“I’ll go one better and get them engraved on your headstone.”
She eyeballs me until I can’t take it and have to look away.
“Why do we even need a Sixth Form Orientation Day when I’ve already been at the school for five years? I couldn’t be more orientated if I tried. There is no part of that school I couldn’t orientate myself to.”
“I don’t think that’s what they mean. Get out of bed.” She turns to go, then comes back. “Are you getting a summer job?”
I stare at her. “Oh my god. Just send me down the mines, why don’t you?”
“I was thinking you could do some work experience at my place.”
“Helping criminals get off scot-free?”
“I don’t do that sort of law. It’s commercial and corporate.”
“Oiling the wheels of the capitalist machine so that rich guys can carry on wrecking the world? Mm, I’d love that, Mum, thanks.”
“OK, you’re a dick.”
“Thanks, Mum, love you, bye!”
She shakes her head and leaves.
I turn back to Instagram and check my post. Three likes. Three. Oh my god. Worse, two comments:
Is this the bit where I’m meant to write “You OK hun?”
They’re both clearly sorry, get over it.
If I’d been hoping I might get through this with support from anyone in my year, I was obviously wrong. Clearly, the only thing stopping people from openly hating me these last few months was Dylan. Dylan – the acceptable face of gay because he’s not too gay. He plays football. He’s one of the lads. They tolerated me because they loved him. With him gone, it’s open season, and the school is full of people who cannot wait to see me fall. A very familiar dread creeps back into my stomach. I don’t even know if I’ve got the energy to put on the front any more.
I don’t expect people to love me.
I just wish they didn’t hate me quite so much.
Since we’re classed as sixth formers in potentia now, we don’t have to wear our uniforms for this utterly pointless orientation. But that brings myriad complications. I could opt to really dress up, look really good, as a way of showing that Dylan has not got to me, that I’m strong and powerful and I don’t need a man, especially not a CHEATING one who still hasn’t messaged to express even the tiniest bit of remorse. Or I could dress down, so it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, and also to be more in keeping with the Instagram post I stupidly made, so, you know, that doesn’t come across as entirely fake.
I eventually opt for a light pink hoodie with some balloon-fit, light blue jeans and trainers, but owing to the seven complete changes of outfit, it’s five to nine by the time I’m slurping some chocolate milk in the kitchen and Mum calls to see if I’m out of the door yet.
“I’m literally moments from the school gates,” I lie, putting my glass in the dishwasher.
“I can literally hear you putting something in the dishwasher. Get your arse to school!”
Since I can’t get away with it any longer, I head out of the door, and I don’t let the knowing smirks from some kids in the year below break the confident bounce in my step. It’s all for show, because I’m crumbling inside, and it’s a relief when I spot Theo by the entrance to the school, dressed like an estate agent in smart chinos and a slim-fit shirt, like he’s actually taken on board the guidance that sixth formers should dress “business casual”.
“I’ve been messaging you,” he says.
“I’ve needed some space.”
Theo nods. “Pretty brutal, how it all happened.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“I’m sure…” Theo hesitates for a second. “I know Dylan can be a prick sometimes, but I’m sure he never meant for you to find out like that.”
“OK, I get it, everyone loves Dylan. Dylan can do no wrong.”
Theo goes to say something, but clearly thinks better of it and presses his lips tightly together.
“He cheated on me, Theo. There’s no planet on which that is acceptable.”
“He didn’t mean it to happen like it did,” Theo says.
“But it did, and—” I stop and stare at him. “Have you been speaking to him about this? Did you know about this?”
Theo flicks his eyes to the ground.
“Oh my god,” I say. “You knew.”
“Jack, before you go off on one—”
“Go off on one? You knew and you didn’t tell me? We’re friends! Aren’t we?”
“Dylan and Tariq are my friends too! They asked me not to say anything!”
I nod, my blood turning ice cold. “Oh my god. OK, you made a choice, and you chose them.”
“That’s not what—”
“Well, thanks a lot.”
“Jack, it was up to them to tell you, not me.”
“You knew, and you made an active decision not to tell me. I think that sucks, Theo.”
Theo sighs and glances up at me.
But there is no fucking apology.
I shake my head. “Go. Go inside, you’ll be late.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Not with you.”
Theo gives me an understanding nod, goes to say something, doesn’t, then turns and walks off instead.
So, great. I wonder who else knew? I wonder if everyone has just been laughing about me for, what? Days? Weeks? How long has this even been going on for? And what hurts more, in this very second, is that no one seemed to have my back. Theo was happy to look out for Dylan and Tariq, but couldn’t do the same for me.
I cannot walk into that school.
I can’t do it.
Maybe I can enrol at the college instead, do my A levels there. A fresh start where nobody knows me.
I turn around, and there’s Nate, head down, shuffling along the pavement, wearing skinny black jeans and an oversized baggy jumper, like some tragic romcom character, and he’s the only person in the world I want to speak to right now.
“Hey,” I say.
He stops and looks up at me. His eyes are full of
