Picture Perfect (35 page)

“
Thank you
,” I say as Cal grips my hand. “How did you know? I didn’t know how to get away. Do you think there’s a back door I can slip out of before anyone sees m—”

And then I stop.

Not because I’ve forgotten what I’m trying to say, but because just as I shape the final syllable, Cal puts his hands around my face.

And kisses me.

ow, I know something about kisses.

I know that when they’re right, the entire room and everything in it disappears.

That when they’re right, you can’t put a single thought into coherent order: everything jumbles up, as if your brain has been put in a washing machine set at the highest speed.

That the inside of you goes warm and starts tingling and vibrating, like an electric toothbrush.

I know the world stops.

Thanks to Toby, I also know that when they’re terrible they can be deeply uncomfortable and deeply awkward.

This is none of the above.

The harp plays and the candles flicker and the lights sparkle and the blue chiffon floats prettily around us.

But it’s
wrong
.

I know it’s wrong, because I’m thinking totally clearly. There’s no warmth, no tingling. There’s no happiness or excitement.

The world just keeps on spinning.

After two shocked seconds, I manage to put my hand up and push him away.

“What are you
doing
?”

“What did it
feel
like I was doing?” Cal says, raising his eyebrows.

“But …”
Now
my head is starting to tumble. “We’re
friends.
You don’t kiss
friends.

Not unless you’re Toby but we’ve talked about that.

“Oh, please. You’ve been wanting me to for days. It’s been written all over your face.”

“In what
language
?” I snap crossly. “Because it really, really hasn’t.”

Then I rub my mouth as a horrible guilty sensation sinks in.

Sugar cookies
.

This is
my
fault, though, isn’t it?

I let Cal show me the stars and hold my hand. I allowed him to catch me when I fainted. I came to a fairy-tale ball
on his arm
and then ran with him to a candle-lit corner.

What kind of horrible, selfish idiot
am
I?

“I-I didn’t mean to lead you on, Cal,” I stutter. “I really didn’t. You’re so nice, and you’ve been so thoughtful, but …”

You’re still not Nick. You never will be
.

“Fine,” Cal shrugs. “Whatever.”

And without another glance he pushes past the blue chiffon, back into the party.

stare at Cal’s retreating figure.

Then I try to follow him.

Except I can’t, because I manage to get tangled up in the blue fabric.

Obviously.

I should have seen
that
coming from the minute I entered the ballroom.

In a panic I spin myself energetically round like a fly caught in a web, and then start bleating through the chiffon: “Caleb. Wait. I can explain …”

A small white hand gently reaches down and disentangles me. “Let him go,” Fleur says quietly as I emerge, flushed and puffing. “There’s no point.”

“But …” I stare at her, and then at Cal. He must have walked fast: he’s already on the other side of the room. “I’ve hurt him. I need to say sorry, I need to—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Fleur says. “He’s done, Harriet. Tick.”

My eyes widen. “What do you mean
tick
? Like … off a list? Or like a parasitic arachnid that attaches itself to a vertebrate, sucks blood and then leaves a nasty bite?”

Fleur laughs grimly. “Both, actually. Caleb is an MC.”

“An MC?”

“A Model Chaser. He crashes fashion parties and photo shoots so he can get near to as many of us as possible. And now he’s done with you.
Tick.
”

I look back across the room to where Cal is now talking to a very pretty girl with long blonde curls.

With a lurch, I recognise all of it.

I recognise the focused, piercing expression and the charming smile. I recognise the way he’s grabbing her hand. I recognise the way he’s leaning in, to see if she has a sparkle in her eye when actually it’s astigmatism.

Then my stomach rolls again.

Did he ever actually call me
Harriet
? Does he actually even remember my
name
?

“I’m sorry,” Fleur says as I watch him flick a bit of imaginary fluff off the blonde’s shoulder and she goes bright red. “I should have warned you, but you had Nick then. And I thought you were smarter than –” she pauses – “well,
me
.”

I look in shock at her ashamed expression, and realise that ever since I saw Fleur in the LA MODE reception it’s been like looking at one of those pictures that can be two things: a candle or two faces, a bunny or a rat.

Except now I can only see one.

Fleur’s quietness.

Her jitteriness in the reception when Cal was on the sofa. The pink flush when Cal put her on the roller coaster. Her eagerness to get away once the shoot was done. Her inability to make eye contact.

Then I suddenly replay the look she gave me ten minutes ago. When Cal was standing right behind me.

None of it was about
me
.

It was about
him.

“But the planetarium,” I say, still feeling confused. “How did he know I’d like …”

“Stars?” Fleur raises her eyebrows. “What girl
doesn’t
?”

And the final puzzle piece falls into place. I bet there never was a photo shoot planned for this afternoon. I bet he just arranged it all with Kenderall.

“For me, it was a boat ride at sunset,” Fleur sighs. “For Cassie it was the Statue of Liberty. He took a picnic to Central Park with Lydia, bought Rosie flowers and Rachel got a ride in a horse-drawn carriage.”

My eyes widen, and I look again at Cal’s back.

Ugh
.

For the first time possibly ever, the biggest idiot in the room isn’t me.

“So you don’t hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?” Fleur says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Of course I don’t hate you, Harriet.” She pauses. “But I
do
hate New York, and I really, really want to go home. I’ve had three jobs in six months, I live with eight other models in a tiny flat where there’s never any hot water and I’m hungry
all
the time.”

I look at Fleur’s tiredness. She looks so much smaller than she used to. In more ways than one.

“It’ll be OK,” I say, reaching up and putting my arm cautiously around her high shoulder. I feel like Pooh Bear trying to cuddle Christopher Robin. “You can come and stay with us, and … and …”

Suddenly I can’t breathe properly.

“Had,” I say, gripping Fleur’s shoulder tightly. “
Had.
”

“Huh?” Fleur frowns.

“You said ‘You
had
Nick then’.
Had.
Past tense.”

“Oh my God, Harriet. I didn’t mean you to find out like … He’d only just got here and … I tried to explain, but he was too far away and he didn’t hear me and …”

The room disappears.

And then – bit by bit – I do too.

First my ears vanish. Then my chin. Then my lips and my shoulders and my arms. Then my fingers and my knees and my feet and my elbows.

Until I’m nowhere and nothing.

I look at the blue chiffon curtain. From one side, I could see lights. I could see people.

Which means they could see me and Caleb.

No.

No.

No no no no no
no no no no NO.

Because all I know now is this:

cheetah’s heart is capable of jumping from 120 beats per minute to 250 in a matter of seconds.