Model Misfit. Holly Smale

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      cientists say that music can literally change the speed of a heartbeat. They failed to add:

      So can a text message.

      It’s as if Nick is suddenly in the room with me.

      I drop the phone.

      “Harriet? What’s going on?”

      Humans are supposed to have 70,000 thoughts a day; I’m about to hit my limit in four and a half seconds.

      “It’s Nick,” I summarise.

      “Seriously?” Nat grabs the phone off me and reads the message. Then she chucks it back to me, jumps off the bed and starts folding a jumper messily.

      I’m breathing too fast and my heart is starting to skitter around like Bambi on a frozen lake. My entire body is suddenly full of a triumphant, almost painful buzzing sensation. What did I tell you? It wasn’t a matter of if he was going to change his mind. It was just a matter of when.

      Although I’m going to be honest: he really took his time. We’re not Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester, for goodness’ sake. I could have set up an entire school since we last spoke.

      I jump off the bed, spin around the room and start hugging my phone to my chest. “Should I ring him now, Nat?” I say breathlessly, breaking off just long enough to kiss my phone and start hugging it again. “Or should I text? What do you think he wants me to do? Do you think he’s coming straight here from Australia?” My eyes widen and I fly to the window. “Oh my God, Nat. What if he’s already here?”

      I push the window open and then remember that I’m at Nat’s house. He’s very unlikely to come here first. I need to go home and get ready right now. I need to wash my hair. I need to clear away my chemistry kit.

      I start putting my shoes on.

      “How long should I wait until I reply to look cool?” I continue breathlessly. “Five minutes? Ten minutes? An hour?”

      I’m so excited I can’t get my shoelaces to tie up properly. “Or should I just ring now? I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

      I look at the text again. The answer to these questions must be in here somewhere. Maybe it’s in code. Maybe it’s a haiku. Allegory? For goodness’ sake, I’ve studied English literature for five whole years. I can analyse the imagery in Macbeth and the symbolism in Hamlet. I should be able to work this out.

      “You know what?” I decide. “I think I’ll just ring him straight away. I can’t wait any longer.”

      My phone abruptly disappears.

      “Like hell you will,” Nat snaps, and before I know it she’s standing on her bed, violently waving my mobile in the air like some kind of rectangular hand grenade. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

      I stare at my best friend. It’s only now that I notice her cheeks are bright pink, and her hands are shaking. Her angry rash is starting to climb up her chest. And it’s only now that I notice she’s folded and unfolded the same jumper five times. “What on earth are you talking about?”

      “You’re not contacting Nick,” she says loudly. “I’ll eat this phone if I have to. And the charger.”

      I’m not sure that’s even physically possible. “What? Why?”

      “Because you need to wake up, Harriet.”

      I blink and then look down at myself. “I’m pretty sure I’m awake, Nat.”

      “This isn’t an epic romance. It’s just a boy who used you. A boy who made you forget about everything that was important to you before he came along. You’ve read so many books you can’t even tell the difference between fiction and reality any more.”

      I flinch. Just because I sometimes use the words ‘thou’ and ‘mayst’ for fun does not mean I think I’m in an Austen novel. Not all the time, anyway.

      “I can,” I say indignantly. “I am well aware of the difference between what’s real and what isn’t.” I’d be prettier in a book, for starters. “Give me my phone right now.”

      I jump for her, like some kind of killer СКАЧАТЬ