The Boy from France by Hilary Freeman Page A

really glad to see that she’s on her own for once, without
Manon, because I am absolutely dying to tell her about everything that happened after Mum went out last night. I need to get it off my chest and I could do with her perspective. By the time I got
to bed it was too late to text her or Sky. And there was no time before school this morning. Not being able to talk about it is driving me a little bit bonkers.
    But she doesn’t seem to notice that I’m bursting to spill. Before I can begin, she says, ‘We really need to talk, Vix,’ and she sounds ominously serious. That throws me.
Today, of all days, I am not in the mood for serious. ‘Can we have lunch together today?’ she asks. ‘Just you and me?’
    I nod, vigorously. ‘I’d like that.’ She has no idea how much. ‘And, actually, I need to speak to you as well. I’ve got
loads
of stuff to tell you . .
.’
    I leave the sentence hanging in the air, enticingly, hoping that she’ll ask me what it is that I want to talk about now, and let me start telling her, because I’m not sure I can keep
it all inside until lunchtime. But she doesn’t. She just puts her hand on my shoulder, gives it a little squeeze, and says, ‘OK, cool, see you later, then,’ and announces that she
has to go to the loo before her next class.
    And then she’s gone, and I’m still standing in the same spot, looking like a demented fish, with my mouth hanging open. I’ve got no idea what she wants to talk to me about.
Whatever it is can’t be as important as what I need to say. Maybe she feels bad about Manon being mean to me and is trying to make things right again. That would be good. I miss Rosie. It
feels like ages since I’ve spent proper time with her, even if it is only about a week.
    Somehow, I make it through the morning’s classes without getting into trouble for daydreaming or doodling. I meet Rosie at the entrance to the school canteen and, even though I’ve
got no appetite at all (despite not eating any breakfast), we grab some ready-made sandwiches and yogurts, so we can take them outside to our favourite lunch spot, a quiet area just behind the
science block, where hardly anybody comes. We sit down on a step and open our sandwiches and Rosie starts eating hers, while I play about with mine. I’m still dying to talk but I’ve had
too much time to think about everything and now my thoughts are all jumbled up, and I don’t know where to begin. Maybe I’ll let her go first, after all.
    ‘So . . .’ I say, grinning at Rosie.
    ‘So . . .’ She grins back.
    ‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’
    ‘I did. That’s right. Didn’t you want to tell me something too?’
    ‘Yes . . . but you go first.’
    ‘OK . . .’ She seems reticent, like she’s having second thoughts. ‘It’s, er, about Manon.’
    ‘Aha. I thought so.’ Reassured, I take a bite of my sandwich.
    ‘Look, it seems like you’re not exactly getting on, and it’s a bit awkward for me, what with her staying with me and you being my best friend and everything.’
    ‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s weird for me too.’
    She smiles. ‘It’s just . . . you could make it a lot easier.’
    Irritated, I put my sandwich back in the packet and place it on the step. ‘How do you mean I could make it easier? She’s the one who didn’t like me from the start. I
didn’t do or say anything bad to her.’
    ‘I know. It’s not that. Of course you didn’t. It’s more about . . . Xavier.’
    ‘Xavier? What about him?’ I’m aware I sound defensive. I can’t help it.
    ‘Manon
really
likes Xavier. You must have noticed – she’s not exactly subtle about it.’
    I snort. ‘Yeah, that’s for sure.’
    ‘She thinks you’ve got in the way.’
    It all makes perfect sense now. ‘So that’s why she doesn’t like me! She’s jealous! I couldn’t work out what I’d done.’
    ‘She doesn’t not like you. She thinks you’re all right,