Boy Meets Ghoul Read online

  Because being gay is normal. I know that. I know there’s nothing weirder or worse about fancying someone whose anatomy diagram appears on the same page of the biology textbook as your own than there is fancying someone whose diagram’s in a whole different chapter. It would be strange, wouldn’t it, to think that love was a good thing, but only if you were anatomical opposites below the waist. We’ve all got the same kind of hearts, after all.

  But people are strange – that’s the thing. I’d had a few comments since people started finding out, but they didn’t usually bother me much. Kayla says that people who bully others for being different are either ignorant or they’re scared someone will find out they’re different too, and I think she’s probably right.

  But Freddie had been really nice to me so far, even if half our conversations had involved me nodding silently or faking a medical condition to explain my vocal malfunction.

  And he was smart, and talented, and had arm muscles that . . . were definitely, completely unimportant when it came to my opinion about his opinion of me.

  I just really would have liked him to like me, that was all. And wanting that made facing the moment when things might be about to change a little bit harder.

  But Freddie was waiting for an answer to who was calling, and I didn’t know how to lie and not feel like I’d let down either Leo or myself, somehow.

  So coughing the Sahara out of my throat, I said the simplest, most honest thing I could manage.

  ‘Oh, he’s called Leo.’

  Freddie had already started walking away from me, grabbing a shirt from his kitbag and pulling it over his head. That should have made it easier for me to concentrate around him, but it didn’t, really.

  He grinned. ‘That doesn’t tell me much. Is he from school?’

  ‘No, I – um. I met him on holiday. He’s a ballet dancer – he’s going to be famous for it one day.’

  For a minute, I almost started to give a nostalgic lecture on the delights of Starcross Sands and its crazy manager and chemical toilets, and the way Nibbles the dancing hamster had been the star attraction in the place. Just the memory of Leo in that stupid furry outfit made me smile.

  But Freddie was frowning over something. ‘Isn’t ballet for girls?’

  And my brain immediately translated the question as, ‘Isn’t ballet a bit gay?’

  If I’d been asked that a while ago, I might have laughed it off and tried to find a way to avoid answering that, no, dancing isn’t a bit gay. And nor is hairdressing, or fashion design. In fact, no jobs are a bit gay; it’s just that some gay people happen to do them.

  And if that was all it took, it would make football ‘a bit gay’ too. I was proof of that.

  Besides, I’d seen Leo dance, and he was incredible, and I was totally sure that had nothing to do with whether he fancied boys or girls.

  ‘Actually, dancers are proper endurance athletes. Did you know there are more injuries in dancing than football? Their pain tolerance is incredible. You should see the state of Leo’s feet. In fact . . .’ I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the photos I’d marked as favourites until I got to what Kayla always told me was the weirdest one.

  It was a picture of Leo’s feet. Only his feet, from the ankles down. They were bruised and strapped up, like they’d been in a bar fight with six pairs of angry DM boots. I thought it was amazing he could still walk like that.

  I showed Freddie, who whistled. ‘Blimey. But, why do you keep a picture of someone’s feet on your phone?’

  Which was a really good question. And I didn’t have an answer ready at all. ‘I, um. I just like feet? I mean I don’t like feet like feet. Not in a weird, hanging around Foot Locker smelling the shoehorns kind of way. It’s just his feet I like. Well –’ I took a long, deep breath – ‘I like all of him.’

  Freddie’s eyes widened for a moment. ‘Oh. Is he . . . your boyfriend, then?’

  And even though I’d already almost said it myself, it startled me to hear him use that description out loud, like it was so simple.

  It’s just not a leap that people make often. No one assumes I’ve got a boyfriend until I tell them, even though people assume Kayla’s my girlfriend all the time. So for some reason, when Freddie did, it felt almost nice. Like a little bit of the pressure that was settling round my shoulders had eased off.

  It made it much simpler to just nod, catching myself smiling a little, helplessly, as I confirmed it properly for him. ‘Sort of. Mostly. I think. Yeah.’

  I was still waiting for something to change. Something tiny and almost imperceptible at the corner of Freddie’s eyes, maybe. Some sort of sneer.

  It didn’t happen. Not at all.

  Although I suppose I could have missed it, because all the stress meant I somehow got my arm through the collar of my shirt and spent a minute trying to shove my head out through my armpit before figuring out the mistake.

  Freddie was dressed when I emerged from the shirt, his kitbag slung over one shoulder, like a model from a sports catalogue. He looked like he’d been waiting for me to break up the fight with my own clothes before he replied.

  He smiled.

  And then he said, ‘That’s a shame.’

  That heavy weight fell from my shoulders right into the pit of my stomach. ‘Look, if you’ve got some kind of problem with it, then—’

  He held up a hand, shaking his head. ‘No, no – I mean it’s a shame you’ve got a boyfriend already, that’s all. Because I think you’re kind of cute.’

  And then he was gone, heading through the changing-room doors. And even though I was standing still, for a minute it felt like everything was spinning.

  EIGHTEEN

  I was still feeling a bit dizzy about what Freddie had said when Kayla stuck her head around the door and sighed at me. ‘If you haven’t got any trousers on in two minutes, you’re going to have to risk arrest for indecent exposure. We’re about to miss the bus.’

  I chucked on the last of my clothes and sprinted for the bus stop, emerging from the training centre into the kind of rain that takes two seconds to soak you right through from your coat to your pants. I could have brought a towel with me and had my shower right there.

  Ahead of me, a bright red sports car had pulled half up on to the pavement. You’d think Jez Dutton might have wanted to drive something more subtle after the whole curry-crash incident, but apparently not. And there, sashaying her way towards the car, was Lacey Laine.

  She could afford to sashay, despite the rain, because she had Laurie and Chidi on either side of her holding umbrellas over her head. They were both soaked, but not a single feather on Lacey’s marabou mules had so much as wilted in the rain. I skidded to a stop for a moment, watching her climb in beside Jez and wave her helpers goodbye.

  They stood there, dazed and dripping.

  I only realized I was doing the same thing when I heard my name yelled across the tarmac and looked up to see Kayla standing between the front doors of the bus.

  She was busily pretending to be the world’s slowest person while getting her bus ticket out, fumbling around for it in the bottom of her oversized bag, when I slammed in through the doors behind her.

  It was the same driver we’d had yesterday. He didn’t look all that pleased to see me, but Kayla turned her head and grinned, gasping suddenly and patting her jacket pocket.

  ‘Well, what do you know? It was in here the whole time.’ She showed the driver her weekly pass and smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you for your patience.’

  I dug out my soggy, disintegrating one and held that up too, as he grunted and nodded me past.

  ‘Was that—’ Kayla began, picking two seats at the back.

  ‘Lacey Laine? Yup.’ I nodded, sitting and trying to ruffle the water out of my hair with my fingertips. It didn’t help much. ‘She’s been here the last two days. No idea why. I don’t think I’d want to spend all my time watching us play football – even if I didn’t have three perfume sponsorship deals and a black Nand
o’s card – but it seems like she does.’

  ‘Maybe she just doesn’t have much else to do,’ Kayla suggested. ‘Do you think she’ll come in tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know – probably. What are you smiling at?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m not smiling!’ Kayla protested, grinning like the Grinch surrounded by stolen Christmas presents. ‘I’ve just had an idea for making my video go a bit more viral, that’s all.’

  I should probably have been suspicious about that, but I was too busy trying to dry off my wet phone on my wet shirt and heaving a massive sigh of relief when it still turned on despite its smeary, damp surface.

  Three missed calls. Since I’d cut him off while I was talking to Freddie, Leo had tried to get in touch with me three more times.

  Something in my chest felt uncomfortably tight as I swiped the call notifications away. I should have been pleased that he’d made so much effort. He must have really wanted to talk to me. But I’d picked talking to someone else instead.

  What if Leo started thinking I was the one who wasn’t interested any more? He hadn’t left any messages. What if four calls were his limit, and now he’d realized he was wasting his time trying to reach me and had gone to spend time with some of the other dancers he was rehearsing with?

  I tried to picture them, but my knowledge of what dancers must look like was mostly based around Leo. Which made them all really tall, and fit, and stupidly good-looking, with wide smiles and kind eyes. I hated them all already. Worst of all, they weren’t halfway across the country from him being made to run laps by Satan’s favourite football coach.

  I should definitely have picked ballet instead of football when we were offered after-school sports in primary school.

  ‘Dylan?’

  ‘After all, pirouettes can’t be that different from three-sixty-degree spins, right?’

  Kayla blinked at me for a moment. ‘I honestly have no idea. But maybe you can ask Leo, if you answer your phone.’

  I’d turned the sound off, somehow, but she pointed to where the picture of Leo with his love hearts and floral crown was lighting up the screen in my lap. I don’t know how I’d possibly felt embarrassed about it. It was the best picture ever.

  The call asked me if I wanted to connect with video. I tapped on yes, and Leo’s face – his real, right-now, not-out-with-a-bunch-of-stupid-sexy-dancers face – was right there.

  I didn’t even care that I could feel how hard Kayla was rolling her eyes at my goofy smile.

  ‘Hi.’

  Even better, Leo was smiling too.

  ‘Hey, I thought I was going to miss you.’ He pauses, squinting a little at the screen. ‘Were you in the bath?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I looked at the little picture of myself in the corner of the screen, alerting me to the way my hair was slicked down across my forehead like a shiny black swimming cap. Really attractive. I tried to ruffle it up again, but only managed to slick it backwards, now looking like a greasy gangster from a mafia movie. ‘The rain. You rang while I was running for the bus.’

  I tipped my screen so Leo could see Kayla in the window seat beside me, rain still hammering against the glass. ‘See?’

  It was only a little lie. He had rung while I was running for the bus. At least, the second or third time.

  ‘I see,’ Leo’s voice said, the phone still tipped away. ‘Hi, Kayla. Dylan told me you were cheerleading.’

  Kayla waved at my phone. ‘That’s also what I told Dylan I was doing.’

  ‘Uh-huh. So what are you doing instead?’

  Pulling my arm back, I gaped at Leo. ‘You’ve met Kayla, like, three times! How did you know?’

  Leo grinned. ‘I’ve met Kayla three times. It’s enough. So what’s she doing?’

  Kayla leaned over. ‘I’m mounting an assault on the monolith of rock.’

  ‘So trying to win some Deathsplash tickets?’ Leo nodded. ‘Cool.’

  My mouth still hadn’t closed since the cheerleading thing. I glared at Kayla. ‘Did you give him some kind of Kayla-to-English translation book you’ve never told me about?’

  On-screen, Leo was laughing. It was kind of the best sound ever. ‘No, I just saw this thing linked on Twitter this morning. “Ten Crazy Ways Fans Are Trying to Win Concert Tickets.” One of them was this photo of some cute boy in a chicken shop, half covered by a sheet and looking like he’d got mugged by a ketchup-wielding maniac. It had Kayla’s handle under it.’

  Kayla clutched my arm. ‘I made the top ten! That has to be a good sign.’

  ‘You thought I looked cute?’ I asked Leo, feeling the tops of my ears starting to get warm enough to evaporate off the rain.

  ‘Cute and ketchuppy,’ Leo said.

  ‘It was hot sauce. I’m still finding it in unsavoury places.’ I sighed. ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Rehearsals are tough,’ Leo replied. ‘And boring. Not much to report.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go, though – we’ve got this thing tonight.’

  ‘Thing?’ I raised my eyebrows.

  Was it my imagination, or did he look guilty for a moment?

  ‘Going out,’ he said, ‘with some of the other dancers. Anyway, it was good to see your face. Dry off safely, yeah?’

  I was still nodding dumbly when he hung up. I hated every single one of Leo’s fellow dancers’ gorgeous, imaginary faces.

  ‘What do you think he meant, dry off safely?’ I asked Kayla, finally.

  ‘Well, you have been known to headbutt hand dryers before,’ she muttered, but she’d stopped paying any real attention when Leo had mentioned her photo. She held her own phone up now, triumphant.

  We really had made the pages of a few news websites talking about the contest. Two photos of me seemed to be the main image for all the articles: one in a ghostly sheet, flying through the air in a shower of chick’n bits; the other lying on the pavement with the sheet pulled away from my face and wrapped round me like a shroud.

  ‘Look, we have to win now – we’re famous!’ Kayla declared. ‘You’re a celebrity spook now, Dylan.’

  The bus turned into the hotel car park, and I peered past her out of the window.

  ‘Speaking of spooks . . . please tell me that’s not what Mum’s looking for right now?’

  NINETEEN

  Mum was definitely out looking for the hotel ghost. As Kayla and I joined her outside the lobby doors, she cupped a hand around the candle she was holding and whispered, ‘Is there anybody there?’

  ‘Just us, Mum,’ I said, tapping her on the shoulder. ‘But there’s a coachload of grannies heading this way, if you want to talk to someone historical.’

  Mum jumped, startled, and turned our way. ‘Dylan! Don’t interrupt me like that. I’m sure I sensed something – there’s a strange variance in the temperature out here.’

  ‘You mean, where the automatic doors keep opening and letting out warm air into the cold?’ I asked. ‘Very spooky.’

  ‘Dismiss it all you like,’ Mum said, ‘but I think there’s something to it. You know, I am spiritually sensitive.’

  ‘You mean you’ve seen ghosts?’ Kayla asked.

  I groaned. It was always a bad idea to engage Mum on this kind of thing.

  Mum looked ecstatic to be asked. ‘Well, never actually seen,’ she said in her most dramatic voice. ‘But when our little cat Curly passed on, I often heard crunching noises when I was alone in the kitchen . . .’ She paused for effect. ‘Like someone eating Friskies from beyond the grave!’

  ‘Well, there are famous cases of animal ghosts,’ Kayla said.

  I rolled my eyes and tried to hiss something about not encouraging Mum, but she’d already launched into her story.

  ‘For example, the Demon Cat of Washington DC is very well known,’ Kayla went on, while Mum nodded, as if this were total stone-clad proof that she was a pet psychic. ‘It’s been seen for hundreds of years in the hallways of the government buildings there. They say it appears at times of great change, like election days
and political tragedies. It was seen before the assassinations of Lincoln and Kennedy.’

  ‘Don’t you think there’s a chance it might just be . . . a cat?’ I asked. ‘I see cats all the time. And how do they know it’s the same one anyway? I don’t mean to be catist, but they all look the same to me.’

  Kayla smiled, looking like someone who should be telling this story under a blanket by a camp fire, with a torch held under their chin. ‘Because this cat grows bigger and bigger when someone approaches it, until it’s the size of a tiger with pitch-black fur. They say it pounces on unsuspecting intruders, vanishing seconds before its giant teeth would close round their throat.’

  ‘See, Dylan – I told you I had paranormal abilities.’ Mum looked as pleased as the giant demon cat that got the cream.

  ‘So who died and made you the physical embodiment of Wikipedia?’ I asked Kayla, after we’d left Mum wondering if Mary the ghostly maid might have a few spectral pets.

  ‘Actually, I am an editor for them,’ Kayla retorted, tossing her head. ‘I read about a project someone started to add more female scientists to the listings, and I decided to start my own, dedicated to female lawyers. Although they did delete one of my suggestions, because it turns out Reese Witherspoon didn’t really go to law school.’

  When we got out of the hotel lift, Kayla took up her now habitual position next to me on the opposite side of the hall to the set of rooms we now knew belonged to the Deathsplash Nightmares. It was weird to have her use me to hide behind. I was usually the one with the irrational anxieties.

  ‘They’re probably out doing publicity or something,’ I told her. ‘I don’t think rock stars spend whole weeks just sitting around in their hotel rooms.’

  Unlike us. Dad and Jude were at the cinema, but I wasn’t invited so I could ‘rest my goal-scoring feet’. I had no idea why I couldn’t do that in front of a big screen while stuffing my face with popcorn.