First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2020

Published in this ebook edition in 2020

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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Text copyright © Alice Oseman 2020

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Alice Oseman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008244125

Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008244132

Version: 2020-06-26

If it proves so, then loving goes by haps:

Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Part One

Last Chance

Romance

Pip, Jason and Me

Truth or Dare

Tommy

Kissing

On Fire

Loveless

Part Two

Change

Rooney

A New Friendship

Romantic Thinking

Sex

College Marriage

Baby’s First Club

High Standards

Pride

Putting Yourself Out There

Shakespeare and House Plants

Chaotic Energy

Forever Alone

Immature

We Sure Do Love Drama

Dating Skills

Straight Out of a Romance Novel

The Spark

A Short but Compelling Presentation by Rooney Bach

Palm to Palm

Elephant in the Room

The Letter ‘X’

Mr Self-Confidence

Sunil

Could have Gone Harder with the Pride Flags

Pip

Mirage

Part Three

I Love None

Wank Fantasy

Countdown Timer Music

Brainwashed

Fantasy Future

Mirror World

But if She Cannot Love You

Two Roommates

The Bailey Ball

Capulet vs Montague

Defeated

Paper Flowers

Survivor

Part Four

Very Opposite People

Aromantic Asexual

True Love

Home

Ellis

Platonic Magic

Memories

Love Ruins Everything

You Deserve Joy

Jason

Sorry

Beth

Emergency Meeting

The Night Before

Your Song

The Opposite of Curious

Mess

We Kept the Beds Together

Horny and Confused

I Will Find Her

Grand Gesture

Part Five

It’s Been Fun

Good Night

The House

Further Resources on Asexuality and Aromanticism

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Books by Alice Oseman

About the Publisher

There were literally three separate couples sitting around the fire making out, like some sort of organised kissing orgy, and half of me was like, ew, and the other half was like, Wow, I sure do wish that was me.

To be fair, it’s probably what I should have expected from our prom afterparty. I don’t go to parties very often. I hadn’t been aware this actually was the culture.

I retreated from the firepit and headed back towards Hattie Jorgensen’s giant country house, holding up my prom dress in one hand so I didn’t trip, and dropped Pip a message.

Georgia Warr

i could not approach the fire and retrieve the marshmallows because there were people kissing around it

Felipa Quintana

How could you betray and disappoint me like this Georgia

Georgia Warr

do you still love me or is this the end

When I entered the kitchen and located Pip, she was leaning against a corner cupboard with a plastic cup full of wine in one hand and her phone in the other. Her tie was half tucked into her shirt pocket, her burgundy velvet blazer was now unbuttoned and her short curls were fluffy and loose, no doubt due to all the dancing at prom.

‘You OK?’ I asked.

‘Might be a tad drunk,’ she said, her tortoiseshell glasses slipping down her nose. ‘And also I do fucking love you.’

‘More than marshmallows?’

‘How could you ask me to make such a choice?’

I slung my arm round her shoulders and we leant back together against the kitchen cupboards. It was almost midnight, music was thumping from Hattie’s living room, and the sound of our classmates chatting and laughing and shouting and screaming resonated from every corner of the building.

‘There were three separate couples making out around the fire,’ I said. ‘Like, in unison.’

‘Kinky,’ said Pip.

‘I sort of wished I was one of them.’

She gave me a look. ‘Ew.’

‘I just want to kiss someone,’ I said, which was odd, because I wasn’t even drunk. I was driving Pip and Jason home later.

‘We can make out if you want.’

‘That wasn’t what I had in mind.’

‘Well, Jason’s been single for a few months now. I’m sure he’d be up for it.’

‘Shut up. I’m serious.’

I was serious. I really, really wanted to kiss someone. I wanted to feel a little bit of prom-night magic.

‘Tommy, then,’ said Pip, raising an eyebrow and smiling evilly. ‘Maybe it’s time to confess.’

I’d only ever had a crush on one person. His name was Tommy. He was the ‘hot boy’ of our school year – the one who could actually have been a model if he’d wanted. He was tall and skinny and conventionally attractive in a Timothée Chalamet sort of way, though I didn’t really understand why everyone was in love with Timothée Chalamet. I had a theory that a lot of people’s ‘celebrity crushes’ were faked just to fit in.

Tommy had been my crush ever since I was in Year 7 and a girl had asked me, ‘Who d’you think is the hottest boy at Truham?’ She’d shown me a photo on her phone of a group of the most popular Year 7 boys at the boys’ grammar over the road, and there was Tommy right in the middle. I could tell he was the most attractive one – I mean, he had hair like a boy-band star and was dressed pretty fashionably – so I’d pointed and said him. And I guess that was that.

Almost seven years later, I’d never actually talked to Tommy. I’d never even really wanted to, probably because I was shy. He was more of an abstract concept – he was hot, and he was my crush, and nothing was going to happen between us, and I was perfectly fine with that.

I snorted at Pip. ‘Obviously not Tommy.’

‘Why not? You like him.’

The thought of actually following through on the crush made me feel extremely nervous.

I just shrugged at Pip, and she dropped the discussion.

Pip and I started to walk out of the kitchen, arms still slung round each other, and into the hallway of Hattie Jorgensen’s fancy country home. People were slumped on the floor in the corridor in their prom dresses and tuxes, cups and food scattered around. Two people were kissing on the stairs, and I looked at them for a moment, unsure whether it was disgusting or whether it was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen in my life. Probably the former.

‘You know what I want?’ Pip said, as we stumbled into Hattie’s conservatory and collapsed on to a sofa.

‘What?’ I said.

‘I want someone to spontaneously perform a song to declare their love for me.’

‘What song?’

She gave this some thought.

‘“Your Song” from Moulin Rouge.’ She sighed. ‘God, I am sad, gay and alone.’

‘Solid song choice, but not as attainable as a kiss.’

Pip rolled her eyes. ‘If you want to kiss someone that much, just go talk to Tommy. You’ve liked him for seven years. This is your last chance before we go to uni.’

She might have had a point.

If it was going to be anyone, it was going to be Tommy. But the idea filled me with dread.

I folded my arms. ‘Maybe I could kiss a stranger instead.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘No you’re not. You’re not like that.’

‘You don’t know what I’m like.’

‘Yes I do,’ said Pip. ‘I know you more than anyone.’

She was right. About knowing me and about me not being like that and about tonight being my last chance to confess the crush I’d had for seven years, and the last chance to kiss someone while I was still a schoolkid, while I had a chance to feel the teenage-dream excitement and youthful magic that everyone else seemed to have had a little taste of.

It was my last chance to feel that.

So maybe I would have to bite the bullet and kiss Tommy after all.

I loved romance. Always had. I loved Disney (especially the under-appreciated masterpiece that is The Princess and the Frog). I loved fanfiction (even fanfics for characters I knew nothing about, but Draco/Harry or Korra/Asami were my comfort reads). I loved thinking about what my own wedding would be like (a barn wedding, with autumn leaves and berries, fairy lights and candles, my dress – lacy and vintage-looking, my soon-to-be-spouse crying, my family crying, me crying because I’m so, so happy, just, so happy that I have found the one).

I just. Loved. Love.

I knew it was soppy. But I wasn’t a cynic. I was a dreamer, maybe, who liked to yearn and believed in the magic of love. Like the main guy from Moulin Rouge, who runs away to Paris to write stories about truth, freedom, beauty and love, even though he should probably be thinking about getting a job so he can actually afford to buy food. Yeah. Definitely me.

I probably got this from my family. The Warrs believed in forever love – my parents were just as in love now as they were back in 1991 when my mum was a ballet teacher and my dad was in a band. I’m not even joking. They were literally the plot of Avril Lavigne’s ‘Sk8er Boi’ but with a happy ending.

Both sets of my grandparents were still together. My brother married his girlfriend when he was twenty-two. None of my close relatives had been divorced. Even most of my older cousins had at least partners, if not whole families of their own.

I hadn’t ever been in a relationship.

I hadn’t even kissed anyone.

Jason kissed Karishma from my history class on his Duke of Edinburgh expedition and dated a horrible girl called Aimee for a few months until he realised she was a knob. Pip kissed Millie from the Academy at a house party and also Nicola from our youth theatre group at the dress rehearsal for Dracula. Most people had a story like that – a silly kiss with someone they sort of had a crush on, or didn’t really, and it didn’t necessarily go anywhere, but that was a part of being a teenager.

Most people aged eighteen have kissed someone. Most people aged eighteen have had at least one crush, even if it’s on a celebrity. At least half of everyone I knew had actually had sex, although some of those people were probably lying, or they were just referring to a really terrible hand job or touching a boob.

But it didn’t bother me, because I knew my time would come. It did for everyone. You’ll find someone eventually – that was what everyone said, and they were right. Teen romances only worked out in movies anyway.

All I had to do was wait, and my big love story would come. I would find the one. We would fall in love. And I’d get my happily ever after.

‘Georgia has to kiss Tommy,’ Pip said to Jason as we slumped down next to him on a sofa in Hattie’s living room.

Jason, who was in the middle of a game of Scrabble on his phone, frowned at me. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘Because it’s been seven years and I think it’s time,’ said Pip. ‘Thoughts?’

Jason Farley-Shaw was our best friend. We were kind of a trio. Pip and I went to the same all-girls grammar school and met Jason through the annual school plays, where they’d always get a few of the boys from the boys’ grammar school to join in, then after a couple of years he joined our school, which was mixed in the sixth form, and joined our youth theatre group too.

No matter what production we put on, whether it was a musical or a play, Jason usually played essentially the same role: a stern older man. This was mostly because he was tall and broad, but also because, at first glance, he did give off a bit of a strict dad vibe. He’d been Javert in Les Mis, Prospero in The Tempest and the angry father, George Banks, in Mary Poppins.

Despite this, Pip and I had quickly learnt that underneath his stern exterior, Jason was a very gentle, chilled-out dude who seemed to enjoy our company more than anyone else’s. With Pip being a harbinger of chaos and my tendency to feel worried and awkward about pretty much everything, Jason’s calmness balanced us out perfectly.

‘Uh,’ Jason said, glancing at me. ‘Well … it doesn’t really matter what I think about it.’

‘I don’t know if I want to kiss Tommy,’ I said.

Jason looked satisfied and turned back to Pip. ‘There you go. Case closed. You have to be sure about these things.’

‘No! Come on!’ Pip squawked and turned to face me. ‘Georgia. I know you’re shy. But it’s totally normal to be nervous about crushes. This is literally the final chance you have to confess your feelings, and even if he rejects you, it doesn’t matter, because he’s going to uni on the other side of the country.’

I could have pointed out that this meant a relationship would be pretty difficult should he respond positively, but I didn’t.

‘Remember how nervous I was telling Alicia I liked her?’ Pip continued. ‘And then she was like sorry, I’m straight, and I cried for like two months, but look at me now! I’m thriving!’ She kicked one leg into the air to make her point. ‘This is a no-consequence scenario.’

Jason was looking at me through all of this, like he was trying to suss out how I felt.

‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘I just … don’t know. I guess I do like him.’

A flash of sadness crossed Jason’s features, but then it was gone.

‘Well,’ he said, looking down at his lap, ‘I guess you should just do what you want.’

‘I guess I do want to kiss him,’ I said.

I looked around the room and, sure enough, Tommy was there, standing in a small group of people near the doorway. He was just far enough away that I couldn’t quite focus on the details of his face – he was just the concept of a person, a blob, a generic attractive guy. My seven-year crush. Seeing him so far away and blurry took me right back to being in Year 7, pointing at a photo of a boy I thought was probably attractive.

And that made up my mind. I could do this.

I could kiss Tommy.

I’d had times when I’d wondered whether I’d end up with Jason. I’d had times when I’d wondered whether I’d end up with Pip too. If our lives were in a movie, at least two of us would have got together.

But I’d never felt any romantic feelings for either of them, as far as I could tell.

Pip and I had been friends for almost seven years. From day one of Year 7, when we’d been sat together in our form-room seating plan and forced to tell each other three interesting facts about ourselves. We learnt we both wanted to be actors and that was it. Friends.

Pip was always more sociable, funnier, and generally more interesting than me. I was the listener, the supportive one when she’d had her am-I-gay crisis at the age of fourteen, and then her I-don’t-know-whether-to-do-acting-or-science crisis last year, and then her I-really-want-to-cut-my-hair-short-but-I’m-scared crisis several months ago.

Jason and I had met each other later, but we bonded faster than I’d ever thought possible, given my poor track record for forming friendships. He was the first person I met who I could sit quietly with and it wouldn’t feel awkward. I didn’t feel like I had to try to be funny and entertaining with him; I could just be me, and he wouldn’t dislike me because of it.

We’d all had what felt like a thousand sleepovers with each other. I knew exactly where the broken springs were in Pip’s bed. I knew that Jason’s favourite glass in my cupboard was a faded Donald Duck one I got at Disneyland when I was twelve. Moulin Rouge was the movie we always watched when we hung out – we all knew it word for word.

There were never any romantic feelings between Pip, Jason and me. But what we did have – a friendship of many years – was just as strong as that, I think. Stronger, maybe, than a lot of couples I knew.

In order to get me physically closer to Tommy, Pip forced us to join a group game of truth or dare, which both Jason and I protested against, but Pip obviously won.

‘Truth,’ I said when it was my turn to suffer. Hattie, who was leading the game, grinned evilly and selected a card from the ‘truth’ pack. There must have been about twelve of us, all sitting on the living-room carpet. Pip and Jason were sitting on either side of me. Tommy was opposite. I didn’t really want to look at him.

Pip handed me a crisp from the bowl for support. I gratefully accepted it and stuffed it in my mouth.

‘What’s the worst romantic or sexual experience you’ve had with a guy?’

A couple of people chorused ‘Oooh’, one guy whistled, and one girl just laughed, one short burst of ‘ha’ that I found more embarrassing than anything else.

Thankfully, I wouldn’t see most of the people at this party ever again in my life. Maybe on Instagram, but I muted most people’s Instagram stories and I already had a mental list of all the people I was going to unfollow after A-level results day. There were a few people at school that me, Pip and Jason got along with. People we’d sit with at lunch. A little gang of theatre kids we’d hang out with in school play season. But I knew already that we would all go to uni and forget about each other.

Pip, Jason and I would not forget about each other, though, because we were all going to Durham University in October, as long as we got the grades for it. This actually hadn’t been planned – we were a trio of high-achieving nerds, but Jason had failed to get into Oxford, Pip had failed to get into King’s College London, and I was the only one for whom Durham was actually my first choice.

I thanked the universe every day that it’d worked out like that. I needed Pip and Jason. They were my lifeline.

‘That’s too far,’ Jason immediately interjected. ‘Come on. That’s way too personal.’

There were cries of outrage from the rest of our peers. People didn’t give a shit about it being personal.

‘You must have something,’ drawled Hattie in her super-posh accent. ‘Like everyone’s had a terrible kiss or something by now.’

I was very uncomfortable about being the centre of attention, so I thought it’d be better to just get this over with.

‘I’ve never kissed anyone,’ I announced.

When I said it, I didn’t think I was saying anything particularly odd. Like, this wasn’t a teen movie. Virgin-shaming wasn’t really a thing. Everyone knew that people did these things when they were ready, right?

But then the reactions began.

There were audible gasps. A pitying ‘aww’. Some of the guys started laughing and one of them coughed the word ‘virgin’.

Hattie brought her hand to her mouth and said, horrified, ‘Oh my God, seriously?’

My face started to burn. I wasn’t weird. There were lots of eighteen-year-olds who hadn’t kissed anyone yet.

I glanced at Tommy, and even he was looking at me with sympathy, like I was a little kid – like I was a child who didn’t understand anything.

‘It’s not that unusual,’ I said.

Hattie pressed her hand to her heart and stuck out her bottom lip. ‘You’re so pure.’

A guy leant over and said, ‘You’re, like, eighteen, right?’

I nodded at him, and he said, ‘Oh my God,’ like I was disgusting or something.

Was I disgusting? Was I ugly and shy and disgusting and that was why I hadn’t kissed anyone yet?

My eyes were starting to water.

‘All right,’ Pip snapped. ‘You can all stop being dickheads right the fuck now.’

‘It is weird, though,’ said a guy I knew from my English class. He was addressing Pip. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s weird to have got to eighteen without having kissed anyone.’

‘That’s rich coming from a guy who admitted to having a wank over the princesses in Shrek 3.’

There were cackles of glee from the group, momentarily distracted from laughing at me. While Pip continued to berate our classmates, Jason very subtly took hold of my hand and pulled me up and out of the room.

Once we were in the corridor, I was about to cry so I said I needed to pee and went upstairs to find the loo. When I reached the bathroom, I examined my reflection, rubbing under my eyes so my mascara didn’t smudge. I swallowed the tears down. I wasn’t going to cry. I did not cry in front of anybody.

I hadn’t realised.

I hadn’t realised how behind I was. I’d spent so much time thinking that my one true love would just show up one day. I had been wrong. I had been so, so wrong. Everyone else was growing up, kissing, having sex, falling in love, and I was just …

I was just a child.

And if I carried on like this … would I be alone forever?

‘Georgia!’

Pip’s voice. I made sure my tears were gone by the time I exited the bathroom. And she didn’t suspect a thing.

‘They’re so fucking dumb,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed.

She tried to smile warmly at me. ‘You know you’ll find someone eventually, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You know you’ll find someone eventually. Everyone does. You’ll see.’

Jason was looking at me with a sad expression on his face. Pitying, maybe. Was he pitying me too?

‘Am I wasting being a teenager?’ I asked them. And they told me no, like best friends would, but it was too late. This was the wake-up call I’d needed.

I needed to kiss someone before it was too late.

And that someone had to be Tommy.

I let Pip and Jason go back downstairs to get drinks, using the excuse that I wanted to get my jacket from one of the guest bedrooms because I was cold, and then I just stood in the dark corridor, trying to breathe and collect my thoughts.

Everything was OK. It wasn’t too late.

I wasn’t weird or disgusting.

I had time to make my move.

I located my jacket, and also found a bowl of cocktail sausages balanced on a radiator, so picked those up too. As I walked back down the corridor, I saw that another bedroom door was ajar, so I peered inside, only to get an absolute eyeful of someone very clearly getting fingered.

It sent a sort of shockwave through my spine. Like, wow, OK. I forgot people actually did that in real life. It was fun to read about in fanfics and see in movies, but the reality was kind of just like, Oh. Yikes. I’m uncomfortable, get me out of here.

That aside – surely you’d think to shut the door properly if someone was going to put a body part inside of you.

It was hard to picture myself in a situation like that. Honestly, I loved the idea in theory – having a sexy little adventure in a dark room in someone else’s house with someone you’ve been on-and-off flirting with for a couple of months – but the reality? Having to actually touch genitals with someone? Ew.

I guess it took time for people to be ready for stuff like that. And you’d have to find someone you felt comfortable with. I’d never even interacted with anyone I wanted to kiss, let alone someone I wanted to …

I looked down at my bowl of cocktail sausages. Suddenly I was not very hungry any more.

And then a voice broke the silence around me.

‘Hey,’ said the voice, and I looked up, and there was Tommy.

This was the first time I had talked to Tommy in my life.

I’d seen him a lot, obviously. At the few house parties I’d been to. Sometimes at the school gate. When he joined our school for sixth form, we didn’t take any of the same subjects, but we occasionally passed in the corridor.

I’d always felt sort of nervous when he was nearby. I figured this was because of the crush.

I didn’t really know how I was supposed to act around him.

Tommy pointed at the bedroom. ‘Is anyone in there? I think my coat’s on the bed.’

‘I think someone’s getting fingered in there,’ I said, hopefully not loud enough for the people in question to hear.

Tommy dropped his hand. ‘Oh. Right. OK, then. Um. I guess I’ll get it later.’

There was a pause. We stood awkwardly outside the door. We couldn’t hear the two people inside the bedroom, but just knowing it was happening, and we were both aware of it, made me want to die.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, you know,’ I said, holding up the bowl of sausages. ‘I have sausages.’

Tommy nodded. ‘Good. Good for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You look really nice, by the way.’

My prom dress was sparkly and lilac, and I felt fairly uncomfortable in it compared to my usual patterned knits and high-waisted jeans, but I thought I looked nice, so it was good to have confirmation. ‘Thanks.’

‘Sorry about the truth or dare game.’ He chuckled. ‘People can be such twats. For the record, I didn’t have my first kiss until I was seventeen.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I know it’s kind of late, but … you know, it’s better to wait until it feels right, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, but I was just thinking that if seventeen was ‘late’, then I must be basically geriatric.

This all felt weird. Tommy had been my crush for seven years. He was talking to me. Why wasn’t I jumping for joy right now?

Thankfully at that moment my phone buzzed. I retrieved it from my bra.

Felipa Quintana

Sexcuse me buts where are you

Haha sex

I said sex accidentally

And BUTS

Haha butts

Jason Farley-Shaw

Please return before pip has another glass of wine

Felipa Quintana

Stop subtweeting me in our own group chat when I’m standing right next to you

Jason Farley-Shaw

For real though Georgia where are you

I quickly switched my phone screen off before Tommy thought I was ignoring him.

‘Uh …’ I began, not quite knowing what I was going to say before I said it. I held up my oversized denim jacket. ‘If you’re cold, you can borrow my jacket.’

Tommy looked at it. He seemed unfazed that it was technically a ‘girl’s’ jacket, which was good, because if he’d protested, that probably would have been it for my crush.

‘You sure?’ he asked.

‘Yeah!’

He took the jacket and put it on. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable, just knowing that some guy I really didn’t know very well was wearing my favourite jacket. Shouldn’t I have been pleased about this development?

‘I was just gonna go sit by the fire for a bit,’ said Tommy, and he slouched against the wall, leaning ever so slightly towards me with a smile. ‘D’you … wanna come with?’

That was when I realised he was trying to flirt with me.

Like, this was working.

I was actually going to get to kiss Tommy.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let me just message my friends.’

Georgia Warr

hanging out with tommy lol

School romance was on my list of favourite fanfiction tropes. I also loved soulmate AU, coffee shop AU, hurt/comfort and temporary amnesia.

I figured school romance was the most likely one that would happen to me, but now that the possibility of it happening was more than zero, I was freaking out.

Like, heart racing, sweating, hands shaking freaking out.

This was what crushes felt like, so this was normal, right?

Everything was totally normal.

When we got to the fire, we were the only people there. No kissing orgy in sight.

I picked a seat near the blanket pile and Tommy sat next to me, balancing a beer bottle on his chair arm. What would happen now? Would we just start making out? God, I hoped not.

Wait, wasn’t that what I wanted?

A kiss had to happen, anyway. That much was clear to me. This was my last chance.

‘So,’ Tommy said.

‘So,’ I said.

I thought about how I was going to initiate the kiss. In fanfics, they just say Can I kiss you, which is very romantic to read but sounded so embarrassing in my head when I imagined saying it out loud. In movies, it just seems to sort of happen without any discussion beforehand, but both parties go into it knowing exactly what’s happening.

He nodded at me, and I glanced at him, waiting for him to speak.

‘You look really nice,’ he said.

‘You said that already,’ I said, smiling awkwardly, ‘but thanks.’

‘S’weird we didn’t really speak much at school,’ he continued. As he spoke, he put his hand on the top of my chair, so his hand was weirdly close to my face. I don’t know why that made me feel so uncomfortable. His skin was just there, I guess.

‘Well, we weren’t really friends with the same people,’ I said.

‘Yeah, and you’re pretty quiet, aren’t you?’

I couldn’t even deny that. ‘Yeah.’

Now that he was so close, I was struggling to even see what exactly I’d been attracted to for seven years. I could tell that he was conventionally attractive, like you can tell pop stars or actors are attractive, but nothing about him really made me feel butterflies. Did I know what butterflies felt like? What exactly was I supposed to be feeling right now?

He nodded as if he already knew everything about me. ‘That’s all right. Quiet girls are nice.’

What was that even supposed to mean?

Was he being creepy? I couldn’t tell. I was probably just nervous. Everyone gets nervous around their crushes.

I glanced towards the house, feeling like I didn’t really want to look at him any more. And I spotted two figures hovering in the conservatory, watching us – Pip and Jason. Pip immediately waved at me, but Jason looked kind of embarrassed and pulled Pip away.

They both wanted to see what would happen with Georgia and her seven-year crush.

Tommy leant a little closer to me. ‘We should talk more, or something.’

I could tell he didn’t mean that. He was just stalling. I knew what was supposed to happen next.

I was supposed to lean in, nervous, but excited, and he’d brush my hair out of my face and I’d look up at him beneath my eyelashes, and then we’d kiss, gently, and we’d be one, Georgia and Tommy, and then we’d go home, giddy and happy, and maybe it’d never happen again. Or maybe he’d message me, and we’d decide to go on a date, just to see what would happen, and at the date we would decide to try going out, and on our third date we would decide to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and a couple of weeks after that we would have sex, and while I was at university he would text me good morning and come to visit every other weekend, and after university we would move in together in a little flat by the river and get a dog, and he’d grow a beard, and then we would get married, and that would be the end.

That was what was supposed to happen.

I could see every single moment of it in my head. The simple route. The easy way out.

I could do that, couldn’t I?

If I didn’t, what would Pip and Jason say?

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I know you haven’t kissed anyone before.’

The way he said it was like he was talking to a newborn puppy.

‘OK,’ I said.

It irritated me. He was irritating me.

This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? A cute little moment in the dark?

‘Hey, look,’ he said, a pitying smile on his face. ‘Everyone has a first kiss eventually. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s OK to be new at, like, romance and all that.’

New at romance? I wanted to laugh. I’d been studying romance like an academic. Like an obsessive researcher. Romance would be my Mastermind topic.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Georgia …’ Tommy leant in close, and then it hit me.

The disgust.

A wave of absolute, unbridled disgust.

He was so close I felt like I wanted to scream, I wanted to smash a glass and throw up at the same time. My fists tightened on the arms of my chair and I tried to keep looking at him, keep moving towards him, kiss him, but he was so close to me and it felt horrific, I felt disgusted. I wanted this to end.

‘It’s OK to be nervous,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of cute, actually.’

‘I’m not nervous,’ I said. I was disgusted by the thought of him near me. Wanting things from me. That wasn’t normal, was it?

He put his hand on my thigh.

And that’s when I flinched, shoving his hand away and sending his drink toppling off the side of the chair, and he swung forwards to grab it and fell out of his seat.

Right into the firepit.

There’d been signs. I’d missed all of them because I was desperate to fall in love.

Luke from Year 5 was the first. He did it via a note in my coat pocket during playtime. To Georgia. You’re so beautiful, will you be my girlfriend? Yes [ ] No [ ] From Luke.

I ticked No and he cried all through numeracy.

In Year 6, when all of the girls in my class decided they wanted boyfriends, I felt left out, so asked Luke if he was still up for it, but he was already going out with Ayesha, so he said no. All the new couples played together on the climbing frame during the leavers’ barbecue, and I felt sad and lonely.

Noah from the school bus was the second, in Year 9, although I’m not sure he counts. He asked me out on Valentine’s Day because that was what people did on Valentine’s Day – everybody wanted to be in a couple on Valentine’s Day. Noah scared me because he was loud and enjoyed throwing sandwiches at people, so I just shook my head at him and went back to staring out of the window.

The third was Jian from the boys’ school. Year 11. A lot of people thought he was extremely attractive. We had a long conversation at a house party about whether Love Island was a good show or not, and then he tried to kiss me when everyone was drunk, including both of us. It would have been so easy to go for it.

It would have been so easy to lean in and do it.

But I didn’t want to. I didn’t fancy him.

But the fourth turned out to be Tommy, who I knew from school and who looked like Timothée Chalamet, and I didn’t really know him that well, but this was the time that broke me a little, because I’d thought I really liked him. But I couldn’t do it, because I didn’t fancy him.

My seven-year crush on him was entirely fabricated.

A random choice from when I was eleven, and a girl held up a photo and told me to choose a boy.

I didn’t fancy Tommy.

Apparently, I hadn’t ever fancied anyone.

I screamed. Tommy screamed. His entire arm was on fire.

He rolled over and suddenly Pip flew out of nowhere, grabbing a blanket, and falling straight on top of Tommy, stifling the flames while Tommy was saying, ‘Holy shit, holy shit,’ over and over and I was just standing over him, watching him burn.

The first thing I felt was shock. I felt frozen. Like this wasn’t really happening.

The second thing I felt was anger about my jacket.

That was my favourite fucking jacket.

I should never have given it to some boy I barely knew. Some boy I didn’t even like.

Jason was there too, asking Tommy if he was hurt, but he was sitting up and shaking his head, pulling off the ruins of my favourite jacket, looking at his unscathed arm and saying, ‘What the fuck?’ And then he stared up at me and said it again. ‘What the fuck?’

I looked down at this person I had picked at random from a photo and said, ‘I don’t like you like that. I’m really sorry. You’re nice, but I just – I don’t like you like that.’

Jason and Pip both turned to me in unison. A little crowd was starting to form, our classmates wandering outside to see what the commotion was about.

‘What the fuck?’ said Tommy a third time, before he was swarmed by his friends, coming to see if he was OK.

I was just staring at him thinking, that was my fucking jacket and seven years and I never liked you at all.

‘Georgia,’ said Pip. She was next to me, pulling on my arm. ‘I think it’s time to go home.’

‘I never liked him,’ I said in the car as we pulled up outside Pip’s house and I cut the engine. Pip was next to me. Jason was in the back. ‘Seven years and I just lied to myself the whole time.’

They were both being weirdly silent. Like they didn’t know what to say. In a horrible way, I almost blamed them. Pip, anyway. She’d been the one pushing me to do this. She’d been teasing me about Tommy for seven years.

No, that was unfair. This wasn’t her fault.

‘This is my fault,’ I said.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Pip, gesturing wildly. She was still fairly tipsy. ‘You … you’ve had a crush on him for years.’ Her voice got quieter. ‘This was your … your big chance.’

I started laughing.

It’s wild how long you can trick yourself. And everyone around you.

The door to Pip’s house opened, revealing her parents in matching dressing gowns. Manuel and Carolina Quintana were just another of the perfectly-in-love, incredibly-romantic-backstory couples I knew. Carolina, who’d grown up in Popayán, Colombia, and Manuel, who’d grown up in London, met when Manuel went to visit his dying grandma in Popayán when he was seventeen. Carolina was literally the girl next door, and the rest was history. These things just happened.

‘I’ve never had a crush on anyone in my entire life,’ I said. It was all sinking in. I’d never had a crush on anyone. No boys, no girls, not a single person I had ever met. What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Or was I just doing life wrong? Was there something wrong with me? ‘Can you believe that?’

There was a pause again, before Pip said, ‘Well, s’fine. S’fine, man. You know you’ll find someone –’

‘Don’t say it,’ I said. ‘Please do not say it.’

So she didn’t.

‘You know, the idea – the idea of it is nice. The idea of liking Tommy and kissing Tommy and having some cute little moment by the fire after prom. That’s so nice. That’s what I wanted.’ I felt myself clench the steering wheel. ‘But the reality disgusts me.’

They didn’t say anything. Even Pip, who’d always been a chatty drunk. Even my best friends couldn’t think of a single comforting word.

‘Well … This has been a good night, right?’ Pip slurred as she stumbled out of my car. She held the front passenger door open and pointed dramatically at me, the streetlamps reflecting in her glasses. ‘You. Very good. Outstanding. And you –’ she prodded Jason in the chest as he moved into the front seat – ‘excellent. Really excellent work.’

‘Drink water,’ said Jason, patting her on the head.

We watched her walk up to her front door and get gently chastised by her mum for being drunk. Her dad waved at us, and we waved back, and then I started the engine and we drove away. It could have been a good night. It could have been the best night of my life, if I’d actually had a crush on Tommy.

The next stop was Jason’s. He lived in a house built by his dads, who were both architects. Rob and Mitch had met at university – they were doing the same course – and ended up competing for the same architecture apprenticeship. Rob won, which he claims he earned, but Mitch always claims he let Rob win because he liked him.

When we arrived, I said, ‘Most people our age have kissed someone.’

And he said, ‘That doesn’t matter.’

But I knew it did. It mattered. It was not random that I was the one who was falling behind. Everything that had happened that night was a sign that I needed to try harder, or I would be alone for the rest of my life.

‘I don’t feel like a real teenager,’ I said. ‘I think I failed at it.’ And Jason clearly didn’t know what to say to that, because he said nothing.

Sitting in my car on the drive of my family home, the ghost of a boy’s hand on my thigh, I made a plan.

I was going to university soon. A chance to reinvent myself and become someone who could fall in love, someone who would fit in with my family, with people my age, with the world. I’d make a load of new friends. I’d join societies. I’d get a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, even. A partner. I’d have my first kiss, and I’d have sex. I was just a late bloomer. I wasn’t going to die alone.

I was going to try harder.

I wanted forever love.

I didn’t want to be loveless.

The drive to Durham University was six hours long, and I spent most of it replying to Pip’s barrage of Facebook messages. Jason had already travelled up there a couple of days earlier, and Pip and I had hoped to go together, but it turned out that my bags and boxes had taken up the whole of my dad’s car boot and most of the back seats. We settled for messaging and trying to spot each other on the motorway.

Felipa Quintana

New game!!!!!

If we spot each other on the motorway we get 10 points

Georgia Warr

what do we get if we have the most points

Felipa Quintana

Eternal glory

Georgia Warr

love me a sweet cup of eternal glory

Felipa Quintana

DUDE I JUST SAW YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!

I waved but you didn’t see me

Rejection

A modern tragedy by Felipa Quintana

Georgia Warr

you’ll get over it

Felipa Quintana

I’ll need intense therapy

You’re paying

Georgia Warr

i’m not paying for your therapy

Felipa Quintana

Rude

I thought you were my friend

Georgia Warr

use your 10 points to pay for therapy

Felipa Quintana

MAYBE I WILL

The drive was hideously long, actually, even with Pip’s messages for company. Dad was asleep for most of it. Mum insisted she got to choose the radio station since she was driving, and it was all motorway, flashes of grey and green, with only one stop at a service station. Mum bought me a packet of crisps, but I was too nervous about the day ahead to eat them, so they just sat in my lap, unopened.

‘You never know,’ Mum had said, in an attempt to cheer me up, ‘you might find a lovely young man on your course!’

‘Maybe,’ I said. Or a lovely young woman. God, anybody. Please. I’m desperate.

‘Lots of people meet their life partner at university. Like me and Dad.’

Mum regularly pointed out boys she thought I would find attractive, as if I could just go up to someone and ask them out. I never thought any of her choices were attractive anyway. But she was hopeful. Mostly out of curiosity, I think. She wanted to know what sort of person I would choose, like when you’re watching a movie and waiting for the love interest to appear.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ I said, not wanting to tell her that her attempt at cheering me up was just making me feel worse. ‘That’d be nice.’

I was starting to feel a bit like I was going to be sick.

But everyone probably felt this way about starting university.

Durham is a little old city with lots of hills and cobbled streets, and I loved it because I felt like I was in The Secret History or some other deep and mysterious university drama where there’s lots of sex and murder.

Not that I was particularly on track to experience either of those.

We had to drive into a huge field, queue up in the car, and wait to be summoned, because Durham University’s colleges are all tiny and they don’t have car parks of their own. Lots of students and their parents were getting out of their cars to talk to each other while we all waited. I knew I should get out and start socialising too.

My running theory was that my shyness and introversion were linked to my whole ‘never fancying anyone’ situation – maybe I just didn’t talk to enough people, or maybe people just stressed me out in general, and that was why I’d never wanted to kiss anyone. If I just improved my confidence, tried to be a bit more open and sociable, I’d be able to do and feel those things, like most people.

Starting university was a good time to try something like that.

Felipa Quintana

Hey are you in the queue

I’ve befriended my car next door neighbour

She brought a whole-ass fern with her

It’s like five feet tall

Update: the fern’s name is Roderick

I was about to reply, or maybe even get out of the car and meet Pip’s acquaintance and Roderick, but it was then that Mum turned the engine on.

‘They’re calling us,’ she said, pointing up ahead at where someone in a high-vis vest was waving.

Dad turned round to smile at me. ‘You ready?’

It’d be hard, sure, and it’d be scary and probably embarrassing, but I would become someone who could experience the magic of romance.

I knew I had my whole life ahead of me, and it’d happen one day, but I felt like if I couldn’t change and make it happen at university, it’d never happen at all.

‘Yeah,’ I replied.

Also, I didn’t want to wait. I wanted it now.

‘Oh no,’ I said, standing outside the door of what would be my bedroom for the next nine months, and slightly dying inside.

‘What?’ asked Dad, dropping one of my bags on to the floor and pulling his glasses down from the top of his head.

‘Oh, well,’ said Mum, ‘you knew there was a chance of this happening, darling.’

On the front of my bedroom door was my photo and underneath it was written ‘Georgia Warr’ in Times New Roman. Next to that was another photo – of a girl with long brown hair, a smile that looked positively candid in its naturalness, and perfectly threaded eyebrows. Underneath that was the name ‘Rooney Bach’.

Durham was an old English university that had a ‘college system’. Instead of halls of residence, the university was made up of ‘colleges’ spread around the city. Your college was where you slept, showered and ate, but it was also a place you showed your allegiance to through college events, your college sports teams, and running for the college’s executive student roles.

St John’s College – the one that I had been accepted into – was an old building. And because of that, a few of the students living there had to share rooms.

I just hadn’t thought it would be me.

A wave of panic flooded through me. I couldn’t have a roommate – hardly anyone in the UK had roommates at uni. I needed my own space. How was I supposed to sleep or read fanfic or get dressed or do anything with someone else in the room? How was I supposed to relax when I had to socialise with another person every moment I was awake?

Mum didn’t even seem to notice I was panicking. She just said, ‘Well, let’s get cracking, then,’ and opened the door for me.

And Rooney Bach was already there, wearing leggings and a polo shirt, watering a five-foot fern.

The first thing Rooney Bach said to me was, ‘Oh my God, are you Georgia Warr?’ like I was a celebrity, but she didn’t even wait for affirmation before casting her watering can aside, grabbing a large strip of aqua-blue fabric – which I determined to be a rug – from her bed, and holding it up to me.

‘Rug,’ she said. ‘Thoughts?’

‘Um,’ I said. ‘It’s great.’

‘OK, amazing.’ She whooshed the rug into the air and then laid it down in the centre of our room. ‘There. It just needed that splash of colour.’

I think I was in shock a little bit, because only then did I take a proper look around our room. It was large, but pretty gross, as I’d expected it would be – bedrooms are never nice at old English universities. The carpet was a mouldy grey-blue, the furniture was beige and plastic-looking, and our beds were singles. Rooney’s already had bright, flowery bedsheets on it. Mine looked like it belonged in a hospital.

The only nice part of the room was a large sash window. The paint on the wooden frame was peeling and I knew it’d be draughty, but it was sort of lovely, and you could see all the way down to the river.

‘You’ve done up the place nicely already!’ Dad was saying to Rooney.

‘Oh, d’you think so?’ said Rooney. She immediately started narrating a tour of her side of the room to Mum and Dad, showing off all the key features – her illustrated print of some meadows (she liked going on country walks) and one of Much Ado About Nothing (her favourite Shakespeare play), her fleece duvet topper (also aqua, to match the rug), her house plant (whose name was – I hadn’t misheard – Roderick), an aqua desk lamp (from John Lewis) and, most importantly, a giant poster that simply read ‘Don’t Quit Your Daydream’ in a swirly font.

The whole time, she was smiling. Her hair, up in a ponytail, swished around, as my parents tried to keep up with how fast she was talking.

I sat down on my bed in the grey half of the room. I hadn’t brought any posters with me. All I’d brought were a few printed-out photos of me, Pip and Jason.

Mum looked at me from the other side of the room and gave me a sad smile, like she knew that I wanted to go home.

‘You can message us any time, darling,’ said Mum, as we were saying goodbye outside the college. I felt empty and lost, standing there in the cobbled street in the October cold, my parents about to leave me.

I don’t want you to go, was what I wanted to say to them.

‘And Pip and Jason are just down the road, aren’t they?’ continued Dad. ‘You can go and hang out with them any time.’ Pip and Jason had been placed in a different college – University College, or ‘Castle’ as it was commonly referred to by the students here, since it literally was part of Durham Castle. They’d stopped replying to my messages a couple of hours ago. Probably busy unpacking.

Please don’t leave me here alone, I wanted to say.

‘Yeah,’ is what I said.

I glanced around. This was my home, now. Durham. It was like a town out of a Dickens adaptation. All of the buildings were tall and old. Everything seemed to be made of lumps of stone. I could see myself walking down the cobbles and into the cathedral in my graduation gown already. This was where I was supposed to be.

They both hugged me. I didn’t cry, even though I really, really wanted to.

‘This is the start of a big adventure,’ said Dad.

‘Maybe,’ I mumbled into his jacket.

I couldn’t bear to stay and watch them walk away down the road towards the car – when they turned to go, so did I.

Back in my room, Rooney was Blu Tack-ing a photo to the wall, right in the centre of her posters. In the photo was Rooney, maybe aged thirteen or fourteen, with a girl who had dyed red hair. Like, Ariel from The Little Mermaid hair.

‘Is that your friend from home?’ I asked. This was a good conversation starter, at least.

Rooney whipped her head round to look at me, and for a moment I thought I saw an odd expression cross her face. But then it was gone, replaced by her wide smile.

‘Yeah!’ she said. ‘Beth. She’s – she’s not here, obviously, but … yeah. She’s my friend. Do you know anyone else in Durham? Or are you here all alone?’

‘Oh, erm, well, my two best friends are here, but they’re in Castle.’

‘Oh, that’s so nice! Sad you didn’t get into the same college, though.’

I shrugged. Durham took your choice of college into consideration, but not everyone could get their first choice. I’d tried to get into Castle too, but I’d ended up here. ‘We tried, but, yeah.’

‘You’ll be OK.’ Rooney beamed. ‘We’ll be friends.’

Rooney offered to help me unpack, but I declined, determined to at least do this one thing by myself. While I was unpacking, she sat on her bed and chatted to me, and we learnt that we were both studying English. She then declared that she’d done none of the summer reading. I’d done all of it but didn’t mention that.

Rooney, I was quickly learning, was extremely chatty, but I could tell that she was putting on some sort of happy, bubbly persona. Which was fair enough – I mean, it was our first day of university. Everyone was going to be trying really hard to make friends. But I couldn’t get a sense of what sort of person she really was, which was mildly concerning because we were going to be living with each other for almost a full year.

Were we going to be best friends? Or were we going to awkwardly put up with each other before leaving for the summer and never speaking again?

‘So …’ I scanned the room in search of something to talk about, before landing on her Much Ado poster. ‘You like Shakespeare?’

Rooney’s head snapped up from her phone. ‘Yeah! Do you?’

I nodded. ‘Um, yeah, well, I was in a youth theatre group back home. And I did a lot of the school plays. Shakespeare was always my favourite.’

This actually caused Rooney to sit up, eyes wide and sparkling. ‘Wait. You act?’

‘Um …’

I did act, but, well, it was a bit more complicated than that now.

When I was in my early teens, I’d wanted to be an actor – which was why I’d joined the youth theatre group that Pip already went to and started auditioning for the school plays with her. And I was good at it. I got top marks in drama class at school. I usually got a pretty solid speaking part in the plays and musicals that I did.

But as I got older, acting just started to make me nervous. I got more stage fright the more plays I did, and eventually, when I auditioned for Les Misérables in Year 13, I was shaking so much that I got relegated to a role with only one line, and even then, come showtime, I threw up before every single performance.

So maybe a career in acting wasn’t for me.

Despite this, I was planning to continue with acting at uni. I still enjoyed figuring out roles and interpreting scripts – it was the audiences I had problems with. I just needed to work on my confidence. I’d join the student theatre society and maybe audition for a play. I needed to join one society, at least, if I was going to branch out and open up and meet new people.

And find someone to fall in love with.

‘Yeah, a bit,’ I said.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Rooney clapped one hand to her heart. ‘This is amazing. We can go join the DST together.’

‘The DST …?’

‘Durham Student Theatre. They basically run all of the drama societies in Durham.’ Rooney flipped her ponytail back. ‘The Shakespeare Soc is literally the main society I wanna join. I know most freshers do the Freshers Play but I had a look at what plays they’ve done the past few years and they’re all kind of boring? So I’m at least gonna try and join Shakespeare. God I’m praying they’ll do a tragedy. Macbeth is literally my dream …’

Rooney rambled on without seeming to care whether I was actually listening or not.

We had something in common. Acting. This was good.

Maybe Rooney would be my first new friend.

‘Oh, wow!’ said Jason later that day as he and Pip stepped into my – well, my and Rooney’s room. ‘It’s the size of my garden.’

Pip stretched out her arms and did a twirl on the spot, emphasising the unnecessary amount of empty space in the room. ‘I didn’t realise you’d joined the college of the bourgeoisie.’

‘I don’t understand why they couldn’t just … build a wall in the middle,’ I said, pointing at the gap between mine and Rooney’s sides of the room, which was currently only occupied by Rooney’s aqua rug.

‘How very Trump of you,’ said Jason.

‘Oh my God, shut up.’

Rooney had left a while ago with a group of people she’d befriended on our corridor. They’d invited me, but honestly, I needed some down time – I’d been trying my best to say hi to new people for most of the day, and I really, really wanted to see some familiar faces. So I’d invited Jason and Pip to come hang in my room for a bit before this evening’s freshers’ events at our separate colleges, and thankfully, they’d both finished unpacking and didn’t have anything else to do.

I’d already told them a little bit about Rooney – that she liked theatre and was generally quite nice – but her side of the room was a much better summary of her personality.

Jason surveyed it, then looked over my side. ‘Why does her side look like an Instagram influencer’s bedroom and yours looks like a prison cell? You brought so many bags with you!’

‘It’s not that bad. And a lot of the bags had books in them.’

‘Georgia, my dude,’ said Pip, who had slumped on to my bed. ‘Her side looks like Disneyland. Yours looks like a stock photo.’

‘I didn’t bring any posters,’ I said. ‘Or fairy lights.’

‘You – Georgia, how the hell did you forget fairy lights? They’re an essential element of university room décor.’

‘I don’t know!’

‘You’ll be sad without fairy lights. Everyone’s sad without fairy lights.’

‘I think Rooney’s got more than enough for both of us. She’s already letting me share a rug.’

Pip looked down at the aqua and nodded approvingly.

‘Yes. It’s a good rug.’

‘It’s just a rug.’

‘It’s a shaggy one. That’s sexy.’

‘Pip.’

Pip suddenly leapt out of the bed, staring at Rooney’s fern in the corner of the room. ‘Hang on – wait one fucking second. That plant …’

Jason and I turned to look at Roderick.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. That’s Roderick.’

And it was at that moment that Rooney Bach returned to our room.

She swung the door wide open, kicked her Norton Anthology in front of it to act as a doorstop, and turned to face us with a Starbucks in her hand.

‘Guests!’ she said, beaming at the three of us.

‘Um, yeah,’ I said. ‘These are my friends from home, Pip and Jason.’ I pointed at each of them. ‘And this is my roommate, Rooney.’ I pointed at Rooney.

Rooney’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my God. This is them.’

‘It’s us,’ said Pip, one eyebrow raised.

‘And we’ve met already!’ Rooney gave Pip a once-over, her eyes flicking briefly up and down from her tortoiseshell glasses down to the stripy socks visible beneath her rolled-up jeans, before striding towards her and holding out her hand with such force that Pip looked, for the briefest second, afraid.

She shook the hand. She gave Rooney a once-over in return – from her Adidas Originals all the way up to the hairband just visible at the top of her ponytail. ‘Yes. I see Roderick has settled in.’

Rooney’s eyebrow quivered, like she was surprised and pleased that Pip’s immediate reaction was banter. ‘He has. He’s been enjoying the northern air.’

She turned to Jason and held out her hand again, which he took. ‘We haven’t met, but I like your jacket.’

Jason glanced down at himself. He was wearing the fluffy brown teddy jacket he’d owned for years. I truly believed it was the most comfortable item of clothing to exist on this planet. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, thanks.’

Rooney smiled and clapped her hands together. ‘It’s so nice to meet you both. We’re going to have to become friends, now that me and Georgia are friends.’

Pip gave me a look as if to say, friends? Already?

‘As long as you don’t steal her away from us,’ Jason joked, though Pip whipped her head round to him, seemingly taking the statement very seriously indeed.

Rooney noticed this happen, and a small curl of a smile appeared at the side of her mouth.

‘Of course not,’ she said.

‘I’ve heard you’re interested in theatre,’ Pip said. There was a nervous tone to her voice.

‘Yes! Are you?’

‘Yeah! We all went to the same youth theatre group. And we did school plays together.’

Rooney seemed genuinely excited by this prospect. Her love for theatre was definitely not fake, even if some of her smiles were. ‘So you’ll be auditioning for a DST play?’

‘Obviously.’

‘A lead role?’

‘Obviously.’

Rooney grinned, and after taking a sip from her Starbucks cup she said, ‘Good. We’ll be competing, then.’

‘I … I guess we will,’ said Pip, flustered, surprised and confused all at the same time.

Rooney suddenly made a concerned face and checked her phone. ‘Oh, sorry, I have to head out again. Got to meet this girl I’ve been chatting to on the English Soc Facebook group down at Vennels. I’ll meet you back here at six for the Freshers’ Barbecue?’

And then she was gone, while I was wondering what Vennels was, and why I didn’t know what Vennels was, and how Rooney already knew what Vennels was when she’d only been here for less than one day, just like me.

When I turned back to my friends, Pip was standing very still with a startled expression on her face that made her look a bit like a cartoon scientist, post-explosion.

‘What?’ I asked.

Pip swallowed and shook her head a little. ‘Nothing.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. She seems nice.’

I knew that look. It was a Pip look I knew well. I’d seen it when she had to be gymnastics partners with Alicia Reece – one of her most intense crushes – in Year 11 PE. I’d seen it when we went to a Little Mix meet and greet and Pip got to hug Leigh-Anne Pinnock.

Pip didn’t fancy a lot of girls – she was quite picky, actually. But when Pip did fancy someone, it was very, very obvious. To me, anyway. I could always tell when people had crushes on each other.

Before I could make a comment, Jason interrupted. He was peering at the photo of Rooney and Mermaid-hair Beth. ‘It’s so odd that you ended up with a roommate. What did you write on your personality quiz?’

We’d had to fill in personality quizzes after we got accepted into Durham, so that if we ended up having to share rooms, they’d try to match us with someone we’d get along with.

I strained to remember what I’d written on mine – and then it clicked.

‘Shakespeare,’ I said. ‘The quiz – one of the questions was about your interests. I wrote Shakespeare.’

‘So?’ said Jason.

I pointed at Rooney’s Much Ado About Nothing poster.

‘Oh my God,’ said Pip, her eyes widening. ‘Is she also a Shakespeare stan? Like us?’

‘So she says.’

Jason nodded, seemingly pleased. ‘That’s good! You can bond over that.’

‘Yes,’ said Pip, much too quickly. ‘Befriend her.’

‘I mean, we’re roommates. So hopefully we will be friends.’

‘That’s good,’ Jason repeated. ‘Especially since we won’t get to hang out all the time any more.’

This made me pause. ‘Won’t we?’

‘Well – no? I mean, at least this week. We’re at different colleges.’

I genuinely hadn’t thought about that. I’d had this idea that we’d meet up every day, hang out, explore Durham, begin our university journeys together. But all our freshers’ events were at our own colleges. We were all on different courses – I was doing English, Jason was doing history, and Pip was studying natural sciences. So he was right. I probably wouldn’t see much of Pip and Jason at all this week.

‘I guess,’ I said.

Maybe this could be OK. Maybe this would be the kick I needed to branch out and find new people and have experiences.

Maybe this could all be part of the plan. The romance plan.

‘Right,’ said Pip, slapping her thighs and bouncing to her feet. ‘We should head. I still haven’t finished unpacking all my shirts.’

I let Pip bundle me into a hug before she trotted out of the room, leaving just me and Jason. I didn’t want Jason and Pip to go. I hadn’t wanted my parents to go. I didn’t want to be left here alone.

‘I wish I was at Castle too,’ I said. I sounded like a five-year-old.

‘You’ll be OK,’ said Jason, in his usual calming tone. Nothing fazed Jason. He had whatever the opposite of anxiety was. Absolute, unerring peace of mind.

I swallowed. I really, really did want to cry. Maybe I could have a quick cry before Rooney got back.

‘Can I have a hug?’ I asked.

Jason paused. Something unreadable crossed his face.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah. C’mere.’

I crossed the room and let him envelop me in a warm hug.

‘You’ll be OK,’ he said again, rubbing his hands gently over my back, and I don’t know if I believed him, but it felt nice to hear anyway. And Jason always gave the warmest, cosiest hugs.

‘OK,’ I mumbled into his jacket.

When he stepped back, his eyes darted away.

He might even have blushed a little bit.

‘I’ll see you soon?’ he said, not looking at me.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Message me.’

My friendships with Pip and Jason wouldn’t change. We’d made it through seven years of secondary school, for God’s sake. Whether we hung out all the time or not – we would always be friends. Nothing could ruin what we had.

And getting to focus on a new friendship with Rooney Bach – a fellow Shakespeare enthusiast who was significantly more sociable than me – could only be a good thing.

At the St John’s College Freshers’ Barbecue, Rooney moved around the courtyard like an ambitious businesswoman at an important networking event. She befriended people in a quick, easy way that left me in awe and, to be honest, very jealous.

I had no option but to trail her like a shadow. I didn’t know how to mingle solo.

University was where most people made friendships that actually lasted. My parents still met up with their uni friends every year. My brother’s best man had been one of his uni friends. I knew I had Pip and Jason, so it wasn’t like I was going in friendless in the first place, but I still figured that I might meet some more people I got along with.

And at the barbecue, people were on the hunt for friendships. Everyone was being extra loud, extra friendly and asking way more questions than is normally socially acceptable. I tried my best, but I wasn’t great at it. I’d forget people’s names as soon as they said them. I didn’t ask enough questions. All the posh private-school boys in zip-neck jumpers blended in with each other.

I thought about trying to make progress with my finding love situation, but no particular romantic feelings arose for anyone I met, and I was too anxious to try and force myself to feel them.

Rooney, on the other hand, flirted.

At first, I thought I was just seeing things. But the more I watched, the more I could see her doing it. The way she’d touch guys on the arm and smile up at them – or smile down, because she was tall. The way she’d listen when they spoke and laugh at their jokes. The way she’d give the guy direct, piercing eye contact, the sort of eye contact that made you feel like she knew you.

It was absolutely masterful.

What I found interesting was that she did this to several guys. I wondered what her goal was. What was she looking for? A potential boyfriend? Hook-up options? Or was she just doing it for fun?

Either way, I thought about it a lot while I was trying to fall asleep later that night in a new room and a new bed, with a person already asleep a few metres away from me.

Rooney seemed to know exactly what to do. I’d watched her master the set-up. The romance pre-game. She did it the same way she befriended people – with the precise expertise of someone who’d had a lot of practice and a lot of success. Could I do that? Could I copy her?

Would she teach me how to do it?

It seemed to take Rooney a monumental amount of effort to wake up on Monday morning. I thought I was bad at waking up in the mornings, but Rooney had to hit snooze at least five times before she managed to drag herself out of bed. All of the alarms were ‘Spice Up Your Life’ by the Spice Girls. I woke up at the first one.

‘I didn’t know you wore glasses,’ was the first thing she said to me after she’d finally arisen.

‘I wear contacts most of the time,’ I explained, and it reminded me of how surprised Pip had been, aged eleven, to find out that I was short-sighted after six whole months of being friends. I’d started wearing contact lenses the summer before secondary school.

When I awkwardly asked her if she wanted to head down to the cafeteria for breakfast, she looked almost like I’d suggested throwing ourselves out of the window, before replacing the expression with a broad smile and saying, ‘Yeah, that sounds good!’ And then she changed into sportswear and became the bubbly, extroverted Rooney I’d met the day before.

I stuck close to Rooney throughout our first official day of Freshers’ Week, through our introductory English lecture to our afternoon off. In the lecture, she effortlessly befriended the person sitting next to her, and in the afternoon, we went out for coffee with a few people who also did English. She made friends with all of them, too, and broke away to talk to this one guy who was obviously attractive in a conventional sort of way. She flirted. Touching his sleeve. Laughing. Looking into his eyes.

It looked so easy. But even imagining myself doing it made me feel a bit nauseated.

I hope this doesn’t sound like I thought badly of Rooney for flirting and making connections and setting herself up for, without a doubt, some sort of grand university romance that she’d be able to tell her grandchildren about when she was an elderly over-sharer.

I was just very, very jealous that I wasn’t her.

The main event of the Tuesday of Freshers’ Week was ‘College Matriculation’, a bizarre pseudo-religious ceremony that took place in Durham Cathedral, at which we were welcomed into the university. We all had to wear posh outfits and our college gowns, which made me feel very sophisticated.

I stuck with Rooney until, on the way out of the cathedral, I spotted Pip and Jason, walking together across the grass, no doubt heading to their own matriculation ceremony. They saw me, and we ran to each other through the graveyard in what felt like slow-mo with the Chariots of Fire music playing in the background.

Pip leapt on me, almost drowning me in her college gown. She was dressed as fancy as she’d been dressed at prom – full suit and tie, a halo of carefully styled curls, and she was wearing a cologne that smelt like a forest after the rain. She felt like home.

‘I’m going to write St John’s a letter of complaint,’ she said into my shoulder, ‘to tell them to let you transfer to Castle.’

‘I don’t think that will work.’

‘It will. D’you remember when I complained to Tesco and they sent me five packets of Maltesers? I know how to pen a strongly worded letter.’

‘Just ignore her,’ said Jason. Jason was also suited up – he looked fancy too. ‘She’s still hungover from last night.’

Pip stepped back, adjusting her collar and tie. She did look a little less chipper than usual.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Is your roommate being normal? Are you dying of stress?’

I thought about these questions and replied, ‘No to all.’

Speaking of Rooney, I glanced over Pip’s shoulder to see how far ahead Rooney had walked, only to find that Rooney had actually stopped at the edge of the graveyard and was looking back. Right at us.

Pip and Jason turned to look.

‘O-oh, she’s there,’ Pip mumbled, and immediately started adjusting her hair. But Rooney was still looking at us, and she smiled and waved, seemingly directly at Pip. Pip awkwardly raised a hand and waved back with a nervous smile.

I wondered suddenly whether Pip had a chance with Rooney. Rooney seemed pretty straight, judging by how many guys I had seen her flirt with and that she hadn’t tried flirting with any girls, but people could surprise you.

‘You getting along with her OK?’ asked Jason.

‘She’s really nice, yeah. She’s better than me at, like, everything, which is annoying, but she’s fine.’

Pip frowned. ‘Better than you at what?’

‘Oh, you know. Like, making friends, and, I dunno. Talking to people.’ Flirting. Romance. Falling in love, probably.

Neither Jason nor Pip seemed impressed by this answer.

‘OK,’ said Pip. ‘We’re coming round tonight.’

‘You really don’t have to.’

‘No, I know a cry for help when I hear it.’

‘I’m not crying for help.’

‘We need a pizza night, urgently.’

I saw through her immediately. ‘You just want to have an opportunity to talk to Rooney again, don’t you?’

Pip gave me a long look.

‘Maybe so,’ she said. ‘But I also care about you. And I care about pizza.’

‘So she’s just, like, insanely good at getting people to like her?’ said Pip through a mouthful of pizza later that evening.

‘That’s pretty much it, yeah,’ I said.

Jason shook his head. ‘And you want to be like her? Why?’

The three of us were sprawled on Rooney’s aqua rug, pizza in the middle. We’d had a minor debate about whether to watch our group favourite, Moulin Rouge, or Jason’s favourite, the live action Scooby-Doo movie, but we eventually settled on Scooby-Doo and were playing it on my laptop. Rooney was out for the night at some sort of themed bar night, and had I not already made plans with my friends, I probably would have gone with her. But this was better. Everything was better when Jason and Pip were here.

I couldn’t admit to them how desperately I wanted to be in a romantic relationship. Because I knew it was pathetic. Trust me. I completely understood that women should want to be strong and independent and you don’t need to find love to have a successful life. And the fact that I so desperately wanted a boyfriend – or a girlfriend, a partner, whoever, someone – was a sign that I was not strong, or independent, or self-sufficient, or happy alone. I was really quite lonely, and I wanted to be loved.

Was that such a bad thing? To want an intimate connection with another human?

I didn’t know.

‘She just finds it so easy to talk to people,’ I said.

‘That’s just what life is like when you’re abnormally attractive, though,’ said Pip.

Jason and I looked at her.

‘Abnormally attractive?’ I said.

Pip stopped chewing. ‘What? She is! I’m just stating facts! She’s got that sort of “I could step on you and you would enjoy it” energy.’

‘Interesting,’ Jason said, raising an eyebrow.

Pip started to go a bit red. ‘I’m literally just making an observation!’

‘… OK.’

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’

Since the events of prom, I’d given some solid thought as to whether I might actually be a lesbian, like Pip. It would make sense. Maybe my lack of interest in boys was because I was, in fact, interested in girls.

That’d be a fairly sensible solution to my situation.

According to Pip, the hallmarks of realising you’re a lesbian were: firstly, getting a little intensely obsessed with a girl, mistaking it for admiration, and sometimes thinking about holding their hand, and secondly, having a subconscious fixation on certain female cartoon villains.

Jokes aside, I’d never had a crush on a girl, so I didn’t really have any evidence to support that particular theory.

Maybe I was bi or pan, since I didn’t even seem to have a preference at this point.

The next couple of hours were spent talking, snacking, and occasionally glancing at my laptop screen to watch the movie. Pip rambled at length about how interesting her introductory chemistry lab class had been, while Jason and I both mourned how dull our first lectures had been. We all shared our thoughts about the people we’d met in college – how many posh private-school kids there were, how bad the drinking culture already seemed to be, and how there really should be more cereal options at breakfast. At one point, Pip decided to water Roderick the house plant, because, in her words, ‘He’s looking a bit thirsty.’

But soon it was eleven o’clock, and Pip decided it was time to make some hot chocolate, which she insisted on doing on the stove rather than using the kettle in my bedroom. We all headed out of the room towards the tiny kitchen on my corridor, which was shared between eight people but had been empty the few times I’d been in there thus far.

Tonight, it was not empty.

I knew this from the moment Pip glanced through the door window and made a face like she’d been given a mild electric shock.

‘Oh shit,’ she hissed, and as Jason and I joined her, we finally saw what was going on.

Rooney was in the kitchen.

She was with a guy.

She was sitting on the kitchen counter. He was standing between her legs, his tongue in her mouth, and his hand up her shirt.

To put it lightly: they were both very much enjoying themselves.

‘Oh,’ I said.

Jason immediately stepped away from the situation, like any normal person would, but Pip and I just stood there for a moment, watching this go down.

It became clear to me in that moment that the only way I was going to make any progress in my finding love mission was if I asked Rooney for help.

I was not going to be able to do it on my own, ever.

I’d tried. I promise I’d tried. I’d tried to kiss Tommy when he went in for one, but the Kill Bill sirens started going off in my mind and I just couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

I’d tried to talk to people at the Freshers’ Barbecue, and when we were huddling outside the lecture halls, and at lunch and dinner when I sat with Rooney and all the people she had befriended. I’d tried, and I wasn’t terrible at it, I was polite, and nice, and people didn’t seem to hate me.

But I would never be like Rooney. Not naturally, anyway. I would never be able to kiss some guy just because it was fun, because it made me feel good, because I could do what I wanted. I would never be able to manufacture that spark that she seemed to have with almost everyone she met.

Unless she told me how.

Pip finally tore her eyes away from the window. ‘That’s got to be unhygienic,’ she said, making a disgusted face. ‘That’s where people make their tea, for God’s sake.’

I murmured my agreement before moving away from the door, our hot chocolate plans abandoned.

Pip had this look on her face like she’d seen this coming.

‘I’m so dumb,’ she muttered.

I knew almost everything about romance. I knew the theory. I knew when people were flirting, I knew when they wanted to kiss. I knew when people’s boyfriends were being shitty to them, even when they couldn’t tell it themselves. I’d read infinite stories of people meeting and flirting and awkwardly pining, hating before liking, lusting before loving, kissing and sex and love and marriage and partners for life, till death us do part.

I was a master of the theory. But Rooney was a master of the practice.

Maybe fate had brought her to me. Or maybe that was just romantic thinking.

In the middle of the night, between Tuesday and Wednesday, I woke up to hear someone having sex in the room above ours.

It was a sort of rhythmic thumping. Like a headboard hitting a wall. And a creaking, like the bend of an old bedframe.

I sat up, wondering if I was just imagining it. But I wasn’t. It was real. People were having sex in the room above us. What else would that sound be? There were only bedrooms up there, so unless someone had decided to do some 3 a.m. DIY, there was only one thing that sound could be.

Rooney was fast asleep, curled up on her side, her dark hair splayed around her on the pillow. Utterly oblivious.

I knew this sort of thing would happen at university. In fact, I knew this sort of thing happened at school – well, not physically at school, hopefully, but among my schoolfriends and classmates.

But hearing it happen, in the flesh, not just knowing and imagining, chilled me to the core. Even more than when I saw that person getting fingered at Hattie’s party.

It was a jarring sort of oh, God, this thing is actually real, it’s not just in fanfics and movies. And I’m supposed to be doing that too.

‘College families’ were a new concept to me. At Durham, students in their second and third years paired up to act as a mentor team, or ‘college parents’ for a small group of incoming freshers, who were their ‘college children’.

I kind of loved it. It made a romance out of something absolutely mundane, which was something that I was incredibly experienced at.

Rooney and I, plus four other students who I only knew from their Facebook profiles, had arranged to gather with our college parents at Starbucks. This had all been organised in a group chat on Facebook last week in which I’d been too scared to say anything other than ‘Sounds great! I’ll be there .

But when we got there, only one of our parents was there – Sunil Jha.

‘So,’ said Sunil, crossing one leg over the other in his chair. ‘I’m your college parent.’

Sunil Jha had a warm smile and kind eyes, and although he was only two years older than us he seemed infinitely more mature. He was also dressed incredibly well – slim trousers with Converse, a T-shirt tucked in and a bomber jacket with a subtle grey tartan pattern.

‘Please don’t refer to me as your college mother or father,’ he continued, ‘not just because I’m non-binary, but also because that feels like a scary amount of commitment.’

This earned some chuckles. On his jacket were several enamel pins – a rainbow flag, a tiny old radio, a pin featuring a boyband logo, one that read ‘He/They’, and another pride pin, this one with black, grey, white and purple stripes. I was sure I’d seen that one before, online somewhere, but I couldn’t remember what it meant.

‘In a strange turn of events, your college mother decided that university wasn’t for her and dropped out at the end of last term. So we’re going to be a single-parent family this year.’

There were some more chuckles, but then silence. I wondered when Rooney was going to bust out the questions, but it seemed even she was a little intimidated by Sunil’s third-year confidence.

‘Basically,’ said Sunil, ‘I’m here if you have literally any questions or worries about anything while you’re here. Alternatively, you can just do what you want and forget I ever existed.’

More laughs.

‘So. Does anyone have anything you want to chat about while we’re here?’

After a short moment, Rooney was the first to jump in. ‘I was wondering, like … how the college marriage thing worked? I heard something about college proposals but I don’t really know what that is.’

Oh, yeah. I was glad she’d asked that.

Sunil laughed. ‘Oh my God, yes. OK. So. College marriage.’ He linked his fingers together. ‘If you want to form a mentor team with another student, you get college married. One of you proposes to the other and usually it’s a big, dramatic proposal. There’ll be lots happening this term.’

Rooney was nodding, fascinated. ‘What d’you mean by “big and dramatic”?’

‘Well … let me put it this way. My proposal involved me filling her bedroom with glitter-filled balloons, getting forty-odd people to wait in there and surprise her, and then get down on one knee in front of everyone with a plastic ring in the shape of a cat.’

Oh. God.

‘Does everyone … um … does everyone get college married?’ I asked.

Sunil looked at me. He really did have kind eyes. ‘Most people. Usually friends do it, since it’s just for fun. Sometimes couples do it, though.’

Friends. Couples.

Oh no.

Now I really needed to actually meet people.

The discussion broadened out into other aspects of university – our studies, the best clubs, good times to use the library, the Bailey Ball at the end of term. But I didn’t say anything else. I just sat there, stressing out about college marriage.

It didn’t matter if I didn’t do that. Right? That wasn’t what I was here for.

‘Now, I’m going to be escorting you to a club this evening, apparently,’ said Sunil, as we were all packing up to leave. ‘So meet in reception at nine p.m., OK? And don’t worry about dressing up too much.’ As he continued he met my eyes and smiled, warm and gentle, ‘And you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, all right? It’s not mandatory.’

As Rooney and I walked back to college, I messaged Pip and Jason about ‘college marriage’. Their responses were pretty much what I expected from them:

Felipa Quintana

OMG WE HAVE THAT TOO

Literally cannot wait till someone proposes to me

Or I propose to someone

It’s gonna be dramatic af

I hope someone showers me with confetti then recites a poem to me on a boat in front of a hundred onlookers before releasing a pair of doves into the sky

Jason Farley-Shaw

I think the concept seems kind of archaic, idk

Rooney, however, didn’t have anything to say about college marriage, because she was much too focused on going out to a club.

‘I’m so excited for tonight,’ she said.

‘Really?’

She smiled. ‘I’m ready for my uni experience, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, and I meant it. I was ready for my uni experience too. Sure, the idea of going to clubs was horrifying, and I still couldn’t quite imagine the scenario in which I would fall for someone, but I was going to make it happen, and I was going to enjoy it. ‘Me too.’

‘So,’ she said, and looked at me with her big dark eyes. She was objectively very pretty. Maybe she’d be my endgame. Roommate romance like in a fanfiction. This was university, for God’s sake. Anything could happen. ‘D’you like going out?’

By ‘going out’, she meant clubbing, and honestly, I didn’t know. I’d never been to a club. There weren’t many nice ones in rural Kent, and neither Pip nor Jason were into that sort of thing.

Clubbing. College marriage. Sex. Romance.

I knew all this stuff was optional.

But I wanted to have a completely normal university experience, just like everyone else.

‘Oh my God!’ said Rooney, once I’d finished straightening my hair. ‘You look so nice!’

‘Ah, thanks!’ I said awkwardly. I’m terrible at taking compliments.

Mum and I had gone clothes shopping a couple of weeks ago so I would have things to wear for club nights, and I’d picked out a couple of dresses and a pair of chunky shoes. I put one of the dresses on with black tights and honestly didn’t think I looked too bad, but next to Rooney, I just felt like a child. She was wearing a velvet red jumpsuit – a deep V at the front and flared legs – with heeled boots and huge hooped earrings. She’d piled half her hair up in a messy bun on top of her head, the rest flowing down her back. She looked really fucking cool. I … didn’t.

Then I felt bad because Mum and I had chosen this dress together. I felt a million miles away from Mum and our local shopping centre.

‘Did you go out much back in Kent?’ Rooney asked from where she was sitting on her bed, applying some final touches to her make-up in front of her pedestal mirror.

I wanted to lie and say I was super experienced at clubbing, but there was really no use. Rooney was already becoming acutely aware that I was a shy person and much, much worse at socialising than she was.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I … I dunno. I didn’t really think it was my sort of thing.’

‘You don’t have to go out if you don’t want to!’ She patted highlighter over her cheekbones before shooting me a smile. ‘It’s not everyone’s scene.’

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I mean … I want to at least try it.’

She smiled some more. ‘Good! Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’

‘Have you been out clubbing lots, then?’

‘Oh, God, yeah.’ She laughed, going back to her make-up.

OK. She sounded confident. Was she a party girl, like so many people I knew back at home? Was she the sort of person who would go out to clubs all the time and hook up with random people?

‘Have you got Find My Friends on your phone?’ she asked.

‘Oh, um, I think so.’

I got my phone out and, sure enough, I did have the app downloaded. The only people I had on there were Pip and Jason.

Rooney held out her hand. ‘Let me add myself. Then if we lose each other, you can find me again.’

She did so, and soon there was a little dot with Rooney’s face on the map of Durham.

She suggested we took a selfie together in our bedroom mirror. She knew exactly how to pose, chin hidden behind a raised shoulder, eyes looking up enticingly beneath her lashes. I put one hand on my hip and hoped for the best.

If I was fully honest with myself, I just wanted to be Rooney Bach.

Sunil met us in the reception area, and it looked like most, if not all of the John’s freshers had shown up to get their first taste of university nightlife. Despite the fact that he’d told us we didn’t have to get dressed up, Sunil was wearing a tight-fit shirt in a bright paisley pattern with skinny trousers. I did notice, however, that he was wearing shoes that looked like they’d been trampled on and dragged through a muddy field, which probably should have prepared me for what I was about to face at the club.

We were shepherded to the club through the cold streets of Durham by Sunil and some other third years. Rooney had already attracted a small crowd of ‘friends’, if you could call them that yet, and I hovered towards the back of her group, apprehensive.

Everyone seemed so excited.

Nobody else seemed nervous.

Most people my age had been to clubs by now. Most people I’d known in Year 13 had frequented the club in our nearest town, which from what I’d heard was a sticky, terrifying hellhole of regrets. But I was the one regretting not having gone with them, now. This was just another example of something I had utterly failed to experience during my teenage life.

The entrance was down an alleyway, and it was free to get in before 11 p.m. They didn’t need IDs as we were all wearing freshers’ wristbands. Inside, it was as if someone had designed me my own personal hell – a tight-packed crowd, sticky floors and music so loud it took Rooney repeating herself three times before I realised she was asking me if I wanted to go to the bar.

I listened to what she ordered so I’d know what to ask for – vodka and lemonade. Then there was chatting, and more chatting, and more chatting. Well, shouting, actually. Mostly people wanted to talk about what are you studying, and where are you from, and how are you finding it all. I started repeating sentences word for word to multiple people. Like a robot. God. I just wanted to make a friend.

And then there was dancing. I started to notice just how many of the songs were about romance or sex. How had I never noticed that before? Like, almost all songs ever written are about romance or sex. And it felt like they were taunting me.

Rooney tried to get me to dance with her, just in a casual, fun way, and I tried, I swear I tried, but she gave up quickly and found someone else. I bobbed along the side of various people I’d had conversations with. I was having fun.

I was having fun.

I was not having fun.

It was nearing eleven o’clock when I messaged Pip, mostly because I wanted someone to talk to without having to shout.

Georgia Warr

HEY how are you this evening

Felipa Quintana

Everything is absolutely fine why do you ask

I may have smashed a wine glass

Georgia Warr

pip . . . . . . . . .

Felipa Quintana

Let me live

Georgia Warr

how come you’re drinking

Felipa Quintana

Because I am the master of my own fate and I live for chaos

Jk our corridor is having a pizza and alcohol night

Btw I think I left my jacket in your room last night?

Georgia Warr

oh no!!! i’ll bring it when i visit you, don’t worry

‘Who you texting?’ Rooney shouted in my ear.

‘Pip!’ I shouted back.

‘What’s she saying?’

I showed Rooney the message about Pip’s smashed glass. Rooney grinned at it, and then laughed.

‘I like her!’ she shouted. ‘She’s so funny!’ And then she went back to dancing.

Georgia Warr

anyway guess where I am

Felipa Quintana

Omg where

Georgia Warr

A CLUB

Felipa Quintana

ARE YOU JOKING

I never thought I would see this day

Baby’s first club!!!

Wait was this Rooney’s idea? Is she peer pressuring you???

Georgia Warr

no i wanted to go haha!!

Felipa Quintana

Okay well be safe!!!!! Don’t do drugs!!!!! Watch out for nasty men!!!!!!!

I hung in there, bobbing, until Rooney wanted to get some fresh air. Well, as much fresh air as you could get in the smoking area out the back of the club.

We leant against the brick wall of the building. I shivered, but Rooney seemed fine.

‘So?’ she asked. ‘What’s your official clubbing verdict?’

I made a face. I couldn’t help it.

She threw her head back against the wall and laughed.

‘At least you’re honest about it,’ she said. ‘A lot of people hate it and still go anyway.’

‘I guess.’ I sipped my drink. ‘I just wanted to try it. I wanted to be a part of the uni experience. You know.’

She nodded. ‘Gross clubs are an important staple of university life, yes.’

I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic.

I was a little drunk, to be fair.

‘I just want … I want to meet people, and … do normal things,’ I said, throwing back the last of my drink. I didn’t even like it that much, but everyone was drinking, and I’d look weird if I wasn’t, wouldn’t I? ‘I don’t have a great track record of doing that very well.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Nope. I have hardly any friends. I’ve always had hardly any friends.’

Rooney’s smile dropped. ‘Oh.’

‘I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Or even kissed anyone.’

The words just came on out before I could stop them.

I immediately cringed at myself. Shit. That was the thing I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone any more. That was the thing people had made fun of me for.

Rooney’s eyebrows raised. ‘Wow, really?’

She wasn’t being sarcastic. That was pure, genuine shock. I don’t know why I was surprised – people’s reactions during truth or dare on prom night must have been how everyone felt. But it really got to me in that moment. The weird looks. The people who’d suddenly see me as a child, as immature. The movies where the main characters freaked out about being virgins at the age of sixteen.

‘Really,’ I said.

‘Do you feel bad about it?’

I shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

‘And you want to change it? Now that you’re at uni?’

‘Ideally, yes.’

‘OK. Good.’ She turned so she was facing me, leaning against the wall with one shoulder. ‘I think I can help.’

‘O … K …’

‘I want you to go in there and find one person you think is hot. Or a few. More chance of this working.’

I already absolutely hated this idea. ‘Oh.’

‘Try and get their name, or at least memorise what they look like. And then I’ll help you get with them.’

I did not like this scheme. I did not like this at all. Survival Mode was kicking in throughout my body. I wanted to run.

‘Oh,’ I repeated.

‘Trust me,’ she grinned. ‘I know a lot about relationships.’

What did that mean?

‘OK,’ I said. ‘So I just pick a person and … you’ll set us up?’

‘Yes. Sound good?’

‘… Yeah.’

If the university experience was all about bad decisions, at least I was doing something right.

I felt a bit like David Attenborough.

I circled the club on my own, leaving Rooney at the bar, focusing on the guys first. There were a lot of hoodies. Sweat-patches on T-shirts. A lot of them had the same hairstyle – short sides, longer on top.

I kept looking. Surely I’d find someone I fancied eventually. The club was packed – there had to be a good couple of hundred people crammed into this room alone.

And yet, I found no one.

There were guys who were objectively ‘attractive’, of course, by modern-day media standards. There were guys who clearly worked out a lot. There were guys who had fun hair or good fashion or a nice smile.

But I wasn’t attracted to any of them.

I didn’t feel any sort of desire.

When I tried to picture standing close to them, kissing them, touching them …

I grimaced. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

I decided to change tactics and look at the girls instead. Girls are all pretty, to be honest. And they have much more variety in appearance.

But on a basic, physical level, did I feel attraction?

No.

Lots of people had started hooking up already – kissing each other underneath the flashing lights and the love songs playing louder than the voices in our heads. It was a little gross, but it had an element of danger that made it beautiful. Kissing a stranger you’d never see again, kissing someone whose name you didn’t even know, just to feel a little high in that moment. Just to feel the warmth of someone’s skin on yours. Just, for a while, to feel purely alive.

God. I wished I could do that.

But the idea of trying to get with any of these people – no matter their gender – was, honestly, unnerving. It made me feel itchy. Shivery, maybe. It filled my stomach with a weird, horrible dread, and a warning siren went off in my brain. It felt like my antibodies were fighting it off.

What was I going to say to Rooney?

Out of hundreds of students, I couldn’t find anybody I thought was hot. Sorry.

Maybe she could just choose someone for me. God, that would be so much easier.

It would be so much easier if I had someone to just tell me what to do and who to be with and how to act and what love actually was.

I abandoned my search. Tonight I would remain kiss-less. Romance-less. And that was fine. Right? That was fine.

I didn’t know whether I’d wanted it or whether I hadn’t. Honestly, it might have been a little bit of both. Just like with Tommy.

Wanting and not wanting at the same time.

It wasn’t until an hour later that I spotted Rooney again through the blurry, flashing mass of bodies. She was in the middle of the dance floor, making out with a tall guy wearing ripped skinny jeans.

His arms were round her waist. One of her hands was on his face.

It was a picture of passion. Movie romance. Desire.

How.

How could a person reach that point in the space of an hour?

How could she do in one single hour what I was unable to force myself to do in my whole teenage life?

I hated her. I wanted to be her. I hated myself.

It all hit me then, suddenly. The music was so loud I felt like my vision was blurring. I shoved through people to get to the edge of the room, only to find myself pressed up against the wall, which was wet with condensation. I looked wildly around for the door, then started barging my way towards it, and out, into the chilly, empty October air.

I breathed.

I wasn’t going to cry.

Three of the John’s third years were having a conversation in the smoking area, leaning against the wall, including, to my surprise, Sunil.

He was my college parent – I knew he’d help me. I could ask him to walk me back. But as I stepped forward, I felt embarrassed. I was an absolute failure. A child. Sunil turned, glanced at me curiously and I willed him to ask me if I wanted to go back to college and whether I wanted him to walk back with me. But he didn’t say anything. So I just left.

After a couple of hours in the noisy club, the high street’s silence felt like it was echoing around me. I could barely remember the way back to college because I’d been so stressed on the way here that I hadn’t been paying attention to where we’d been walking, but thankfully, I found myself on the cobbled path and walking back up the hill, past the castle, then the cathedral, and then I could see the stone steps of St John’s College.

‘There’s something wrong with you,’ I said under my breath. Then I shook my head, trying to get the thought out. That was a bad thought. There was nothing wrong with me. This was just who I was. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about any of it.

I could message Pip and – what would I even tell her? That I was terrible at clubbing? That I could have tried to kiss someone but decided not to? That I was utterly failing at my new start? Pathetic. There was nothing to even tell her.

I could talk about it with Jason, but he’d probably just tell me I was being silly. Because I was. I knew this whole thing was ridiculous.

So I just walked. I kept my head down. I didn’t even know what was wrong. Everything. Myself. I didn’t know. How come everyone else could function and I couldn’t? How could everyone live properly yet I had some sort of error in my programming?

I thought about all the people I’d met in the past few days. Hundreds of people my age, all genders, appearances, personalities.

I couldn’t think of a single one I was attracted to.

I opened the door to college so loudly that the man in the little office gave me a stern look. I suppose he thought I was a drunk fresher. God, I wished I was. I looked down at my dress, the one Mum had seen in River Island and said, Oh, isn’t that perfect? And I’d agreed, and she’d bought it for me, so I could look nice and feel nice during Freshers’ Week. I started to well up. God, not yet, please not yet.

My room was empty – of course it was. Rooney was out there living her life and having experiences. I grabbed my washbag and pyjamas, went straight to the bathroom, got in the shower and had a cry.

‘So you have very high standards,’ Rooney said to me the next morning while I was eating a bagel in bed and she was doing her make-up in front of her mirror.

We would have talked about it last night, but I fell asleep in the middle of reading a Steve/Bucky Regency Era AU fic, only to wake up a few hours later to find Rooney returned, fast asleep, her make-up still on and her boots discarded in the middle of the aqua rug.

‘That’s … accurate,’ I confirmed. I did have high standards. I wasn’t sure what exactly my standards were, but they were undoubtedly very high.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, seemingly unfazed. ‘We’ve got loads more chances to find you someone. It won’t be that hard.’

‘Won’t it?’

‘Nope.’ Her mouth dropped open as she did her mascara. ‘Loads of people are looking to hook up this week. There are so many opportunities for you to meet people. It won’t take us that long to find you someone you like.’

‘OK.’

‘You’ll see.’

‘OK.’

‘What’s your type?’ Rooney asked at lunch.

Lunch at college was just like lunch at school – cafeteria food and sitting round tables and benches – but ten times worse due to the added pressure of socialising with a bunch of people I didn’t know very well. As irritating as I found Rooney’s effortless ability to thrive at university, I was actually very glad to have her in situations like this.

Thankfully, however, this was the first meal that Rooney and I had showed up to in which we didn’t spot anyone Rooney knew, so we were able to sit just us.

‘Type?’ I asked, my mind immediately going to Pokémon types, and then wondering whether it was a food question of some sort and looked down at my pasta.

‘Type of guy,’ said Rooney, mouth full.

‘Oh.’ I shrugged and speared a piece of pasta. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘Come on. You must have some idea. Like, what sort of guys do you find yourself liking?’

None of them, is what I probably should have said. I never like anyone.

‘No type in particular,’ is what I actually said.

‘Tall? Nerdy? Sporty? Musicians? Tattoos? Long hair? Boys who look like pirates?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hm.’ Rooney chewed slowly, looking at me. ‘Girls?’

‘What?’

‘D’you prefer girls?’

‘Um.’ I blinked. ‘Well … I don’t think so? Not really.’

‘Hm.’

‘What?’

‘It’s just interesting.’

‘What is?’

Rooney swallowed, smirking. ‘You, I guess.’

I was about eighty per cent sure she was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for ‘weird’, but, oh well.

‘I had an idea,’ Rooney said to me in a very earnest tone that evening. I would have taken her seriously were she not dressed as a sexy fried egg in preparation for the John’s college bar fancy-dress party. This comprised a body piece in the shape of a fried egg, but with thigh-high socks and giant heels. I was actually quite impressed – it was an incredible way to say ‘I want to look good, but also let you know that I have a sense of humour’.

I was not going to the fancy-dress party. I’d told Rooney I needed a night to just be on my own and watch About Time swiftly followed by La La Land, and, to my surprise, she’d said that was fair enough.

‘An idea?’ I said from my bed. ‘About …?’

Rooney walked over and flopped down next to me on my bed. I shuffled up so the fried-egg body piece wasn’t literally crushing my torso.

‘Your no-romo situation.’

‘I’m really not that bothered,’ I said, which was obviously a lie. I was extremely and consistently bothered, but after yesterday’s fiasco I was ready to give up rather than put myself through that again.

Rooney held up her phone. ‘Have you tried any dating apps?’

I looked at the phone. I’d never met anyone our age who used a dating app. I hesitated. ‘Do people our age use dating apps?’

‘I’ve used Tinder since I turned eighteen.’

I knew what Tinder was, at least. ‘I don’t really think Tinder is for me.’

‘But how will you know if you don’t try?’

‘I don’t think I need to try everything to know I don’t like it.’

Rooney sighed. ‘Look, OK. This is just an idea, but Tinder is a really good way to just have a look at what guys are actually out there, like, in the vicinity. You don’t actually have to talk to them, but, like, it might at least help you get an idea of what sort of guy you want to go for.’

She opened Tinder on her phone and immediately showed me a picture of the first guy who popped up. ‘Kieran, 21, Student’.

I looked at Kieran. He looked a bit like a tall rat. Which, you know. That sort of look does it for some people.

‘I don’t think this is my thing,’ I said.

Rooney rolled off my bed with a sigh, her egg costume nearly knocking over the glass of water on my bedside table. ‘It’s just an idea. Do it if you get bored tonight.’ She walked over to her own bed and grabbed her bag. ‘Swipe left is no, swipe right is yes.’

‘I don’t think I’ll –’

‘It’s just an idea! You don’t have to, like, love them, but just look out for anyone you see who you wouldn’t mind finding more about.’

And then she was out the door.

I was half an hour into About Time when I picked up my phone and downloaded Tinder.

I definitely wasn’t going to talk to anyone. I was just curious.

I just wanted to know if I would ever see a guy and think, Yeah, he’s hot.

So I made a Tinder profile. I picked five of my best selfies from Instagram and spent another half an hour trying to think what to write in my ‘About’ section, before settling on ‘Cheesy-romcom connoisseur’.

The first guy who popped up was ‘Myles, 20, Student’. He had brown hair and a leer. In one picture he was playing snooker. I got a bad vibe and swiped left.

The second guy was ‘Adrian, 19, Student’. His bio said he was an adrenaline junkie who was looking for his ‘manic pixie dream girl’, which got an instant swipe left.

I swiped left on four more guys, then realised that I wasn’t even looking at them properly – I was just reading the bios and making an assessment as to whether I thought we’d get on. That wasn’t the point. I was supposed to be finding someone I was physically attracted to.

So after that I tried to properly focus on their appearances. Their faces, their eyes, their mouths, their hair, their style. These were the things you were supposed to like. What did I like? What was my standard? What were my preferences?

After ten minutes of this, I stumbled upon a guy who looked like a model, so I was unsurprised when I looked at his info and read ‘Jack, 18, Model’. He had a sharp-cut jawline and a symmetrical face. His main photo was clearly from a magazine advert he’d done.

I tried to picture myself dating Jack, 18, Model. Kissing him. Having sex.

Like, if it was gonna be anyone, based on appearance alone, surely it would be Jack, 18, Model, with his cool denim jacket and dimples.

Imagine kissing that face.

Imagine him leaning in.

Imagine his skin near you.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. Trying to ignore the nauseated feeling in my stomach at the pictures I was conjuring in my head.

Then I swiped left.

Georgia Warr

hello fried egg i have an update

i swiped left on all of them lol

Rooney Bach

Haha what do you mean all of them

Georgia Warr

just all the ones i looked at

Rooney Bach

And how many was that?

Georgia Warr

idk like … forty?

tinder isn’t for me i think lol

sorry to disappoint

Rooney Bach

I’m not disappointed haha I just hoped it would help

FORTY

Wow!!

Okay!

Georgia Warr

so that’s a lot to swipe left on??

Rooney Bach

You really do have high standards

That’s not necessarily a bad thing but at least we’ve got that sussed

Georgia Warr

so what do i do now

Rooney Bach

Might have to go back to good old-fashioned Meeting People In Real Life

Georgia Warr

ew

hate that for me

I deleted Tinder from my phone, then hit play on About Time again, wondering why picturing myself in any sort of romantic or sexual situation made me feel like I was going to vom and/or run a mile, while romance in movies felt like the sole purpose of being alive.

Rooney was right about one thing: meeting people in real life was probably the only way this was going to work for me. Fortunately, it was Freshers’ Week, and I still had many opportunities to meet people, which continued on the Friday when Rooney and I went to the Freshers’ Fair.

‘I’m going to join so many societies,’ Rooney said, and I didn’t take her that seriously, but when we went round all the stalls in the Student Union building, she collected so many flyers that she made me start carrying some of them for her.

I’d arranged to meet Pip and Jason there too but wasn’t sure where to find them because the Student Union building was huge. They’d have to wait. The most important task at hand was joining university societies. Alongside clubbing, which I had epically failed at, societies were a staple of university life and supposedly one of the easiest ways to make friends with like-minded people.

But as we walked round the stalls, I started to feel nervous. Maybe a little overwhelmed. I tentatively signed up to English Soc with Rooney, but apart from that, I could barely even remember what I was interested in. Creative Writing Soc? I didn’t really enjoy writing that much – the few occasions I’d tried writing my own fanfic were disastrous. Film Soc? I could just watch movies in bed. There were even super-niche things like Anime Soc, Quidditch Soc and Snowboarding Soc, but they all seemed like they catered for a specific group of friends who just wanted an excuse to hang out and do their favourite hobby together. I didn’t know what my hobbies were any more, except yearning for romance and reading fanfiction.

In fact, the only other society I wanted to join was the Durham Student Theatre. I could see its giant stall at the end of the hall.

I’d definitely meet new people if I was in a play this year.

Rooney ended up walking on ahead, excited to chat to all the people on the stalls. I ambled along, feeling increasingly like I just didn’t really fit anywhere, until I realised I had reached the stall of Durham’s Pride Society.

It stood out boldly with a giant rainbow flag behind it and had quite a sizeable gathering of freshers standing near it, chatting excitedly to the older students behind the table.

I picked up one of their leaflets to have a look. Most of the front page was decorated with some of the identities it supported in arty fonts. The ones I knew well were at the top – lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender – and then, to my surprise, it moved into ones I’d only really heard on the internet – pansexual, asexual, aromantic, non-binary. And more. I didn’t even know what some of them meant.

‘College child?’ said a voice, and I looked up and was faced with Sunil Jha, my college parent.

On his woolly jumper he was wearing all his pins again, and he was smiling warmly at me. He was definitely the nicest person I’d met at Durham so far, not counting Rooney. Could he be my friend? Did college parents count as friends?

‘Interested in signing up?’ he asked.

‘Um,’ I said. To be honest, I didn’t really want to join. What right did I have to join a society like this? I mean, to be fair, I didn’t really know what I was. And yes, sure, I had considered the possibility that I was not into guys. Strongly considered. Then again, I didn’t really seem to like girls either. I didn’t seem to like anyone. I hadn’t met anyone I liked yet, felt the nice stomach butterflies, and been able to proudly declare ‘Aha! Of course! This is the gender that I like!’ I didn’t even have a particular gender preference when it came to smutty fanfiction.

Sunil held out a clipboard and pen. ‘Write down your email! It just puts you on our mailing list.’

There wasn’t really any way to say no, so I mumbled an OK and wrote down my email address. I immediately felt like a fraud.

‘It’s Georgia, isn’t it?’ asked Sunil while I was writing.

‘Y-yeah,’ I stammered, honestly taken aback that he’d remembered my name.

Sunil nodded approvingly. ‘Sweet. I’m the Pride Rep at John’s.’

Another girl behind the stall leaned over to us and added, ‘And Sunil’s the president of Pride Soc. Always forgets to mention that because of modesty or something.’

Sunil laughed gently. He definitely gave off an air of modesty, but self-confidence too. Like he was very good at his job but didn’t want to boast about it.

‘This is Jess, one of the vice-presidents,’ he said. ‘And this is Georgia, one of my college children.’

I looked at the third-year girl. She had hip-length braids, a big smile, and was wearing a colourful dress that had lollipops on it. She had a little badge that said ‘she/her’ on it.

‘Aw!’ she said. ‘This is your college child?’

Sunil nodded. ‘They sure are.’

Jess clapped her hands together. ‘And you’re joining Pride Soc. This was actually meant to be.’

I forced a smile.

‘Anyway,’ said Sunil, shaking his head at her with a sort of fondness, ‘we’re here for any freshers who wanna get involved in queer stuff at Durham, basically. Club nights, meet-ups, formals, film nights. Stuff like that.’

‘Cool!’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Maybe I should try and get involved. Maybe I’d go to the Pride Society, see a girl, have a big lesbian awakening, and finally feel some romantic feelings for another human being. I was sure I’d read a fanfic with that exact plot.

I handed the clipboard back.

‘Our welcome gathering is happening in a couple of weeks,’ said Sunil with a smile. ‘Maybe we’ll see you there?’

I nodded, feeling a little bit embarrassed, like I’d been exposed somehow, which was dumb, because there was really nothing interesting about me to expose, and I already knew that I wasn’t going to go to any of Sunil’s Pride Soc events.

Our final stop of the Freshers’ Fair was Durham Student Theatre, which had the largest stall in the entire Student Union, and Pip and Jason were standing right in front of it.

Rooney had already stormed ahead to the stall, which was decorated with a big red curtain and papier-mâchéd comedy–tragedy masks. The DST seemed to be a sort of umbrella organisation that supported and funded lots of smaller theatre groups – the Musical Theatre Soc, the Opera Soc, the Freshers’ Drama Soc, Student Comedy, and more.

The students behind the stall, even from afar, all seemed loud and confident – it had none of the calming vibe of the Pride Soc stall. But that didn’t put me off. Theatre was something familiar. It had been a part of my life for over seven years and, despite my stage fright, I didn’t want to give it up.

Plus, Pip and Jason would be doing it with me. So I’d be OK.

‘Pip? Jason?’

Their heads turned to reveal a confused-looking Pip Quintana, holding a flyer and pushing her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose, and a definitely hungover Jason Farley-Shaw, who had bags under his eyes and looked like he was trying to burrow and make a nest inside his teddy-bear jacket.

‘GEORGIA!’ Pip shrieked, running up to me and bundling me into a hug.

I hugged her back until she stepped away. She was smiling wide. So little had changed; she was still Pip, dark hair fluffed up in all different directions and drowning in an oversized sweatshirt. But, of course, we’d only been in Durham for five days. It already felt like a lifetime. Like I was already a different person.

‘Hey,’ said Jason. His voice sounded gravelly.

‘You OK?’ I asked him.

He made a grunting noise and pulled his jacket round him. ‘Hungover. And we couldn’t find you. Check your phone.’

I quickly glanced at the screen. There were several unread messages in the group chat asking where I was.

Pip folded her arms and gave me a discerning look. ‘I assume you haven’t been checking your phone because you’ve been really busy putting yourself out there and joining loads of societies?

‘Um …’ I tried not to look too guilty. ‘I joined English Soc?’

I didn’t confess to Pip that I’d signed up to Pride Soc’s mailing list. Probably because I didn’t feel like I actually belonged there.

Pip made a face. ‘Georgia. That’s one society.’

I shrugged. ‘I could join some later.’

‘Georgia.’

‘What have you joined?’

She counted them on her fingers. ‘I’ve joined Durham Student Theatre, obviously, and also Science Soc, Latin American Soc, Pride Soc, Chess, Ultimate Frisbee and I think I signed up for, like, Quidditch?’

Of course Pip had joined Pride Soc too. I wondered what she’d say if I randomly showed up to a Pride Soc event.

‘Quidditch?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, and if the brooms don’t actually fly, we’re going to be really fucking disappointed.’

‘We?’ I looked at Jason. ‘You also joined Quidditch? You don’t even like Harry Potter.’

Jason nodded. ‘The Quidditch president was incredibly persuasive.’

‘What else did you join?’

‘DST, History Soc, Film Soc and Rowing.’

I frowned. ‘Rowing?’

Jason shrugged. ‘Loads of people are doing it, so. Thought I’d give it a go –’ He stopped speaking abruptly, peering past my shoulder. ‘What is Rooney doing?’

I turned. Rooney seemed to be having a heated conversation with the girl behind the stall.

‘I don’t understand,’ Rooney was saying. ‘What d’you mean it closed?’

The girl behind the stall looked a little desperate. ‘I-I think they didn’t have any members in second or first year, so when the third years left, it just – it just disappeared.’

‘And I can’t start it up again?’

‘Um … I don’t know … I don’t really know how it works …’

‘Are you the president? Can I talk to the president?’

‘Um, no, she’s not here …’

‘Oh, never mind. I’ll sort this out another time.’

Rooney stormed towards us, eyes filled with fire. Out of sheer instinct, I cowered backwards.

‘Can you believe,’ she said, ‘the Shakespeare Society is just … fucking … gone? Like, that was the one society I really wanted to join, and now it’s just …’ She stopped, realising that Pip and Jason were standing next to me, staring at Rooney with what could only be described as fascination. ‘Oh. Hello.’

‘All right,’ said Pip.

‘Hi,’ said Jason.

‘How’s Roderick?’ said Pip.

Rooney’s mouth twitched with amusement. ‘I like that your mind immediately went to my house plant rather than asking how I am.’

‘I care about plant welfare,’ Pip replied.

I noticed the cooler tone to her voice immediately. Gone was the flustered way she’d babbled around Rooney back in our bedroom. She wasn’t blushing and adjusting her hair any more.

After what she’d seen in our kitchen, Pip was on the defensive now.

It made me feel sad. But this was what Pip did when she got a crush on someone who couldn’t like her back: she shut down the feelings with sheer willpower.

It protected her.

‘Are you going to call plant social services on me?’ asked Rooney, smiling cheekily. She seemed to be immensely enjoying having someone to banter with, like it was a welcome break from having to be peppy and polite.

Pip tilted her head. ‘Maybe I am plant social services and I’m just in disguise.’

‘It’s not a very good disguise. You look exactly like the sort of person who’s got at least six cactuses on your bookcase.’

This seemed to be the last straw for Pip, because she snapped back, ‘I only have three, actually, and it’s cacti not cactuses –’

‘Uh …’ The two girls were interrupted by Jason, who, if he’d not had a headache before, definitely had one now. ‘So, are you actually gonna sign up to DST, or …?’

‘Yes,’ I said immediately, if only to end whatever weirdly aggressive verbal sparring was occurring between Pip and Rooney.

‘I don’t even know what the point is any more,’ said Rooney with a dramatic sigh. ‘Shakespeare Soc doesn’t even exist. Something about it running out of members.’

‘Can’t you just join something else?’ said Pip, but Rooney looked at her like she’d suggested something infinitely idiotic.

Jason hadn’t even bothered to stay involved in this conversation and had walked over to the DST mailing list. I followed him and he handed me the pen.

‘I didn’t think you’d want to join DST,’ he said, ‘after all the throwing-up during Les Mis.’

‘I still love theatre,’ I said. ‘And I need to join more than just the English Soc.’

‘But you could pick something that didn’t make you throw up.’

‘I’d rather throw up surrounded by friends than join a society alone and be sad.’

Jason paused, then said, ‘I think that sounded more profound in your head than it did in real life.’

I finished writing my email address and put the pen down, glancing up at Jason. He did genuinely seem a bit concerned about me.

‘I want to do this,’ I said. ‘I … I really want to try and … you know. Meet new people and … have a good university experience.’

Jason paused again. Then he nodded, face full of understanding. ‘Yeah. That makes sense.’

We stepped aside to let Pip and Rooney write down their emails on the list, all the while they were having some sort of inane argument about which DST society they should join, and each of them seemed determined to establish that their choice was the correct choice and the other person’s choice was utterly wrong. After several minutes of this, Jason eventually decided to end it by suggesting we all go to get pizza from the Domino’s stand, which was giving out free slices.

‘I’m gonna carry on looking around for a bit,’ said Rooney. She moved her gaze from Pip to me. ‘Meet you at the entrance in like twenty minutes?’

I nodded.

‘Fab.’ Rooney looked back at Pip again and said as if Jason didn’t even exist, ‘How about we all meet up at John’s bar tonight? It’s so fun down there, it’s this tiny little basement bar …’

Most people would not have been able to tell what was up with Pip, but I’d known her for over seven years, and she had this look. A slight narrowing of the eyes. Her shoulders hunched.

The fact of the matter was: Pip had decided to hate Rooney.

‘Yeah, we’ll be there,’ said Pip, folding her arms.

‘Yay,’ said Rooney, smiling wide. ‘Can’t wait.’

Rooney wandered off into the mass of stalls again. Pip, Jason and I headed towards the Domino’s stand, Pip’s eyes never leaving the back of Rooney’s head, and Jason asking Pip, ‘What the fuck was that?’

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