Head Over Heels. Holly Smale
a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I add, gulping some down and standing back up. “We could do with another run-through of the plans.”
Then there’s a silence.
A silence so long you could use it as a tree-swing, should you be capable of swinging from silences.
“Do you want to tell her,” India says to Nat, “or shall I?”
I blink at them. “Tell me what?”
“Umm, Harriet,” Nat says quickly, going pink around the ears and brandishing the paper at me, “I’ve just opened my last essay. I got a C. I’m going to have to put some more work in, like yesterday.”
“And my mum’s texted,” India grimaces, quickly flipping up her phone. “She doesn’t want me staying out so close to exams.”
“I could really use the extra time to get some painting done,” Jasper says, grabbing his big black A Level art folder from behind the counter, “if everyone else is going to be working.”
We automatically turn and look at Toby.
“Has anyone seen my new Dr Who Sonic Screwdriver with LED Flashlight?” he says, holding it up. “It’s really useful for confusing cats.”
“So what are you saying?” A hot fizzing is starting at the base of my stomach, as if somebody’s just combined vinegar with baking soda. “Are you cancelling on me again?”
“Not cancelling,” Nat says, flushing a little harder and fiddling with the paper. “Just … delaying.”
“Again?” I say, stomach still fizzing.
“It’s only the second time.”
“You’re cancelling my sleepover AGAIN?”
“Our sleepover,” India says, frowning. “It’s our sleepover, Harriet.”
“That’s what I said,” I snap, crossing my arms.
I can’t believe this.
Why can’t my friends organise their spare time properly like I have? I’ve got exams coming up too, and you don’t see me panicking and changing plans at the last minute.
Mainly because I’ve been revising in reasonable chunks every single night for the last six months and my carefully calculated schedule is working perfectly.
But still: preparation.
“Harriet,” Nat says tiredly, putting the paper back in her stuffed handbag and rubbing her eyes again. “What do you think I’d rather do? Examine the thread count of different fabrics or watch romcoms with you guys?”
“Wait,” Jasper says in alarm, “we were going to watch romcoms? When was this covered?”
“Oooh!” Toby says, sticking his hand up. “I know this one! Ask me! Ask me!”
And – just like that – my sulkiness pops.
I’m not being very fair, am I?
Everyone’s genuinely busy working and revising and obviously they don’t want to not have fun tonight.
I’m just disappointed, that’s all.
Then I look closer at my normally happy gang and something in my chest twinges. The skin around Nat’s eyes is darker than normal; Jasper’s scowl is deeper and there’s a smudge of orange paint near his ear. India’s got black roots for the first time since I’ve known her.
Toby looks well rested and calm, but I suspect he has a similar schedule to mine.
A group at the University of Virginia studied twenty-two different people who were under threat of receiving an electrical shock to either themselves, a close friend or a stranger.
It turns out the brain activity of a person in danger is indistinguishable from the brain activity of a person when someone they love is in danger instead.
My friends are tired, stressed and anxious.
These are my people and if they’re not happy, I’m not happy either.
Something needs to be done.
“OK,” I say, thinking fast. “How about I sort out a little food fest for when you’ve got half an hour free?”
“That would be great,” India smiles broadly. “Thanks, Harriet.”
“You’re ace,” Nat says, giving me a hug.
“Hang on.” Jasper looks up from his art folder. “You’re not going to turn us into fajitas or burritos, are you, Harriet-uccino? I knew those guacamole face masks you had planned were leading to something.”
I stick my tongue out at him.
“Don’t worry, guys,” I say reassuringly, putting my Team JINTH Sleepover folder away. “I’ve got this.”
After all, isn’t that what friends are for?
To their surprise, they found that – rather than swinging from trees – the orang-utans decided to use the felled timber as roads, save energy and just walk to where they were going instead.
The moral of the story is: it’s important to adapt.
And also – let’s be honest – avoid unnecessary exercise at all costs.
By the time I get home, I’ve already started mentally working through a new plan. I can’t let my friends lose their happy glow. So there’s no time for a sleepover any more: that’s OK. I’m flexible. Supple. Capable of changing direction at will; of dipping and swerving through life like a swallow or a swift or a house martin.
Or maybe some kind of nimble pigeon.
I’m going to make my friends the best Team JINTH Picnic of All Time.
It’s going to be a quick, breezy, casual picnic in the park: the kind of picnic that provides physical, mental and spiritual sustenance fast when you need a proper break.
The kind of picnic that screams ‘happiness’ at the top of its lungs. Because, let’s face it, nothing says joy and relaxation like a full stomach and personalised biscuits.
All I need now is a suitable theme.
Maybe a few decent recipes. A couple of drink options. Possibly bunting. It wouldn’t hurt to work out exactly where to position us to maximize sunshine and protection from the wind, either.
I’m pretty sure there’s room for the five of us on the roundabout, but maybe I should measure it first just to—
“Harriet?” Annabel says as I burst through the front door with a bang and start pounding straight up the stairs.
“Can’t stop!” I call cheerfully over my shoulder. “Super busy!”
Taking into account preparation time and the actual picnic itself, I’m going to have to rearrange my week’s revision plan.
This is exactly why it’s so handy to have it saved as a spreadsheet. A few quick presses of a button and a new colour-code, and I’ll have a brand-new, highly flexible schedule with space for spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment activities like picnics.
“Harriet!” Annabel says a lot more loudly. “Just wait a second!”