‘Shouldn’t you have left by now?’ Grace asks the following morning as I search for my English folder amongst the mess on the kitchen table.
‘Slept through my alarm, didn’t I?’ I say.
The truth is I’ve been awake for hours. I’m going purposefully slowly so I don’t have to walk to school with my friends.
‘What is that?’ I ask. ‘It absolutely stinks.’
‘This?’ she asks, holding up her mug.
I nod.
‘It’s red raspberry leaf tea,’ she says in this weird, serene voice she’s taken to speaking in any time anyone brings up the birth. ‘It’s supposed to help ease labour by strengthening the walls of the uterus.’
I pull a face. ‘Well, it smells rancid,’ I say, knocking a pot of pens off the table.
I swear under my breath and drop to my knees to pick them up.
‘I didn’t think you were even here,’ Grace says. ‘Mum said you were staying at Stella’s.’
By the time I got back last night, everyone was in bed.
‘Yeah, I was going to,’ I say. ‘But then I remembered I needed my PE kit.’
‘Couldn’t you have just borrowed something off Stella?’
Trust Grace to think of that.
‘Didn’t think.’
I straighten up and put the pot of pens back on the table.
Grace slides off her stool and adds a splash of cold water to her tea. ‘What were you revising for?’ she asks.
‘Huh?’
‘At Stella’s.’
‘Oh, Media Studies.’
It’s the first subject that pops into my head.
‘Stella takes Media Studies?’ Grace says.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘I could have sworn when I chatted to her last summer, that she said she was doing English, Geography, Art and Economics.’ A pause. ‘I must have got it wrong,’ she adds.
‘Yeah, you must have,’ I say, finally finding my folder under a pile of Mum’s work invoices.
But Grace never gets it wrong. She knows that and I know that.
I glance up at the clock. ‘I’d better get going,’ I mutter.
I walk to school slowly. If I time it right I can go straight to English and won’t have to see Kimmie until lunch time at the earliest. I don’t quite know why, but until I’ve seen her face-to-face, it’s almost as if I can trick myself into thinking what happened with Aaron wasn’t so bad, that I’m not a completely horrible person after all. In the cold light of day, I feel even worse than I did last night, stumbling home in the dark, feeling dirty and sore and numb.
I arrive a few minutes before the bell, dropping off my stupid letter of apology for Ugly Tie Man at the admin office before ducking into the toilets and sitting in one of the cubicles until it rings. I wait for the corridors to empty before sprinting to English, slipping into my seat just in time for Mrs Poots to call my name on the register.
At break time, I make an excuse about unfinished homework and hide out in the library instead of heading to the sixth form common room. I’m staring out of the window when I notice someone waving at me from over the other side of the library out of the corner of my eye.
Kimmie.
My heart starts to beat faster as she makes her way towards me with a big smile on her face. She looks extra cute today in a corduroy dungaree dress layered over a T-shirt with cherries embroidered all over it.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘Stella said you were in here.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, swallowing hard.
‘What homework are you doing?’ she asks, looking at the empty table in front of me.
‘Oh, RS,’ I say. ‘I’ve just finished it actually.’
She nods and slides into the seat opposite. ‘Are you mad with us?’ she asks.
She draws circles on the table with her finger. ‘It’s just that none of us heard from you pretty much all weekend.’
‘I was busy.’
‘What doing?’
‘Just stuff.’
The guilt physically hurts. Sort of like a nettle sting, only a hundred times worse.
‘Is everything OK, Mia?’ she asks. ‘You seem a bit funny.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘It’s probably just PMT, you know how I get.’
She nods, but doesn’t look convinced.
‘Oh my God, what the hell is that?’ Stella cries.
It’s the last period of the day and we’re getting changed for PE.
‘What’s what?’ I ask.
I’ve been spaced out since my conversation with Kimmie in the library earlier and am not remotely in the mood for Stella’s theatrics.
‘That big fat vampire bite!’ she says, pointing at my neck.
Shit. I reach to untie the ponytail I’ve just scraped my hair into, but it’s too late. I’ve been rumbled.
‘Jesus Christ, Mia,’ Stella continues, forcing my head to one side to get a closer look. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Get what?’ I ask, shaking her off.
‘Oh, come on, like you don’t know it’s there.’
I go over to the mirror and pretend to notice the love bite for the very first time. Despite about twelve layers of concealer, it’s shining out for all to see.
Idiot.
‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’
Stella and Kimmie crack up laughing.
‘You are such a bad actress, Mia,’ Stella says.
‘I’m serious, I have no idea where I got this,’ I protest, prodding at it for good measure. ‘It’s probably just an allergic reaction or something. Come to think of it, Audrey had Beyoncé up in our room like all day yesterday, I bet it’s that.’
‘I didn’t you know you were allergic to guinea pigs,’ Kimmie says.
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Really, really allergic.’
Stella snorts. ‘Oh please, Mia, you’re no more allergic to guinea pigs than I am Kate and Pippa Middleton’s long-lost little sister.’
‘But it’s true,’ I whine.
‘Honestly, do you think we were born yesterday? Just tell us already! Who gave you the hickey to end all hickeys?’
‘No one,’ I say, loosening my hair from its ponytail.
Mrs Cates barges into the changing rooms and tells us to hurry up, forcing the group to disperse.
‘Hair up please, Mia,’ she barks as she strides the length of the lockers.
‘I’ve lost my bobble,’ I lie.
‘No you haven’t, it’s on your wrist,’ Kimmie says.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, reluctantly tying my hair back up, yanking down a few tendrils in an attempt to disguise the love bite as best I can.
‘That’s better,’ Mrs Cates says, shoving a load of wooden rounders bats into my arms.
Mikey is waiting for us outside the changing rooms.
The first thing Stella does is instruct him to ‘check out Mia’s epic love bite’.
‘Fuck me,’ Mikey says, screwing up his face as he peers at it. ‘Someone went to town on you.’
‘Do you have to be so loud?’ I hiss, nodding at the group in front.
‘And since when are you coy about this stuff?’ he asks.
‘I’m not being coy,’ I mutter.
‘Come to think of it,’ Stella says, scampering along beside me like an excited puppy dog. ‘You do look pretty knackered. I thought so earlier.’
‘Wow, thanks a lot,’ I reply.
‘I’m just being honest,’ Stella says, like that somehow makes it OK to go around telling people they basically look like shit warmed up.
‘She’s got a point,’ Mikey says. ‘You’re not looking your hottest this morning, Mia.’
‘Well, I think you look really pretty today,’ Kimmie says, offering me a sweet from the bag of Haribo Star Mix she has hidden under the stack of bibs Mrs Cates gave her to carry up to the field.
‘Suck-up,’ Mikey says, disguising it as a cough.
‘Oh, piss off,’ I say, taking a fried egg and popping it in my mouth, swallowing it whole. I can feel it making its way down my windpipe. Kimmie offers me another. I shake my head, a fresh crop of guilt creeping up my body like climbing ivy on fast-forward, winding round my ankles and wrists, threatening to drag me to the ground.
‘So, come on then,’ Stella says. ‘What were you doing this weekend?’
‘Or more accurately, who were you doing this weekend?’ Mikey adds, looking disproportionately pleased with himself.
‘I told you, nothing,’ I say.
‘Whatever! That thing on your neck is a textbook love bite. Plus, how else do you explain the crazy hair? The dark circles? The elusiveness? You’ve blatantly been shagging all weekend!’
‘You must think we’re total idiots,’ Stella adds.
I open my mouth and then shut it again. Because I can’t admit what I did this weekend. Any of it.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell us!’ Stella continues to squawk. ‘I would never dream of not telling you if I got it on with someone.’
‘Who is he?’ Kimmie asks, her eyes shining. ‘Someone we know?’
The guilt morphs into a thousand little knives attacking every centimetre of my body. Stab, stab, stab.
‘Yeah, someone from school?’ Mikey asks.
‘Ew, no,’ I say. ‘I’ve had it with boys my age, you know that.’
‘Then who?’ he cries.
I hesitate, my brain whirring as I start to panic, my clammy hands struggling to hold onto the rounders bats in my arms.
‘You may as well tell us the gory details now,’ Stella says in a singsong voice. ‘Because you know if you don’t, we’ll only find out some other way.’
She’s right. They’ll never let me get away with not dishing the dirt. And I can’t risk them finding out the truth. Not ever.
‘Paul,’ I blurt. ‘It was Paul.’ The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
‘Wait, Paul who?’ Mikey asks.
His words are overlapped with a gasp from Stella. ‘Oh my God, as in Paul your next-door neighbour?’ she cries.
I don’t have to say anything else. They join the dots all by themselves, squealing and gasping, full of questions, all of which I answer in startling detail, the lies flowing easily.
Too easily.