I kick off the high heels and plop into Grandma’s blue chair. ‘I did.’
Grandma presses her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh!’
‘What was it like?’ Peach says eagerly.
It changed everything.
‘Erm . . .’
I can’t tell them the truth about that kiss. They can’t know how complicated it has made stuff, how ridiculous I am, how I’ve totally let the side down by thinking that Leo Frost’s kiss was possibly the best kiss I’ll ever have, that I reckon under his clothes he has a body to rival Ryan Gosling’s inCrazy, Stupid, Love, that he lovesGrease 2and knows all the songs even better than I do, that he got me a sick bag and knows exactly what it feels like to lose your mum, and rapped in public to make me laugh, and is brilliant at drawing, and those eyes, and he smells so delicious, totally grown-up, like rosewood.
‘. . . smells,’ I say a tad dreamily, wandering off into my reverie.
‘Does he?’ Peach says with interest. ‘He smells?’
‘Oh.’ I come back to earth instantly. ‘What? Um . . . Yep. He . . . smells disgusting. He reeks. Like a rubbish tip.’
Grandma blinks. ‘He looks clean on all the googly pictures we saw.’
‘Well, of course that’s what he wants you to think,’ I say with a cocky look that belies my wibbling insides.
I have no clue what I’m talking about. I’m so messed up right now. Stupid Leo and his stupid game-changing mouth.
‘Gosh,’ Grandma says, wrinkling her nose. ‘I suppose you never really know about a person, do you?’
‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll, er, slip him a Trebor mint next time. Spritz him with deodorant when his head’s turned.’
‘When is the next time?’ Peach asks.
As if on cue, my phone rings. It’s him. My hands shake a little and I drop the phone onto the rug.I’m nervous.What a loser. Peach gives me a suspicious look. ‘Answer it, Jess.’
I nod slowly, pick up the phone and press the loudspeaker icon. ‘Hello,’ I say evenly.
‘You’re not in bed yet? What about that beauty sleep?’ Leo jokes.
‘Oh, you,’ I titter, as Lucille as can be.
‘I just wanted to call and tell you that I had a really, really great time today, Lucille. Really bloody great.’
Grandma presses a hand to her chest, while Peach does a big thumbs-up.
‘Me too,’ I choke out.
‘You darted off so quickly, I didn’t get chance to ask you . . . ’
‘Ask me what?’
‘Well, the thing is, it’s the London Advertising Association ball on Saturday, and I was hoping you’d come with me, as my date.’
At the mention of a ball, Grandma gasps in delight, shoots up from her chair, opens up the liquor cabinet, takes out another two glasses and fills them up with sherry. When I’ve agreed to attend the ball and the call is finished, she hands Peach and me a glass each.
‘I think somebody is smitten!’ she exclaims excitedly.
‘Who? What?’ I hiss. ‘Who now?’
‘Mr Frost,’ Grandma says, giving me an odd look. ‘Sounds like the scoundrel is smitten with you. Or with Lucille, as the case may be.’
‘Oh. Yeah. Definitely.’
‘We areexactlyon track. You are an absolute marvel, Jess. I must admit, I had my doubts, but you have been an excellent student.’ Her eyes fill up. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
She’s proud of me.
Nobody has ever said that to me before.
Grandma reaches over and pulls me into a hug. She gives me a little squeeze and I expect the uncomfortable itch that usually occurs at public emotion to make its way over my body.
But, to my surprise, it doesn’t come.
