Over It (The Kiss Off #2) Read Free Page B

so’ from my cousin Hamish.
    "It's Poppy," I said, "Poppy Douglas. Your cousin?"
    "Oh, hi," he said. I waited for something more, something like "How's it going?" or "Haven't talked to you in a while, are you well?" or even "What can I do for you, cousin Poppy?" but instead, there was a prolonged silence. Guess all that stuff was implied.
    "So, you talked to my mom recently?"
    "Your mom?"
    "Your aunt. Gemma Douglas."
    "Oh, yeah," he said, "No."
    "Yeah or no?"
    He heaved an irritated sigh. "YEAH I know who your mom is, and NO I haven't talked to her."
    "...Really?"
    "YES."
    Who was this guy? This couldn't be my cousin who would talk your ear off about the life cycle of the bull–ant, or, like, the latest conspiracy theory about that hydron collider thing that is supposedly going to end the world. I never really listened to him, but I did know he talked enough for ten boys – no, twenty – combined. I hadn't seen him since before I uploaded The Kiss Off and then the whole international–media–circus–and–rock–star–telling–me–he–loved–me–via–music–TV–show thing. It was family gossip, though. I totally knew it was.
    Weird he wasn't mentioning it.
    "Are you really Hamish?" I said.
    He let out a frustrated groan. “What do you want, Poppy? You called me, remember?  If you don’t get to the point soon I’m hanging up."
    "Are you going to Bay Fest this year?"
    "Yeah. How'd you know?"
    "My mom."
    "Oh," he said. "How'd she know?"
    "I don't know," I said. " Your mom?"
    "Huh."
    "I thought she must have talked to you about it..."
    "Nope."
    "Oh. Well I'm going too,” I said. “I was planning on driving over with two friends, but my mom said I can't go at all unless you drive us. And be like..." I cringed and rubbed my forehead before saying it. "A chaperone."
    "Huh," he said again.
    Higher education seemed to have really dumbed him down.
    "I figured you would know at least something about this," I said.
    "Right."
    "Sorry to dump it on you."
    "Yeah."
    Nothing. I was getting nothing. The guy had turned into a brick wall, and I didn't quite know how I felt about that. I mean, coming from Hamish it was totally refreshing to not get an essay–style response to the simplest of questions, with definitive arguments, evidence, an introduction, middle and closing remarks, but at the same time, his monosyllabic non–committal comments were becoming just as big a pain in my ass.
    I cleared my throat. "So listen, can we ride with you? You totally don't need to hang out with us though, you can do whatever you were going to."
    "Gee, thanks," he said.
    "And I have some conditions."
    He snorted right into the phone and barked out a laugh straight after. At least I thought that was what I was hearing.
    "Is that right?" he said, laughing again. "Let me get this straight, you're asking me to spend two days in my own car with three little girls and to spend the whole music festival babysitting your asses as a favor, and you have some 'conditions'?"
    "Little girls?" I said, narrowing my eyes.
    "Yeah, little baby high school girls."
    I swore at him. But seriously, who wouldn’t have? "Screw you, Hamish. You're only two years older than me. And we don't need a babysitter."
    "Not what it sounds like."
    "God, will you just drive us?" I yelled. I clamped my lips together, closed my eyes and counted to five. If this was going to happen, I needed to be civil to him. Aunt Aggie’s senior’s bus was not an option.
    “Whatever,” Hamish said. “I’m going anyway, so the company wouldn’t be so bad.”
    “Okay,” I said, “great. Thanks.”
    “We’re splitting gas.”
    “Sounds fair,” I said. “And you’re telling my mom that you chaperoned us the whole time and we were the picture of responsibility and well–behaved girls – no – women,” I countered.
    “Whatever,” he said. “Like I care.”
    A minute or so later we hung up.
    So it was just me, Mads and nerdy (with a side of d–bag) cousin Hamish. And a