Read Me Like a Book

  Just then, the number fifty-three bus rounds the corner. Our bus home. Josh glances at it as it approaches, then shrugs. “Too bad, girls,” he says. “Next time, maybe. Unless you wanna do it on the bus.”

  His mates get up as the bus pulls into the stop. Cat gives Josh one last sneer. “Nah, it’s OK, we’ll get the next one,” she says. “We prefer the sixty-nine.”

  Josh glances at her for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Touché, ladies, touché.” Then he gets on the bus, and his friends follow.

  We’re left alone at the bus stop. I’m shaking.

  Cat looks at me. “You shouldn’t let that idiot get to you,” she says, nudging my arm.

  “I know,” I say. The thing is, to her, he was just an idiot, a stupid lad who’d had a few drinks and thought he could have a laugh intimidating a couple of girls and showing his mates what a big man he is. His mates who, to their credit, weren’t actually interested in playing his childish game.

  But I can’t shake the incident off as easily as Cat can.

  See, I’ve never really cared what people think of me — teachers, Mum and Dad, others at school. I’ve always said that no one could change me, that I’d never pretend to be something I’m not. And I always felt insulated by that certainty — or was it arrogance? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe my whole life is going to be one big pretense from now on. I mean, what did I do just now? Stood silently by while Cat fought my corner. Kept my mouth shut.

  Am I going to spend the rest of my life sneaking around, pretending to be something I’m not? Or am I going to be one of those who stand up and say what they are and somehow manage to brazen it out? I feel claustrophobic and trapped by a sudden awareness of my limited options.

  It’s all very well going around with two middle fingers stuck up at the world, but what happens when the world turns around and sticks them back up at you?

  The world’s a lot bigger than I am.

  A few months ago, I was dreading this day, but I haven’t got as much to leave behind now. Just a few years of my life. So what?

  The old gardener’s shed: What would we have done without it? It smells of stale smoke and old gossip. Cigarette butts all over the floor. Cat and I used to spend half our lives in here last year when I thought there was nothing more to school than skipping classes, messing about, and winding people up. It was worth hanging out with the smokers just to make sure you didn’t get behind with the gossip.

  There’s no one here now, and the shed echoes with voices of the past.

  The gym is still set out with row after row of desks. What a sight. Thank God I’ve finished. I shake my head and move on.

  Inevitably, I end up walking toward her classroom.

  I try the door and my heart does an irregular quickstep. It’s not locked. What if she’s here? Offer me anything in the world, and I’d swap it for that.

  But of course she isn’t.

  It feels like a museum. Full of precious things but all old and mostly dead. It needs her to bring the place alive. The room feels as sad as me, with its worn books crammed onto every shelf, some with their spines missing, others jammed horizontally on top of each other, filling every spare bit of space.

  I go over to my desk at the back and sit down. I feel under the tabletop for the hard chunks of chewing gum, molded smoothly into the underside of the desk. I could almost believe they were part of it if I hadn’t contributed at least one or two of them myself.

  The familiar graffiti scratched into the desk’s surface:

  Calum Jones is the finest boy in this school.

  No he isn’t, Andy Marsh is.

  Looking over at her desk, now totally bare, I think of all the times I watched every move she made in our lessons.

  Did she know what I was feeling as I watched her? I caught her eye once, and I was sure she held mine a little too long. Then she asked me to read a passage out loud. Did she do that on purpose?

  I get up and walk over to the window. There’s not much to see: a thin slice of a muddy green footpath and a medium-busy road in the rain. Not enough to distract a bored student, but I can’t remember the last time I was bored in here.

  “Ash.”

  I spin around. “Miss — Robyn.”

  “Miss Robyn? What is this, the Waltons?” Robyn smiles weakly at me from the door. “Can I come in?”

  I turn away again. “It’s a free country.”

  The door closes, and for a moment I don’t know if she’s come in or gone out. I’m not going to turn around and see. I carry on looking out the window, but aware of myself, standing stiffly, pretending to look and hoping Robyn’s not —

  “Ash,” she repeats.

  “What?” I don’t look around this time.

  She doesn’t say anything. If she thinks I’m going to give in, she’s got another thought coming. I’m not the one who threw her out of the house and then, for all I know, spread a load of rumors and lies around the whole school. But then I hear a sob, and I melt instantly.

  “Robyn, what’s wrong?” I turn around in time to see her slump into a chair and put her head in her hands. “What is it? What’s happened? Is it Luke?”

  She looks up and her face has a streak down each cheek, like those trails you sometimes get on the back porch in the morning but never any sign of the creature that left them. “Luke?”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “It’s you, Ash.”

  “Me? What the hell have I done now? Or what am I supposed to have done?”

  “It’s what I did. Ash, I’m really sorry.”

  Tears run into her mouth as she talks. “I should never have treated you so badly. You were the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “But we hardly —”

  “I’d never really had a best friend. I’ve always been the one on the outside of things. People like you and Cat never had any time for people like me.”

  “People like me and Cat?”

  “You know what I mean, the ones that are always messing about and getting laughs, in the middle of the ‘in’ crowd.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’ve never been part of any ‘in’ crowd.”

  “And then, when you and Cat fell out and you and I started spending more time together, I suddenly felt like I was someone who mattered, like I belonged somewhere. And doing homework together and going to parties . . .”

  “Party,” I correct her. “Let’s not let these rose-tinted specs get in the way too much.” I allow myself a slight smile.

  She returns my smile with a little laugh, then grabs a tissue from her pocket and snorts loudly into it. “I got it all out of proportion,” she carries on, more calmly now as I sit down at the next desk. “But I was upset about Miss Murray leaving and everything. It threw me. I was confused. I’d even thought about doing the same thing at one point.”

  “What? With me?”

  Robyn’s neck has gone blotchy. “I’ve just never had a friendship that was like ours. Talking about books and planning debates together and stuff. I felt really close to you. I was overwhelmed.”

  “But those things you said to me. You made me feel like a leper.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Ash. But when you — when it happened — I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “But it wasn’t what I wanted either. I told you.”

  “Perhaps not with me, but it is what you want with someone, isn’t it?”

  I look down at my hands. “What if it is?”

  “Then it’s absolutely fine! Ash, I’m so sorry. I was a bitch, and the last thing I wanted to do was lose you as a friend.”

  “What about the rumors?”

  “What rumors?”

  “Come on.”

  “Ash, what rumors?”

  I feel almost ashamed as I say, “About Miss Murray.” I can’t bring myself to say the whole truth.

  “Look, I haven’t heard any rumors. But whatever they are, I promise you they’ve got nothing to do with me
. Why would I spread rumors about the best teacher I’ve ever had?”

  “About Miss Murray and me.”

  Robyn’s eyes look like a dimmer switch being gradually turned up as she takes in what I’m saying. “Oh! Well, I haven’t said anything, or heard anything. I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t even know if I want to know.”

  “There’s nothing to know. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  Robyn gets up and moves over to the window. “I was jealous,” she says quietly to the windowpane. “I think most of the class probably was.”

  “Jealous? Of what?” I try to sound casual, but I can feel my heart rate increase.

  “It was obvious you were her favorite.”

  “Rubbish.” More, more, tell me more!

  “Come on, Ash. You know you were special to her.”

  The pain that I’ve spent the last two months trying to stifle is wriggling around low down in my stomach. “What makes you say that?” I try to keep my voice calm.

  “She’d always listen more intently when you were speaking, and take you more seriously than any of us. It’s like you were her, what d’you call it, like her protégée or something.”

  “That’s rubbish. She just thought I was a stupid kid. I was. I am.”

  “Ash, I’m only going to say this once. You weren’t, you’re not, and, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe for a minute she thought you were either. OK?”

  Miss Murray’s words come back to me from the last time I saw her. That I was special. That I reminded her of herself. “OK,” I eventually manage through my tight throat.

  We’re looking at each other in the silence when Luke bursts in. “Oh, sorry. I was just . . . are you . . .”

  “Give us five minutes,” Robyn replies. “I’ll meet you in the common room.”

  “Right, OK. Hi, Ash, y’all right?” And he’s gone.

  “You and Luke, then?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve always fancied him. You know that. Seems like he came to his senses at last.” She smiles shyly from under her eyelids. “I think it was that day I grabbed him and made him snog me that did it.”

  “Well, you look good together.”

  “Thanks, Ash. That means a lot to me.” She glances at the door. “Look, I’d better go.”

  “Me too. Can’t hang around in here all day.” Although part of me wants to, just in case.

  “Are you going to give us a hug, then?” Robyn asks.

  “I don’t know if I dare. You might think I’m trying to get off with you.”

  “Please.” She looks so sad, as though she’ll start crying again if I don’t, so I do.

  We stand there for ages, holding each other tight. Not in a funny way at all, just like really good mates.

  “Right, see you, then,” she says when we move apart. “You staying in here?”

  “Yeah, just for a bit. See you, Robyn,” I say, sounding much more final than I mean to. And she goes.

  I don’t stay long. “Bye,” I whisper from the door, then look around to check no one’s there to hear me talking to an empty classroom. “And thanks.”

  Then I close the door softly behind me and walk away.

  I pause outside the door. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Cat stops beside me. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Do I look OK?” I pull at the sleeves of my new coat as if I’m trying to hide inside it.

  “You look great.”

  “Not too gay?”

  “Ash, it’s a gay club!”

  “What if I see someone I know?”

  “What if you do?”

  “They might think I’m, you know . . .”

  “Ash, you are ‘you know.’ And if they’re in here, that means they probably are too!”

  “You’re not.”

  “Well, no. But I’m not exactly a raving homophobic ax-murderer either, am I? Come on. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  I let her drag me through the door. I glance furtively around. It’s about a third full. I can’t see anyone I know. I turn to Cat. “It looks like any other bar.”

  She stares at me. “Well, whaddayaknow?” she says sarcastically. “The queers could almost pass for the same species as the straights. Get real, Ash! Come on, let’s get a drink.”

  We make our way to the bar, snaking between the tables on the way.

  Two older women are sitting together at one table. They’ve both got short hair. Is my hair too long? It’s nearly down to my shoulders. Maybe I should have had it cut. Then I spot a younger couple, more my age. They’ve both got long hair, and they’re both wearing makeup. They’re smiling at each other and holding hands.

  Cat follows my eye. “You’d never have guessed, would you?”

  I shake my head.

  A group of men are standing at the bar, drinking and chatting and laughing.

  “Two bottles of Stella, please,” Cat says to the guy behind the bar. He’s gorgeous. Jet-black hair — perfectly parted — crisp white shirt, dark skin, deep brown eyes.

  He smiles at Cat. “Coming right up, darling,” he says.

  One of the men at the bar nudges Cat. “Hands off, love, he’s mine!”

  “In your dreams, Nathan, in your dreams,” the guy behind the bar says, winking as he passes the beers to Cat.

  Cat pays for the drinks while I stand and stare. At all of it. At everyone. It’s so . . . I can’t describe it. I only feel it inside me. I haven’t got the words yet, but I know I like it.

  We head toward the dance floor on the other side of the bar. It’s busier around this side. About twenty people are dancing. Some in couples, pressed close, others in groups messing around and making each other laugh. There’s an older woman dancing on her own, wearing a long, flowing skirt like a gypsy and a loose blouse. She’s got her eyes closed and is gliding around, swinging her arms like we used to when we were little and played airplanes.

  A tall, slender woman in skinny jeans and a low-cut white blouse is half dancing while she smiles at a red-haired woman next to her. They’re staring into each other’s eyes and gently moving from side to side. Then they kiss each other slowly, and the taller one slides a hand around the other one’s waist. The redhead wraps her arms around the taller woman’s neck. They’re swaying as they kiss.

  “What d’you reckon?” Cat asks.

  I look at her without replying. I feel like I’ve come home.

  “I thought you’d like it,” she says, grinning.

  “I don’t know what to say.” I grab her and hug her tight.

  “Oi! Watch it.” She pulls away. “Don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me. Might spoil my chances with the boys.”

  I look around to see two men leaning against a pillar on the edge of the dance floor, their mouths pressed as tightly together as their bodies.

  “Cat, I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance with —”

  “Joke, Ash!”

  We knock back our beers, then Cat pulls me onto the dance floor. “C’mon, let’s have a dance,” she says as a new tune comes on with a deep dance beat.

  We dance to about five tracks before I need a break and a drink. I get the next round and Cat and I stand, watching and drinking. The place is getting busier and busier.

  I’m just finishing off a bottle when the unmistakable opening words to a new song come on.

  “Gaga!” Cat shrieks and grabs me again. Loads of people get up from their tables, and we’re swept along onto the dance floor.

  The alcohol has loosened me up, and I’m spinning and jumping with the rest of them and grinning like an idiot at virtually anyone who catches my eye.

  I close my eyes and sing every word of “Born This Way” at the top of my voice.

  For a moment, I think I’ve fallen in love, but I don’t know what with — just all this: the music, the dancing, all the gorgeous women on the dance floor, the hot, sticky air closing in around us, everyone in it together.

  I don’t stop dancing all
night, except to fill up with beer. Cat and I are mucking about, twirling each other around like kids. At one point, Cat goes to the loo and I’m on my own. I don’t care. I just keep dancing.

  There’s another woman dancing alone. She moves across the floor and inches toward me as a slow track comes on. She’s centimeters away, smiling at me. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, so I just carry on jigging about as though she was the usual foot or two away. Our bodies are almost touching, and we’re both pretending they’re not. At the end of the dance she gives me a quick smile before disappearing into the crowd.

  I look around to see Cat laughing. Stumbling back toward her, I fall into two boys. “Oops, sorry.” I look up at them. “Jayce!”

  Jayce jumps away from Adam. “Ash! What are you doing here?”

  I laugh. “What do you think? Same as you.” Then I look at Adam’s arm, still around Jayce’s neck. “Or maybe not quite.”

  Jayce wriggles farther away from Adam, who suddenly hugs me. “I knew it!” He turns to Jayce and taps his forehead. “Told you, didn’t I? My gaydar never lets me down.”

  I laugh. Did everyone know I was gay before I did?

  Jayce grins. “Really? Ash, that’s brilliant!”

  “I wonder if our parents would agree.”

  Adam grimaces. “Oh, my God, it’s perfect! You could be his beard.”

  “His what?”

  “His beard — his pretend girlfriend,” Adam explains. “That might get Elaine off our backs.”

  “Well, I’d like to help.” I look Jayce up and down. “But he’s not my type.” They both laugh.

  “Look, I’d better get back.” I point in Cat’s direction.

  “Brilliant to see you, Ash.” Jayce hugs me.

  “Let’s meet up soon.”

  As I head back to Cat, I think about the first time I met Jayce, his argument with his mum about deferring his university place and staying at home. He didn’t want to leave Adam. It all makes sense now. But then, everything makes sense now.

  A long while later, I look at my watch: twenty to two. How on earth did that happen? I’m not even tired, but I come off the floor for another refill, and I see someone familiar. I can’t place her for a minute, but then it hits me — it’s the blond-haired girl from the pub the other day!