Chapter One
THE SECOND HE SAYS the words I want him to take them back. I want him to have said something else, instead – something sunny, like, “Oh, hey we’re going to have a great time on our vacation, hooray!” – but of course that’s not something you have to announce. I mean, it’s obvious we’re going to have a great time on our vacation. Three weeks in a cabin by a glorious lake, surrounded by nothing but trees and wonderful weather and barbecued food?
Sounds like heaven.
Or at least, it sounds like heaven until he slips in this little tidbit:
‘I invited Artie.’
And then it just sounds like I want to punch him repeatedly, in his stupid face. It’s not even as though he says it in an innocent, no big deal sort of way. He says it in a way I know all too well, having been his friend for the last five years. It’s his “I know you’re going to hate this” tone of voice, and by God he’s right.
I hate it very much. I hate it almost as much as I hate Artie Carter, and his big, pompous, stupid attitude, and his swooping, ridiculous haircut, and that way he has of looking at you, like you’re the most ridiculous person in the world.
‘Are you serious?’ I ask, because it’s the only thing I can go with, really. All of the rest of my words are lost, lost on a tide of what my holiday could have been. Drinking games and Boggle tournaments and nights out at terrible local pubs, with James and Lucy. Endless days of sunbathing in a bathing suit I don’t really mind wearing, because neither of my two best friends ever make me feel bad about anything.
But Artie Carter … ohhh, he makes me feel bad all right. I could wear a snowsuit covered in 17 jumpers and a cagoule and he’d make me feel bad about it, somehow. It’s not this season’s winter collection, or something, and the fact that I’m daring to wear it just makes me a pleb he recently scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
‘Look, Mal … he really doesn’t hate you,’ James says, but he’s just so blue-eyed and open and honest … it’s easy to see when he’s lying. It’s almost like he’s begging me to understand with that hangdog expression – and of course I know why.
This is the vacation when he’s finally, finally going to attempt to bone Lucy. And OK – he hasn’t used the word bone, but even so. I know that’s what the idea is, here. He’s made it supremely obvious to everyone but Lucy, with all the extra gym time he’s been putting in and the spray tan he actually went out and got and oh Jesus …
Are those highlights in his hair? He does realise that Lucy isn’t a gay man, right?
‘Yeah, I think I’m too beneath his notice for active hatred,’ I say, at which James makes just the expression I’m dreading. It’s not even pity, really. It’s worse than pity. It’s like a wince, and it gets more crumpled the further this conversation goes on.
‘It’s just the way he is,’ he tries, but I’ve heard that one before. I’ve heard it after he’s finished telling me about the great game of basketball him and his buddy Artie had, and what a swell guy he is, and oh did you know? Artie and Lucy spent the whole day at an amusement park the weekend before, because apparently he gets on well with everyone in the world.
Apart from me.
‘It’s not the way he is. It’s the way I am. He thinks I’m an idiot, and he makes it clear on a daily basis. I mean, is that how you think I should spend my holiday? Being judged by a guy who thinks I’m an idiot?’
‘He looked at you weird one time. He probably had something in his eye!’
‘Yeah, I think it’s called “extreme contempt”.’ I cluck my tongue at myself, which is the worst part, really. No matter how I approach the Artie issue, this is always what I’m left thinking: ‘I shouldn’t have told that story about the vibrator.’
Of course, James doesn’t let me be irritated with myself for long. He laughs right after I’ve said the words out loud,
THE SECOND HE SAYS the words I want him to take them back. I want him to have said something else, instead – something sunny, like, “Oh, hey we’re going to have a great time on our vacation, hooray!” – but of course that’s not something you have to announce. I mean, it’s obvious we’re going to have a great time on our vacation. Three weeks in a cabin by a glorious lake, surrounded by nothing but trees and wonderful weather and barbecued food?
Sounds like heaven.
Or at least, it sounds like heaven until he slips in this little tidbit:
‘I invited Artie.’
And then it just sounds like I want to punch him repeatedly, in his stupid face. It’s not even as though he says it in an innocent, no big deal sort of way. He says it in a way I know all too well, having been his friend for the last five years. It’s his “I know you’re going to hate this” tone of voice, and by God he’s right.
I hate it very much. I hate it almost as much as I hate Artie Carter, and his big, pompous, stupid attitude, and his swooping, ridiculous haircut, and that way he has of looking at you, like you’re the most ridiculous person in the world.
‘Are you serious?’ I ask, because it’s the only thing I can go with, really. All of the rest of my words are lost, lost on a tide of what my holiday could have been. Drinking games and Boggle tournaments and nights out at terrible local pubs, with James and Lucy. Endless days of sunbathing in a bathing suit I don’t really mind wearing, because neither of my two best friends ever make me feel bad about anything.
But Artie Carter … ohhh, he makes me feel bad all right. I could wear a snowsuit covered in 17 jumpers and a cagoule and he’d make me feel bad about it, somehow. It’s not this season’s winter collection, or something, and the fact that I’m daring to wear it just makes me a pleb he recently scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
‘Look, Mal … he really doesn’t hate you,’ James says, but he’s just so blue-eyed and open and honest … it’s easy to see when he’s lying. It’s almost like he’s begging me to understand with that hangdog expression – and of course I know why.
This is the vacation when he’s finally, finally going to attempt to bone Lucy. And OK – he hasn’t used the word bone, but even so. I know that’s what the idea is, here. He’s made it supremely obvious to everyone but Lucy, with all the extra gym time he’s been putting in and the spray tan he actually went out and got and oh Jesus …
Are those highlights in his hair? He does realise that Lucy isn’t a gay man, right?
‘Yeah, I think I’m too beneath his notice for active hatred,’ I say, at which James makes just the expression I’m dreading. It’s not even pity, really. It’s worse than pity. It’s like a wince, and it gets more crumpled the further this conversation goes on.
‘It’s just the way he is,’ he tries, but I’ve heard that one before. I’ve heard it after he’s finished telling me about the great game of basketball him and his buddy Artie had, and what a swell guy he is, and oh did you know? Artie and Lucy spent the whole day at an amusement park the weekend before, because apparently he gets on well with everyone in the world.
Apart from me.
‘It’s not the way he is. It’s the way I am. He thinks I’m an idiot, and he makes it clear on a daily basis. I mean, is that how you think I should spend my holiday? Being judged by a guy who thinks I’m an idiot?’
‘He looked at you weird one time. He probably had something in his eye!’
‘Yeah, I think it’s called “extreme contempt”.’ I cluck my tongue at myself, which is the worst part, really. No matter how I approach the Artie issue, this is always what I’m left thinking: ‘I shouldn’t have told that story about the vibrator.’
Of course, James doesn’t let me be irritated with myself for long. He laughs right after I’ve said the words out loud,
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