I wake up pretty late. My morning lecture is a write-off, so I flop back in bed, trying to ignore my full bladder.
My phone buzzes. A text from Amy.
Where r u? xx
Soz, overslept. Be in soon.
Ok. Text me when ur in xxxx.
I yawn, and my bladder wins out. I pad out to the bathroom. As usual, the house is quiet. I hesitate by Brat’s door, wondering if he’s in or if he’s actually gone to school today. I give myself a little shake. Why should I care?
Back in my room again, I check my laptop. No sign of Tori. I wonder if she’s slept in too. In a way, that would be like us sleeping in together, which is an image I like, so I linger on it for a bit. I imagine her dark hair trailing over the pillow beside me, the warmth of her body next to mine, the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing. For a moment, I’m lost in the fantasy, and it is greater than any dream of fictional characters, because this is something that could happen, may already behappening.
To celebrate this, I find a cute little meme, featuring a kitten showing someone unconditional love in many and varied ways, and share it on Tori’s page. I’m such an old romantic.
I skip morning coffee and grab a granola bar to keep me going. Mum’s still in the living room, but she’s awake. She smiles at me when I go in and give her a kiss goodbye. I don’t mention Bradley. Why ruin an otherwise perfect morning?
Outside, it’s drizzling, but I simply don’t care. I even manage to ignore the other bus wankers at the stop who are waiting with me. As soon as I can, I’m back on my phone—Tori has “loved” the meme I left her and has sent me one with a silly frog that’s completely twee and stupid, but I “love” it anyway, blushing to myself.
I hear the chug of an engine in the distance and look up. It’s the 21, so I stuff my phone in my pocket and flash my bus pass at the driver with a smile. He grunts in return. Well, you can’t please everyone.
On the bus, I text Amy to tell her I’m on my way and then stare wistfully out the window. No more messages from Tori; she’s obviously either on her way to work or is trying to weasel the day off—
“Hi, Beth.”
I look up.
It’s Jenna Thwaites from school.
“Oh. Hello.” I try not to stare as I regress back to being thirteen all over again. What the fuck is she doing, talking to me? This has to be the first time she’s willingly acknowledged my existence. “What are you doing here?”
She shrugs. I notice that she doesn’t have those cloth daisies in her hair anymore. “Going into town. I moved away, tried the whole uni thing, but it’s not for me. I’m thinking of coming back. Too expensive to live on my own.” Without waiting to be asked, she sits down next to me.
“That’s a shame,” I say, feeling extremely awkward as old memories fight their way through ancient scabs to bleed once again.
“Nah, not really. It’s cheaper this way—means I can at least try to save some cash. I’d like to go traveling at some point, but I was forking out nearly everything on rent. It’s ridiculous. You off to uni?”
“Yeah. I overslept, so I missed my first lecture. Can’t miss my second.”
She smiles at that, and despite myself, I’m reminded of all the reasons I once hated and adored her.
“It’s good you’re doing well,” she says. A pause. “I always knew you’d do all right.”
A little stab of panic erupts in my chest. “You did? Oh.” The bus rumbles on. “I’m sorry. This is my stop.”
“Oh. All right. Might see you around?”
Seriously? After everything you put me through, you might see me around?
“Yeah. Maybe.” I press the bell, which chimes my desire to get out of this nightmare.
“Love to your mum, yeah?”
Funny. I’d forgotten her mum was once friends with mine.
“I’ll tell her. And love to, uh, your mum too.”
She nods. The bus stops. I get off and let out a long, cleansing sigh of relief.
***
Amy’s waiting for me in what I’m beginning to think of as her usual spot. Her other friends, Nicki and Carla, aren’t standing with her. They’re there, just not with her. Over the last few weeks they’ve kind of drifted away from her, and I kind of feel sorry for her. Is hanging out with me really so damaging to one’s reputation?
Not that Amy seems to care. As soon as she catches sight of me, she waves, her face breaking into a broad grin. I find myself following suit—although I keep my arm pinned to my side and just wave with my hand; last thing anyone needs is the sight of my bingo wings billowing in the wind, even if they are covered by my coat. Maybe this is what friendship actually is. Geographical convenience, the ability to tolerate one another, and waving. Even I have to admit, there are a lot worse things in the world.
“Hey,” I say as I stroll up. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nah. All basic stuff. A brainiac like you could catch up in minutes. Brice says he’s putting the slides on the intranet this afternoon, so it’s all easy-peasy. Dunno why I even went, to be honest. I mean, if he’s just going to go through a Powerpoint and then shove them online, what’s the actual point of going to his lectures? Seems like we could all save some time there. Then again, I suppose he won’t get paid if he doesn’t teach. Anyway, have you seen about that open workshop thingie? What the fuck is that all about?”
“Uh, what open workshop?”
“It’s this thing where they split us all up into small groups and we all have to psychoanalyze each other using questionnaires, or something. They emailed out the details yesterday, but the names are on the bulletin board. Did you not get it?”
A slick feeling of dread oozes around my stomach. “No . . . I didn’t check my email yesterday, though.”
“We could go look on the board? It would be so cool if we were at the same workshop!”
“Yeah, uh, maybe later. If we go look now, we’ll be late for Grindle’s lecture.”
She play-slaps her forehead. “Duh. Of course. Lecture first. Always getting ahead of myself!”
She slips her arm through the crook of mine. I try to ignore the way my stomach flips. Open workshop. That doesn’t sound like fun. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. That sounds like role-play and team games and all the things people! Who! Talk! In! Exclamation! Marks! find fun, but the rest of the population despises. I shiver and hug my folders tightly to my chest.
Just when you think things are starting to go your way, eh?
***
I’m kind of getting used to not sitting at the back now. I’m not saying I like it, but it’s sort of like eating broccoli or using mismatching cutlery.
The lecture’s pretty interesting—historical methods of diagnosis—and leaves me with a distinct sense of gratitude that I wasn’t born a hundred years ago. The only thing that really bothers me is the looks that Nicki and Carla keep throwing me and Amy; furtive, nasty little looks that leave me in no doubt that we are their topic of conversation in the DMs they’re so obviously sharing. No whispering, just tippy-tappying away on their phones while Grindle drones on about electroshock treatment. Makes me wish he had a shock button on his desk. Not paying attention? Bzzz! Making up nasty little lies? Bzzzz! Gossiping? BZZZZ!! Heh heh, I think I could do with one of those. I’d have my brother on the straight and narrow within one afternoon.
As the lecture ends and we all start to pile out, there’s a call from the front of the lecture hall.
“Miss Hardcastle!”
Amy frowns and gives me a facial shrug.
“What does he want?” I whisper.
“I dunno. I’ve done all my work. Better go see.”
“Can’t you pretend you didn’t hear him?”
“Miss Hardcastle? Can you come over here?”
“Not really. I think he’s spotted me.”
She turns and weaves her way easily through the crowd, like an otter gliding through water, leaving me to stare after her as people jostle me on all sides. I want to follow her, but at the same time, I most definitely don’t, and so I allow the sea of students to carry me out of the room and back outside, where they break up into small groups. I hover at the edges, waiting for Amy to come back with the terrible news that she’s inevitably receiving. I glance up at the sky; it’s gray, like always. I gnaw on the edge of my thumb, biting off squidgy chunks of skin that I know will sting like hell later, but right now, I don’t care, I just need to let my mouth do something, anything, to ease the tension.
Jesus Christ, how long is he going to keep her in there for? Maybe he’s chucking her out. Or telling her to pull her socks up. Or, or, maybe they’re having some kind of sordid affair, something she is forced to keep from everyone, or, or, or—
“Hey. Thanks for waiting for me,” Amy says. I jump. “Are you all right?”
“Uh, yeah. Of course.” I swallow, hoping it will steady my voice. “What did Grindle want?”
“Oh, nothing. Just to clarify one of my sources. Said it was a clever find. It was one of yours, so no surprise there, eh?” She pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
When people say all the color drained from her face, I’m never really sure what they mean by that. Oh, of course, I know what they mean, but it’s something you see written, not in real life. I still don’t know what it looks like, but I now damn well know what it feels like.
“He asked about a source?”
“Yeah. Said it was a clever link. I think he was probably trying to work out if I was plagiarizing someone, but I said it was something you’d found and had helped me with.” She gives me an impish smile, like she’s done me a massive favor. “It felt wrong, stealing your thunder. I wonder why he picked it up in my essay and not yours, though?”
All that color that had drained from me suddenly rushed back in one big burning hit. “I dunno. Maybe he hasn’t marked mine yet.”
“Yeah, must be it. Shall we go and see what work group you’ve been put into for the workshop?”
No. I don’t want to traipse all the way over to the Richmond building to see what fucking group I’m in for this piss-balling workshop. I don’t want to go to this workshop. I wish this workshop didn’t exist! For fuck’s sake, I thought uni would be lovely lectures and libraries and studying and basically being left to my own devices, not being made to spend time with a bunch of wankers who’ll inevitably hate my guts! Gah! Just drop it! Please!
I don’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I put on my best apologetic face and make up something, because lying is something Beth does best: “Oh, sorry, I can’t. I’ve got to get home. I’m babysitting, and I need to be there early.”
“Oh, bummer. Would have been good to see if we’re together. I might wander over there anyway. I can text you your group.”
She gives me a hopeful Has Amy Done Good? look that makes something in my heart twist painfully. I chew on my lips so I don’t yell out, “For God’s sake, no!”
“If you want. Don’t go out of your way, though.”
“Cool!” She beams at me again and hugs me goodbye, and I kind of hate her for it. And then I kind of hate myself too, because there is literally nothing to hate about Amy.