Don't Even Think About It by Roisin Meaney

Bumble. Little did I know.
    Chloe and I were the first to arrive, so we sat at a table and I picked up a crayon and drew a picture of Bart Simpson that Chloe said was exactly like him. She triedto draw Sylvester, the cat who chases Tweetie Bird, but I have to say it could have been any cat.
    After about ten minutes the others started coming in, and soon there were nearly ten of us, including Terry McNamara, who didn’t look as if he was missing Catherine Eggleston at all. In fact, I think he’s already forgotten about her, because a few of the others were slagging him about some other girl, someone Chloe and I didn’t know, and he was blushing and pretending not to know what they were on about.
    Some boys are so fickle.
    I was beginning to wonder if Chris was ever going to show up, when in walked Bumble. And you’ll never in a million years guess who walked in with him.
    Well, maybe you will. Maybe I’m the only one who didn’t see it coming. It was Catherine Eggleston, and they were holding hands. And Bumble was smiling as if he’d just won the lotto.
    Well, I can tell you it nearly knocked my socks off when I saw them together. Bumble and I used to laugh about Catherine Eggleston all the time in primary school – how daft she was, with her fancy schoolbags and her silly giggles. How she always sucked up to Santa, answering questions in a little girl voice that made me want to throw something at her.
    We used to wonder what Terry could possibly see in her.
    And now here was Bumble, obviously going out with her, holding hands with her, sitting beside her and looking at her as if she was Cleopatra, and barely saying hello to his oldest friend. (That’s me, in case you’re wondering.)
    I hardly noticed when Chris Thompson arrived and pulled a chair in between Chloe and me. I had to drag my eyes away from the other two when Chris started talking to me. And in case you’re thinking now that I was jealous of Catherine, let me tell you here and now that whatever else I felt, it
wasn’t
jealousy – no way.
    I mean, going out with Bumble would be like going out with my brother.
    I just couldn’t believe it, that was all. Bumble and Catherine Eggleston – it was the last thing I thought I’d ever see.
    Poor Bumble couldn’t help it, of course – she’s obviously got some kind of power over boys. It’s probably connected to the blonde hair (although I can NOT understand what all the fuss is about there. I think red is a much more attractive and interesting hair colour), and I suppose the boobs must have something to do with it too (although I can’t understand what
that’s
all about either).
    But anyone can see it’s only a matter of time before Bumble’s heart gets broken too, and I just can’t bear the thought of that. Hopefully he’ll recover as quickly as Terry did. Terry hardly looked at the two of them, and didn’t seem a bit bothered.
    So anyway, there we all were:
    Me trying not to stare at Bumble,
    Chris trying to talk to me,
    Bumble trying not to drool at Catherine,
    Terry trying to pretend he wasn’t mad about someone else,
    and Chloe trying to draw Road Runner.
    It sure was a long lunch.
    I wonder when they started going out, and how it happened. Had Bumble secretly fancied her for ages, even when he was still my best friend? I thought we told each other everything. I know I told
him
everything – except for the shoplifting.
    I wonder what he got her for Christmas. He sent me a card with a reindeer on it. Just a card, no present. Last year we went shopping together before Christmas, and bought each other scarves. He got me a lovely lilac one – of course I picked it out – and I got him a blue and red check one that I chose too.
    Luckily, I hadn’t posted the DVD I’d bought for him by the time his card arrived, so it’s still sitting on a chair in my room. Maybe I’ll watch it some time, although ninety minutes of ‘Chelsea’s Greatest Goals’ isn’t exactly my idea of excitement.
    So