Free Read Me Like a Book by Liz Kessler

said that’s her favorite bit. I can’t wait to discuss it this afternoon. She’s brilliant, isn’t she?”
    I look at her sideways. So it’s not just me who thinks she’s cool. For a teacher. “Yeah, she’s —”
    “Excuse me, girls,” Luke says, butting in as he joins us in the queue. “Less of the bad language, if you don’t mind.”
    We look at him blankly as he holds his plate out for a helping of undercooked chips. “Books, lessons, ‘brilliant’ teachers. Isn’t this all getting a bit freaky? Are you forgetting where we are? This is school! We’re not here to work! There’s plenty of that to come when we’re too old to party. Which reminds me, are you coming on Friday, Robyn?”
    “Coming where?”
    “Party. Dylan’s house.”
    “Party?” It’s my turn to butt in. “What party?”
    “Don’t tell me you’re not coming!”
    What happened to the evening on our own that I’ve been worrying about? “Of course I’m going! I just didn’t realize the whole world had been invited.”
    “Well, not the whole world. And I wouldn’t exactly say ‘invited,’ as such. But that’s what happens when your parents go away, isn’t it? Remember your birthday? My house? Time to return the favor.”
    Before I can think of anything to say, Luke’s paid for his lunch, scribbled something on a piece of paper, and shoved it at Robyn: Dylan’s address! I don’t believe it! Wait. Isn’t Luke into Cat?
    “See you Friday,” he calls over his shoulder, and Robyn blushes. Uh-oh.
    “OK, Dylan, I’ll try to explain it one more time.”
    We’re sitting in his car, in what seems to have become our spot. For some people that would be a little wooden bench in the middle of a park, surrounded by beautiful old oak trees and pale pink blossoms. For us, it’s a knackered old Fiesta with no heating and nasty plastic orange seats, alongside a row of wheelie bins. The bin men dump them at the end of the road on Tuesdays, and you have to go around lifting the tops off them all to find your own. Ours has got “34,” with a smiley face painted inside the lid. God knows why. It’s no reflection of what anyone ever does in our house.
    Dylan looks interested when he hears the word “party” but seems to have completely missed one crucial point.
    “Dylan, you’re the host!”
    “But I don’t know anything about —”
    “Have you told anyone about your parents going away?”
    “Well, I might have kind of mentioned it to the lads after band practice . . .” His voice trails off and he bites a piece of skin off his thumb.
    Great. Not only am I freaking out about whatever I may or may not do on Friday, there’s now going to be a whole load of people turning up for a party while I may or may not be doing it.
    “We’ll just tell them we can’t let them in,” he says.
    Great thinking, Dylan.
“Yeah, right. Ever heard of King Canute?”
    He looks up, puzzled.
    “The geezer who tried to stop the tide from coming in.”
    We’re sitting in silence trying to work out what to do next when there’s a loud knock on his window. It’s bound to be Mrs. Langdale. I slide down in my seat.
    “I don’t want her to see me,” I mouth at Dylan as he winds his window down.
    “Huh? But it’s —”
    “Hi, Ash.” Cat’s face appears at the window.
    I heave myself back up, snagging my top on a hardened cigarette burn on the back of the seat. “Hi, Cat. Sorry, I thought you were . . . I was just . . . Oh, never mind.” I open my door. “Thanks for the lift, Dylan.”
    “But what are we going to do about —”
    “Look, just sort it out, OK? I’ll see you Friday.” I kiss him on his ear.
    “You mean . . .” He smiles and raises his eyebrows.
    “I just mean, whatever. See you Friday.”
    “He’s quite cute, I suppose,” Cat says as we walk up the road.
    “Yeah, he’s OK,” I reply, holding my smile in. Cat doesn’t give compliments very easily, so “quite cute” from her is more like “completely bloody