Page 9

I’d thought I’d leave Neon at home when I went to school the next day, but Joel vetoes that plan before I’ve even finished breakfast.

“No way. I’m working in the shop all day, and then I’ve got to get back to my essays. I don’t have time to babysit.”

“Neon’s fourteen!” I protest through a mouthful of toast. “He doesn’t need babysitting.”

“It’s OK. Honestly I’d much rather go to school.”

Neon shovels another spoonful of Crunchy Nut into his mouth. For someone who’s not technically real, he eats a lot . Last night he got through three servings of the veggie lasagne that Mutti left in the freezer, and then scarfed down two chocolate bars as dessert.

“I’ve been home-schooled my whole life. I’d love to see what a high school is like.”

“But…” I trail off, kicking myself for deciding to make him home-schooled back when I created him. The thought of bringing Neon to school makes me feel slightly sick. It’s like revealing a part of my own soul, letting this person that I made up walk around with the kids in my class.

“OK.” I sigh. “We need to find you something to wear.”

Fortunately Joel inherited Mum’s inability to ever throw anything away, so he rescues his old school jumper and trousers from the back of his cupboard and lends them to Neon.

Neon goes to the bathroom to change and comes out with a big grin on his face. “What do you think? Will I fit in?”

I nod, though I already know that he won’t.

There’s something magnetic about Neon, something that attracts attention.

This is a small town and there aren’t that many pupils at our school, so anyone new tends to stick out.

Some people in my year follow Neon’s profiles, so they’ll know who he is – Caitlin and Hannah must have told them about him.

I wonder who else in our class thinks I’m a compulsive liar.

Despite the anxiety, the prospect of being able to prove them wrong makes me smile.

There’s a spring in Neon’s step as we make our way up our street and towards school. He half walks, half dances down the road, bouncing on his heels and singing to himself, apart from a few seconds when he stops to examine a ladybird.

“I’m excited!” he says for the eighth or ninth time since we left the house.

“I’ve always wanted to experience a normal school.

I talked to my mom about going when I was ten or eleven, but she thinks the state system doesn’t leave enough room for creativity, you know?

Well, of course you know. You made it up. ”

He laughs. I wonder if this is weird for him, meeting the person who decided everything about his persona.

After I created his online profiles, I tried to keep Neon’s story straightforward so it seemed more believable.

Sometimes, though, it was hard not to give in to the pull of drama and excitement – his dad is a pilot who walked out on his family when Neon was two, and his mum taught Neon herself while they travelled around Asia and South America before settling back in New York City a few years ago.

My life has always been so normal. I’ve only ever lived in this town, and the only times I’ve been abroad were a couple of visits to see my uncle and cousins in Hamburg. It was fun to make up a story about someone who’d seen so much of the world.

“You won’t tell anyone where you’ve come from, will you?” I ask. “Especially not Caitlin or Hannah.”

“Of course I won’t. It’s not a good idea to let too many humans know about the Realm.” He swings his arms. “Otherwise people could force themselves to believe in all sorts of creatures and bring them here.”

“They could? That sounds messy.”

Neon is one thing – he looks like any other teenager – but monsters or mythological creatures would have a much harder time blending in.

“Tell me about it,” Neon says. “Fanfic has made things complicated too. People make up stories about celebrities, but it’s not who they really are, only their idea of them.

Last year, there was a girl in Wales who actually managed to manifest a fictionalised version of her favourite singer.

Luckily it was passed off as a very good lookalike, but it was a close call – a lot of people were asking why Jung Kook was looking at kitchen tongs in a supermarket in Llandudno. ”

I blink at him. “OK. Well, let’s try to avoid any other … unexpected visitors.”

“Unexpected visitors? You keep forgetting that you invited me here . In my world, that was real. I didn’t think it would be such an inconvenience for you.” He laughs but the hurt in his voice makes guilt nip at my skin.

“It’s not that I’m not happy you’re here,” I say quickly. “Of course I am. But it’s not as simple as that.”

“It could be.” He puts his arm round my shoulders and shakes them lightly. “No one is going to find out that you made me up, I promise. Who would even believe it if they did?”

A few people stare at Neon as we walk through the gates.

I’d feel intimidated by that, especially never having been to school before, but Neon seems unfazed: he kicks a stray ball back towards a group of first years when it rolls our way, and shouts a loud hello to three girls in the year above me who are looking at him and whispering.

I lead him to reception and ask Mr Jamieson if it’s OK if Neon joins me in class today.

“I have a letter from his mum to say it’s fine,” I add quickly.

I knew we’d be asked for that, so before we left this morning Neon and I wrote a letter on Joel’s laptop, printed it out and signed it Karma Hart.

Mr Jamieson grumbles a bit – apparently I should have asked weeks ago – but he eventually asks Neon to sign the guest entrance register and hands over a visitor’s badge.

Neon clips it on to his school jumper proudly.

“Can you take a photo of me?” he asks.

He pulls a bunch of cheesy poses outside reception while I take photos on my phone. The kids around us are making no effort to hide their stares. When he smiles back at a group of first-year girls, they all burst into giggles and hurry away like flustered ducklings.

The corridor is filling up now. I lead Neon towards the spot where I always meet Caitlin and Hannah before registration.

It feels a bit like shepherding a toddler – Neon wanders into the Art classroom to take a look at a row of self-portraits pinned to the wall, and I have to steer him away from the canteen when he smells the bacon sandwiches left over from breakfast.

Caitlin and Hannah are in the upstairs corridor talking to Hari and Russell, who are in 3C with us. The boys both do a double take when they see Neon.

“You’re Laurie’s American friend!” Hari points at Neon. “We all thought she made you up!”

“See!” Caitlin shouts, beaming. “I told you he was real.”

“I thought he was a catfish.” Russell gawps at Neon for a long moment. “You don’t look like you’re fifty.”

My cheeks go bright red. “Of course he’s not fifty. Don’t be gross, Russell.”

“Definitely fourteen. Definitely real.” Neon waves as Hannah introduces them both. “Hi. I’m visiting for the week.”

“He’s from New York City,” Caitlin tells the boys. She sounds quite proud to have a friend from there, which bugs me – forty-eight hours ago, she didn’t even think he was real, and now she’s acting like they’re old pals. “Is this your first time in a real school, Neon? You’re home-schooled, right?”

Neon tells them about how he’s always been taught by his mum, making them laugh with stories of some of her more eccentric lessons – for a while, she had him doing an online course in an artificial language called Esperanto, which she was sure was going to make a big comeback.

(That’s actually something Carrie said once.

I think she might have been trying to wind Mutti up, though.)

Across the corridor, Tilly is sitting on a bench with her group.

Jamie and Elsie have their books open and are doing some last-minute homework, but Tilly is staring right at Neon.

Her mouth is open and her face has gone pale, a perfect reflection of the shock that I felt on Saturday.

She looks at me, and a jolt of fear moves through me.

It’s as if Tilly knows this shouldn’t be possible. Like she knows that I lied.

I take a breath to steady my nerves. There’s no way Tilly could have guessed the truth.

Most likely she thought I was getting catfished, same as Russell and Hari.

I give her a small, smug smile before turning away.

I shouldn’t care what Tilly thinks, not after she ditched me two years ago.

But it feels good to have proved her wrong too.