My Invisible Boyfriend Read Online Free PDF Page A

stood there, on this train platform, just the two of us. So I offered him a gummy bear and he said, ‘Only if I can have a red one, they’re the best,’ and I said I liked the green ones best anyway, and then we just carried on talking, and la la la snogs, the end.”
    I take a big swig of tea.
    “So, what do you think?”
    “Adorable,” says Betsy. “A little too adorable, maybe? But hey, that’s what fantasies are for, right?”
    “I could ditch the gummy bears?”
    “I like the gummy bears. Nice detail.”
    “The ending needs a little work.”
    “Yeah, but still, it’s a good beginning. Love the leather jacket.”
    “OK, stop, I can’t take any more!”
    Teddy appears in the kitchen doorway, tousled bed hair in place (lightly dusted with flour), apron on over the top of stripy pajama trousers and monster-feet slippers.
    “Nobody’s going to give a crap about the leather jacket and the gummy bears,” he says, wagging a spoon at us and dripping icing on the floor, “not when the rest of it doesn’t make any sense. Heidi, if you left your purse in the shop, how did you get through the turnstile onto the platform? Are you at Paddington train station or underground station? What are you even doing in London? I mean, don’t you have somewhere to go? Doesn’t he? And seriously, if some strange guy steals your purse and grabs your arm at a train station, you want to push him onto the tracks, not kiss him. Just a suggestion.”
    He grabs the chalk, doodles a gummy bear with a sad face on the wall, and heads back to the kitchen with a grin.
    “My son, the death of romance,” sighs Betsy.
    “Nope, he’s right. It’s not exactly realistic, is it?”
    I decide not to mention the previous draft versions I came up with in Chemistry, when I was meant to be doing experimental things with potassium permanganate. There were pirates. And giraffe riding. And he had a beret.
    Apparently imaginary boyfriend–construction is harder than it looks.
    “Maybe you should keep it simple,” Betsy offers. “There don’t need to be fireworks. Just go with something you’ll be able to remember. Something familiar, you know?”
    I spend the total lack of a lunchtime rush contemplating alternative locations for Imaginary Boy to share my gummy bears. Then I decide he (Michael?) is a vegetarian, and so we strike up a conversation about how gummy bears contain bits of dead cow. Then I decide that discussing bits of dead cow is probably not the ideal date conversation, and actually that he (Mikhail) is kind of a jerk for even mentioning it, in fact, ruining my gummy bears. And who does he (Mickey) even think he (Mikey) is, coming and hassling me in the park?
    By the end of the day, I’ve dumped him (Artemis) about seventeen times, before we’ve even properly met. And he still doesn’t have a name that isn’t stupid.
    “Inspiration for you,” says Betsy as we close up early, sliding me a paper bag along with the little brown envelope of cash that I really obviously haven’t earned.
    “What’s this?”
    I peer inside the bag and find a warm, solid gingerbread man; his iced-on eyes and buttons still slightly soft.
    Betsy looks innocent.
    “The Perfect Boyfriend. And he’s not even imaginary.”
    Boarding school Dining Halls are not what you imagine. I’ve seen six, and I can tell you now: Forget what the pictures in the brochures say, and put all Hogwarty thoughts from your mind. There will be no mahogany paneling, or portraits of old dead guys, or feasting on roasted wild boar by candlelight. The Finch Dining Hall is strip-lit, smells of beans, and looks a bit like a posh McDonald’s. The food is just as enticing: Oil Pie, Lettuce in Soup, and the ever-popular Armored Pizza. (If the Mothership’s Red Peppers stuffed with Red Lentils, Red Onion, and Red Cabbage don’t kill me, their Fish Surprise will.)
    I used to have other reasons to hate lunchtimes, obviously. Arrive in the middle of a term? You’re already