Jack looks down at me again. “Let’s write some phrases to describe the perfect sixth former,” he says. “I’m going to start with ‘Not a twat’.”
“Are we allowed to use inappropriate language?”
“Who cares?” Jack says. “Shift off the paper else I’ll write it on your forehead.”
I roll off and heave myself to a sitting position, watching as Jack finishes “Not a twat” and then adds “Truthful” and “Loyal”.
“Add something!” Jack tells me.
I take a lid off a pen and write, “Kind to animals”.
Jack narrows his eyes at me, then crosses out “animals” and replaces it with “their boyfriend”. “I think that’s what you meant,” Jack says.
Twenty minutes later, the exercise is complete, and I can’t speak for Jack, but part of me feels a tiny bit better for scrawling down certain home truths about Dylan and Tariq. And you know what? They are all completely relevant because the perfect sixth former is not someone who goes around lying and cheating, so this all feels pretty justified. Anyway, I’m hoping we can now move on to the next activity and then ideally go home, when Mrs Taylor says,
“Right! Let’s have some of you up here to discuss what you’ve written – Lottie and Beth, Dylan and Tariq…”
There’s a collective held breath as everyone waits and prays – in my case, that this doesn’t head the way we all know it will, and in everyone else’s case, that it absolutely does.
“And, yes, since you were late, Jack and Nate!” Mrs Taylor says triumphantly.
A prickle of anticipation ripples through the room.
I glance at Jack. “Huh,” he says, chewing his lip
“No, no, no,” I whimper. My main thought is whether running straight out of the exit is a viable plan, and if I could plead a breakdown or something. Or a sickness bug. I feel sick, I think it could be a legit excuse.
“Chop chop, boys!” Mrs Taylor says, clapping her hands. “Up you get – has your nose stopped bleeding, Nate? Yes? Good. Let’s have a nice line of you along the front here, one of you hold your sheet of paper up, so we can all see.”
Jack’s on his feet first, and he offers me his hand to pull me up, which I ignore because if we hadn’t been late this wouldn’t be happening, and who made us late? Whose ridiculous plan to get us out of this workshop backfired? Jack’s. He is such a dick. And thanks to him, the hotly anticipated next episode of this Big Gay Soap Opera is about to continue – which is probably what he was hoping for all along.
My feet and legs barely cooperate as I haul myself towards the front of the hall. It’s like they know this is a mistake. And then, just as I’m shuffling behind Jack, picking our way through the audience to the front, I glance up and there he is – Tariq. He smiles at me. He frigging smiles. A gentle, sweet, apologetic, hope-you’re-OK kind of smile. And I know that’s what sort of smile it is, because I know him and he was my boyfriend (and technically still is, since he hasn’t formally broken up with me with words that unequivocally say that).
I try to smile back but instead I nearly start crying, and then he’s no longer looking so it doesn’t matter anyway.
So we’re standing in our pairs in front of everyone, Dylan and Tariq on the far right, Lottie and Beth in the middle, and then me and Jack.
“So, what we’ll do is have one word or phrase from each group and go along the line, until we’ve done them all, so just shout them out!” Mrs Taylor says.
“Hard-working,” Dylan says.
“That was Mrs Taylor’s example to start with!” Jack immediately complains.
“So?” says Dylan.
“It’s fine,” Mrs Taylor interrupts. “It’s a perfectly good start. Lottie and Beth?”
“Organized,” Lottie says.
“Excellent! Hard-working, organized…” Mrs Taylor looks at us. “Jack and Nate?”
“Not a twat,” Jack replies, flicking his eyes to Dylan as he says it.
There’s laughter, which Mrs Taylor immediacy quells. “All right! All right! Let’s keep it clean and sensible, shall we, Jack? You’re going to be a sixth former now, after all.”
Dylan rolls his eyes. “Exactly.”
I glance down the line to Tariq. He’s not smiling any more.
“Back to Tariq and Dylan!” Mrs Taylor says brightly.
“Committed,” Tariq says.
I find myself nodding in agreement, just because it’s Tariq.
“Good!” Mrs Taylor beams, as Jack pipes up with, “Committed to what?”
“We’re just going through the words for now, Jack,” Mrs Taylor says.
“OK, but committed to what? Like, committed to bettering themselves? To world peace? I think it’s good to clarify, or else you might mistakenly think they were referring to, oh, I don’t know” – he blows out a breath – “committed to backstabbing and cheating on your partner, for example.”
“Shut up, Jack!” Dylan says.
Jack shrugs. “That’s just an example.”
“Shut up, Jack!” I hiss.
Jack glares at me like I’ve just stabbed him in the back.
“Lottie and Beth!” Mrs Taylor says, moving it immediately on.
“Enthusiastic!”
“About what?” Jack asks Beth. “Enthusiastic about your subjects, or about backstabbing and cheating on your partner, for example?”
“Argh!” Dylan screams.
I take an unsteady breath, then lock eyes with Tariq down the line. He looks awkward and embarrassed and there’s a small shred of comfort to be had in the fact we’re both clearly feeling the same right now.
“Truthful!” Jack continues, pointing to our paper, like a TV weather person. “Which I happen to know at least two people in this room not so far away from me would definitely struggle with, so maybe they shouldn’t be allowed to study here, I don’t know.”
“Mature,” Dylan growls.
“Sorry, is that an item on your list or something you just wish you were?” Jack asks, peering down the line towards Dylan.
“Forgiving when people make mistakes,” Dylan replies.
“HA! Oh, the LOLs!” Jack replies. His face turns from mirth to
