Don't Ask by Hilary Freeman Page B

afternoon with Alex with far more questions than answers, more doubts than certainties.
    ‘Hello, Laura Thompson,’ said Katie, after I’d texted her to say it was safe to call.
    ‘Very funny,’ I said. ‘Did you get a nice dress on your shopping trip with your best mate?’
    ‘Oh yes, it’s skintight leopard print, with sequins and a bow,’ she deadpanned. ‘And frills. Want to borrow it? Or are trackie bottoms more your style now?’
    ‘Ha. Ha. Ha. Actually, I’ve just de-Laura-ed myself. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be back in my own clothes and, literally, to let my hair down. Honestly, if I wore my
hair up that tight all the time I’d end up with a receding hairline.’
    ‘And a facelift,’ said Katie. ‘Go on then, tell me all about it . . .’
    I told Katie everything: about my potential wardrobe malfunction, about how sweet Alex’s dad was, and how I’d surprised myself by not entirely hating the match.
    ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Are you sure? Can I take your temperature?’
    I told her what Alex had said about Jack and how it didn’t make any sense, and she seemed just as puzzled as me. She asked what I was planning to do about it and I said there was only one
thing I could do: to keep in touch with Alex and hope that she spilled. And soon. Now that Alex had my phone number, deleting her from my life wouldn’t be as straightforward as I’d
planned. I’d have to keep the façade going for as long as it took. I’d probably have to see her again. Katie seemed a bit put out by this. In fact, a few times during our
conversation, she tried to belittle Alex.
    ‘So was she really boring then, a total sports nerd?’ she asked.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘She was different from us, but I really liked her. It wasn’t hard to talk to her.’
    ‘You don’t seriously think you could be mates, do you?’
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
    ‘Listen to yourself, Lily. She is not your friend. She can’t ever be your friend. Apart from the fact you don’t have anything real in common with her – if you don’t
count Jack, anyway – you’re a lying, cheating impostor. And when she finds out she’s going to hate you.’
    ‘God, you don’t have to be so cold about it,’ I said. I was upset, even though I knew what she’d said was true.
    ‘I’m just giving you a reality check,’ said Katie. ‘I think you’re getting in too deep. I think maybe you’re even enjoying the lying part a little bit, and
that’s twisted.’
    ‘And I think you’re just jealous.’
    ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Jealous of a tomboy who doesn’t even know your real name and has to make friends over the internet. I don’t think so.’
    We were both silent for a few minutes, which is very awkward (not to mention a waste of credit) when you’re on the phone. You can hear the other person breathing and swallowing, and any
background noise around them. Soon, you start to feel silly but you don’t want to be the first person to speak, to give in. So you sulk until someone cracks.
    I think, on this occasion, that it was me who spoke first. I said sorry and then we made up and everything was cool. All best mates bicker, don’t they? Katie and I don’t argue very
often – I can’t remember the last fight before that day – but I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that it’s healthy to have the odd falling out. It shows you care and
that you have your own personality, or something like that.
    Jack was due round at eight, which didn’t leave me much time to get my head together. One of the advantages of having a little brother is that you can spend Saturday night in alone with
your boyfriend. It’s a trade-off: you give up your plans and babysit for free, so your parents can go out, and they reward you with the company of your oh-so-trustworthy boyfriend, who
you’d otherwise be seeing. There’s no way in hell my parents would ever have let us stay in alone together if Eric hadn’t been asleep upstairs