Waiting for Callback (24 page)

‘I couldn’t do that.’ Daisy obviously agreed with me. ‘And I definitely couldn’t let them spend any more money when I felt the way I did – it was
awful
; there was all this talk about cashing in pension schemes and remortgaging to “support my dreams”.’ (She did that air quotes gesture with her fingers, but I forgave
her because I liked her.) ‘So in the end I just told them no.’

‘What did they say?’ I said through a mouthful of lemon drizzle cake.

‘They were weirdly OK. I mean, initially they were just a bit shell-shocked and kept going on about not understanding me and doing that unshed tears thing, but then the next day they were
just like whatever and started to talk about going to Spain on holiday. I think maybe they were relieved.’

‘Do you reckon they knew already?’

She hesitated. ‘No, not really. I don’t think they wanted to know or rather I don’t think they knew that they wanted to know before they did know so they just didn’t
know.’

Okaaay
, that was hard to follow, but I
think
I got what she meant.

‘I mean, they knew I was stressy a lot of the time, but it’s not like there weren’t tons of other possible reasons for that.’

‘Like?’

‘Come on, Elektra, like normal stuff: panicking about GCSEs and not wanting to get fat and worrying that you’ll never get boobs – or that you will get boobs, but that
they’ll be too big and end up under your armpits – and wanting to get off with guys who don’t want to get off with you and not wanting to get with the guys who do want to get with
you and not being invited to parties.’

Oh, yes, right,
that
stuff. Fair enough.

‘Are they going to make you do something else?’

‘Nope.’ The whole time Daisy was talking she kept running her fingers through her new pixie hair, making it stand up in sharp little spikes like stiff meringue mixture. It was as if
she were making friends with it. ‘Well, probably they will at some point; chances are my mum will dream up some whole new escape route for me when I don’t actually want to escape. Maybe
it’s her that does.’ She paused as if that were the first time that rather obvious thought had occurred to her. ‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘Not much I can do about
that.’

She was probably right. ‘What did Stella say?’ I asked.

‘She was really, really cool. She said she’d known for a bit that I wasn’t that happy with it and that she’d been meaning to talk to me. She just said that she
didn’t want me to do it unless I was sure I wanted to. She meant it too, I could tell. Did you know she used to act?’

‘No. What like in the sixties?’

‘Harsh. She used to be a stage actress and she was in tons of plays, just small parts, but with really famous people and then she gave it up practically overnight because she got stage
fright, real can’t-go-on-any-more stage fright.’

I shuddered at the thought of getting that scared of doing something you’d loved. ‘Are you still going to come to ACT?’ I asked Daisy.

‘No, I don’t think so. I spoke to Lens and he’s OK with me dropping out halfway through a term. I’ll miss the people – I’ll miss lusting after Lens.’
She didn’t mention lusting after Archie. That was good, right? ‘Well, I’ll miss some of the people, not Christian or Brian obviously, but I think it’s better if I just have
a clean break. I don’t really want to hear about what everyone else is doing each week. I’m happy with my decision, but I just want to be done with it. Anyway, I’ve probably done
enough improv games to last me a lifetime.’

‘No more Superhero or Mirror Mirror? How are you going to
live
?’

‘I know, right,’ she laughed. ‘It’ll be tough. I’m going to do some school drama, audition for the school play and stuff like that. That’s enough for me.
We’ll still stay in touch though. I got Facebook.’

‘Facebook? Seriously? I thought you disapproved of it. I thought you were too indie for it.’

‘Ha, no, I’m not that pretentious. My mum was just scared that I would post some bikini photo or someone would post some dodgy comment and it would end up all over the papers.’
She saw my face. ‘I know, I know, it was mad, but this was in her phase of believing that only my possible bad rep could get in the way of me being the next Emma Watson.’

I struggled with the idea of Daisy having any sort of bad rep; she had ‘good girl’ stamped all the way through her like holiday rock. I thought about some of the things on my page
(not posted by me) and cringed a bit. There are advantages to a life as one of the plankton.

‘Now my mum doesn’t care. It’s like I have parental permission to be normal.’

‘What, like normal have guy friends and things?’

‘Yep.’

‘Got anyone in your sights?’

She nodded and drew a little heart in the sugar crumbs on the tabletop. I think, well, I hope that it was an unconscious gesture.

‘Anyone I know?’ I asked, praying that it wasn’t Archie. I would have to be cool about it and I really didn’t think I was that good an actress.

‘No. Someone in the year above at school. Nothing to do with acting.’

‘A civilian?’ I used the term in a properly ironic way.

‘A clever, hot,
year above
civilian.’ Whoop, status. She laughed a big, unapologetic, un-old-Daisy laugh. She was really happy. ‘I’m still in lower-set maths
though.’

‘Maybe “Hot Year Above Guy” can tutor you?’

‘Maybe he can or maybe we’ll find more fun things to do.’ She smirked.

Well, this was a bit disconcerting. It was as if aliens had abducted Daisy, shaved her head, brainwashed her and returned her to earth. (Quite like the plot of a student film actually; maybe I
should mention it to Ed.)

‘What’s going on with you?’ she asked me.

‘Not much.’

‘Really? You look a bit . . . well, you just look like something’s wrong. Are you still upset about
Open Outcry
?’

‘No. I’m a bit bruised mostly because it was so embarrassing, but I’m really OK about it now.’

‘Is it other acting stuff? Were you really hoping to hear on
Fortuneswell
?’

‘Well, yes.’ Of course I was; it was a brilliant series with
good costumes
. What was weird to me was that Daisy had been serious: she really didn’t care. ‘But no,
it’s not the acting.’

‘What then?’

‘I just had a stupid fight with Moss this week and it’s still not OK. We basically haven’t spoken for days.’

‘What happened?’

I told Daisy because she was easy to talk to. She’d only met Moss once when Moss had come to meet me after ACT, but she got it. I wasn’t the first person to fall out with her best
friend. It wasn’t exactly top gossip, but maybe the pettiest argument since Year Six.

‘Does it really matter whose fault it is? Maybe just say sorry anyway.’ This was such Daisy-ish advice. ‘Call her now.’

‘I can’t, I’ve lost my phone.’ Well, it probably wasn’t
lost
, but it was definitely misplaced again.

‘Borrow mine,’ she said, handing it over.

Thank God Moss never lost her phone; I knew her number off by heart. ‘
Hi, this is Mossy and I’m not
. . .’ Torr’s muffled voice, then laughing, ‘. . .
here right
. . .’ laughter. I really, really hated that voicemail message.

‘Try texting her,’ said Daisy.

Hey, Moss, are you around?

Who is this?
So she actually still had a phone.

Sorry, it’s me, Elektra. I’m on Daisy’s phone.

Have you lost yours again?

Not exactly. Well, maybe. Do you want to meet up?

Sorry, I can’t
. No crying face emoticons, nothing.

Actually can’t or won’t can’t?

Actually can’t. My mum’s making me redo my English essay under her personal supervision.
That was plausible.

Nightmare. I just wanted to say sorry.

Five minutes of looking at Daisy’s phone, then,
Don’t worry bout it
. No kisses.

Seriously?

No answer.

‘I’ll get emergency cake,’ said Daisy.

‘Moss?’ I practically had to stand on her toes to get her attention. ‘Don’t want to sound paranoid here, but is there some reason you moved seats in
history?’
And haven’t spoken to me for the whole of this miserable Monday?
I didn’t say that bit because there was a limit to how pathetic I was prepared to sound. I knew
there was a reason and I knew it was the stupid argument about the texts – or maybe the argument about the stupid texts. I kept hoping it would magically sort itself out. Pretty clear that
wasn’t happening.

She shrugged.

OK, she could sit where she wanted. That wasn’t fatal. Or was that fatal? I tried again. ‘Did you have a good half-term?’

She shrugged again.

This was brutal. ‘Are you literally not going to speak to me?’

‘There’s not much going on. Or did you have
acting
news you wanted to share?’

‘No. No news that would interest you.’ Like we’d needed ‘news’ to talk about. Also there was no acting news except for a little tsunami of rejections.

‘I suppose you’ve got Daisy if you want to talk about that.’

‘Yep,’ I said, a little bit because it was true, but mostly because I wanted to hurt her back. ‘And I suppose one of Torr’s many attractions is that he’s a
really good listener
.’

‘I think he’s a bit surprised by how mean girls are, but yeah.’

‘Well, he’s hanging out with you at the moment, so he’ll get used to it.’

Moss didn’t answer that which was fair enough. She just elbowed her way past someone who was half cello, half girl and started to walk away.

This was horrible.

‘Why are we fighting like this, Moss? It was just a stupid text.’ I was practically shouting after her. It was pretty needy. Half Cello/Half Girl stopped to listen in. There was
always someone listening in.

‘We’re not just fighting about the
texts
, Elektra.’ Moss turned and stressed the plural. ‘We’re fighting because you can’t cope with me having a
boyfriend and I can’t be bothered with you guilt-tripping me out about it.’