Goodbye, Perfect (Bestselling Teen Fiction) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Sara Barnard is the author of Fragile Like Us; A Quiet Kind of Thunder; Goodbye, Perfect; and Destination Anywhere. She lives in Brighton, England, with her husband and their grumpy cat. She studied American literature with creative writing at university and never stopped reading YA. She has lived in Canada, interrailed through Europe, and once spent the night in an ice hotel. She thinks sad books are good for the soul and happy books lift the heart. She hopes to write lots of books that do both. 

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Goodbye, Perfect

1

THE POLICE ARRIVE WHEN I’M in the shower.

I don’t realize straightaway, of course, because when I shower on a Saturday afternoon I make the most of it. So around the time they’re walking over our threshold, I’m covered in a tea-tree-and-minty lather, eyes closed against the bubbles, singing a medley from The Lion King at the top of my voice.

The singing might be why I don’t hear my adoptive mother, Carolyn, knocking on the bathroom door. And that might be why she chooses to break the most sacred of McKinley household rules: she walks right in and bangs her fist on the glass of the shower door.

I scream, obviously.

“Eden!” she yells, which is pretty unnecessary considering (a) she’s already got my attention, and (b) it’s not like there’s anyone else in the shower she could be talking to but me.

I should say here that this is very un-Carolyn-like behavior, and it’s that weirdness, more than the actual request, that makes me turn off the shower, open the door just enough to poke my dripping head out, and demand, “What?!”

“Can you finish up and come downstairs, please?” she asks, back to her usual calm self, like this is just a normal, reasonable request.

“Why?”

“The police are here,” she says. “They want to talk to you.”

I feel my entire face drop, my eyes go wide. “Why?” I say again, more panicked this time.

“I think you know why,” she says, which is terrifying. “I need you downstairs in five minutes, okay?”

I go to close the shower door again—partly out of obedience, but mostly so she can’t see my face and whatever might be written across it—but Carolyn puts out a hand to stop me.

“Bonnie’s mother is here too,” she says, then lets the door slide closed, right in my stunned, guilty face.

• • •

I do know why. That’s true.

Not because I was expecting them, or because I’ve done anything wrong, but because this morning I got this message from my best friend, Bonnie: I’m doing it. I’m running away with Jack. EEEEEEKKK!!!!! Don’t tell anyone! Talk later! Xxx And by “this morning,” I mean at 4:17 a.m.

Okay, I realize this might sound a bit alarming out of context. Especially with the whole police-at-the-door thing. But when I read it a few hours after it was sent—bleary-eyed, still half asleep—I was just a bit confused, maybe a little annoyed, mostly because Bonnie and I had made plans to go to Canterbury today, and her unexpected bailing meant I was suddenly planless on a Saturday. She’d agreed that this would be our free day from studying, our chill-out day, practically the only time she’s allowed in the ridiculously strict study schedule she’s been sticking to since April. The first exam of our GCSEs, the exams we’ve been working toward for the last five years, the exams that—apparently—will decide our futures, is on Wednesday. Four days away.

I replied just the way you might expect me to: Huh?

Can’t talk right now, but I’ll call later! Just say you haven’t heard from me if anyone asks! I’m on an ADVENTURE! <3 xx

I didn’t think for a minute that she really was running away, because that’s just not something Bonnie would do, and even if it was, she’s got no reason to leave. So I chalked her messages up to exaggeration—maybe she’s staying out for the night with her secret boyfriend (more on him later) without telling her mother, at most—and put my energy into salvaging my Saturday.

I carried right on thinking that all morning, which is why, when her mother called Carolyn to ask if I’d heard from Bonnie, I said no, as promised.

“I thought the two of you had plans?” Carolyn asked, her hand cupping the phone to her chest.

“We did,” I said. “But she changed them last night. Didn’t say why.”

“Last night?” Carolyn repeated.

“Yeah,” I said.

“And you haven’t heard from her since?”

“Nope,” I said. I didn’t think twice about lying for Bonnie. As far as I was concerned, she’d asked, and I’d agreed, and that was that. I didn’t need any more details or context. A promise is a promise, and a best friend is a best friend. But I had to try to make it believable, and also get the attention away from me, so I added, “I wouldn’t worry about it, though. She’s probably with Jack.”

Carolyn’s eyebrows went up. “Who’s Jack?”

“Her boyfriend,” I said, telling myself that Bonnie could hardly expect Jack to stay a secret if she’d “run away” with him. “That’s probably where she is,” I added. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

That’s literally all I know about her secret boyfriend, by the way: his name, and the fact that he’s a secret. I’d actually been sure “secret” was just Bonnie-speak for “imaginary,” especially as I was never allowed to meet him, or even see a picture. But apparently not.

Thinking that made me a little uneasy, so I tried to call Bonnie to ask for more details on the whole running-away thing, but she didn’t answer. I sent her a message—You’re okay, right?—and it took her a few minutes, but she finally replied: More than okay. Don’t worry! xx

I relaxed, because there’s no one I trust more than Bonnie, and if she says she’s okay, then I know it’s true.

So, I knew from this that Bonnie’s absence had been noticed by her parents, which I thought was a bit weird even then, because how could they know so quickly—and know enough to be so worried that they’d call Carolyn—that she’d even gone anywhere? But I didn’t think about it for very long because, like I said, it’s Bonnie, and Bonnie doesn’t get into trouble. Not real trouble. And that’s not an opinion—it’s a fact.

Here are a few things about Bonnie Wiston-Stanley, aged fifteen and three-quarters:

• She likes to break candy bars into little pieces and stir them through vanilla ice cream.

• She’s head prefect and everyone expects her to be head girl when she’s eligible next year.

• She plays the flute, and not just in a has-to-because-her-parents-make-her way, but actually properly plays it, like with grades and everything.

• She wears glasses with thin brown frames.

• She has freckles, which she hates even though I think they suit her.

• She never used to wear makeup—not until a couple of months ago.

• She’s the best, most steady, most reliable friend in the world.

I guess you’ll want to know about me, too. What are a few things about me? Well, my name is Eden. Eden Rose McKinley, in full. I like plants and flowers and things I can grow with my hands. I was adopted when I was nine years old. I live in Kent. I have a boyfriend named Connor. I once got suspended for drawing mustaches on the portraits of the senior staff in the main entrance hall during a fire drill. My teachers call me...