Read Online The Celeb Next Door by Hilary Freeman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hilary Freeman
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think I’m attractive. ‘You don’t mean …’
‘You got it, Ms Buttery. Max has got the hots for you. He fancies you.’ He grins again, cheekily. ‘So, my little brother and you, eh? What do you think?’
‘I … I … don’t know,’ I begin, flustered. The first thing that pops into my head to say is, ‘Max is lovely, but I don’t like him like that,’ but the truth is I’m not really sure how I feel. I love hanging out with Max, but I don’t know him well enough yet to know if I fancy him. Which is a rubbish excuse, because that’s never made a difference before. Usually, when I fancy someone, I don’t have to think about it: I just look at them and I know, instantly. But maybe I could fancy Max. He’s such a great guy … maybe he will grow on me. None of my other boyfriends (OK, there’s only been two of them) has ever worked out, have they? So maybe having butterflies in your tummy when you look at someone is actually a bad thing, and it’s good that I don’t get them when I’m with Max.
And then there’s Vix – Vix, who hardly ever fancies anyone but who has made it clear she’s interested in Max. If anything happens between me and Max, she’ll be upset, won’t she? Things are already a bit weird between us. But if he likes me, not her, then there’s not much either of us can do about it, is there? It would be pointless to throw away my chance just so I don’t hurt her. And it’s not as if Vix has declared her undying love for Max; she’s just said she might have a little crush. She’s only spent a few hours with him, after all, and I introduced him to her. She can hardly say, ‘I bagsied him first.’ Max isn’t a pair of shoes in a shop window, he’s a person. Oh, boo, it’s all so complicated. How I wish there were rules about these things.
‘Yes?’ says Rufus, raising his left eyebrow, and I wonder if he can see the cogs turning in my brain.
‘Um … tell him I
might
do,’ I say, cryptically.
‘Ah, playing hard to get,’ says Rufus. ‘I like your style. I’ll let him know.’
I give him a coy smile. That isn’t it, at all, but I’m not going to let him know how confused I am.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Let’s check out the collective.’ He rings the doorbell, without waiting for me to reply. It takes an age for someone to answer, but then there’s the sound of several locks being turned, and a girl peeps her head around the door. She has enormous green eyes and she would be very pretty if she didn’t have half her head shaved and piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip.
‘Hi there,’ says Rufus. ‘I’ve brought a little friend, Rosie, with me, I hope that’s OK.’
Oh my God, Rufus Justice called me his friend! I’m not quite so keen on the ‘little’ part, but I’ll forgive it. I grin at the girl, revelling in my new status.
‘Sure,’ she says, looking me up and down, suspiciously. ‘Hi, I’m Amanda.’ She lets us in and I stop for a second, taking in the decor. The inside of the collective house looks like any other house on the street, except the floorboards are bare, there are empty wine bottles and beer cans everywhere, and the unpapered walls are covered in doodles and half-finished paintings. Some of the paintings seem very familiar in style. There’s this famous but mysterious artist known as Winksy, who paints images on walls in the dead of night, and there have been several rumours that he lives in Camden. Could these paintings be his? Does he live here? Am I going to meet him? Wait till I tell Dad …
‘Rufus, Jack is waiting for you in the rehearsal room just here,’ says Amanda, pointing to her left. ‘Rosie, why don’t I show you around?’
‘OK,’ I say, keen to explore. I turn to say goodbye to Rufus, but he’s already disappeared.
‘So how do you know Rufus?’ asks Amanda.
I wonder if I should make up an intriguing story, but I can’t think of anything. ‘Er, he lives next door.’
Amanda bristles. ‘Oh right.
‘You got it, Ms Buttery. Max has got the hots for you. He fancies you.’ He grins again, cheekily. ‘So, my little brother and you, eh? What do you think?’
‘I … I … don’t know,’ I begin, flustered. The first thing that pops into my head to say is, ‘Max is lovely, but I don’t like him like that,’ but the truth is I’m not really sure how I feel. I love hanging out with Max, but I don’t know him well enough yet to know if I fancy him. Which is a rubbish excuse, because that’s never made a difference before. Usually, when I fancy someone, I don’t have to think about it: I just look at them and I know, instantly. But maybe I could fancy Max. He’s such a great guy … maybe he will grow on me. None of my other boyfriends (OK, there’s only been two of them) has ever worked out, have they? So maybe having butterflies in your tummy when you look at someone is actually a bad thing, and it’s good that I don’t get them when I’m with Max.
And then there’s Vix – Vix, who hardly ever fancies anyone but who has made it clear she’s interested in Max. If anything happens between me and Max, she’ll be upset, won’t she? Things are already a bit weird between us. But if he likes me, not her, then there’s not much either of us can do about it, is there? It would be pointless to throw away my chance just so I don’t hurt her. And it’s not as if Vix has declared her undying love for Max; she’s just said she might have a little crush. She’s only spent a few hours with him, after all, and I introduced him to her. She can hardly say, ‘I bagsied him first.’ Max isn’t a pair of shoes in a shop window, he’s a person. Oh, boo, it’s all so complicated. How I wish there were rules about these things.
‘Yes?’ says Rufus, raising his left eyebrow, and I wonder if he can see the cogs turning in my brain.
‘Um … tell him I
might
do,’ I say, cryptically.
‘Ah, playing hard to get,’ says Rufus. ‘I like your style. I’ll let him know.’
I give him a coy smile. That isn’t it, at all, but I’m not going to let him know how confused I am.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Let’s check out the collective.’ He rings the doorbell, without waiting for me to reply. It takes an age for someone to answer, but then there’s the sound of several locks being turned, and a girl peeps her head around the door. She has enormous green eyes and she would be very pretty if she didn’t have half her head shaved and piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip.
‘Hi there,’ says Rufus. ‘I’ve brought a little friend, Rosie, with me, I hope that’s OK.’
Oh my God, Rufus Justice called me his friend! I’m not quite so keen on the ‘little’ part, but I’ll forgive it. I grin at the girl, revelling in my new status.
‘Sure,’ she says, looking me up and down, suspiciously. ‘Hi, I’m Amanda.’ She lets us in and I stop for a second, taking in the decor. The inside of the collective house looks like any other house on the street, except the floorboards are bare, there are empty wine bottles and beer cans everywhere, and the unpapered walls are covered in doodles and half-finished paintings. Some of the paintings seem very familiar in style. There’s this famous but mysterious artist known as Winksy, who paints images on walls in the dead of night, and there have been several rumours that he lives in Camden. Could these paintings be his? Does he live here? Am I going to meet him? Wait till I tell Dad …
‘Rufus, Jack is waiting for you in the rehearsal room just here,’ says Amanda, pointing to her left. ‘Rosie, why don’t I show you around?’
‘OK,’ I say, keen to explore. I turn to say goodbye to Rufus, but he’s already disappeared.
‘So how do you know Rufus?’ asks Amanda.
I wonder if I should make up an intriguing story, but I can’t think of anything. ‘Er, he lives next door.’
Amanda bristles. ‘Oh right.
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