Remix. Part 13

Ruby doesn't waste time saying anything, but simply pulls me back from the brink and out into the fresh, glorious air, towing me straight to the taps, where I splash water over my face until I feel something approaching human. When I turn back, Ruby's stolen some clean toilet paper from a pa.s.ser-by.

"I could kiss you for this." Being sick always makes me a bit over-emotional.

"Please don't," comes the reply.

RUBY.

There's nothing like salty carbs to calm an unstable stomach and we head straight to the nearest food van for chips.

"Remind me to eat something vaguely resembling a vegetable at some point today," Kaz says.

My response is to guide the chip she's holding into the ketchup on the side of the tray. "It's called tomato sauce for a reason and that reason is tomatoes."

Kaz shakes her head and smiles, although it's faded by the time she turns back from throwing the empty tray in the bin.

"So. Tom's girlfriend..." I start. There's no point dodging the issue, but I keep a wary eye on Kaz, in case those chips make a sudden reappearance. "What's she doing here?"

"Presumably watching some bands." Kaz's voice is as deadened as her expression and I'm momentarily breathless with anger at Tom for doing this to her. For leading her on like that when her replacement was planning on rocking up today.

"Where was she yesterday?" When it might have been good to know she existed. "Squashed in a pocket of his rucksack? Locked in the boot of his mum's Fiesta up in the car park?"

I get a vague smile for this. "Lauren said something about her cousin's wedding. Her parents dropped her off on the drive back."

Since I can't think of a suitably witty comeback to this, I opt for the low road.

"Whatever," I say, linking Kaz's arm in mine and moving towards the clothing stalls. "This new girlfriend isn't a patch on the last one." I squeeze Kaz's arm and a second later she squeezes back. "Plus she's as rough as a hedgehog's a.r.s.e."

Which makes her laugh for a second, only for it to turn into self-doubt. "No, she isn't, Ruby. She's depressingly gorgeous. And sweet."

"Like the stench of a rotting corpse."

Another laugh, louder, deeper, like she actually finds me funny. "She seemed really friendly."

"About as friendly as..." C'mon, brain. "Crabs. The kind you catch off a dodgy man-wh.o.r.e, not the snippy ones." I make pinching crab-claws with my free hand at her until she bats me away.

She's shaking her head, but it's doing nothing to s.h.i.+ft the smile that's growing there. "You're determined to hate her?"

"Best friend's honour."

And she stops walking and pulls me into the biggest hug I think she's ever given me. So big that I feel like I'm surrounded in a blanket of cosy-Kazness.

"I love you to bits, Ruby Kalinski," she murmurs.

"Back atcha, Karizma Asante-Blake." I give her an extra tight squeeze. People talk about love all the time, but they mean all that romantic c.r.a.p that comes with s.e.xtras and heartbreak. The kind of love that drives you mental and changes you into a different kind of person the kind of love Kaz felt/feels for Tom.

That isn't something I ever plan on feeling.

The love I have for my best friend? That's the kind I plan on feeling for ever.

KAZ.

Ruby's solution to cheering me up is to distract me with shopping. When she buys a vest with a whimsical unicorn on, she haggles with the stallholder until she leaves with a bonus whimsical badger vest for me, and at the vintage clothes stall she joins me in looking through the racks of dresses rather than standing by the mirror trying on all the hats and annoying the vendor the way she usually would. It's hard to be miserable in the face of such relentless determination to cheer me up.

That's not to say that my conscience isn't putting up a pretty good fight. I'm torn between blaming myself for being so stubborn that I refused to accept Tom could have a new girlfriend, to feeling white-hot fury for how he's handled it.

He had known when he held me, when he kissed me, when he tugged off my dress and ran his hands over my skin. And when he did say something, when it was already too late, he still didn't tell me the whole truth: that Lauren would be here.

When Ruby disappears behind a curtain to try on a playsuit covered in lightning bolts, I take out my phone and reread his messages.

Give me the weekend to make things right, OK?

Now I understand why that was how long he needed, given that he'd been planning on spending it with Lauren...

Please don't hate me.

I love you.

Tom is treading a very fine line between the two.

I force myself to think of them together, hoping it might work like aversion therapy: by facing my fears so I shall conquer them.

Beautiful Lauren, with her thumb hooked in Tom's belt loop.

The familiarity with which she greeted Naj.

A glisten on Tom's cheek where she'd kissed him.

Her apparently genuine pleasure at meeting me.

She seemed so nice.

"Are you going to be sick again?" Ruby's in front of me, the playsuit she was trying on inside out and back on the rack. I shake my head, although I keep my mouth shut, just in case. So much for my therapy session.

Ruby sighs and shakes her head, feeling my forehead with the back of her hand as if checking my temperature. "Your condition is worse than I feared, Miss Asante-Blake. We're going to have to proceed to some mega-serious medication."

I don't think doctors use the word "mega".

RUBY.

The nearest tent is the Mellow Tent, which is f.u.c.k-all use for what I have in mind and I tow Kaz diagonally uphill across the field until we're at the Heavy Tent, from where I can hear some suitably moshable music.

"I'm not sure, Ruby..." Kaz pulls back, but I'm having none of it.

"I am. Come on!" Not letting go of her, I dive right into the depths of the tent. This can only be the second band to play so far and I've no idea who they are, but it seems a surprising number of people do. The crowd's deeper and thicker than I'd expect at this time of day, but when they launch into their next song, I get why. Whoever these guys are, they're catchy.

And just like that the crowd opens up in a swell of movement and sucks us in. Keeping a firm hold of Kaz's hand, I pull her into the middle of the action, bouncing around like I know the song, grinning at the people around who actually do and that's it, she's sold, dancing with me the way we used to when we went to The Cellar. Before Stu ruined it for me.

Music has always been the key to unlocking Kaz.

Back when we were two strangers sitting next to each other on the first day of seniors, it was the moment I asked what music Kaz liked that I saw a glimpse of the girl who was going to be my best friend.

It's not that I'm not pa.s.sionate about what I listen to I am. Find me a song to love and one listen will turn into an obsessive hour-long repeat until my body's a vinyl record and the groove's been etched into me. But my love of music is from the outside I react to what I hear without really thinking. I just go with my gut.

For Kaz it's as much about her head as it is her heart. A song isn't just a sound that tugs at her heartstrings, for Kaz it's all notes and keys, melodies and harmonies, rhythms and patterns she hears what there is and she hears how it's made. Music is a magic that flows through her body like blood. She's last to speak up in cla.s.s, girl voted Least Likely to Say Boo to a Goose, but like last night, get music to do the asking and Kaz will show the world her soul.

We only catch the last two and a half songs by whoever these people are, but it's enough. By the time they're done, so are we.

My best friend has come back to me.

15 * SELLING THE DRAMA

RUBY.

The others are on the hill. I can pick out Lee's laughter from fifty paces and Anna's Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt gives a handy visual aid. The five of them have spread rugs off to the side of the big screen that's halfway up the slope. It's between bands, and rather than show everyone a magnified shot of an empty stage, the screen's being used as some kind of unofficial information feed. Across the top is splashed a banner that says FESTBLOG and as we approach, the main screen invites us to send "info, jokes, pics and gossip using #festblog and the Festblog team will give you 140 characters of fame by posting the best on our timeline". When that image dissolves, it's replaced with a photo someone's taken of their mate's backside, with WELCOME TO THE GRAND CANYON scrawled in marker pen across his boxers and an arrow pointing up to his b.u.m-cleft.

I've always wanted to see a fifty-foot a.r.s.e.

Not.

Owen and Anna are standing up to get drinks and Kaz and I sneak into their spots.

"Don't get comfy." Anna's threat is entirely undermined when she winks. And by that s.h.i.+rt she's wearing. It's hard to take someone wearing a luminous pineapple print seriously.

"Beer, please, bar keep." I hand her a tenner, ignoring the side-eye that Kaz gives me. The stuff in here's so watered down and so pricey that it's not like I'd be able to get drunk if I tried.

"No inebriation on my watch," Lee says, his head resting on Parvati's stomach.

"You'll be too drunk to see, love." Parvati leans forward to pat his cheek and I hide a smile as Dongle casts a less than subtle glance at Parvati's cleavage.

"Stop perving, Dongle," Parvati says, giving him the finger.

Next to me, Kaz seems mesmerized by the Festblog screen showing a series of selfies of boys with w.i.l.l.i.e.s drawn on their forehead in fluorescent face paint. Next there's a survey of the festival toilets, complete with ratings. The ones at the bottom of the hill by the main stage come out best, which is handy to know.

It's only once Anna and Owen come back with the drinks that I realize what a time-suck that screen is. Just as I'm about to turn away though, it starts flas.h.i.+ng red.

HOT GOSSIP!!!.

Megan Mallory from Stays Then Leaves MEAT me later?

There's a picture of a girl (presumably Megan Mallory) with a Photoshopped speech bubble coming out of it: I've always been a vegetarian. Animals are sentient y'know? How can you kill them for food?

Kaz and I exchange a glance and there are a few other groups around us looking equally baffled. The screen flashes again and there's a photo of the same girl, jaw wide as she walks away from the hog-roast van, shovelling in what is quite obviously a bun exploding with pulled pork. A huge red arrow points at the pork. Above it are the words PIGS ARE SENTIENT TOO, MEGAN!!!

There's a ripple of laughter on the hill, but I don't get any pleasure from seeing a "vegetarian" I don't know eating a pork sandwich. It's not like she hunted the pig down and strangled it with her bare hands whilst filming it for a music video.

"Why do celebrities feel the need to lie about everything?" Kaz tuts like someone three times her age.

"Maybe she wasn't lying? I don't know when that quote was taken do you?" I suddenly feel very protective of Megan Mallory from Stays Then Leaves.

"Last week." Lee sits up a bit, propped on his elbows. "It was in an interview I read online."

Owen rolls his eyes. He has never approved of Lee's gossip habit.

"It's so pointless," Kaz says. "If she'd never said anything about being a vegetarian then no one would care if she was caught bathing in a steak-and-ale pie, supping on a bacon milkshake, wearing a lambskin fedora."

"That's quite the image." Dongle closes his eyes and murmurs, "Mmm, meaty Megan..." and receives a thump from Parvati and Anna. He's lucky I can't reach.

Lee brings it back round to the vegetarian thing. "It's a case of make a story and make her name."

He has a point. Ten minutes ago, I'd never heard of Stays Then Leaves. Now I won't forget.

"Still." I struggle to grasp hold of my argument I don't know why I care so much, but I wish they could see how pompous they sound. "What's it called? Schwarzkopf? That thing where you enjoy bad things happening to other people?"