27

Homework club on Friday came with the addition of Lou, with her freshly issued Working with Children permit, and Billy, who arrived ten minutes early and helped Vân Ước do a sweep of the playground area. Four needles. Three glue bags. Six siphons and some dead balloons. Heaps of cigarette butts.

Vân Ước partnered Lou with Saafi, a quiet year-six girl who needed lots of help with English, and particularly help with being brave enough to speak in a voice louder than a small whisper. She sent Saafi ahead to find a place at the table, and brought Lou up-to-date on how she was doing following the library bathroom meltdown.

“It turns out Billy isn’t up to anything strange.”

“So, what’s up with all the stalky business?”

“I think it’s possible he maybe does… like me.”

Lou looked at her with frank disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“I know, but—yeah.”

“So, the obvious question is…?” Lou was dubious.

Vân Ước nodded, worrying that she was playing the weirdest game of make-believe yet invented. “Yes. I do. I like him, too.”

Lou looked over at Billy, who was gathering up a few more playground takers.

“Michael’s not going to believe this. He can’t stand those jock guys.”

“He told me he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. I get it. It’s not like jocks are my go-to people, either,” Vân Ước said. As if she even had any go-to people, as such. “But it’s possible he’s different.”

“Hmmm. Well, I guess we’ll see. I couldn’t have gone to his party anyway; Miro’s got a gig.”

“Sibylla said she’d go, but, really, I think it’ll be okay.” If terrifying social encounters for which you are in no way prepared were encompassed by the definition of okay.

“I’ll let Sib know that you don’t need her there. She didn’t exactly want to bump into Holly.” Lou was about to sit down when Jess came tearing in, late.

Vân Ước introduced the two girls, who smiled and greeted each other, before Lou went over to Saafi.

In a quick aside to Vân Ước, Jess said, “Your mum tells me you’re going to a church-rowing-gathering at the house of the tall friend-of-Eleanor’s-doctor-son who you accidentally ran into at our gate yesterday morning at seven a.m. because he was out running?”

“I didn’t have much time to develop the story. There’s a party at Billy’s.”

Jess gave Vân Ước her least impressed face, the one that looked like she’d tasted something disgusting and was about to spit. “I hope you know what you’re putting your hand up for, lady.”

Vân Ước was almost certain she was putting her hand up for something complicated and confusing that would probably end in tears (hers), but too late: it was already up.

“There were further developments yesterday,” she said.

“Did these developments include any physical contact?”

“Yes. I’ll fill you in tonight.”

Toward the end of the hour, she saw Jess’s student packing up and leaving a few minutes early, at which time Jess took her juice box and zipped straight outside to the playground.

If she thought her mother was dubious and unimpressed by the idea of Billy and his “celebration,” it was nothing compared to the cool wrath of Jess after getting the full catch-up at their regular Friday movie night.

Kissing, she thought, was dodgy—because Billy hadn’t passed her good-guy tests—but permissible; getting involved in a prank was another matter.

“It’s so not you.”

“I just set up the camera.”

“And he’s going to get the photo printed, rig it up in front of the CCTV camera, trick the staff and the security company, and you’ll be expelled.”

“Funny, though. Admit.”

“Funny for him. His parents are paying thirty grand a year so he can misbehave. Not so funny for you, scholarship girl.”

“He said he’d take the rap.”

Jess shrugged. “It’ll be nice to have you back at school with me. I can’t wait.”

“Too late to back out, anyway; I’ve already sent him the photos. He’s getting a print made over the weekend.”

They pondered the possible expulsion outcome, which Vân Ước wished she’d thought through better, and turned their attention to the large bowl of thick-cut homemade chips, made in Jess’s mum’s new fryer, the low-fat Frymatic that she’d bought at Aldi.

Jess got salt from the cupboard. “Very disappointed! Bad, bad girl! You shame your family!” she added in the parent-accent impersonation that they sometimes guilty-used in private.

At least the Billy friction was taking place in a world of crunchy salt-and-vinegar heaven.

They had The Perks of Being a Wallflower. And as well as their chip main course, they had chocolate bullets and Mars bar bites for dessert.

“Anyway, what were you talking to him about in such depth at the end of homework club?”

“I told him that he’d better remember me, because I’m your best friend. And he’d better read Jane Eyre, because that is the code by which you live your whole sorry life.”

“What did he say?”

“He said okay.”

“Anything else?”

“I said, I hope you’re not the douche who said ‘oars before whores,’ because that would render him unworthy to tie your bootlaces.”

“I told you he said it.” Vân Ước resisted snapping, but Jess could be very intrusive without even trying. “What did he say then?”

“He admitted he’d said it—”

“Which you already knew.”

Jess held up a hand. “But on reflection he could see it was very offensive. In fact, he’d unthinkingly picked it up from his father. Apparently, they said it back in his day. And he said you’re doing a whole lot of gender politics stuff in Theory of Knowledge, and he’s seeing the world in a new light.”

“Wow. You got through a lot of material there.”

“Got your back, babe.”

“Anything else?”

“He said, Good-bye, Jessica—using my name very deliberately. And looking at me, so he’ll remember next time.”

“Sounds like he’s making an effort, then.”

“Effort will be measured next week. For now he is still officially blacklisted. And—I’m not kidding—I don’t approve of you going to his party, with his idiot friends.”

“I’m not even sure I approve. But I even more don’t approve of you cross-examining him.”

“Too late for that,” said Jess. “You should never have chosen a bossy best friend when you were five.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“You really are pissed. Are you?”

“A bit. Yes.”

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t dating a dick, I never would’ve had to cross-examine him.”

Vân Ước’s annoyance was mirrored in Jess’s expression. This was the closest she and Jess had ever come to fighting, and it felt horrible.