Head Over Heels

There’s a brilliant reason why I left Alexa off my list: she no longer matters. She doesn’t make me cry and she doesn’t make me hide under tables. After eleven years, I finally found the only thing in the world that could stop my bully hurting me.

Myself.

“No, thank you,” I sigh tiredly, grabbing the crossword I left yesterday under the coffee table and studying that instead.

“Maybe we can shave it for later?”

“Sure,” I say in a bored voice, writing EWER in four across: boat or vessel.

“It’s so nice to see you finally manning up.”

I nod and scribble ERINACEOUS in six down: pertaining to a hedgehog. “Uh-huh.”

The door opens with a BANG.

“We’ll really have to— OOMPH.”

I glance up just in time to see a tornado of long black hair, blue coat and grey bag as Nat rips across the cafe with Toby and India close behind her.

And sits directly in Alexa’s lap.

ature is truly incredible.

When a red fire ant is threatened, pheromones are automatically released and every other member of its ant community will come rushing to the rescue.

Team JINTH must have a similar power.

The door is still swinging: that’s how fast my entire battalion of friends has come charging in, swords drawn.

Metaphorically, obviously.

It’s not 1675, and coffee shops are no longer the illegal hub of political uprisings.

“Awwwww,” Nat says with a bright smile, lifting her feet to make herself as heavy as possible, “Alexa Roberts. You kept my seat warm for me. How sweet.”

“It’s warm?” India throws herself casually into the seat next to them and kicks off her purple suede boots. “Weird. I always assumed she’d be cold-blooded.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Toby objects, perching on the coffee table wearing a T-shirt with a tardis drawn on it that says TRUST ME, I’M THE DOCTOR. “All mammals have warm blood. Are we JINTHA now? Because we’re going to need new baseball caps.”

“What the … how the …” Alexa is worming her way out from beneath Nat and struggling to her feet, face purple, smirk completely gone. “GET THE HELL OFF ME, FREAK. You can’t just go around sitting on people!”

“Oops,” Nat shrugs with wide eyes. “The seat usually has my name on it. Or maybe you changed your name by deed poll because you’re so desperate to be me.”

“And Harriet didn’t look like she was loving your company,” India points out, propping her toes on the coffee table while her bright purple hair gleams under the fairy-lights. “It seemed like a good point to interrupt.”

In fairness, I’d have probably been more entertained if I had a single clue what Alexa was talking about.

“This place is pathetically hipster anyway,” Alexa snaps furiously, brushing her jeans down with a disgusted look on her face. “It’s a destination for jokes like you to pretend you have real lives outside of academia. You can so have it.”

HA. Told you it’s super-cool in here.

Alexa sneers at me and I stare calmly back. Captain America has a shield made of vibranium, and it’s completely indestructible. Hulk can smash it, Thor can hammer it, and nothing happens.

It feels like I finally have one too.

Smiling serenely, I lift my chin and give her my most regal expression. She absorbs it for a few seconds, clearly deeply impressed by my incredible majesty.

Then she bursts out laughing again.

“Geek,” she says, shaking her head. “Laters, Manners. I must dash. This place is yours: I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

And – with a final flick of her hand – Alexa walks away.

ome battles in life you win, and some you lose.

I think it’s obvious which one that was.

“Well,” I grin broadly, triumphantly putting my crossword down on the table. “We definitely won that one, huh, guys.”

Then I hold up my hand to high-five them all.

There’s a silence.

“Uh, Harriet,” India says, rubbing her top lip. “What are you drinking?”

Oh my God, why does everyone keep asking me that? “It’s coffee,” I say a little too defensively. “With caffeine molecules in it.”

Then I look to Nat for support, but her head is down, her shiny dark hair has fallen across her face and her shoulders are shaking.

“Did you know, Harriet,” Toby says, putting a finger on his top lip, “that in Mayan times the cocoa bean was used as currency because it was more valuable than gold?”

I blink and look back at Nat. She’s holding a finger up to her top lip now too.

OK: this is amazing.

We’ve obviously got some kind of gang gesture, even better than a high-five. My pals have become so utterly in-sync and synergised, we don’t even need to talk about it first. That’s how in tune we are with each other.

I beam and put my finger on my top lip too.

It seems a little inappropriate – especially in light of the Second World War – but who am I to question our clique motives?

This is what I love so much about us.

We work seamlessly together: like a prickle of porcupines, or a dray of squirrels, a journey of giraffes or a band of mongoo—

“Hey, genius,” Jasper says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen with a tray full of clean mugs, “you’ve got chocolate all over your face.”

Then he puts the tray down on the counter and disappears again.

I blink at the space Jasper was just standing in.

There’s a mushroom called the Omphalotus olearius that gives off a glow so bright it’s possible to read a book at night by its light. My cheeks are suddenly so luminous, I could power an entire nocturnal library.

Growing on me. Goatee. Mo’. Shave it for later. Manning up.

Must dash. Mustdash. Moustache.

Oh my God, Alexa didn’t think my expression was regal and majestic at all.

Unless she assumed I’m Abraham Lincoln.

Still shaking with suppressed giggles, Nat holds a hand-mirror up and sure enough: there’s a thick dark brown line on my upper lip and a large poo-coloured streak on my chin.

Sugar cookies.

“You know,” Toby says loyally as I bury my head in my arms with a humiliated groan, “beards actually make you 63% more likely to win a staring contest. No wonder Alexa left so quickly, Harriet.”

And that does it.

With an explosion of giggles, India and Nat collapse on the sofa and I remember again why I tend to hang out in places away from the public eye.

Maybe I didn’t win that particular battle after all.

tatistically, we each go through 396 friends in a lifetime and only keep 36 of them.

Maybe I should just keep looking.

I bet the other 392 wouldn’t spend eight whole minutes laughing at my foamy facial hair.

By the time everyone has stopped giggling – and I’m wiped clean with a series of damp cloths – normality has finally resumed.

Nat’s sipping her coconut milk latte; India’s sprawled across the sofa with her second espresso and Toby’s ploughing through a glass of hot milk. Jasper pops over occasionally to contribute another burnt biscuit or sardonic comment.

And I’ve spread my documents across the table.

Tonight is the first ever Team JINTH sleepover and I am the inaugural host. And I don’t want to sound vain, but I have arranged everything.

I’ve organised which games we’ll play and which films we’ll watch and what kind of food we’re going to eat. I’ve written a How-Well-Do-We-Know-Each-Other quiz and a Are We Really Having Fun? questionnaire so we’ll know how to improve next time.

I’ve even drawn a diagram of where on the floor we’ll sleep.

It’s going to be amazing.

“He did what?” Nat splutters into her coffee. “No.”

“He did,” India insists, grinning. “Halfway through the date, he put his leg on the table. Plop. Then he said ‘I’ve been told I have very handsome shins’.”

Nat explodes with laughter.

“The tibia is the second longest bone in the body,” Toby says, nodding. “He may have had a point.”

“So …” Nat sits forward. “What did you do?”

“I told him to get his flaming foot out of my dinner before I ate it and then I said I’d call him.”

“Ooooooh. Cold.”

“Cold call him?” Toby says in confusion. “Like a telesales person? Sometimes they ring us about windows even though we clearly have eight already.”

“When somebody says they’ll call you, it means they won’t call you. Or they’d have been more specific.”

“Yup. It’s dating speak for this is over now please go away and never speak to me again.”

“Aaaaah,” Toby nods. “I’m afraid I’ve never been rejected by a girl so I wouldn’t know.”

Nat blinks at him in silence.

“Anyway,” I say, plopping my Filofax on the table. “Gang. About tonight. The itinerary is looking shipshape, but I just need to run through a few extra components. I’ve got Telling Each Other Secrets down at 9pm, is that OK?”

“Umm,” Nat says, putting her coffee down, “actually, Harriet, about that …”

“Secrets at nine?” Toby says, pulling out a TEAM JINTH SLEEPOVER notepad. “Are you sure? I’ve got it down at 10pm. Just after the Pillow-Fight at 9:35.”

I frown and check my notes. “I’ve pencilled it in wrong. Thanks, Tobes.”

It’s been surprisingly useful having Toby as my second-in-command. It’s just too easy to forget what fun you’re supposed to be having and when.

“Harriet?” Nat says. “Hang on …”

“I’ve also bought the snacks already.” I check the list. “We just need to make sure we stick to salted after 11pm or we’re going to crash by midnight.”

“Seriously?” India says, lifting her eyebrows into dark ticks. “Are you regulating our blood sugar levels?”

“Of course not,” I laugh. “Although I think there is a kit you can buy from pharmacies. Maybe I should swing past on my way back h—”

“Harriet,” Nat says, prodding me. “Listen.”

“Natalie,” I grin. “Don’t worry! I looked up beautifying face masks on the internet and made one out of avocado, lemon and olive oil.”

“That’s not …” Nat rubs a hand over her face. “We have a problem.”

“Personalised bedding,” Toby whispers. “I told you we needed monogrammed pillows.”

Nat crosses her eyes at him.

“I can’t make it tonight, H,” she says slowly. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve organised … everything, but there’s a textiles exam on Monday and I’m just not ready for it.”

“Oh thank God,” India sighs. “I’ve got a Head Girl presentation to prepare for lower school so I can’t come either.”

I stare at Nat and India in shock.

Human brains are 10 per cent smaller than they were 20,000 years ago, and I can actually feel mine reducing.

“But you’re half the sleepover,” I point out stupidly. “I can’t have it without you. It would just be …” I glance pointedly at Toby and Jasper.

Enough said.

“Subtle as always,” Jasper says from where he’s been cleaning the table next to us. “Guess I’d better keep my salsa and cheddar cheese face mask for myself, then.”

Toby turns to me with lit-up, hopeful eyes.

“Not going to happen,” I say quickly. Second-in-command is one thing: sleepover-for-two is quite another.

Then I collapse back into my seat.

I don’t believe this. All that effort for nothing?

Ugh. I really wish people would let me know when they’re editing my plans: this is my life they’re rearranging.

Quickly, I force myself to rally.

“Next weekend?” I say, flicking through my Filofax as Nat drains the last of her coffee and stands up. “The weekend after? Half term? Easter holidays? Bank holiday?”

India opens her mouth and shuts it again.

“Sure,” my best friend says, swinging her handbag over her shoulder and pecking me on the cheek. “We’ll sort something out.”

hey don’t sort something out at all.

It’s now mid-March – two entire weeks later – and between exams and revision, jobs and dates, we’ve only just managed to pin down a time that the five of us can actually do.

And it’s right now.

Frankly, I don’t think people really appreciate how much notice is needed to throw a decent sleepover, because I just received this:

J got night off work last minute and I’m out of college early! Drag out the sleeping bags – it’s on! Meet at cafe! Nat xx

And now I’m having a meltdown.

Biologists recently found 300 different species living among the debris floating in the ocean, including puffins, turtles, seals, whales and penguins: all of which have to wade through mountains of human detritus just to get to bed at night.

I know exactly how they feel, because that’s what my bedroom currently looks like.

Books are leaning in mountains against walls, draft essays are scattered, practice equations are crumpled. Paper is pinned over every wall: Excel sheets, schedules, timetables, Post-its.

My wastepaper basket looks ready to explode.

Ditto my dirty laundry.

A bowl of half-eaten tomato soup sits on my dressing table and I’m pretty sure my dog is in the room somewhere too but I couldn’t swear to it.

Also possibly Annabel’s cat.

The only difference between me and the poor puffins is: this mess is mine, which means it’s my responsibility to tidy it up.

In nine minutes flat.

“Harriet?” Annabel says as I charge across the room, pick up an armful of laundry and throw it into the bottom of my wardrobe. “What on earth are you doing?”

She appears in my doorway with Tabby on her hip just in time to see me ram the wardrobe doors shut with my shoulder and stick a biro through the front handles.

It’s probably a good thing she didn’t catch me using the vacuum cleaner to pick up jumpers.

Or shouting “Scourgify!” at the sock drawer.

“Cleaning my bedroom,” I say, grabbing a handful of textbooks and stuffing them on to an already exploding bookshelf. “Did you know that the average desk has 400 times more bacteria than a toilet seat?”

Then I look cautiously at mine.

I think I’m safe: it’s coming up to exam time and there’s so much paper on it I haven’t actually seen the wood in months.

“You’re cleaning your bedroom?” Annabel lifts one eyebrow. “Goodness. No wonder I was so confused. Tabitha, regard this historic event carefully. It may never happen again.”

My sister laughs and waves Dunky, her favourite grey toy donkey, at me.

So I blow her an affectionate kiss.

The minute she’s old enough, I’m going to have to explain the concept of slander. I’ve tidied my bedroom at least twice this year, so Annabel’s insinuation is very unfair.

“Everything needs to be perfect,” I explain, grabbing Winnie-the-Pooh off my bed. “It’s not every day we have people stay over, is it?”

Then I give Winnie a kiss and put him in the box on top of my wardrobe. I don’t want my friends thinking I still spend every night sleeping with a cuddly bear.

Even though he’s the best and I totally do.

“I’m very impressed,” Annabel smiles. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you, sweetheart.”

I nod, quickly lobbing the ‘WELCOME!!!’ banner across the door. “It’s important to make the people you love feel wanted in your home.”

“It is. I’m so glad you’re being mature about this, Harriet.”

I glow with pride. She’s right: I really am.

“It’s going to be so much fun,” I tell her excitedly, kicking my roller-trainers under the bed. “We’re going to spend the whole night examining my book of Interesting Animal Facts and quizzing each other on them. I’ve made a Q and A especially.”

Annabel frowns. “Well … not the whole night. She’ll need to get some sleep.”

Good point. Nat does get grumpy when she’s tired. “OK, we’ll probably be worn out by the choreographed dance routines anyway.”

“Choreographed dance routines?”

“Don’t worry. If there isn’t space in here we can move the break-dancing to the living room.”

“Break-dancing?” There’s a pause while Annabel shifts Tabs to her other hip. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you to arrange everything so carefully, but sixty-eight really isn’t as young as you think it is.”

I pause from randomly flicking a duster at the shelves and quickly do the maths in my head. Jasper and India are seventeen, but Nat and Toby are still sixteen.

So 17 + 17 + 16 + 16 =

“I think it’s sixty-six,” I correct as politely as possible.

“Sixty-eight, sweetheart.”

“Sixty-six. You’ve inaccurately added a couple of birthdays.”

“Harriet,” Annabel laughs, heading back towards the hallway, “I appreciate your enthusiasm for both maths and human development, but I know how old my mother is.”

I turn to stare at her blankly – what has that got to do with anything? – and that’s when I hear it. A familiar chug-chug-chug. A sputter-sputter-sputter. A thud-thud-thud.

The sound of an ancient pink VW Beetle, reversing up the driveway.

Apparently the human brain absorbs eleven million bits of information every second, but we only notice forty of them.

Right now you can make that just one.

There’s a loud crunch.

“Yoooohooooo!” a familiar voice calls as I run to my bedroom window and fling it wide open. “Kittens, I’m here early! Goodness, that’s a funny place to put a hydrangea.”

And there – beaming at us from out of the car window – is my hippy, nomadic grandmother.

Bunty.

o you want to know a fascinating fact about the salamander? It can have its brain removed, cut into slices, shuffled like cards, put back in and yet still function as normal.

The same clearly can’t be said for me.

I didn’t include Bunty in my earlier summary because I had no idea what to tell you. Last time I heard from my step-grandmother, she was camped out in a llama sanctuary in Nepal. Before that, she was trying to break into Tibet without a permit.

A couple of months before that, I got a postcard from Bolivia saying

Either way, she was anywhere but here.

Blinking, I watch my grandma hit the brakes with a loud squeak and then start cheerfully backing into our hedge. My chopped-up brain feels like it’s desperately trying to fit itself back together again.

Oh my God. Annabel wasn’t talking about my Team JINTH sleepover.

She was talking about Bunty.

No wonder there was such alarm about the dancing: it could literally break my grandmother.

“Harriet,” Annabel frowns, pausing in the hallway as she watches me work this all out, “this shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve been reminding you about this visit for the last two weeks.” She sighs. “I knew I should have made you put that phone down.”

I stare at her, tiny bits of brain slowly dissolving into sludge. “Bunty’s staying with us now?”

“Yes, now, Harriet.” Annabel glances out of the window to where my grandma has begun three-point-turning across the lawn. “Although she wasn’t supposed to be here until later tonight.”

“But … I don’t understand. Where is she going to sleep?”

“You’re giving her your bedroom. I assumed that was what you were tidying up for.”

My eyes shoot wide.

I love my grandmother, but this is my sanctuary. My refuge. She’s going to rearrange all my bookshelves. “But I’m having a massive and seminal sleepover tonight. Where is everyone going to go?”

“You’ll just have to postpone it for a while, Harriet,” Annabel says calmly. “I’m very sorry.”

“But … I can’t postpone again. Everything’s arranged.”

“Then rearrange it.”

There’s the sound of a car door being shut outside, and flip-floppy footsteps crunching up the gravel. Annabel carefully shifts a gurgling Tabby and starts heading down the stairs.

In a panic, I race after them.

Quick, Harriet. Do something. Save the Team JINTH Sleepover Plan. “But can’t she just sleep on the sofa like she did when Tabitha was born?”

“No, Harriet.” There’s a knock on the front door. “She’s staying longer this time. I … don’t know how long for. She needs a real bed.”

“And I don’t? I have important exams coming up, Annabel. Homework. Coursework. Essential biology experiments.”

If in doubt, always fall back on academia.

“Chickens?” a bright voice calls through the letterbox. “You don’t have another birdhouse, do you? I think I’ve broken this one. They may need to temporarily squat in a tree.”

“Just one second, Mum!”

“But …”

“Harriet,” Annabel whispers sharply, spinning round. Her face is so firm and so lawyer-y, my mouth automatically closes with a snap. “Stop saying but. This is not up for discussion, so just try and be a grown-up about it. Please?”

I blink. Nobody wins an argument against Annabel. Ever. I bet she can make grown judges cry.

“Thank you, darling,” she says more gently, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I truly appreciate it.”

And the front door swings open.

K: try and be a grown-up about it?

What is that supposed to mean?

I’m sixteen and a half years old, thank you very much. If I lived in Cuba, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan or Scotland, I’d be a legal adult already. In fact, in American Samoa I’ve been one for two whole years.

Maybe I should just move there.

I squint at the tanned figure, shining in the doorway. My grandmother is backlit by sunshine, giving her the appearance of a stained-glass window. Her hair is glowing bright pink, blue sequins are glinting all over her floor-length orange dress, a tasselled green pashmina is dangling across her shoulders and there are approximately fifteen daisies wound randomly through her hair.