One True Thing Read Free Page B

‘Kind of you to notice.’
    And everyone around her laughs on cue, just like she knew they would.
    Kessie’s beside my locker, grinning wickedly. I take a second to enjoy the view of Travis Matthews huffing out of there like a deflated whoopee cushion before I turn to face my best friend. She might have come to my rescue, but she won’t let me off that easily.
    â€˜What the hell is going on?’ she hisses when the coast is clear. ‘You’d freak out if I didn’t show up for a session. And what’s with the phone silence? A whole weekend of freaking voicemail. Did you drop your phone down the loo again? Because anything less than that, and you can consider me seriously pissed off.’
    Kessie has my back – she always has, ever since the shelter shed incident back in Year 2 – but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work for it.
    â€˜I know. I’m sorry,’ I say, finally opening my locker and finding Eddie Vedder right where he’s meant to be. Though, once again, the Eddie Solution has fallen short. I force myself to look squarely at Kessie, mentally bracing for the onslaught.
    â€˜You didn’t call back,’ she says. ‘Not once.’ She slides her sunglasses on top of her head, aiming her trademark glare at me. Kessie is stunning – drop-dead, catwalk-qualitygorgeous. (Without the eating disorder or the vacant, glassy stare.) Rich, auburn wavy hair, eyes more violet than blue, framed by the kinds of lashes you see on antique dolls – thick, black, brush-like – except Kessie’s are real and don’t need mascara. Even her teeth are naturally perfect, white and even, without the years of braces that I’ve only recently escaped. Kessie is smart and funny and fiercely loyal, which has won her lots of friends and probably even more enemies. Plus, she cares about everything. I mean EVERYTHING: the refugees, women’s rights, global warming, public transport, clean water – even how they collect the bloody rubbish! (Apparently a lot of our recycling ends up in landfill. Who knew?) She’s wearing her favourite faded denim jacket which features a cluster of badges proclaiming these concerns. She rotates the pins depending on her mood. Today, a hot-pink ‘Justice for Pussy Riot!’ badge is front and centre. Tomorrow, it could be ‘Recyclers Do It Twice’.
    Mum says Kessie’s a crusader looking for a cause – which Mum loves. I say she’s a loudmouth who stupidly thinks she can change the world one street march at a time. Kessie says she’s just a concerned citizen. I guess on some level we’re all right.
    Oh, and Kessie is also a lesbian, which seems to confuse almost everyone. Girls don’t know whether to be jealous of her or adore her, while boys can’t seem to give up hope that she might one day turn straight if only she’d drop thepolitical bollocks. Anyone with a brain knows that’s never gonna happen. (The former or the latter.)
    Kessie Blythedale is my best friend in the whole world, but for the past couple of weeks I’ve barely spoken to her outside of school, apart from shouting chords at each other at band practice and trading notes on school assignments. This past weekend we didn’t talk once, which must be a record. But while this weekend was my fault – some media stuff Mum wanted Luke and me to do – it’s not all me. Kessie’s been as distant as I have. Between her endless marching against – or for – whatever, she’s almost certainly dating someone and, weirdly, she refuses to talk about it.
    So while I’m feeling bad about being late and not catching up this weekend, I’m also a little pissy that she’s not making more of an effort herself.
    Then she shows up when Travis is being a knob. I can hardly bag her now. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. And I mean it because – honestly? – I’ve