Page 56 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

I look at myself in the mirror. Both with my chair and without it. The dress definitely looks better when I’m standing up.

‘Get it, girl,’ Ro says, taking a photo of me as I turn around.

He picked my dress a few days ago and he’s got it absolutely spot on.

It’s a beautiful blush gown with floral embroidery in pastel peaches and creams, made of fluttery tulle.

I put a hand on my stomach and silently will it to cooperate for the rest of the day as I sit back down.

Ro’s eyes widen in horror as he watches me.

‘Bestie, don’t even think about vomming on that beautiful dress,’ he says, wiping his brow.

‘There’s a time and a place for that, and it is not in a rented Needle & Thread gown,’ he says, passing me a sick bag.

‘I don’t care if you hide it in your bra or your shoe, but protect that dress like your life depends on it, okay?

’ he says, and I swear I’ve never heard him sound this passionate about anything.

I already know he’s going to excel in Fashion and Textiles next year.

Amy breezes in through the open door before I can respond, holding a curling wand in one hand and a packet of safety pins in the other.

‘Ro, she’s the most experienced vommer I know, I hardly think she’s going to choose tonight to start missing the bag,’ she says, pinning the floaty sleeves at my shoulders to stop them from falling down. ‘Right, Penny?’

‘Right,’ I say, taking a mock bow (at what I think is a compliment?) and stifling a laugh. At least they have confidence in me.

When Ro parks up outside, I suddenly realise how ridiculous this is. There are so many reasons why this is a stupid idea. But I’m in way too deep to back out now.

I want to walk up to the door on my own two feet, but I’m way too nervous and it’s setting off my POTS like it always does, so Ro gets my wheelchair out for me instead. And then, when I’m ready, he parks up on the other side of the road, hiding himself and the car just out of view.

I knock on the door and rub my hands up my arms, trying to shoo away the goosebumps, only to drop them down again when he opens the door. He’s wearing his favourite blue Levi’s with a white t-shirt. Of course he is. Exactly like I expected.

On the plane, he said he probably wouldn’t have the guts to go to the premiere alone but couldn’t invite anyone for fear of letting them down if he changed his mind on the day.

And he meant it. That’s why he’s in jeans and a t-shirt in front of me now, just a couple of hours before it starts.

He’s all set to stay home. But there’s almost always a loophole in hard situations.

This time, it just so happens to be me. I’m CJ’s loophole.

His mouth drops open when he sees me. If I were to guess, I’d say that he’s more surprised by the fact I’m here at all, rather than how I look, although I can’t be certain. He still hasn’t said anything. And I hadn’t exactly planned what to say either.

‘Let’s go and get you ready, Cinderella,’ I say finally. ‘You shall go to the ball.’

He looks at me in shock. I know he knows why I’m here, but he doesn’t say a word even as he leads me past the living room and towards the back of the house.

Out of all the ways I imagined this moment going in my head, this was definitely not one of them.

He closes each door behind us as I wheel towards his bedroom. ‘I can’t believe you remembered the date,’ he says.

And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be able to believe it either.

But the conversation we had on the flight to Wales not only changed how I viewed him, but how I viewed myself, the world and everyone in it.

Making it impossible to forget, even if I wanted to.

Even though it would’ve made things a heck of a lot easier if I could have.

And then, when Ro mentioned the premiere date without realising, right after dropping the bomb that CJ, of all people, was (at least partly) responsible for his return, all the minor details came flooding back.

And amid the euphoria, I realised that even though I can’t give CJ everything he needs, I can at least give him this.

One final good night and goodbye before we go our separate ways.

And sure, it’ll shatter my heart all over again, but it’s not like I managed to fix it the first time, so what are a few more pieces to repair?

In psychology, they call it the what-the-hell effect, when you slightly lessen your hopes of achieving something, so you blow your chances even more.

Like walking out on a major exam just because you’re stuck on the first question.

Or putting off your New Year’s resolutions for another year just because you messed up on day one. This is just like that.

In the sense that no, I won’t be able to get over him if I go. But what the hell does it matter? Since I won’t get over him if I don’t, either.

I’d still remember how he made me feel like the brightest person that’s ever existed – and not in some stupid, clever way, either. He made me feel as though light shines through my body like sunbeams whenever I open my mouth.

Dazzling.

Luminous.

Radiant.

Just like he is.

Glowing from within over small things like Post-it note trails, wheelchair wheelies and the same pair of shoes he wears every day. And big things too – like the gift of real-life mountain views for a girl who wasn’t destined to see them.

So, what the hell. I’m taking him to the premiere. There’s no one who deserves to be celebrated more than him. Recognition for all he’s done, and all he’s about to do. I already knew that. But hearing what he did for Ro, I couldn’t talk myself out of giving him the opportunity anymore.

And selfishly, I’m going to soak up every inch of the night too. Like a hot bath on the coldest winter day, that keeps you warm until it’s time to face the frost all over again.

‘George and Ryan don’t know about the premiere, by the way,’ he says now, in a low voice, explaining our silent march to his room.

His eyes wander up to his windowsill, where an army of empty bottles of alcohol are standing guard.

I must look as concerned as I feel, as he quickly reaches up and grabs one of the shorter ones.

‘I collect cool bottles like this,’ he says, tipping it towards me so I can see the French lettering.

‘This is one of my favourites because it doubles as a spider catcher.’ He runs his hand around the rim, which is much wider than a typical wine bottle.

And I have to be honest, I couldn’t care less about the fancy bottle, but I freaking love that he doesn’t kill spiders.

‘I don’t kill them either,’ I say, reaching under my legs to smooth out the petticoats. It’s only a midi dress, but there’s so much fabric in the skirt and I don’t want to crush it.

‘Penny, you really shouldn’t have put on that beautiful dress,’ he says, looking at the floor.

I recognise the sadness in his voice from his messages, even though I haven’t heard it in person before.

It’s even more heartbreaking in real life.

And I realise this isn’t just about the premiere.

He must be really missing his gran too. I get out of my wheelchair and sit next to him on the side of his bed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I just don’t know if I can go.’

‘Hey,’ I say softly. ‘What did I say?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I said it would be okay if this happened.’

His head falls in his hands. ‘But it’s not just the dress. It’s your time and energy too,’ he says. ‘Which is so much more precious for you than it is for anyone else. This is even worse than if I’d let someone else down.’

I put my hand over his. ‘CJ, I said it would be okay,’ I say, thinking back to the plane. ‘Even then.’

He looks up at me. ‘What do you think I should do?’

I take the bottle out of his other hand so that I can hold both of them.

‘I think we should give it a go. We can come back as soon as you’ve had enough, whether that’s before we even get there, or at the end of the night,’ I say.

‘For your gran, who’d love to see you there if she could.

And more importantly, for you. You said this part is euphoric – completely unmatched .

So, I think we should at least try. See if it still is. ’

He nods, smiling hopefully.

And with my energy already starting to run low, I just hope I haven’t made a huge mistake.

Bloody hell. I thought my actual illnesses might be a problem, but nothing could have prepared me for how big of an issue the wheelchair would be.

The flaming, freaking wheelchair! That’s meant to be the easiest part of me to work around, goddammit.

I held it together when CJ and I were shown through a different entrance, making him miss a third of the red-carpet he was supposed to walk down.

And I even held it together when I saw the thick black tyre marks on my dress, that no amount of tucking and tactful skirt-holding could prevent.

But now, as we get news that my wheelchair caused the portable Glambot to short-circuit during CJ’s one and only shot at it, I finally call it a night.

He’s here now anyway. My part was done the second we— no, he arrived. I should’ve left then. Before I started making everything go wrong.

‘I’m so sorry, CJ,’ I say, feeling like the worst friend in the world, as he ushers us into a heavily perfumed cloakroom.

The Glambot, which takes slow-motion videos of celebs, usually has a much bigger and more robust rig at the award ceremonies in America, but I guess this portable one isn’t quite so sturdy.

There was a thin strip of carpet over the cable, so I didn’t even realise my back wheels – which take the full brunt of my weight – were squashing it until it was too late.