Pride and Princesses Family Secrets chapter 23

Chapter 23

Family Secrets

    Petra looked really shy and very skinny, although not totally anorexic, as some might have said.

    She smiled up at me. Petra was sorting through her wardrobe, then she  spoke in a reserved way, becoming more animated as she  made her suggestion, “I was hoping we could all go down to the skating rink next Saturday. I was going to text you.”

    “That’d be great,” I agreed. I loved to skate even though I was less than perfect at it. I enjoyed getting all dressed up in wintery clothes although it was nowhere near winter weather.

    “I’m trying to find something nice to wear. We don’t often have visitors since I’ve been here and my aunt tends to sleep in the afternoons.”

    “Oh, really? Why?”

    “Pharmaceuticals.”

    “Right,” I said, not knowing whether to laugh or commiserate. Let’s face it, all did not seem entirely “normal” in the Knightly household and I was glad to be going home to my mom’s place and also to have Mrs Mouche’s warm and loving home as a refuge. If ever I get married and have kids, I’m going to remember love is more important than money.

    “I suppose they keep her happy,” Petra said this almost like a warning. “Anyway, take a look at my stuff; I’m trying to find this shirt I bought from Selfridges.”

    “Oh, you like to shop?”

    “Of course.”

    “Me too.”

     Petra continued, “But I got this in London. I love to go to Kings Road. I miss our old home.”

    “Wow, you have the most amazing closet.” Honestly, it was fit for a real Princess – well, maybe a young Queen.

    “Just like Hannah Montana,” she replied, with a hint of her brother’s wit.

    “I suppose.”

    “You’re right, I’m lucky. Come in, check it out.” Petra turned on all the lights and she had the sort of fashion haul to do those teen envy reality shows proud times a thousand.

     “You even have proper stage lights around your mirror. I love that.”

     I placed my hand on the right shirt and jeans for Petra in minutes; then I got an idea. I found some sort of vintage suit covered in plastic and said, “Hey, do you ever wear this?

     “Actually, I don’t. It’s too big for me. My aunt bought it for me to wear to a wedding I didn’t attend.”

     “Oh, you must really like it then.”

     “Not really, I’m thinking of giving it to Goodwill.”

     “No, don’t do that.”

     It really was the most perfect vintage suit I’d ever laid eyes on, exactly right for my character to wear in the final scene of the play, and also for our treasure haul.

   “Why don’t you have it,” Petra suggested.

    “Really?”

    “Sure.”

     I offered to reserve Petra a seat in the front row on opening night. It’s amazing how kind people become when you are working towards a common goal. It’s like the universe steps in to offer possibilities. One of our spiritual guide books to dating, Astral Planet Loving, elaborates on that.

    After giving Petra a make-over, we entered the dining room together only to find Jet inching closer to Mouche. When we arrived he let go of her hand and started to act really cool and Mouche glanced over to me with a, “I think It’s time to go,” look on her face.

     We noticed Mark’s uncle hovering over the drinks tray in the corner of the room wearing a business suit and tie. He must have arrived home early. Mark looked worried as he introduced us to him.

     “Hello, girls,” Mr Knightly said in a slightly too-friendly way.

     Mark’s aunt introduced herself with a dismissive, “and who are your little friends, Mark?” as if we couldn’t speak for ourselves. She also looked at our clothes with a distasteful expression on her face as if what we wore was shabby. We left just as she was asking us what our fathers did for a living, what kind of car they drove and if we summered in the Hamptons.

     Poor Mark. He had wanted to leave immediately after lunch but his relatives arrived early. He looked embarrassed as we gathered our jackets to leave.

     “My parents were never like this,” he said.

      Jet interjected, “oh, Phoebe...Mark forgot to tell you something...you should know about Joel.”

      I was in a hurry to leave. Mark’s uncle was creeping me out and Mark seemed hesitant to speak loudly, so I jokingly said, “you should put it on paper.”

     “Uh, okay,” Mark replied. He looked surprised that Jet had spoken on his behalf when usually it was the other way around.

      I knew guys didn’t usually write letters, but I thought this might prove added commitment.  Mark looked like he wanted to come with us but was forced to stay when his aunt told him his Latin tutor was due to arrive in ten minutes.

     Turns out Mark’s uncle had arrived back from Brussels and was pouring himself a drink. He actually asked us if we wanted one as we were leaving.

     Petra excused herself to “walk the dogs,” after giving me a “see you soon” smile. Mouche pinched another sandwich on the way out as Mark’s uncle gave both her and me a long glance from head to toe.

   “Eww.” Mouche said.

   “I know. Mark’s uncle is super lecherous.”

    “He must like younger women.”

    “Much younger.”

    “Gee, that’s original,” Mouche said.

    “I know, poor Mark. Do you think he even noticed?”

   “Definitely. Besides, he never would have invited us home if he realized his uncle was going to be there.” Mouche said. “What a sleaze.”

    “Totally.”

   “You can’t choose your relatives.”

   “Unless they’re your friends,” Mouche added. 

    Surrounded by lush grounds and with the majestic mansion framed by sunset falling, we finally understood why so few people had ever been to visit Mark’s place.

   

    The next day a letter was hand delivered to my house.

    Mark’s chauffeur embarked from the car and rang my doorbell. I sleepily answered in my pyjamas and robe, rubbing my eyes.

   “Miss Phoebe Harris?”

   “Yes.”

   “I have a letter for you, young lady.”

   Even the chauffeur sounded like he was from another country.

   I took the cream paper, sealed in a gold envelope with my name on it, and immediately thought of our treasures (letters from so many boys, growing daily), but only a few from Mark thus far.

   I read the letter with interest as I poured milk into my breakfast cereal. My mother arrived in the kitchen fully dressed in a suit and ready to start her realtor day with a showing in Mark Knightly’s gated community. I considered myself lucky to have such a good relationship with my mother and considered Mark and Petra’s situation in a reflective light.

    “Good morning sweetie,” my mom kissed me on the top of my head.

    “Hi mom.”

    I pulled out my cell and texted Mouche.

 

    You need to come over right now P.  

   

    Mouche arrived ten minutes before we were due in home room. She was breaking some cotton with her teeth (“I know, it’s totally not the done thing in your stupid Mrs Jones Etiquette tome, but I’ve just finished hemming our dance costumes. There.”)

   “Check this out,” I said. “It’s the longest letter He’s ever written!”

   Waving the letter in front of her I ripped it open and read aloud:

 

Dear Phoebe

 There is one subject that I should enlighten you about – the subject of Joel Goodman.

  Although he is from the very best of families and my father and mother were great friends with his parents, Joel was always economical with the truth, from the time we played together as small boys. When my father died, he left Joel (as his Godson) a sum of money for his college education and Joel managed to hoodwink his own family into letting him have access to this money which he then spent in a seriously disreputable manner. But this is only money, which I have never thought was something worth arguing over.

 

“Mmm...” Mouche raised her eyebrow, “a man with a good value system,”

“Finally!” I said, wickedly.

“Read on, I can’t wait to hear the rest. He has this haughty British tone on paper.”

“Not just on paper.”

“Keep going!”

 

What really led to our falling out was an incident that occurred during the summer holidays when he came home from the prep school he’d been sent to by his parents. This was the first time he tried to get close to my sister. He basically made an attempt to seduce her. They were both under age and my Uncle threw Joel out.  This has led to my sister being quite unsociable and at one stage she suffered from anorexia (thankfully recovered, but she is still quite fragile).

 

Mouche interjected, “actually his love for his sister is really quite touching!”

I looked at her incredulously.

 

As for Joel’s parents, when the company they ran was sold, they both received enough money to live on comfortably for the rest of their lives. It is Joel who is lying, not me, and I just wanted you to know this, so that we can be friends.

Mark K.

 

“No loving exclamation marks?” Mouche asked

“No,” I said, stating the obvious.

 “Maybe we have been way harsh on him. I’m sure he didn’t mean to separate me and Jet.”

“He’s certainly tried to make up for it since.”

“Well, I’m beginning to see how complicated relationships can be...”

“Mrs Jones always says good ones don’t need to be.”

“Well, I think, just this once, Mrs Jones is wrong.

Pride and Princesses Rocco and Julie

Chapter 24

Rocco and Julie

    It was opening night.

   “I just want to apologise for my crazy aunt and uncle,” Mark said from the shadows as I was about to enter the dressing room to apply my stage make-up.

   “That’s okay. The whole experience was...kind of fun.”

    “Just as long as they’re not your family, huh...” Mark said, master of the obvious.

    He had repeatedly apologised for his “unwelcoming family” even going so far as to tell me that he “can’t wait to turn eighteen so I can be out of there.” It was way harsh for him to have to live with such stuck up bores and you had to hand it to him for trying to overcome his circumstances. His personality had really improved too, or maybe he’d just finally revealed himself once we got to know him better. Perhaps we’d been too quick to pass judgement.

    The dating game had pretty much been played. We all had our favorite dates and an entire locker filled with “gifted” treasure as well as a subway map of New York and a trophy with a blank metal space ready to be engraved with the name of the winner. The yet-to-be-uploaded blog was designed and edited with out-takes, quotes and images from our many months of intense research. The research was all contained in the second Boy Rating Diary – the one we fully revealed amongst ourselves. The original diary was hidden. Mouche and I hadn’t glanced at it for days but we knew it contained early, unspoken secrets.

    We were all very proud of our game and busy acting like best friends. Teegan was still mildly in disgrace since all of us suspected her of the riding sabotage. She had apologised profusely, admitting that although she had groomed the horse, given him an extra brush, she had not noticed the pebble under the saddle and would never have let Mouche ride if she had.

    We kind of believed her.

    After all, we were besties now.

    Although, let’s face it, no two friends could ever be as close as Mouche and I.

    Everything changed on opening night.

    Gossip and chatter filled the backstage area along with tulle and denim jackets, the staples of the costume department. Nervous actors with parts both big and small gathered in the wings before the curtain came up. My costume was amazing for the last act but quite understated for the first two. I couldn’t  wait to get into it as I ran my hands over the pink tulle ball dress designed and made to fit perfectly (thanks to Mouche), and the vintage blue denim jacket and boots that would complement the tragic scene when Julie gives her life to be with Rocco in death.

    Conversations gathered in the air: talk of Act One moved on to the topic of Miss Love and Mr Frame’s upcoming wedding, Wednesday’s audition for a potentially lucrative baby commercial – these were all topics for discussion. Mouche and I are totally going to be Wednesday’s managers if she wins. Teegan even offered to put in a good word for Wednesday to get back on side with us.

    The Princesses were all acting so supportive, in pursuit of the greater good, like little Godmothers. The future Boy Rating Blog had taught us all a thing or two about female friendship.

    “Like,” Teegan repeated, “If girls truly supported one another, the way groups of boys seem to, the world would be a very powerful place for us.”

    “It’s like playing soccer,” Tory continued.

    “For example, last home game, when all the boys actually seemed to work together as a cogent team, the girls were jostling on the sidelines for the best view,” Brooke added.

    “Is it because the view is so hard to get?” Freya asked.

    “Wouldn’t we have had a better afternoon if we’d made space for everyone instead of trying to exclude some girls? Or better yet, shouldn’t we have worked to make our own team more athletic?” Mouche stated.

     “Who cares if no one wants to cheer us on. It’s time we stopped being happy just sitting on the sidelines!” I suddenly announced.

     “So true,” Tory said.

    “Yes,” Brooke added, “girls need to stand together. I’ve learnt so much about how boys behave just from comparing stories with everyone else.”

     Of course, it helped that by this stage, everyone had blown it with Mark, everyone except Mouche and me. Try as they might, they disregarded the rules and paid him far too much attention until he seemed completely fed up with being tailed by the Princesses and started directing all his energy towards me and Mouche.

      “Geez,” Freya said, “do you think He’s gay or what?”

      “He’s so not gay,” Brooke said.

      “Definitely not gay,” Teegan added.

      “I have it on good authority,” Tory concluded.

      “Whose?”

      “I kissed him in the rotunda but all he wanted to do was talk about Mouche and Phoebe. I don’t think he can make up his mind which of you is his favorite.”

       “Me too,” Teegan added, “I mean, I kissed him as well: another time, another place, of course. He has strong arms and for sure a big...”

       “...jacket?” Mouche finished the sentence for her.

       “That’s just what I was about to say,” Teegan said mischievously. 

       “He didn’t even try to kiss me. I think Jet told him I’m planning on becoming a nun,” Brooke said.

       “Are you?” Teegan asked.

       “No,” Brooke whined, like it was obvious that she was about to change image and lighten up for senior year.

       Well, he needn’t tax himself, I thought, because he is just the pawn in my game of chess.          

      “Funny how it’s always the men who think they control the game of love,” Mouche said.

     “The game of love is a game of chance,” I repeated as I was about to go on and pretend to only have eyes for Peter Williamson.

    And then the curtain and lights came up and there I was, front stage centre, saying my lines and pretending to be the most famous lovey-dovey teenager in history.

    It all went very well and we had a huge cheer after Act Two as the curtain came down. During interval I ran to the backstage dressing rooms to pick up a prop that Brooke had ‘forgotten’ to place onstage. I would have made do except the vial of poison was vital to the plot ( the part where Julie pretends to be dead so that she  and Rocco can run away together – except Rocco thinks she  actually has killed herself and stabs himself because he can’t live without Julie. Mr Sparks uses this plot point as a message about the futility of self-harm).     

    It was, however, Miss Tartt’s idea and Mouche and I were impressed to see her flicking through The Good Girlfriend Guide last rehearsal and insisting on being included in decision making as well as standing up for herself. We’ve noticed she’s nicer to girls and other women, and, she’s applying for a promotion.  Instead of just giving certain students an evil glare when Mr Sparks is speaking, she will stand there with an almost beatific smile on her face, spreading the mental love just like The Good Girlfriend Guide suggests.

     “Not exactly normal,” Mouche would comment, “but a step up from how she was before.”

     “Absolutely,” I agreed. That night Miss Tartt was being helpful, desperately searching with me for the poison prop vial. 

     It was the same week Teegan pretended to self-harm (feigning a mild overdose of her mother’s tranquilizers) to get Jet’s attention (it worked, but he still hadn’t asked her to the prom and she  was considering a pity date with Jack Adams, who’d bothered to visit her on the one day she  took off school (also to get Jet’s attention).

    “You are sure to get invited by Mark,” Mouche whispered backstage as she  was going over my lines as part of her jobs as prompt, dancer and now understudy. “Now might be the time to give him a little encouragement,” Mouche suggested and she was usually right.

    So I was pretty surprised when I ran up the backstage stairs yelling out, “I’ve got it” with the tiny clay prop in hand and stumbled upon Freya kissing Mark on the lips. Mark seemed to be really into it and how could I imagine Freya was not willing to do anything to win the game?

    Wasn’t he supposed to be making sure the stage was lit properly?

    I backed up straight away and tumbled into a pile of props that Brooke – who’d offered to help Mouche, had forgotten to put away. I fell splat on the floor. Having tripped over my own ankle, I then managed to fall flat onto Peter Williamson who was doing up the buttons on his Act Three trousers.

     I was mortified as my Rocco was carried off on a stretcher. What a disaster. Not only was my heart almost entirely broken but the people from Julliard had probably given up on me ever getting back on stage when Mark ran over to help me.

     “I’m so sorry Phoebe, she just grabbed me,” he said.

     “Yeah right,” I said softly.

      I backed off, pretending not to care about him and Freya. Freya gave me a smug smile and an insincere, “oh no, what can we do to help you Phoebe?”

    “You could get off my prize!” I wanted to snap but stopped myself just in time. The Good Girlfriend suggests, “Never reveal your jealousy. Sift through those issues by working on your self-esteem.”

    “That’s so true,” Teegan agreed when I told her. “It’s like, if I feel fat I should just work out more instead of coveting some other girl’s muscle tone.”

   “Exactly,” Brooke said. “We should try to be the ones who build the building instead of the ones who knock it down.”

    “It’s going to be okay,” Mouche suggested.  And I’m sure she meant it. 

     Empathy for me didn’t stop her from shining in my place.

    Of course, I realize a true friend would have been happy for her and I was. It’s just that when the final curtain fell I was registering the long and passionate kiss Mark had given Mouche. Both were understudying the leads by then and Mark had to carry his script onstage with him. It was hard to feel charitable as their lips touched.

     “What a man-slut,” Teegan whispered to me.

     “Bet he’s enjoying that, mwoah, mwoah...” Tory’s little sucking noise mocked my chagrin.

     Thankfully, Mouche was such a great performer; she managed to save the play. It was not just my imagination, looking on from the wings, that Mark particularly seemed to enjoy sucking Mouche’s rosy mouth before her character woke only to find Rocco lying still, poisoned. When the character of Julie (my character!) tastes the poison on Rocco’s lips, well that’s when self-doubt started to sink in.

    “Mouche does seem to be lingering unnecessarily,” Teegan stated.

     My ankle was throbbing. How had I managed to become such a cliché of my own life? The nurse had wrapped the bandage around my foot like a tourniquet. I tried so hard to feel happiness for my friends but I’d started to doubt the game, Mark, the Princesses and especially my friendship with Mouche. The Princesses were clapping wildly and whistling on the sidelines along with the standing ovation the audience gave (made up mostly of families but also the precious Julliard judges).

    Now that the Princesses had accepted Mouche, I was beginning to feel weird about her. I was unsure about everything to do with our stupid boy-rating idea. It was okay for us to round robin date in the beginning, but suddenly I was mad at my best friend.

    “Face it,” Tory whispered, “Mouche has “accidentally” stolen your man...”

    “Your part...” Teegan added.

    “And, quite possibly, your life,” Freya continued.

    “Not to mention the future,” Brooke added, fixing her nurse’s apron.

     Looking back, all the resentment came to a head during the final scene of Rocco and Julie.

     In this scene Julie speaks her soliloquy (rather dramatically) over Rocco’s body,

 

Julie

Farewell... God knows when we shall meet again. 

This, I have to do, alone.

Julie takes out bottle and drinks.

   

    Julie’s mother runs in (and here Mr Sparks copied the exact text) where the mother is played by a very smug Freya, (who’d demanded dual roles to show off her “versatility”). Freya is plastered in ageing make-up (with talcum powder in her hair to make it look grey and tries to shake Julie awake. Of course the talc began snowing all over the floor by this point and its lucky Mouche didn’t turn her ankle as well).

 

The scene continues:

Mother

Who has done this? A jealous hood! A jealous hood!

Quick, call for help.

Rocco hears Julie has been killed. He fights and kills Paris, runs to Julie who is lying on the floor.

Rocco

Oh my love, my wife.

Julie

Here’s to my love. The drugs are quick Thus with a kiss I... (Julie falls down)

Rocco kisses Julie, Julie starts to stir, and she wakes up as music starts. Julie shakes Rocco but he doesn’t stir, as the curtain falls and anti-suicide, smoking, drugs and drinking slogans are projected on the wall behind the slain lovers...

 

    “This was so not in the plan.” Teegan comforted me after the curtains had been lowered as the audience clapped madly and I was left waiting in the wings sans date even for the after-party. I figured I could safely kiss Julliard goodbye.

    “Gosh,” Brooke said, “I had no idea Mouche was such a wonderful actress. I knew she was a great dancer.”

    “Oh hush,” Teegan said, “can’t you see Phoebe is suffering terribly? Her one chance at college might be down the drain (now this made me angry, who were they kidding?) but what is worse, she had to witness Mark kissing Mouche. He’s obviously in lust with her – Mouche, I mean.”

   “It must have been so hard for you,” Brooke said patronizingly.

   “It was just a play!” I interjected. “Besides, no one owns anyone and we’re not even together. They were acting.”

    “Didn’t look like acting to me,” Teegan said.

    I must admit, they did seem to have some serious chemistry. I should’ve stalked and claimed my prey in Sunrise Park when I had the chance (according to Chapter Nine of Mrs Robinson’s Guide).

    Oh, I was ready to weep like a heroine from one of the old-fashioned movies Jack Adams and Teegan and Mouche and I had watched together. And, of course, the show had to go on, so it was not officially Mouche’s fault. She’d only reluctantly agreed to don my costume.

    And here I was back stage, freezing and miserable as my best friend took my place during the deserved standing ovation. All the plans I’d had for prom and even my post high-school life suddenly seemed ground into the dust.

    “You’re such a drama queen,” Trey had once said, when I was delegating roles in our neighborhood Christmas pageant almost ten years ago. I was only six but I liked to be in control almost as much as Mouche.

     Not quite as much. Mouche had outsmarted me. Here she was, acting up a storm in place of me, a shining star. I’d wept as I watched her perform her scenes.

    “I’m so sorry, Phoebe,” Mark said again later that night, “Freya was just helping me practice the scene. I know that sounds like a line but I really mean it.”

    “Well, it seems like she did her job so well, she forgot to tell her friend how to place the props correctly and ah...I can’t move my foot.”  

     “I’ll get the nurse,” Freya added helpfully. Don’t you just love that? That part where girls pretend to be nice in front of boys they are trying to impress? It makes me so annoyed.

Pride and Princesses Frenemies chapter 25

Chapter 25

Frenemies

    Mouche walked towards me.

    My best friend had brought the Julliard people backstage to meet us. Was it her fault that they seemed more interested in talking to her about the possibility of a scholarship? They did say how great I was in the first two acts and Mouche looked at me with a wan smile, “I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered. Then I realised, it was my place to say, “what for?”

    I had to get over myself.

    This was not the end of the world. After all, we still hadn’t  organized dates for the prom, but I wasn’t letting her get away with taking my role and kissing my man and thinking it hadn’t  hurt me to the very core of my being.

     The Julliard representatives gave me a polite smile then walked off as Mouche and I scowled at each other.

    “How could you, Mouche? You were my best friend in the whole world!”

     Mouche looked stunned. She turned around without giving me another glance, and walked away.

     For the first time in years, Mouche and I went home without saying a word, separately and silent.

    Well, Mouche walked, I hobbled.

    My ankle was bound tightly but well on the way to healing.

    Of course, the play didn’t go off without a hitch, but it did end up being a huge hit. Rocco and Julie only ran for six nights but there was a packed house every night. Mark learnt his lines pretty quickly after his first performance (after all he had been listening to the rehearsals for months!) and really rose to the occasion. Mouche got the best reviews of her career. Thom begged her to come back to the agency as he phoned with updates on Wednesday’s audition. “It’s between her and one other girl but I will keep you posted...”

     Teegan glanced at me knowingly and said, “It’s amazing what some girls will do to get their baby sister famous...”

     “What do you mean?”

      Teegan had never really warmed to Mouche even though Mouche had made all her costumes beautifully and had really tried to be helpful once all the girls had realized their rules were somewhat skewed and they would need access to the proper advice.

     “Mouche would never kiss a boy just to get Wednesday famous.”

     “Not what I hear,” said Teegan. “It sounds like she’s been doing more than kissing. My sister told me Jet’s father owns the company making the advertisement. Seems like I didn’t have to put in a good word for her after all.”

     It’s interesting to note that often people accuse others of something they have imagined or have done themselves. Mouche was giving me the silent treatment and I was seriously beginning to miss her. My only outside “friend” contact came via the Princesses who were reverting, true to form, to type. Most of us were busy working on the final edit of the soon to be Boy Rating Blog now that our group effort, the team work of the second Boy Rating Diary, was practically in the bag.

      Mouche hadn’t returned my calls.

      The end of the school year was nigh, the dates had been dated, none of us had boyfriends (except maybe Mouche) but she  hadn’t  spoken to me for almost a week now, not since I’d yelled at her after the kissing scene with Mark. In truth, I’d only meant to ignore her for a day but it just seemed more and more difficult to talk. But let’s face it; the fault really lay entirely with me. I needed to own my jealous streak.

      Teegan wouldn’t talk to Mouche either. The leading Princess had always been envious of Mouche’s perfect hair, cornflower blue eyes and talent. Teegan had long wished for a reason to exclude such a pretty high-achiever. The other girls sided with Teegan, because deep down, they’d felt the same way. The only person who seemed to be talking to Mouche was Mark. Oh, and Jet. They all sat together to have lunch. It got even worse when I asked Jet to help me with my history homework (though I didn’t really need any help). That was when Mouche discovered me canoodling in a corner of the lunchroom with Jet. It was the same corner we’d invented the original Boy Rating Plan in, all those months ago.

     I grabbed Jet by the shirt collar, flicked his hair out of his eyes and planted a kiss on his cheek when he least expected it just as Mouche was walking over to say “hi,” and collect her lunch.

     She turned around again and before I knew it, even if I’d wanted to talk to her, she didn’t seem receptive to talking anymore. In fact, she frowned at me.

    I was way upset but pretending not to be when she began to appear in tandem with my nemesis, Freya. Mouche really knew how to go for the jugular. They were discussing fashion and pre-men as if I didn’t exist. Apparently, Freya was secretly jealous that I had stolen Teegan which wasn’t entirely true because Teegan was no replacement for Mouche. We didn’t have that much in common. 

     Teegan was acting more superior than ever. She was way too self-obsessed to be interested in my life plans (recently shelved). Teegan wasn’t interested in helping me become a better performer, either. She just wanted to discuss boys and talk about how easy it would be to prise Jet from Mouche (“if she’s even got him...”). This got a tad boring after a while. We polished a lot of fingernails and chewed a lot of gum.

     Life was lonely without Mouche. I went to my closet one afternoon and pulled out the hundreds of childish letters we’d written to each other over the years and a little tear dropped off my cheek and into the shoe box before I mopped it up with a tissue.

    My mom noticed me flicking through old photograph albums. She was getting ready to go on a group date with Martin, Mrs Mouche and Mrs Mouche’s new boyfriend, Jake.

   “I’m going to talk to Mouche’s mom about this. I’m sure there is a way for both of you to be friends again.”

   “No, mom, don’t. I’m going to work this out.”

   “Well, just remember darling, there are always boys, and it’s wonderful to make the right match and perhaps even have a husband one day, but real friendships can’t be replaced. The best ones last a lifetime...” 

     It was true.

     I waved to Trey when he was washing the car that weekend and he waved back but it just wasn’t the same. I’d have to start mentally preparing a proper apology. Perhaps I’d even write it down. I could list it in the Sunrise News if Mouche could even be bothered reading it. Maybe it would be better to put it in her letterbox, personalize it like in the good old days. Hopefully, Mouche would listen.

     Let’s face it, my friendship with Mouche seemed just as important as winning the game, maybe even more so.

     Then something happened which changed everything and forced us all to talk again on the day Miss Love and Mr Frames tied the knot.