Until now. Until Leo and his comedy came into my world and turned it all upside down. And the thing is there’s no point telling Chloe and Kas about it because I know I haven’t got a chance. I’m not a complete idiot—I don’t think for a moment he’ll ever be my “boyfriend.”
But if I could just make him laugh. If I could just get him to see me, to notice me, because I’m funny, like him…maybe that would be enough. Maybe that would be amazing.
But it’s never gonna happen. Still, to see him do stand-up again, at the pub, would be something. In fact, that would be frickin’ brilliant.
I feel a bit better. I go back to the notebook and actually manage to write down some half-decent jokes, stuff I could say onstage (if I ever had the balls to perform), stuff that maybe Leo might like, might laugh at (if I ever had the balls to talk to him).
And I keep trying to tell myself that it doesn’t matter. That it’s enough to just write this stuff down, just for me.
For my daydreams. For my imaginary comedy life.
Still, I wish I had the balls.
God I want balls.
No wait, that sounds wrong.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day at school, Kas and Chloe are all hyper about our pub plans next Friday. They’re already talking about what they’re going to wear and which shoes would look best with Chloe’s new lipstick, but I’m just concentrating on trying not to sound too excited so as not to start up the whole “Pig luurves Leo” thing again.
“You do want to go, don’t you, Pig?” says Kas. “You don’t seem that up for it.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve just gotta lot of other stuff on at the moment and it’s, well, it’s still a week away. I mean, I’m sure I’ll be excited nearer the time.”
“What stuff?” Chloe scoffs at me with a grin.
“Just…stuff.”
“Like…?”
“Like…hobbies and stuff. I have a very busy life. It’s not all about you guys!”
“Since when do have you have a hobby?” says Kas.
“I have hobbies…erm…sleeping…eating…toileting…”
Kas laughs. “They’re not hobbies!”
“They’re leisure activities that give me pleasure, so I don’t see why not,” I say grandly, hoping to dismantle the conversation with another laugh.
“I think I know the real hobby you’re into,” says Chloe with a grin that could rival the Joker’s for evilness. “Luurving Mr. Leo Jackson.”
Oh, for frick’s sake.
As the two of them giggle, Mrs. Perkins blasts over the class, “Right, who wants to take the roll back?”
I grab the opportunity for an escape route and shoot my hand into the air.
“Ms. Swinton, I’m impressed! You’re not known for your volunteering,” says Mrs. Perkins.
“It’s one of her new hobbies, miss,” sniggers Kas.
“Is it OK that I hate you both a little bit right now?” I whisper to them as I grab my bag and get up.
“Aww, Pig, we’re only messing about. C’mon, you know that,” says Chloe.
“Yeah, whatever, you evil old hags.” But I say it with a smile.
Then, as I walk between the desks to the front of the class, Dylan puts on a loud camp voice and says, “And coming down the catwalk now we have a glorious outfit from the latest collection by Jean-Paul Porkier…”
I grit my teeth, but I go along with the joke. What else can I do? So I strut down the classroom, my chin raised high, shoulders back, lips pouting, swaying my hips with each step and snapping my body then my head back to the room as I reach Mrs. Perkins. The class falls about in fits of giggles.
Mrs. Perkins is less impressed. “Yes, thank you, Haylah, most amusing, but if you mess around like that again in my classroom it’ll be detention, OK?”
“Sorry, miss,” I say, taking the roll from her.
Dylan’s such a cack-nugget.
I head to the school office, the flush leaving my cheeks with each step. Thinking back to the conversation with Chloe and Kas, I know I should just stop denying it and tell them that yes, I have a little thing for Leo, and yes, I know it’s going nowhere. Try to make a joke out of it. But this feels different. This time the joke is very much on me. I know there’s no hope for this crush. And they know it too. So if I own up to it I go from being the funny, strong one in the group to being the pathetic, heartbroken loser.
I drop the roll off at the office and walk toward the history rooms for my first class of the day. But, as I go past the lockers, I hear a familiar voice booming its big warm laugh.
Leo. He’s leaning up against his locker, talking to a bunch of his friends (mostly girls) all hanging on his every word. My heart begins to pound so loudly I start to think everyone can hear it.
Stupid heart.
I could keep walking. I should keep walking. Look at the ground, attract no attention. Instead, with what seems like no instruction from me, my feet walk into the rows of lockers behind where Leo’s is. My locker isn’t here, I have no reason to be here. So I fiddle with someone else’s locker as I listen to Leo.
For the second day in a row, I’ve turned into creepy stalker girl. Maybe that’s my new hobby.
“So your dad doesn’t mind if we all come down the pub next Friday?” says one of the girls.
“Nah, he’s cool with that, as long as you don’t try to buy any drinks—Jax, I’m looking at you!” says Leo. “And no heckling!”
“I’ll only heckle you if you’re not funny, dude,” says Jax as I continue to fiddle with the lock on my pretend locker.
Oh God, I’m an actual nutter.
Then I look around and realize there’s no one down this aisle to see me anyway, so I stop and just lean up against the locker backing on to Leo’s, willing my heart to stop clanging against my chest so loudly.
“Oh, no pressure then!” says Leo. “Actually, I haven’t got anything new written, and if I can’t bang anything out by next Friday I won’t be getting up at all.”
And now my traitorous heart skips a beat.
What? But he’s got to get up and do his thing! So that I can be there in the audience. Adoring him.
As I flip out at the thought of Leo not performing, his friends give him a hard time, asking, “How difficult can it be to write a few knock-knock jokes!” But what do they know. Bunch of comedic simpletons.
I understand, Leo—I totally get how hard it is to write the funny.
Then they leave, apparently for art class, and as they go Leo puts on a ridiculous high-pitched voice and does an uncanny impression of Mrs. O’Farrell, the art teacher. “Use your inner eye, students. Don’t draw what’s in front of you, draw the spaces between. Don’t draw what you think you can see, draw what you feel in your hearts. UNLEASH the artist within!”
They laugh. I laugh (quietly). He leaves. Then I do something stupid.
I don’t know whether it’s the thought of Leo not performing at the pub, the adrenaline from hiding making me go slightly insane, or the high of being so close to him that makes me do it. But whatever it is, with my blood pumping around my body at lightning speed, I get out a pen and paper from my bag and write down one of the jokes I’d written in my comedy diary last night.