When I come back from the toilet, I realise I’ve completely forgotten to check my phone all morning. All morning. I normally click on the envelope, just in case a text has come in that I’ve missed, but this morning nothing. And it feels good. I press out two painkillers from the foil packet and swig them down with a sip from my Coke can. Pryia gives me an understanding look before launching into a play-by-play account of the latest argument with her girlfriend over who puts the bins out on a Thursday morning versus who does their weekly food shop. I’d go for the bins any day. I try suggesting using an online delivery service for their shopping but am met with an overly long sigh. ‘If only it were that simple.’ On my right Owen and Nikhil are deciding how they’d spend their lottery winnings, if they actually played. I tune both conversations out.

It’s time.

I swipe it open.

I can do this, I can cope with this now.

I am reinstalling WhatsApp. It takes seconds.

So easy.

My finger hovers over the Facebook icon and the Instagram app but I’m not ready for those yet.

Small steps to start.

I check my texts.

Hopeful.

And there he is.

Excitement.

Ready and waiting.

Smile.

A little yellow envelope with a red 1 above it. Flashing and flirting with me.

Butterflies emerge from my stomach cocoon.

I open it, of course, because no matter how much I fill up my day with this place, there’s still room for all my thoughts and feelings. These strange little texts are something to cling on to, as I sit in the steamy staffroom alone.

So, what’s the craic? Stopped your whining and moaning yet Myrtle?

Shine on you crazy diamond,

R ;))))

SOME people might take offence at the word crazy, just so you know.

Ah, come on now, I didn’t mean to sound like a gobshite. I was just messing with you.

Yours til Niagara falls, R ☹

Care to explain Niagara Falls? And what’s a gobshite?

A gobshite is difficult to explain, it’d be easier face to face. Hands down the best word I know. Niagara Falls is where I’m headed next. You should come too and we could see the world together and I could point out all the gobshites.

Yeah, right.

C’mon, take a risk, I like to live life by the seat of my pants. I’m definitely the pilot of my plane. Hop on board?

It’s a big enough risk texting you, I’m definitely not going anywhere near your pants. And you can forget hopping on board, you lunatic.

Oi! I thought we’re being PC and not calling each other names. And my pants are the height of fashion I’ll have you know. If you’d agree to Skyping I could show you ;)

As I text back I feel my smile grow. I look up to see Mum crossing the room. I clutch the phone tighter to my chest – a dead giveaway. I don’t want her to ask because the answer isn’t one she’ll like.

We had theSafe Social Media Talk when I first went on Instagram. I’d already suffered the other talk. This couldn’t be worse than hearing my parents explain about vaginas and penises and intercourse.

‘Don’t talk to any strangers. Don’t agree to meet anyone. Don’t go into any chatting rooms with anyone and you must not accept a friendship request from anyone you don’t know,’ she told me, using her pointy finger. Her loose curls shook as she emphasised each point.

‘And no phones at the table. We’ll all leave them on the key table in the hallway, sì? Don’t want your phone pinging throughout our meal, cara?’ Dad was more concerned about the sacred family mealtimes than internet safety.

‘Sure,’ I agreed, keeping my answers as short as possible to speed things up, but no, Mum had more rules and conditions.

‘And don’t worry about how many likes your photos get; it isn’t a personality competition.’

‘Or a popularity competition, amore,’ Dad corrected.

‘You know all about grooming, right? And paedophiles?’

‘Yes, yes, Mum! Oh, my God!’ I cringed.

‘Alright then.’ Mum nodded. I nodded. We all nodded. I got up, kissed them both, before running up the stairs as fast as I could, composing my first caption for my first picture in my head. The important thing was to sound interesting, blasé and super casual without being boring. I had to get as many likes as possible. I had some serious catching-up to do.

And now I’m texting a strange boy about his pants. He could be anyone from anywhere. Except he isn’t really a stranger because we’ve met. But this is all I know and if Mum knew she’d freak right out. Truth is I don’t know if he is safe. I don’t know what he wants from me. But I’m kind of in it now and I like it – whatever it is, I like how it feels.

‘I’m texting Callie,’ I tell her and she sighs quietly with relief.

I will text Callie later, which will make it a truth.

‘Want my advice?’

‘Yes, please,’ I say, in what I hope is an encouraging manner. The last thing I want is anyone’s advice.

‘I think you should invite her round tomorrow night. You’ve been very distant since Dublin. I miss her about the house.’ I nod, relieved. ‘Be good for the two of you to have some time together without rent-a-crowd.’ I smile. ‘You could invite her now, while you’re thinking about it?’ she suggests, pointing at my phone, so I do.

My phone beeps and she looks delighted, as if the whole world has been righted. ‘That was fast!’

I know the text won’t be from Callie, I know it’ll be from Riley, so I turn my phone off and shove it in my bag. Mum smiles. She thinks that I’m dealing with things, that I’m listening to her and taking action. And right now, I am. I am dealing with things, I’m not lying about that. But the rest of the time I’m just surviving and that’s a different thing entirely.