“Hi!” I yell, then wince. Readjust to nonparty volume. “Sorry. Hello. I know this is your room, sorry.”
“That’s okay. What’s going on?” he asks, shutting the door. “I’ve been watching you and you seem a little…”
Unhinged. Out of control.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say. “I couldn’t find you.”
“You didn’t look very hard,” he says mildly, coming to sit next to me. “Every time I try to cross the garden to talk to you, you run away.”
Do I? I haven’t even noticed Thomas in the crowd. I’ve been keeping an eye on the darkness.
“If you’re still mad about Manchester, if you didn’t want to kiss me…”
“I did! I do! I’m running away from the wormhole, not you.”
Thomas frowns. “Are you drunk?”
The darkness climbs onto the bed, nestling in the shadows between the pillows. And I kiss him, really kiss him. Not like it was in the kitchen. Or sweet, like the churchyard. There’s darkness all around us now, so I kiss him like I want the world to stop. At least, I try to.
I launch myself, hands everywhere, pushing him backwards onto the bed. My arms are under his T-shirt, my mouth open and pressed to his closed lips. He’s not responding and I try harder, putting his arms under my vest, start fumbling with my own bra strap. The darkness slides closer.
Gently, he pushes me away.
“G,” he says, sitting up. “Don’t. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. What? Nothing. It’s fate, like you said. Don’t you want to?” I throw myself at him again in the half dark, try to put his arms round me. There’s so little time left.
“Slow down a second,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. “Hang on. You’re acting strange.”
He breaks off, and I fill the silence.
“We’re running out of time,” I try to explain. “You’re leaving, and, and…”
“Wait.” Thomas holds up a hand, as though I’m a runaway train that he’s trying to stop. His other hand digs in his pocket for his inhaler, and he takes two puffs. “Is that the cake?”
In the gloom, we both look at the slice of Black Forest gateau I stole. It’s squashed from where I pushed Thomas into it.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Let’s just go back to the party, okay? I’ll get you some water.”
He holds out his hand. I take it and let him lead me out into the garden. The darkness follows us.
“Thomas, I…”
“We can talk properly, tomorrow,” he says, squeezing my hand. Not looking at me.
I nod as I stumble after him. There’s cake all over the back of his cardigan. Halfway through the crowd, the music cuts out.
“Weeeiiirrrd.”
“Just wait,” Thomas says as a guitar chord slices through the silence.
Ned’s voice echoes over my head as he yells, “Hello, er, garden! Let’s rock!”
“You knew about this?” I say to Thomas as the crowd surges forward, knocking me out of his hand. Ned begins to play. I’m confused—where is he? I can see Jason and Niall through a clump of people. This isn’t Fingerband. A girl’s voice begins to sing and I’m turning around, stumbling into people, trying to work out where Ned is.
Thomas grabs me and steers me through the crowd, spinning me round on the grass and when I stop spinning everything keeps whirling around me, I think I’m going to be sick, and then I’m not going to anymore, I’m just dizzy.
I look up and there, on the shed roof, is Ned, gold jumpsuit and eyes closed, bent over his guitar, hair streaming to the ground. Next to him at the mic, her gold minidress matching his outfit, is Sof. They look like a pair of C-3POs. Oh.
My brother has a new band. And everyone knew except me. They must have spent so much time practicing, to be this good. Is this what Ned’s been rushing off to all summer? And since when does Sof sing in front of anyone but me?
“Thanyouvermuch.” Ned Elvises out of the song. His guitar swings from its strap as he swaps it for his camera, takes a photo of the party. “I’m Ned, this is Sofía, together we are Jurassic Parkas. We’re not The Wurst band in the world…” He winks at the crowd. “I bet you’re all just glad it’s not Fingerband up here.”
Did he really just say that? I can’t stop staring at them. They’re twins. More brother and sister than he and I are. And I’m the one who made up Jurassic Parkas, last summer.
“Now we’re going to play: ‘Velocirapture,’” Sof growls into the mic. She doesn’t sound shy.
I turn and stumble away, pushing my way through the people cheering. My head is throbbing, I need quiet, I need …
“Ermahgahd, ermahgahd, ermahgahd!” Suddenly Sof’s croaking at me in the kitchen. I look up from the drink I’m nursing in the corner. My mouth tastes vomity but I don’t remember throwing up.
I don’t remember how I got here.