The Boy IN My Phone

Clubbing with Calen

Lisa

Dinner was not an occasion Lisa could stomach. Despite Sharl's cajoling, she decided to stay in the room. She could either go on an impromptu diet or comfort-eat her way through some of the crisps and bars of chocolate she had packed into her case.

'I'll bring you something,' promised Sharl.

'Isabel's head on a platter would be nice.'

'I'm going to give them a piece of my mind,' said her friend.

'Stay out of it,' said Lisa, 'stay neutral so they don't suspect, then, when I've put my awesome revenge plan...'

After ten whole minutes of fasting, Lisa needed to get out of the room, partly to clear her head, mainly to create distance between her and the siren call of her snacks. Her walk took her to the parkland behind the student village blocks. There was a mown area of lawn bounded by a gravel path with lights. Where the lawn ended an area of wilder grasses erupted, interspersed with a range of red, blue and white flowers. Very patriotic thought Lisa.

The path circled the lawn and wide expanse of meadow with thick dark woodland nuzzling up to its edge at the far side. The park was dominated by a massive old tree. It took Lisa several minutes to walk round to it. It was 'The Spyrys Oak' a sign told her, over 800-years-old and reaching more than 8m in girth. Thank goodness she'd fasted she thought, the amount of comfort eating required to get her over that afternoon could easily have seen her going the same way.

She slumped into one of two benches and checked her phone. Dobie's departure from Primark could be tracked by a sudden burst of attempted calls and four texts:

1. 'Lisa c'est moi, respondez!'*

2. 'Ou est vous?'

3. 'I've seen les chiens sauvage on vous-tube – trés fierce.'

4. Les chiens sauvage, vous ont-ils mangé?'

She wasn't ready to respond just yet but Dobie had at least done what he always did, bring a smile to her lips. She had to use online help to interpret the last text: 'the wild dogs; have they eaten you?' Hoho, mentally she had been chewed up, spat out and left under an oak tree feeling 50 years older than it was, and oaks always lied about their age!

A breeze sprang up from nowhere, bringing the wood to rustling life behind her. She shivered and returned to her room. Sharl brought cheesy sarnies and an apple back from the dining hall.

Of less interest was a new message from Calen: 'He says it wasn't him; he didn't text, he's innocent. He hopes you'll go tonight so he can tell you himself.'

'OK, though no-one that good-looking is ever really innocent. I can meet him under my new friend the oak and club him with one of its branches if it turns out he ever owned a suicidal gerbil.'

Sharl gave her a look that said, OMG it's damaged you more than I'd realised. Instead she offered, 'Do you want me along?'

'No, it may get ugly. Go get yourself an alibi.'

Lisa didn't want an awkward 'and how are things?' walk round the path with Calen, so went a little early and sat by the oak. It was dark but intermittent post lights glowed wanly, illuminating the path. Just before 9.30pm, two dark figures emerged on the far side. Lisa got up and waved but they disappeared. The oak creaked its disappointment.

Then a loping shadow bounded around the path and turned into public enemy number two: Calen Whitmore.

'Lisa,' he panted as he slowed, 'I'm glad you've come. I don't mean to keep you long.'

'Good, because I've got these texts that are asking me out on a date.' She wiggled her phone.

'Yeah, about that, can I sit down?'

'Nope.'

'It wasn't me doing the texts and messaging, Lisa. Honestly, I had no idea about any of it until you turned up in the cafe. I realise it's too late now but it's important to me that you know I would never do that.'

'OK, so now I know.'

The oak rustled sarcastic disbelief.

'So, are we good?'

Lisa, who had been determined to remain cool, started eyeing up possible oak clubs at this. 'That's it? You've ruined my life, having totally ignored me for seven months; you've been at the centre of what seems like a massive conspiracy to embarrass me in front of my so-called friends and digitally to everyone in the whole world, and you want to know if we're good!'

'I really di – .'

'Did you ever own a suicidal gerbil?'

'What?' spluttered Calen. 'Yes, White Fang jumped off and over everything. Once onto the oven hob, twice into a sink full of water.'

'So you did write those messages?'

'I wrote them... but to Isabel! Look!' He pulled his phone out of a jacket pocket and it buzzed into life. 'She must have reused my words when she – .'

'And you want to spend the rest of your life with this poisonous she-bitch?' Lisa realised she was ahead of the logic curve at this point but couldn't stop herself. She had left the bench and was in Calen's face, fists clenched at her sides.

'Yes, I mean no, who knows! I've heard people make up loads of crazy stuff about Izzy.'

'Everything you've heard about Isabel is true – even the fabrications.'

'Look, you and Isabel have your feud. I just got caught in the middle.'

'Run!'

'What?'

'See that club-shaped branch over there?'

'Where?' Calen's eyes scrambled around nervously.

'I'm going to pick it up. Run!'

The oak gave an ominous 800-year-old sigh, Calen's phone burped and everybody's world changed... possibly for-EVER.

* * * * *

*Author's faux-French lessons

1. 'Lisa c'est moi, respondez!' = it's me, answer

2. 'Ou est vous?' = where are you

3. 'I've seen les chiens sauvage on vous-tube – trés fierce.' = the wild dogs on Youtube - very fierce.