Head Over Heels. Holly Smale
door is still swinging: that’s how fast my entire battalion of friends has come charging in, swords drawn.
Metaphorically, obviously.
It’s not 1675, and coffee shops are no longer the illegal hub of political uprisings.
“Awwwww,” Nat says with a bright smile, lifting her feet to make herself as heavy as possible, “Alexa Roberts. You kept my seat warm for me. How sweet.”
“It’s warm?” India throws herself casually into the seat next to them and kicks off her purple suede boots. “Weird. I always assumed she’d be cold-blooded.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Toby objects, perching on the coffee table wearing a T-shirt with a tardis drawn on it that says TRUST ME, I’M THE DOCTOR. “All mammals have warm blood. Are we JINTHA now? Because we’re going to need new baseball caps.”
“What the … how the …” Alexa is worming her way out from beneath Nat and struggling to her feet, face purple, smirk completely gone. “GET THE HELL OFF ME, FREAK. You can’t just go around sitting on people!”
“Oops,” Nat shrugs with wide eyes. “The seat usually has my name on it. Or maybe you changed your name by deed poll because you’re so desperate to be me.”
“And Harriet didn’t look like she was loving your company,” India points out, propping her toes on the coffee table while her bright purple hair gleams under the fairy-lights. “It seemed like a good point to interrupt.”
In fairness, I’d have probably been more entertained if I had a single clue what Alexa was talking about.
“This place is pathetically hipster anyway,” Alexa snaps furiously, brushing her jeans down with a disgusted look on her face. “It’s a destination for jokes like you to pretend you have real lives outside of academia. You can so have it.”
HA. Told you it’s super-cool in here.
Alexa sneers at me and I stare calmly back. Captain America has a shield made of vibranium, and it’s completely indestructible. Hulk can smash it, Thor can hammer it, and nothing happens.
It feels like I finally have one too.
Smiling serenely, I lift my chin and give her my most regal expression. She absorbs it for a few seconds, clearly deeply impressed by my incredible majesty.
Then she bursts out laughing again.
“Geek,” she says, shaking her head. “Laters, Manners. I must dash. This place is yours: I wouldn’t want it anyway.”
And – with a final flick of her hand – Alexa walks away.
I think it’s obvious which one that was.
“Well,” I grin broadly, triumphantly putting my crossword down on the table. “We definitely won that one, huh, guys.”
Then I hold up my hand to high-five them all.
There’s a silence.
“Uh, Harriet,” India says, rubbing her top lip. “What are you drinking?”
Oh my God, why does everyone keep asking me that? “It’s coffee,” I say a little too defensively. “With caffeine molecules in it.”
Then I look to Nat for support, but her head is down, her shiny dark hair has fallen across her face and her shoulders are shaking.
“Did you know, Harriet,” Toby says, putting a finger on his top lip, “that in Mayan times the cocoa bean was used as currency because it was more valuable than gold?”
I blink and look back at Nat. She’s holding a finger up to her top lip now too.
OK: this is amazing.
We’ve obviously got some kind of gang gesture, even better than a high-five. My pals have become so utterly in-sync and synergised, we don’t even need to talk about it first. That’s how in tune we are with each other.
I beam and put my finger on my top lip too.
It seems a little inappropriate – especially in light of the Second World War – but who am I to question our clique motives?
This is what I love so much about us.
We work seamlessly together: like a prickle of porcupines, or a dray of squirrels, a journey of giraffes or a band of mongoo—
“Hey, genius,” Jasper says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen with a tray full of clean mugs, “you’ve got chocolate all over your face.”
Then he puts the tray down on the counter and disappears again.
I blink at the space Jasper was just standing in.
There’s a mushroom called the Omphalotus olearius that gives off a glow so bright it’s possible to read a book at night by its light. My cheeks are suddenly so luminous, I could power an entire nocturnal library.
Growing on me. Goatee. Mo’. Shave it for later. Manning up.
Must dash. Mustdash. Moustache.
Oh my God, Alexa didn’t think my expression was regal and majestic at all.
Unless she assumed I’m Abraham Lincoln.
Still shaking with suppressed giggles, Nat holds a hand-mirror up and sure enough: there’s a thick dark brown line on my upper lip and a large poo-coloured streak on my chin.
Sugar cookies.
“You know,” Toby says loyally as I bury my head in my arms with a humiliated groan, “beards actually make you 63% more likely to win a staring contest. No wonder Alexa left so quickly, Harriet.”
And that does it.
With an explosion of giggles, India and Nat collapse on the sofa and I remember again why I tend to hang out in places away from the public eye.
Maybe I didn’t win that particular battle after all.
Maybe I should just keep looking.
I bet the other 392 wouldn’t spend eight whole minutes laughing at my foamy facial hair.
By the time everyone has stopped giggling – and I’m wiped clean with a series of damp cloths – normality has finally resumed.
Nat’s sipping her coconut milk latte; India’s sprawled across the sofa with her second espresso and Toby’s ploughing through a glass of hot milk. Jasper pops over occasionally to contribute another burnt biscuit or sardonic comment.
And I’ve spread my documents across the table.
Tonight is the first ever Team JINTH sleepover and I am the inaugural host. And I don’t want to sound vain, but I have arranged everything.
I’ve organised which games we’ll play and which films we’ll watch and what kind of food we’re going to eat. I’ve written