I spend the rest of Saturday and the whole of Sunday cooped up in my room. Apart from coming upstairs for a shower, Bonnie sticks to the living room, the door firmly shut. My only contact with the outside world is a text from Dad letting me know he’s back in the country and that he, Melanie and Izzy had a ‘magical time’.
I replay my fight with Tanvi over and over and agonize about all the things I should have said and done. I compose dozens of apologetic messages but fail to press send on any of them. My head feels like a bowl of spaghetti, my thoughts all tangled up. Beyond saying I’m sorry for what I said, I have no idea how to put any of this right. I don’t even know if I want to. Perhaps it’s better this way, to sever our friendship sooner rather than later. I’m clearly not the person Tanvi thought I was, so maybe there’s no point in even trying to salvage it.
*
I knew school was going to be bad, but nothing could have prepared me for the reaction on Monday morning. As I walk to registration, the whispers and nudges race down the corridor like falling dominoes. I can’t make out the exact words being uttered, but I can take a pretty good guess at the content – that I’m disgusting, dirty, crazy, messed up. I try to keep my head up high and pretend I’m not rattled, but inside I’m crumbling with every step. I knew there was no way Sienna and the others would keep what happened at my house to themselves, but from what I can work out, the news has spread well beyond Year Ten, kids from Year Seven right up to sixth form openly gawping at me as I make my way to class. And if that many people know, it’s only a matter of time before Social Services are sticking their noses in.
I take a sudden right and stumble into the toilets, barging past a bunch of Year Eights trowelling on make-up in front the mirrors, and lock myself in the furthest away cubicle.
I drop to my knees and flush the loo in an attempt to disguise the sound of my retching but nothing comes up. I wish it would – anything to ease the tangle of panic and fear buried deep inside me.
I yank off a wad of toilet paper and use it to soak up the sweat on my face and under my arms. Within seconds, it’s a soggy mess in my hands. Using the toilet-paper dispenser as leverage, I pull myself up into standing position and open the cubicle door.
I recoil at my reflection in the mirrors above the sinks. I look exhausted. The concealer I applied less than an hour ago has sweated away, exposing the grey circles under my eyes.
As I wash my hands, I can feel the clown-faced girls watching me.
‘Yes?’ I snarl. ‘Can I help you?’
They all shake their heads frantically, the two-year age gap guaranteeing I have the upper hand. Just.
I shake my wet hands over the sink and leave the room, my stomach still churning despite the fact I’ve barely eaten a thing since Friday afternoon.
In registration, I’m thrown to discover Tanvi’s seat empty. Apart from that first day when she got lost, Tanvi is always early, grinning and waving the moment I enter the room, brimming with news and gossip and silly little anecdotes and a full rundown of what she ate for breakfast.
As I make my way up the aisle, my classmates don’t even bother to hide their stares. I do my best to ignore them, fixing my gaze on a spot on the wall and trying to look as blank as possible. It’s all an act. By the time I reach my seat, I’m sweating like mad.
As I sit down, Emerson twists round in his seat.
‘You haven’t seen Tanvi, have you?’ he asks, licking his lips nervously.
I shake my head.
‘Oh,’ he says, looking disappointed. ‘Do you reckon she’s poorly?’
‘How should I know?’ I snap.
He frowns. ‘You’re best mates, aren’t you?’
I don’t answer him, pulling my backpack onto my lap and pretending to sort through its contents until he gets the message and leaves me alone.
The first lesson of the day is art and I’m dreading it. Jamie, Sienna and Cassie are all in my class, and even though Mrs Skinner insists on silence, my insides twist at the thought of being stuck in the same room as them for an hour.
I walk into the classroom to discover a man with a bushy brown beard sitting on Mrs Skinner’s desk.
‘Where’s Miss?’ Alice asks.
‘She’s unwell,’ the man replies. ‘My name’s Mr Bute and I’ll be taking the class today.’
As I sit down, Jamie strides into the classroom. I turn away and pretend to be engrossed with the view of the car park, fixing my gaze on a robin hopping from car bonnet to car bonnet.
‘Oh hi, Ro,’ Sienna says as she squeezes past. ‘How’s your mum?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer, bursting into peals of laughter.
‘Don’t be such a bitch, Senn,’ Cassie mutters, pushing after her.
‘I want you all to work in pairs,’ Mr Bute says once everyone has sat down. ‘One of you will draw a portrait of your partner during the first half of the lesson, then on my say-so, you’ll swap over. The medium is up to you but no paints, please. I don’t want to be here until six cleaning up your mess.’ He claps his hands. ‘Off you go then, sort yourselves out.’
I glance around the classroom, trying not to look desperate as I attempt to identify someone to work with.
‘Anyone without a partner?’ Mr Bute asks after a few minutes.
As I raise my hand, I know the entire class is watching.
‘And what’s your name?’ Mr Bute asks.
‘Ro,’ I say quietly.
‘Anyone else?’ Mr Bute asks.
No one replies.
‘There must be an odd number. You’ll have to make a three. Anyone happy for Ro to join their group?’
A suffocating silence falls over the classroom like a vast cloak.
Mr Bute sighs. ‘Anyone?’
‘As if,’ Sienna says from over the other side of the room. ‘We don’t want to catch something.’
Anger bubbles in my belly, my hands instinctively balling into fists.
‘What was that?’ Mr Bute asks, frowning.
‘Nothing, sir,’ Sienna says in a singsong voice. I can practically hear her fluttering her eyelashes.
‘Anyone?’ Mr Bute says in a bored voice. ‘Come along now, before I have to pick.’
‘She can join our group, sir.’
I blink, turning with the rest of the class to look in the direction of the volunteer.
Jamie lowers his hand. ‘I mean, if she wants to,’ he adds, his face turning red.
I stare at him. Is this some kind of joke? Was Friday’s humiliation not enough for him? My fists grow tighter, my fingernails digging into my palms.
Next to Jamie, his partner, a pretty redhead called Alana, doesn’t even bother to hide her disgust, her jaw jutting out in silent protest.
‘Excellent,’ Mr Bute says, totally oblivious. ‘Ro, if you’d like to join that group.’
I get up and carry my chair over to where Jamie and Alana are sitting. It’s only a few steps, but it feels like a marathon.
‘Seeing as there’re three of you,’ Mr Bute continues. ‘One of you is going to have to forego being the subject.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say quickly.
‘Whatever,’ Alana mutters, tossing her Little Mermaid hair over her shoulder.
She volunteers to sit first, arranging herself sideways on her chair and pouting her lips.
I pick up a piece of charcoal and begin to draw, starting with Alana’s eyes. Within seconds, it’s clear they’re going to be far too big but I don’t care, sketching in enormous eyebrows to match. Next to me, I can sense Jamie gearing up to say something, his mouth opening then closing again.
‘If you’ve got something to say, then just say it,’ I hiss.
‘Sorry?’
I hesitate. His surprise seems genuine.
‘I was just going to say that I didn’t know,’ he says in a low voice.
‘About what?’
‘About you living, you know, where you live. What I mean is, I didn’t go there on purpose.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my brain aching as I try to decide if this makes things any less hideous.
‘Can we cut the chat please?’ Mr Bute calls. He’s lounging in Mrs Skinner’s chair, his feet on her desk, a phone cradled in his palm.
‘I just wanted you to know that,’ Jamie whispers, the tips of his ears turning pink.
‘OK,’ I whisper back. ‘Thank you.’
We continue to draw in silence. I wish I hadn’t used charcoal. My fingertips and the side of my hand are filthy.
Mr Bute’s phone begins to ring. ‘I’ll be back shortly, class,’ he says, jumping up from his chair and ducking out into the corridor.
The second the door falls shut behind him, the volume in the classroom rises by at least five notches. Alana drops her pose, turning to talk to a girl behind her. I continue to draw her stupid pouty face from memory. I still can’t figure out whether Jamie’s words have made me feel any better.
‘Hey, Jamie! You sure you wanna sit that close to her?’ Sienna’s voice cuts through the chatter, reigniting the heat in my belly.
Jamie ignores her, continuing to apply broad confident strokes to the page.
‘Hey, Jamie, are you listening to me or what?’
Jamie lets out a tired sigh. He lowers his pencil and twists round in his seat to face Sienna’s direction. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘Aw, don’t be like that,’ Sienna says in a baby voice. ‘I thought we were mates. Or is there only room for one girl in your life?’
‘What are you talking about?’ he demands, his voice suddenly all spikes and sharp angles.
I silently will him to turn back round, to ignore the bait, to keep drawing.
‘Your new girlfriend,’ Sienna says.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Jamie growls.
‘Oh really? Then why did you spend half of Jack’s party with her? And bring her trick or treating? And team up with her today? Hmmmmm?’
I still can’t see Sienna, but I can picture her smug expression perfectly.
Jamie stands up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor with a high-pitched squeal.
‘Look, she’s not my girlfriend, OK?’
The entire class is listening in now. I press against my paper so hard the piece of charcoal goes through to the page beneath.
‘Where do you do it?’ Sienna asks. ‘Like, in the rubbish?’
Giggles ripple across the classroom.
The anger in my belly continues to bubble furiously.
‘It must stink,’ Sienna crows, soaking up the nervous laughter. ‘Or maybe that turns you on.’
The bubbling is right under my skin now, threatening to spill, to send me over the edge.
‘Senn,’ Cassie says quietly. ‘Stop it now.’
‘I’m not judging,’ Sienna says, ignoring her. ‘I mean, if that’s what you’re into, go for it, by all means.’
‘I mean it, Senn,’ Cassie says.
‘Oh, wait, hang on, maybe it’s her mum you’re into,’ Sienna continues. ‘Is that it? Or maybe you’re into both at the same time. Like mother, like daughter …’
I stand up, my chair flying from beneath me. My piece of charcoal falls to the ground.