and missed call from the bane of my existence. More than once have I had to dodge the 'are you ok?' questions.

So as I sit in a bubble of perpetual worry in the perpetual dullness of history my mind considers what I can do: a) keep doing what I'm doing and kill myself due to stress b) inform my friends and hope that we can pool resources and figure something out – which will end with them hating me when they find out what I've kept hidden all these years or c) I confront my bastard ex to see what he wants and make a deal with the devil.

Although 'C' appealed to me less than gang raping Justin Bieber's corpse, it was becoming more and more the best course of action.

As I contemplated the horror of that, a paper ball hit the back of my head. Disgruntled, I turned to see Abi's grinning visage a few rows back, mouthing for me to pick up the mash of dead tree. I did so and unravelled her page long note:

What have we come to?! Going old school in order to talk in class, this is the 21st century. TURN ON YOUR GODDAMN PHONE WOMAN! Anyway, what happened to helping me with Osh-Jay Ranceschi-Fay? (Code in case this is intercepted by Hawkeye Houghton)You've been so distant lately, what's up? Is it Dan? Have you been rejected? Oh, of course you haven't… you'd be playing possum in bed right now if you had. Oops, word vomiting. What are we going to do about my stupid-excuse-for-a-man crush? I trust we're going to sabotage the date; it's tomorrow in case you forgot. I do have a few ideas but I am in need of an accomplice/mastermind. Please. I'll help you with Dan?! Lots of jubilant love from the back of the classroom; P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. xxxxxxxxx

I smiled my first real smile in two weeks.

I'd been so completely lost in my own troubles that I forgot about Abi's. Josh was still going out with Poppy and I still didn't understand why he was being such an obtuse fool by not acting on his feelings for the Abster. Tucking the note safely into the pocket of my hoodie, I soundlessly ripped out a piece of paper from the notebook on the desk (don't ask how it was soundless, I have many skills – besides, Miss is as good as deaf.)

Quickly, I scrawled my reply, apologising and informing her of what was going to occur tomorrow – and also accepting her help with Dan. I crumpled it up and threw it behind me without looking, hoping against hope that it would actually land directly on Abi's table.

Judging from the muffled yelp that reverberated behind me, I'm not that talented, unfortunately.

"Are you nearly done Dais? We need to get going," Abi asked anxiously as I stood back to survey my masterpiece; using an eye liner pencil, I had drawn two thick black strips on both cheeks to go with the camouflage gear we'd both donned.

"Done! Now do you know the plan?" I pointed at the elaborate whiteboard setup in the corner decorated with string and coloured pins.

"We've been over it like a thousand times, of course I know the plan," she replied snarkily. I put it down to the anxiety of what we were about to undertake.

"Just making sure. Everything needs to go smoothly," I held my hands up in surrender to her tone.

"Do we have to wear camouflage? I feel like a dick," she whined.

"Yes. This is a once in a life time opportunity to actually wear camouflage for what it's intended for. Don't spoil this for me," I answered.

Using my super sleuthing Sherlock abilities (i.e. I asked Dan to ask Josh) I'd determined where/what Joshua was planning for his date. He was taking her to the cinema and then treating her to a Nando's after. With this information, I had then concocted a brilliant plan to intervene and make sure preppy Poppy was never going to forget this date any time soon.

It turns out camouflage gear doesn't actually camouflage you into civilian surroundings. It does in fact make you look like a walking, talking, albeit very large dick. It also makes you, ironically, stand out more, forcing Abi and I to hide in the nasty toilets of the cinema after we'd bought our tickets to a film; we could just sneak into the right one, we just had to get past the guards. One of us had to stick our head out periodically to check for our man friend and his date.

Suddenly, the bathroom doors opened and we automatically leapt into the two cubicles. It felt like the right thing to do in a tense dramatic moment like that. We were born for spy-hood.

I pressed my ear against the door, praying that this intruder didn't actually need to do any sort of business.

"Yeah, I'm in the toilet."

The nasally, uptight, chavy, annoyingly high pitched voice was familiar. Too familiar.

Poppy the Prostitute, the one whose mental psyche we were about to permanently scar, had walked into our HQ.

I held my breath and listened as she continued to speak into her phone.

"Ew, no I'm not a slag mate!" she screeched down the line, making me wince.

'Yes you are, mate.'

There was a pause before she spoke again, "Well he is buying me Nando's, so I probably will by the end of the night."

I gagged. She was going to do what to Josh?! In the next cubicle I could almost hear Abi's wretches.

'Ewewewewewewew, the walking STD wants a slice of Joshpie.'

"We're going to see that Shakespeare film – the one with guns and stuff – he's such a bloke but apparently it's a romance so I dunno. What if he's gay?"

'Oh god, she's on about Romeo + Juliet. I'm losing IQ points just listening to this conversation.'

"I'll let you know what happens and if I end up blowing him, mwah," she blows air-kisses down the phone and we hear the door swing. Both of us let out a simultaneous breath before opening the cubicles and nodding grimly at each other. This is now not only for Abi, but for the good of Josh. He didn't want to shag that.

Now we knew which film they were going to watch, we initiated the first stage of my plan. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a pot of hot chilli powder.

Let the fun begin.

Abi and I were in hysterics on the bus home.

"Did you – did you see the look on her face!?" I laughed so hard that tears swam behind my eyes.

"Oh god, I can't believe she actually fell for that though!" Abi snorted loudly, attracting several shocked glances from various other Nightbus-ers.

The mission turned out to be a lot more successful than I'd originally planned. The things I hadn't anticipated were Poppy's extremely hilarious reactions to our antics. The rest of the ride was spent with us reliving the highlights and basically spilling our lungs onto the cheap leather seats of the bus.

That was, until we got off at our stop.

Standing there was an extremely disgruntled Josh Franceschi.

Who proceeded to tell us all about how his date had slapped him round the face after a series of mishaps involving spiked popcorn, flying bubble gum, cat fur (of which Poppy is violently allergic and breaks out into epic sneezing fits), a very clumsy waiter and a dinner 'mix up.' During his retelling of events that we already knew, I worked to keep my features innocent, reacting as genuine as possible.

As he concluded his story, he turned to me and said, "Why did you do it?"

Damn.

"I'm not mad, well… I am. But only because I got slapped – that girl can bloody hit! But that's beside the point. You had something to do with it. The waiter complained of a couple of girls in camouflage lurking near the kitchens and – no, you can't deny it, you're wearing camouflage now – I know you D. Everything reeked of your hare-brained schemes. Just – why?"

I opened my mouth to reply but Abi jumped in before me.

"Because she was trying to help me. I was the one that wanted to sabotage your time tonight with Popstitu– er, Poppy and I roped Daisy into it. It wasn't her. Well, some of the ideas were hers; I'm not that creative- OW!"

I'd punched her to plug in the rambling before she said anything she'd regret. Josh looked perplexedly between the two of us before addressing Ab.

"But why?"

"Because I LOVE YOU!"

Silence fell.

More silence.

A dollop more silence.

"Really?" Josh breathed, wide eyed.

Abi bit her lip and nodded, casting her eyes to the floor. I was startlingly aware that he hadn't said it back.

He moved closer to her, hooking his fingers through the belts of her dark jeans, pulling her the rest of the way until she was flush against him.

"Why didn't you say so before?" he murmured to her, and I averted my eyes. It was their moment and I oddly felt like I was intruding. Josh and Abi stood like that for a while, whispering sweet nothings and hugging whilst I was significantly third wheeled – at a bus stop. Classy.

Josh then asked her out for coffee, right then and right there. It's 11 at night; it's a bit late for spontaneous dates. But Abi, of course accepted, and they left me there to walk home alone.

My friends clearly want me to be mugged by a rapid 12 year old youth.

Shoving my hands into my pockets and grumbling about possibly replacing my friends with some mail order Pilipino people, I began the journey home. It was a brisk walk as the February air wasn't really leggings and thin shirt weather.

Another surprise met me at the door.

And not a nice one.

Scott leant in the doorway to my house.

Shit.