As soon as the door shuts, I know she isn’t coming back.
The point is not whether I want her to stay. For starters, I’m perfectly fine with spending the rest of lunch on my own. I’m comfortable with isolation, unlike some people I know who sweat at the temples if Snapchat is taking too many seconds to load.
The point is not that Harriet has decided to quit Amelia Westlake. What do I care? If she steps aside I can choose my own projects. I can do anything I want, although I’d probably draw the line at arson.
Of course, it’s easier with two of us. It’s the perfect number: not too many people to let the secret out, but enough for us to each have an alibi. Best of all, no-one has any reason to suspect her. You’d have better luck pinning a double homicide on Big Bird than accusing Harriet Price of being Amelia Westlake.
The point is this: Harriet has spent the last two minutes shooting accusations at me like arrows, and the very moment I’ve finally loaded my own bow and drawn back, she’s shot out the door. So I do what any self-respecting person would: I go after her screaming.
I get within three metres of her before Her Highness deigns to acknowledge me. At the sound of my screams she breaks into a run. Still making a fair amount of noise, I run after her, which is tricky, what with her being an elite sportsperson and me being an elite couch potato. Since the screaming and the running aren’t working I change tack and begin moaning instead.
This gets her interested: there’s no prefect bait like a person in distress. Her about-face is so swift I barely have time to wince and fake a limp before Harriet’s at my side, offering me an arm to lean on and a freshly ironed handkerchief.
I blow my nose on it loudly.
‘Sick bay’s just down this path.’
‘Oh no! I’m fine. It’s just a sprain.’ I grip my ankle bravely.
‘Are you sure?’ Harriet asks. She sounds genuinely worried and I almost feel bad.
‘Positive. Anyway, I’ve got a test after lunch I have to be there for.’
‘Then I’ll help you walk back to the main block. Only if you’re okay being seen with me in public, of course,’ she says pointedly.
‘You’ve just quit Amelia Westlake, so I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.’
It takes so much effort faking a sprain all the way back to the main block that I almost get a real one. Having Harriet Price’s arm around my waist for an extended period is also weird enough to send my lower back into a series of disturbing spasms, but at least it gives me the chance to set her straight about some things.
‘Just for the record,’ I say between concerted grunts of exertion, ‘and not that it’s any of your business, but you need to understand something about me and Nat.’
‘Okay.’
‘What do you mean, “okay”?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. Just okay.’
‘Well, it certainly sounded like something more than okay.’
‘Well, it really wasn’t,’ says Harriet, flustered.
‘The thing between me and Nat is just – just one of those casual things between good friends,’ I improvise. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t mean I’m going to tell her what the two of us have been getting up to.’
Harriet turns pale. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
I glance around. ‘Amelia Westlake, I mean,’ I murmur.
Flushing from the neck up, she nods quickly. ‘Of course.’ She pauses. ‘Does your boyfriend know about this … casual thing between friends?’
‘My boyfriend?’ I burst out laughing.
Harriet looks uncertain. ‘You don’t have a boyfriend?’
I shake my head, still laughing. ‘Boyfriends are not my thing,’ I say. ‘Sure, I know that some people like to swing in multiple directions. Which is great, if that’s what you’re into. Nat’s like that. But I’m not.’
It takes Harriet a while to process this and it clearly places a strain on her usual brain function because the next thing she says is even stranger. ‘If you don’t have a boyfriend, or anyone else, then you mustn’t be very keen on Natasha if you want to keep things with her … casual.’
Trust Harriet to make a judgment in the absence of any knowledge whatsoever. ‘Of course I’m keen on her!’ I say. ‘What’s not to be keen on? She’s very attractive. She has a political conscience, a love of culture, and the clarity to see Rosemead for the elitist brainwashing factory it really is. We don’t see eye to eye when it comes to music – she’s obsessed with garage punk – but other than that we have heaps in common. We’re practically the same person.’
‘I’m not sure that clears things up,’ says Harriet stubbornly.
We’re passing the oval. The hockey players are in a scrum in the middle, jostling against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Someone pushes too hard and the whole scrum collapses. I think about shifting the conversation in another direction, but Harriet needs to have the full picture. ‘I like her. I do. A lot,’ I say. I sound as convincing as a rookie real-estate agent.
‘But?’ Harriet prods.
‘Just perhaps not in that way,’ I admit, realising it’s true. Nat is my friend and I love her, but I don’t want to be with her. Just because we get on as friends and both happen to like girls, doesn’t mean we have to be together.
The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Nat feels the same way as I do. We gave it a try and it hasn’t worked, but we’re both too worried about offending each other to break it off.
Of course, I should be having this conversation with Nat instead of Harriet Price. But it feels good to finally be talking about it with somebody.
‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ I tell Harriet. ‘Personality-wise, we’re far more compatible than I was with any of my previous girlfriends.’
‘Exactly how many other girlfriends have you had?’ asks Harriet.
I pretend to
