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  ‘We’ll try the peach ones,’ he says again, raising his eyebrows.

  She turns on her heel and disappears into the back of the shop. He turns back towards me and flicks his hair to the side, as is his custom. I didn’t start going out with him because of his online stardom, or because of his hair. I started going out with him because he stood up for me, when no one else would. It happened two months ago, early on a Sunday evening when I was at Charlotte’s, the frozen yoghurt place where all the kids from the neighborhood go, sketching outfits in my notebook. I was alone as usual. I spent most of my time outside the house alone, on account of my newfound position as a social pariah, that is unless I was with my sister, in which case that would make two social pariahs – the only difference is that my sister chose to be one, and I never did.

  And so I sat that day, nibbling on my mango and kiwi yoghurt, covered in strawberry sauce, minding my own business, until Jenna Kutz, one of the girls from East Park, the private girl’s school I go to, came over – a girl I used to know and say hi to in the hallways. It took her all of ten seconds to accuse me of ‘killing her friend Terence.’ I almost spat out the contents of my mouth when I heard that. Her friend? Terence had never so much as mentioned her in all the years I had known him. It amazes me how many ‘best friends’ Terence suddenly had after he was gone. It wasn’t long before a couple more girls joined in, hemming me in to my booth, making it impossible for me to leave.

  Just when I thought I might drown in my own embarrassment, Mason showed up out of nowhere, and told the girls to shut up and leave. Just like that, in front of everyone. And because he’s Mason Williams, and he’s one of the most well liked guys at the boy’s private school, Magnus Heights, they did. In fact, they skulked off and have never spoken to me since. I still don’t know why he did that. He was in the same year as Terence, but they never really knew each other, and he didn’t know me either. But he did what he did that day, and I’m thankful for it. Much to my astonishment, he stayed to buy me another frozen yoghurt and ever since then, we’ve dated.

  ‘I can’t wait to see you in those shoes,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, they are pretty.’

  ‘Oh my god your British accent is so gorgeous. Damn. Every time you speak it makes me want to kiss you, girl.’

  I feel my cheeks warm. He’s always saying this kind of thing. These American boys are so forward, not like the British boys I remember from childhood who showed they fancied you by either ignoring you or picking on you.

  ‘My English rose.’

  I look at him and see that there’s no denying the fact that he’s gorgeous. His skin is smooth like caramel and his cheeks slant in towards full lips. His eyes are dark green and constantly alive. I still can’t believe we’re dating. He’s my first actual boyfriend, much to the displeasure of my entire family. Most mothers would be delighted to have his handsome face brought home by their daughter, but not mine. My mum wishes I was too busy training to think about boys. I know what she wants for me, I know what they all want for me – and it isn’t this. I sigh heavily at the thought.

  ‘What’s up, cutie?’ says Mason, brushing my chin with his finger. ‘You’re not thinking about Terence are you?’

  His eyes shimmer with concern. He knows I still have days when I can’t get out of bed, when all I can do is lie in the blackness until Mum comes in to open the curtains. I shake my head and give a half smile.

  ‘No, no,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t.’

  He tenderly puts a lock of hair behind my ears. The shop assistant reappears holding a luxurious box the colour of faded gold. She opens it in silence as though we are being shown something of religious significance, revealing a pair of high heels cushioned in velvety material.

  ‘Oh my,’ I say.

  Mason’s eyes widen.

  ‘Try them on.’

  The shop assistant pulls them out as if handling pieces of fine art and as I step into them I pray to myself, whilst holding onto Mason’s arms, that they will fit.

  ‘Ah,’ he sighs, as my feet slip into the shoes. ‘Beautiful.’

  I walk over to one of the mirrored walls. They are impressive shoes, no doubt about that. I flatten down the front of my light tan dress which flares out from my waist and touch the blue rose which sits in my hair. Terence would absolutely love these.

  ‘Perfect,’ says Mason. ‘We’ll take them.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say. ‘I mean, really.’

  ‘Yes I do. I want to.’

  I smile at him and squeeze his hand. This is the first time anyone apart from my mum has bought me shoes. It feels nice – that is, it feels nice until I realise Terence will never have a pair of beautiful shoes bought for him by a beautiful guy. Knowing how much he would have loved that takes all the joy out of the moment. The store assistant wraps and boxes the shoes and continues to eye us suspiciously, even as she returns Mason’s credit card. Once the shoes are in a pretty brown bag, we walk out of the shop onto the street outside.

  3. Tea & Cake

  Manhattan, New York

  A wave of noise and movement hits us as curls of steam roll up from the sidewalk. Mason hands me the bag, beaming. I catch him looking at himself in the reflection of a shop window as he flicks his hair again.

  ‘Your hair is perfect, Mason,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

  I’ve never been around the male species much before – just my Dad who would never do such a thing and then Terence… and well, he had lovely hair but he never messed with it like Mason does.

  ‘I know my hair is perfect, princess,’ he answers, reaching over with one arm to lightly tap my nose as he places the other arm across my shoulders, hugging me in towards him.

  He gives me a cheeky smile, then tries to squeeze my cheeks.

  ‘Enough,’ I say.

  I bat his hand away from my face, but I find myself unable to resist smiling. He looks at his watch.

  ‘We have Afternoon Tea booked for three,’ he says, pulling out his shades and putting them on. ‘That’s what you wanted isn’t it?’

  I nod.

  ‘You’re the first girl I’ve dated who wants to drink tea with me all the time.’

  I raise my eyebrows.

  ‘I’m British!’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Without tea, I would be swallowed up by all this… American-ness!’

  I gesture at the skyscrapers towering all around us. Secretly, of course, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.

  ‘Besides,’ I say, ‘are you saying you’ve been out with other girls?’

  I know full well he has, I knew that about him before we ever spoke. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that Mason Williams has dated a lot.

  ‘Yes, but you are the loveliest.’

  He lowers his head and kisses me on the cheek. The warmth of his lips sends a glow from my face to my feet. We walk along the crowded street, past the tourists, the businessmen, past a homeless man sat in a doorway with his feet wrapped in bits of garbage bag. I turn to the buildings that are plastered in glowing advertisements, a multitude of faces smiling down. Without warning, a scream fills the air, making my heart miss a beat. I turn my head towards the noise, close by, and see a man wearing a baseball cap, his face partly covered by a bandana, running away from a woman with a handbag clutched in his hands. Mason pulls away from me but immediately, I pull him back, clinging to his jacket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say.

  ‘Did you see what just happened?’

  ‘Yes!’

  People swarm around us. He peers into the crowd. The man with the handbag has already disappeared.

  ‘We shouldn’t get involved,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’

  He’s frowning, craning his neck.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ I say, my voice rising, my fingers wrapping tighter around the edges of his jacket.

  I’ve had enough strife to last a lifetime.

  ‘Please Mason.’

>   I feel tears stinging the backs of my eyes. He looks at me, questioning. I glance over to the woman. She looks lost and upset and it makes me feel a stab of guilt; I should go over there, say something – she’s confused – but I can’t… I just can’t.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ I say, in dismay. ‘We’ll just make it worse. The cops will take care of it.’

  I turn my gaze away from the scene.

  ‘There’s people with her now,’ he says, peering over. ‘He got away though. Damn.’

  Up until a year ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance to chase that guy. I would’ve torn along at his heels, because I considered it my duty to ‘protect’ the citizens of New York. That’s all I ever used to do. I tried to arrest a boy being mean to a dog in the park once. I found seats for old ladies on the bus. But those days are gone, and looking back, it’s like I was a completely different person. I grip on to the shopping bag.

  ‘Come on, Mason. Let’s go.’

  ‘Tea,’ he says.

  I nod.

  ‘Yes, tea.’

  We reach Mason’s car which is a moody looking Mustang. As I slide into the leather seat I think about how my parents would never buy me such a thing, even though they could afford it. Perhaps Dad would, if I asked sweetly enough. But then Mum would veto the whole deal, saying I had to work for it or something. Had to earn it. I turn to Mason who looks more like a boy now than ever behind the thick, leather-clad wheel. Then I glance out the window and see that two cops are stood next to the woman. I bite my lip. I hope she’s all right.

  A little while later we find ourselves at Mrs Smith’s Tea Room: my favourite place in the city. It’s been here for generation upon generation, run by the same English family, a legend of the Upper East Side. We open the door which creaks as we walk in. Teapots of all shapes and sizes line the walls, small tables are covered with tablecloths and the smell of baking fills the air, reminding me of London.

  We are seated by one of the waitresses, a plump girl with rosy cheeks and shoulders you just want to hug. We are on first name terms, Cathy and I, because I come here so much. She sits us next to a table of four girls who I vaguely recognize – they’re a few years older than me and I’m pretty sure they went to East Park. They certainly look like it with their French nails and hip little outfits. They sip from flowery teacups and poke at their phones. Mason smiles at them as we sit down and they all smile back, giving little waves. Here are some people who clearly have seen his videos, and he is delighted.

  ‘What?’ he says, as he sees me frowning. ‘I can’t help being loved. It comes with the territory.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You’re adorable when you’re angry,’ he says.

  I ignore him and dive into the menu, then order Afternoon Tea for both of us. Cathy bustles back with a red teapot with white spots on it and a selection of sandwiches and cakes displayed on a three-tiered cake stand. I scold Mason when he tries to pour the tea before it has brewed and a little while later, cringe as he overfills his cup and starts drinking from the spoon. Terence would never do that. My mum taught Terence and me how to drink tea from an early age. She tried to teach my sister but she said it was ‘too girly’ and deliberately kept doing it wrong. At 14 years old, my sister only drinks coffee. Despite this, Mum continues to insist that we never forget our British roots, although there’s very little risk of that happening in our house.

  Instead of listening to my instructions however, Mason keeps trying to cuddle me. Once we have finished I let him lean in close and he puts his arm around my shoulder, snuggling his face into my neck. I can’t help but laugh as his hair tickles my skin and I lean my face close to his for a kiss, but I’m stopped short by the sound of a throat being cleared loudly. I look up from the table and see my sister staring down at us.

  ‘Kelci?’

  Her fair eyebrows are slightly furrowed and she holds her arms across her chest.

  ‘Hello Nina,’ she says, flatly. ‘Surprise.’

  Mason pulls back from me.

  ‘Kelci… hi…’ he says.

  Her eyes flick to him for a second.

  ‘Oh. Hey Mason.’

  She pushes her black glasses up her nose, then runs her hand through her white-blonde bob.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I say.

  ‘I wanted to stand over you and watch you drink tea.’

  ‘Kelci!’

  ‘Our parents want to see you.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ she replies, glancing to Mason again. ‘It’s private.’

  Everything is private in our family. Like everyone else, Mason doesn’t know the truth about us. To him we’re just another upstanding family: my Dad the Ambassador and my Mum the Ambassador’s wife.

  ‘They want to see me right now? It can’t wait?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘I’m busy!’

  She stares at the plates, cups and cake on the table.

  ‘Saving the world, one cup of tea at a time?’

  I scowl.

  ‘Not everything has to be about saving the world.’

  She raises one eyebrow. Mason looks confused. I kind of smile at him, apologetically. God, why can’t they just leave me alone?

  ‘How did you know I would be here?’ I say.

  ‘Well, it was either this place…’

  She gives an unimpressed glance around the café.

  ‘Or Macys. I got lucky.’

  She shrugs, and her voice is monotone, but with a distinctly American twang, not like mine which remains as British as it gets. Kelci was eight when we moved here and she likes it ‘because the comic shops are better.’

  ‘I do go to other places, you know,’ I say.

  ‘Right,’ she replies, sighing. ‘If you say so. Are you going to come back with me or what?’

  She wears a scuzzy t-shirt which is large and pink and says ‘I AM A BIG DEAL #1’, plus a mangled pair of jeans with gaping holes at the knees. Sometimes it is beyond belief that we are actually related. And there’s something different about her hair, the fringe looks much shorter than it did this morning, it sits too high on her forehead, and it’s suspiciously lop-sided.

  ‘Did you cut your own hair?’

  ‘No. Babs ate it.’

  Babs is Mum’s cat.

  ‘You did cut it,’ I say, dismayed. ‘Again!’

  We agreed she wouldn’t do that any more, that she would let me cut it at least, even if a trip to the hairdressers was too much to ask. The fringe has been hacked so harshly it does nothing to accent her beautiful baby blue eyes. Believe it or not, once upon a time Kelci was the most adorable child in the world. She was sweet and smiley and blonde and cuddly. I used to try and dress her up like a doll, in fact sometimes I worry that’s why she grew up to be such a public eyesore. I just don’t understand why anyone would want to look so weird. She continues to stare at me.

  ‘My hair is my own personal statement of emancipation.’

  ‘What?’

  Mason and I exchange a bemused look.

  ‘It’s not even straight,’ I say.

  She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Nina, you have a flower on your head right now. Do not talk to me about how I look.’

  I sigh, but her voice softens.

  ‘Look, Mum and Dad really do want to see you.’

  ‘It’s not a good time…’

  She drops to her knees, crouching at the arm of my chair.

  ‘Sis, they need you – I need you. I wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t important.’

  ‘I thought you came to watch me drink tea?’ I say, sullen.

  ‘I do that every day anyway. Please come back with me. I’m willing to be completely heartfelt if I have to be.’

  ‘You? Heartfelt? Not in the last four years at least.’

  ‘Come on, Nina.’

  I feel her hand on my arm.

  ‘Kelci…’

  She gives me her begging kitten look,
complete with fluttering eyes and pouty lips.

  ‘Please, pretty please… Pretty, pretty, pretty please…’

  She’s doing the silly voice she used to do as a kid whenever she wanted something. It’s cute, even if she isn’t quite the rosy-cheeked ball of charm anymore. I turn back to the table and look at the empty teapot and the half bitten bits of cake on otherwise empty plates, then I let out another long sigh.

  ‘This better be good.’

  ‘It is,’ she says, breaking out into her first smile since she got here. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say, turning to Mason. ‘I guess I should go.’

  He still looks puzzled, but sits relaxed with his arms up along the chairs next to him. Sometimes I wish I could just tell him the truth. But how? What would I say? Look Mason… This might sound odd but… There are people, in this world, right now, who possess the inner powers of animals. Yes, animals! They manifest their gifts in their teens and go to secret Academies to train. Pretty weird, right? Right! Oh, and my whole family possesses those powers. All of them except me. My Mum can fight like a Tiger – literally. And my Dad can swim like a Fish – underwater, for hours at a time.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ he says. ‘Maybe there’s something I can do to help?’

  I shake my head silently, and bite my bottom lip. Those with the powers, I would tell him, have a name for themselves. Anitars. And once they’re trained they devote themselves to making the world a better place. I stare at Mason’s face and wonder, if I told him, right this minute, would he think that I was completely mad? But my heart sinks as I realise, once again, that the hard, cold fact of the matter is – I can’t tell him any of it. Ever.

  ‘Sorry about this, Mason,’ I say.

  ‘If you have to go, you have to go,’ he replies.

  He reaches out to touch Kelci’s shoulder across the table.

  ‘You guys call me if you need me.’

  She looks at his hand as though it’s a massive spider.

  ‘Let’s split,’ she says turning to me, speaking through pursed lips.