“Yeah. Yeah, I think I could maybe do it this time. And I think I probablyshoulddo it; if only to overwrite the memory of the last time.”
“I think you’ve already done that,” he says. “But you’re right; you should probably make it so your best memory of singing on stageisn’tthe one where a Spanish caretaker comes crashing in to chase you off the thing.”
I bite my lip, thinking about how, no matter what happens at the hotel’s karaoke night, my best memory isprobablygoing to be jumping into Alex’s arms, like we were in the closing minutes of a romantic movie.
But we’re not.
The thought comes crashing in like the waves on the beach earlier.
There’s absolutely no point thinking about Alex as the co-star in the rom-com of my life, because it isn’t going to happen. I know he says he never loved Rebecca, and that he shouldn’t have stayed with her for so long, but the fact is, hedid. They almost got married, just a few short days ago.And that makes the idea of me and him way too complicated.
I wasn’t meant to be with Jamie Reynolds, but it doesn’t look like I’m meant to be with Alex Fox, either.
The thought of Jamie, and my insane plan to come out here and find him makes all the adrenaline that’s currently coursing through my veins abruptly stop circulating, leaving me feeling cold and deflated, like a balloon that’s been left floating around long after the party ended.
“Earth to Summer?”
Alex grins as I re-focus on him.
“You were miles away there,” he says teasingly. “What were you thinking about? It’s not Whatshisface again, is it?”
I hesitate before answering.
“Er, yeah,” I say quietly. “Sort of.”
“Oh. Right.” Alex drops my hand abruptly.
“Well,” he says, yawning extravagantly as he gets to his feet. “It’s been quite a night, but I think it’s time for me to turn in now.”
“Alex,” I say softly. “Alex, wait.”
I think about telling him that I wasn’t thinking about Jamie in the way he thinks I was. But when he looks down at me questioningly, I realize there’s no point. I can’t allow myself to think abouthimas anything other than a friend — if I can even call him that. So, instead, I just hold out my hand and smile.
“Help a girl up, would you?”
He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet until we’re standing face to face.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “After… well, everything?”
“I’m fine,” he says, not quite meeting me in the eye. “Shall we?”
He offers me his arm, like we’re in an old-fashioned movie, and I tuck my hand into it,
“So,” I say, as we turn toward the stairs. “About that scarf…”
Twenty-Five
The Secret Diary of Summer Brookes, Age 17
It was the worst night of my life.
Worse even than the time I tried to do a handstand against the school fence and my feet got trapped in it, and I ended up stuck there upside down, with my skirt over my head and my knickers on show.
And they weren’t even my best knickers either.
But this was worse.
So, I’m at the leaver’s prom, and I’m looking the best I’ve ever looked in my life. Seriously, I don’t mean to brag, but I did. Chloe did my hair and makeup for me, and I was wearing this dress that made me look like I actually had boobs for once, and I was all ready to find Jamie and just, like, lay it on him.
