Two hours later, Elliot and I are on the end of the pier playing the 2p game.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot says, raising his voice over the sound of ringing slot machines, “but I just don’t see the point of this dumb game. At. All.”
I insert another coin and clench my hands together as I watch the tray of coins slide forward. The coins on the edge of the tray quiver—but stay put. I let out a loud sigh.
“I mean, it’s a bit like Myspace, isn’t it? Or porridge? There’s just no point to it!”
I insert another 2p and start singing “la, la, la” inside my head to drown out Elliot’s moaning. The truth is he loves to hate the 2p game as much as I love to play it. The tray slides forward and at first it looks as if I’ve lost again. But then one of the coins hanging over the edge drops and this sparks an avalanche. I clap my hands for joy as a load of coins clatter down into the tray.
“Yes!” I cry, hugging Elliot just to annoy him even more.
He frowns at me but I can tell from the way his eyes are twinkling behind his red-rimmed glasses that he’s trying really hard not to grin.
“I’ve won!” I scoop the money from the tray.
“So you have.” Elliot looks down at the coins in my hand. “Twenty whole pence. What on earth are you going to do with such a life-changing sum?”
I tilt my head to one side. “Well, first I’ll make sure that my family is all taken care of. Then I’ll buy myself a mini convertible. And then I think I’ll buy my good friend Elliot a sense of humor!” I shriek with laughter as I dodge his play-punch. “Come on; let’s check out the Lanes before I have to start work.”
The Lanes are my favorite part of Brighton—apart from the sea of course. Their labyrinth of cobbled streets and quaint little shops make you feel as if you’ve turned a corner and journeyed two hundred years back in time.
“Did you know that the Cricketers’ Arms used to be called the Laste and Fishcart?” Elliot says, as we walk past the old pub.
“The Last Fishcart,” I say, absentmindedly, as I watch a girl walking toward us. She’s wearing an amber trilby hat with a full-length printed jumpsuit. She looks amazing. I instantly want to take a picture, but I’m a second too late and she disappears around the corner.
“No, not the Last Fishcart—the Laste and Fishcart,” Elliot says. “A laste is the measurement they used for ten thousand herrings—back in the day when Brighton was a fishing village.”
“All right, Wiki,” I say with a grin.
Elliot truly is a walking, talking Wikipedia. I don’t know how he manages to store so much random info in his head. His brain must be the equivalent of a six-terabyte hard drive. (A six-terabyte hard drive is currently the biggest hard drive in the world—another random fact I learned from Elliot!)
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s a text from Megan. I instantly think of what happened yesterday in JB’s and my mouth goes dry. But her text is surprisingly friendly.
Hey, are we still on for tonight? Xoxo
I’d totally forgotten about tonight. Earlier in the week I’d suggested we have a sleepover like we used to. I was partly joking, and partly trying to get our friendship back onto its old, easier ground, when everything seemed so blissfully uncomplicated.
“Who is it?” Elliot asks as we make our way past one of the Lanes’ many jewelry shops. The window curves out from the front, as if it is literally bulging with trays of silver necklaces, bracelets, and rings.
“Megan,” I mutter, hoping Elliot won’t hear—or won’t care.
“What does she want?” he says.
My heart sinks. “Oh, just to see if we’re still on for tonight.”
Elliot stares at me. “What’s happening tonight?”
I look down at the cobbled street. “I asked her to come over for a sleepover.”
“A sleepover? Er, hello, we are in Year Eleven now.”
I look at him, my face flushing. “I know. I didn’t think she’d want to come, to be honest.”
“So why did you ask her?”
“I thought it would be fun,” I reply with a shrug.
“Hmm,” Elliot says. “About as much fun as a night in with my parents, which is what I’m now doomed to.”
“I’m sorry.” I link arms with Elliot. He’s wearing his vintage woolen coat. It feels all warm and snug.
“Never mind,” Elliot says with a sigh. “I’ve got a massive history project to finish by Monday so it’s probably best I stay in. Hey, did you know that the house over there used to be the Sussex and Brighton Infirmary for Eye Diseases?”
That’s one of the things I love the most about Elliot—he can never stay cross for more than about ten seconds. If only all friends could be like that!
We walk past Choccywoccydoodah, just as a couple is coming out, bringing with them the sweet smell of cookies baking.
“Shall we pop into Tic Toc for a hot chocolate?” I ask. I still have half an hour before I have to be at the shop.
“Er, shall the moon rise tonight?” Elliot says theatrically. He opens the door and waves me in.
Inside the café is steamy and warm. There is no denying Tic Toc does the best hot chocolate in Brighton. And Elliot and I ought to know, we’ve conducted a scientific survey into it. As Elliot checks out the cakes on the counter, I sit down at a table and quickly text Megan back.
Sure. Come round about 8 Px
“OMG!” Elliot says as he gets back to the table. “They’ve got a new flavor cupcake!” His eyes are as wide as saucers. “Raspberry and Mocha.”
“Oh wow.”
“Do you want one?”
I nod. Even though I’m still pretty stuffed from breakfast I always have room for a cupcake.
“Cool. I’ll go and order.”
As Elliot heads back to the counter I lean back in my chair, letting the warmth of the café seep into me. Then the door opens and a boy walks in. I recognize him immediately as Ollie’s older brother, Sebastian. Ollie comes strolling in behind him. I grab the menu card and pretend to study it, hoping that he won’t see me and they’ll go and sit in the far corner. But then I hear the chair at the table next to me being scraped back on the wooden floor.
“Penny!”
I look up and see Ollie grinning down at me. There’s no denying it—his grin is puppy-dog cute. He sits down in the chair next to me. Across from him, Sebastian stares at me coldly. Sebastian is two years older than us and he’s one of the most popular—and arrogant—people in sixth form. He’s also a regional tennis champion. Rumor has it he once told Andy Murray he ought to work harder on his backhand. I can believe it.
“What do you want?” he asks Ollie tersely.
“Can I get a chocolate milkshake?” Ollie says.
Sebastian scowls at him like he’s just asked for a cup of vomit. “Seriously? Please don’t tell me you want sprinkles and a flake too?”
Ollie nods, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look embarrassed.
Sebastian shakes his head and sighs. “You’re such a kid.”
“All right. I’ll have a coffee then.” Ollie’s cheeks are bright red now. It’s weird seeing him so unconfident. I feel really sorry for him.
Sebastian goes over to the counter and queues up behind Elliot, and I start panicking about what Elliot will do when he sees our table has been crashed by the Walking Selfie.
“It’s so strange bumping into you like this,” Ollie says, taking off his scarf. “I just texted Megan about half an hour ago asking for your number.”
“Really?” My voice comes out in a squeak. I cough and try again. “Why’s that?” My voice now sounds as deep as a man’s. I look down at the tablecloth and wish that it would magically come to life and wrap itself around me to hide my shame.