Page 103 of The Next Chapter

‘No, look, she’s there.’

He’s right, Harper is sat in her usual spot by the picnic benches, scowling down at her phone.

‘Harper. HARPER!’ I’m not sure how I’m managing to whisper and shout all at the same time.

Harper looks up and narrows her eyes at us.

‘She looks angry,’ I tell Noah, possibly quite loudly because Harper is stalking towards us then. And instead of anger, she actually looks full of something I’d describe as sinister glee.

‘Is she pissed?’ she asks Noah. Yep, definitely sinister glee.

‘She’s on her way. She had two gin and tonics.’

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Harper smile properly. It’s vaguely terrifying.

I make a sort of choking sound.

‘Sorry, I was just sick in my mouth a bit.’

Harper’s smile grows even wider.

‘We’re going to the karaoke, you should come along.’ Noah is so smooth. Smooth like silk.

‘Oh my god, she’s stroking you, this is brilliant.’

I hadn’t realized that I was rubbing Noah’s silky-smooth arm. I stop immediately. ‘It’s because he’s smooth like silk,’ I tell them.

‘Fuck yeah, I’m coming. She’ll be singing, right?’ Harper asks, walking with never-before-seen purpose towards the back door of the hotel.

I don’t seem to remember promising anyone that I’d sing. Quite the opposite, in fact. I can’t think properly.

It’s not just the gin. The evening is close and sticky, suffocating almost. That sort of weather where you think it needs a good thunderstorm to clear the air. It feels like an omen.

Still, as I set off to follow Harper, I can’t help but wonder what it’s an omen of.

* * *

‘Tell me more, tell me mo-o-oore!’

There’s scattered applause.

Unlike me, Harper’s foster parents have absolutely no qualms about singing. None at all. I think at this point, someone is going to have to take one for the team and rugby tackle the microphones from them. They’re doing the Grease medley. Again.

I wince as they get too close and the mics screech.

Karaoke at Lola’s hotel is… not like anything I ever thought I’d take part in. I think it’s fair to say that should any extraterrestrial life stumble upon us all gathered here in the breakfast room of the hotel, they’d think the human species were completely insane and flee to the nearest galaxy.

The breakfast tables have been pushed to the sides of the room and the chairs are scattered around the floor. Someone has closed all the blinds, I presume so that no unsuspecting ramblers happen upon us and have to witness this, but it might also be because Lola has a small disco set up and there are multicoloured lights flashing across the wooden floor.

The ‘karaoke’ is just a single mic plugged into Lola’s laptop and she plays songs through YouTube, testing the hotel’s Wi-Fi to its absolute limit.

And if I’d thought I was a bit drunk before I got here, I quickly realize that I’m not drunk enough.

‘Fuck’s sake, why are they like this?’ Harper mutters as Blake runs over, smiling. Her foster parents start up a rendition of ‘Everything I Do’, the Bryan Adams version. From what I remember, it’s about eighteen hours long.

‘Shall we get a drink?’ I ask Noah, who is watching the whole scene with a sort of bemused smirk.

I guess it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.