Take My Hand by Nicola Haken Page B

earned me a new tick for Number 17:

 
    · Do something badass!

 
    I certainly considered lying to someone in a
position of authority as ‘being badass’. But to Rachel it’s probably no more
exciting than ordering extra cream in my coffee. Anyway, I decided to worry
about that later. We had a stinking carpet to get rid of.
    “Ah this shit’s never gonna come off,” Dexter
groaned after we’d peeled away almost half the carpet, revealing a tonne of
sticky crap that I assumed was laid to help the carpet stay in place. The veins
in his neck were popping out of both frustration and effort as he tried to
scrub it off with a wallpaper scraper.
    “You know you can buy this special stuff in
B&Q that dissolves all things sticky. I think it might even be called
Sticky Stuff Remover. Maybe we should go get some?”
    “B&Q… that’s a hardware store right?”
Instinctively my face contorted into an expression which read ‘are you being
serious, what planet are you from?’ And then I remembered that he had never
even visited this country until just over a month ago.
    “Right. There’s one about five minutes away
on that big retail park just past Tesco. I can drive us if you don’t know where
it is,” I offered.
    “Nah, I think I know where you mean. I can go
on my own though if you want to get going.” Huh. I felt like I’d just been
slapped across the face though I have no idea why. Did he want me to go? I knew
I shouldn’t have come. “I mean I’d really appreciate it if you did come.
I just don’t want to keep you from anything.” And just like that, I was in a
great mood again. God this move was taking its toll on me – I can’t keep
up with my moods lately.
    “Well I’ve got nothing better planned.
Besides, I’m determined to get this place cleared up before bedtime.”
    “You have a bedtime? That’s cute, doll,” he
teased. I wanted to slap his shoulder but I didn’t feel like we were at that
stage in our friendship yet.
    “You know what I mean. Stop being a jerk,” I
retorted playfully. “So are we going or what?”
    “Impatient little thing aren’t we?” Dexter
got up from the floor and I followed. “Come on,” he said, laughing to himself.
    I followed Dexter out of his cramped flat and
down the single flight of stairs to the main entrance. The stairs smelt like
public toilets and I had to try really hard not to gag. When we stepped outside
he led me around the corner of the old, crumbling-brick building to a small car
park with a heavy yellow barrier that looked so rusty I doubt it had dropped
down in years.
    “Good. You’re wearing sneakers,” he noted,
glancing down at my feet. Confused, I opened my mouth to ask him why my choice
of footwear was important to him but then closed it again when he stopped by a
big black motorbike.
    Oh crap.
    “Please tell me this isn’t what you drive?” I
asked nervously, petrified-induced bile scratching at my throat.
    “Sure is,” he winked, “Em, meet Jenny,” he
announced proudly, reaching into a bucket-style compartment fixed onto the back
and pulling out two shiny black helmets.
    “Jenny?”
    “Jenny. She’s my baby in training. Needs a
lotta work doing on her but I love her all the same.” I couldn’t decide if I
found his love for this metal death trap adorable or just plain freaky.
    “Well I’m not getting on that,” I protested
determinedly.
    “Oh come on. You’re not afraid are
you?” he taunted with a wicked grin stretched across his too-playful-to-resist
face.
    “No,” I lied, straightening my back as if
that made me look more confident with what I was saying.
    “Aww whassa madda pwincess? You scared of da
big bad bike?” he mocked again in his best kiddie accent. I huffed like a
stroppy thirteen year old and rolled my eyes. There’s no way I’m going to
escape eye-wrinkles when I’m older. Dexter and Rachel would make sure of that
– it seems they both have faces which are just crying out to have eyes
rolled