by U2.
“I approve,” he smiles. “Especially the U2 one.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
Our tea and coffee are brought over. Shane watches, fascinated, as I pour the whole jug of milk into my cup.
“Have you ever thought about just getting milk?” he asks innocently.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Aren’t we very defensive about our tea-drinking habits?” he teases.
“Yes. I take my tea very seriously,” I inform him.
“I can see that.”
Pause.
Ask him does he like Sarah. Go on. You know you want to. Or tell him that you heard he likes someone in your school. Or get onto the subject of who he’s interested in somehow. Without it looking incredibly obvious.
Why can’t I just do this? Why can’t I just ask him, and find out, without making a big deal of it? Why do I feel so completely irrelevant around him? Maybe not even irrelevant, but just –
Not cool enough. That’s it. So much for all my be-yourself-and-forget-about-what-anyone-else-thinks philosophy. When it comes down to it, I still think everyone else is superior to me and that I’m never going to be good enough.
This realisation annoys me. A lot.
“Do you like Sarah?” I ask him, my frustration at my own inferiority complex fuelling me.
He looks surprised. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “Just wondering. You seem to.”
“She’s great,” he says. “She’s fantastic, she’s a really good friend and all, but . . . I don’t know. I never really thought about her in that way.”
“Fair enough,” I nod.
Stay calm, stay calm, try not to give into the urge to leap out of your chair and scream ‘I still have a chance!’
Chapter Fifty
We go our separate ways, Shane to see his friends, me to my bus stop. He asked me if I wanted to hang around with them, but I said that I didn’t want to intrude. Which was true, and which means that I now get to go home and be reclusive.
And think about him. Should I have stayed in town with him? He did invite me to, but then again, maybe he was just being polite. He was really in there to see his friends, after all. But what if he thinks that I said no because I don’t like being around him? What if he thinks I hate him, and starts to feel resentful towards me because of it?
I muse about these things on the way home, coming down from the high of spending time with him and ending up feeling – well, extremely depressed. I write Shane’s initials in the condensation on the window, then rub them off angrily.
Is that Graham getting on? Oh, fantastic. Just what I need. Hopefully he’ll stay downstairs. No, of course he won’t, he’ll come up here.
Told you.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I sit?”
I shrug. “Sure.” It being a public bus and all.
“Are you OK?” he asks.
And oh god, it’s stupid, but the way he asks, with this gentleness in his voice, makes me want to cry.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Positive.”
“Look, if you ever need to talk . . .” He sighs. “OK, I know we’re not on the best of terms at the moment, but I still want to stay friends with you.”
“OK, whatever,” I say quietly. I can’t do this now, Graham, I can’t argue with you. I’m just going to quietly agree with you and hope that you don’t press the issue, because I can’t handle it, I’m drained.
“Whatever?” he echoes.
“I’m agreeing with you, Graham, it’s a good thing,” I tell him.
We sit in silence for the rest of the bus journey, exchange “see ya”s, and then return to our lives.
I think about him asking me if I was OK, and how grateful I am to have someone caring about me.
Even if it is someone so incredibly evil. I shouldn’t forget that. I really shouldn’t.
Chapter Fifty-One
Help me.
I find myself reading over my old journals, the diaries I kept when I was in Second and Third Year, before I became too lazy and unmotivated to continue. I read the one from when I first met Graham. The “wow” feeling of having such a great
“I approve,” he smiles. “Especially the U2 one.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
Our tea and coffee are brought over. Shane watches, fascinated, as I pour the whole jug of milk into my cup.
“Have you ever thought about just getting milk?” he asks innocently.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Aren’t we very defensive about our tea-drinking habits?” he teases.
“Yes. I take my tea very seriously,” I inform him.
“I can see that.”
Pause.
Ask him does he like Sarah. Go on. You know you want to. Or tell him that you heard he likes someone in your school. Or get onto the subject of who he’s interested in somehow. Without it looking incredibly obvious.
Why can’t I just do this? Why can’t I just ask him, and find out, without making a big deal of it? Why do I feel so completely irrelevant around him? Maybe not even irrelevant, but just –
Not cool enough. That’s it. So much for all my be-yourself-and-forget-about-what-anyone-else-thinks philosophy. When it comes down to it, I still think everyone else is superior to me and that I’m never going to be good enough.
This realisation annoys me. A lot.
“Do you like Sarah?” I ask him, my frustration at my own inferiority complex fuelling me.
He looks surprised. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “Just wondering. You seem to.”
“She’s great,” he says. “She’s fantastic, she’s a really good friend and all, but . . . I don’t know. I never really thought about her in that way.”
“Fair enough,” I nod.
Stay calm, stay calm, try not to give into the urge to leap out of your chair and scream ‘I still have a chance!’
Chapter Fifty
We go our separate ways, Shane to see his friends, me to my bus stop. He asked me if I wanted to hang around with them, but I said that I didn’t want to intrude. Which was true, and which means that I now get to go home and be reclusive.
And think about him. Should I have stayed in town with him? He did invite me to, but then again, maybe he was just being polite. He was really in there to see his friends, after all. But what if he thinks that I said no because I don’t like being around him? What if he thinks I hate him, and starts to feel resentful towards me because of it?
I muse about these things on the way home, coming down from the high of spending time with him and ending up feeling – well, extremely depressed. I write Shane’s initials in the condensation on the window, then rub them off angrily.
Is that Graham getting on? Oh, fantastic. Just what I need. Hopefully he’ll stay downstairs. No, of course he won’t, he’ll come up here.
Told you.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I sit?”
I shrug. “Sure.” It being a public bus and all.
“Are you OK?” he asks.
And oh god, it’s stupid, but the way he asks, with this gentleness in his voice, makes me want to cry.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Positive.”
“Look, if you ever need to talk . . .” He sighs. “OK, I know we’re not on the best of terms at the moment, but I still want to stay friends with you.”
“OK, whatever,” I say quietly. I can’t do this now, Graham, I can’t argue with you. I’m just going to quietly agree with you and hope that you don’t press the issue, because I can’t handle it, I’m drained.
“Whatever?” he echoes.
“I’m agreeing with you, Graham, it’s a good thing,” I tell him.
We sit in silence for the rest of the bus journey, exchange “see ya”s, and then return to our lives.
I think about him asking me if I was OK, and how grateful I am to have someone caring about me.
Even if it is someone so incredibly evil. I shouldn’t forget that. I really shouldn’t.
Chapter Fifty-One
Help me.
I find myself reading over my old journals, the diaries I kept when I was in Second and Third Year, before I became too lazy and unmotivated to continue. I read the one from when I first met Graham. The “wow” feeling of having such a great
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