then. Who wrote
Endgame
?”
“Samuel Beckett.”
“
A Room of One’s Own
?”
“Virginia Woolf.”
He gives me a long look. “
The Beautiful and Damned.
”
I want to stop myself saying the answers, but I can’t. I can’t lie to him.
“F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
He shakes his head. “You know all the names to books, but you haven’t read a single one. It’s like it’s raining money, but you refuse to catch a single coin.”
I know that, if I persisted past the first few pages, I would probably enjoy some books, but I don’t. I can’t read books because I know that none of it is real. Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. Films aren’t real, but I love them. But books – they’re different. When you watch a film, you’re sort of an outsider looking in. With a book – you’re right there. You are inside. You are the main character.
A minute later, he asks, “Have you ever had a boyfriend, Tori?”
I snort. “Clearly not.”
“Don’t say that. You’re a sexy beast. You could easily have had a boyfriend.”
I am not a sexy beast in any way whatsoever.
I put on an accent. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man.”
This actually makes Michael laugh so hard that he has to roll over and hide his face in his hands, which makes me laugh too. We continue laughing hysterically until the sun is almost completely gone.
Once we calm down, Michael lies back in the grass.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but Becky doesn’t really seem to hang around you much at school. I mean, if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t guess that you were best friends.” He looks at me. “You don’t really talk to each other very much.”
I cross my legs. Another sudden topic change. “Yeah … she … I don’t know. Maybe that’s why we are best friends. Because we don’t need to talk much any more.” I look back at him stretched out. His arm is laid over his forehead, his hair is splayed out in the dark and the remaining light swirls in kaleidoscope shapes in his blue eye. I look away. “She has a lot more friends than me, I guess. But that’s all right. I don’t mind. It’s understandable. I’m quite boring. I mean, she’d have a really boring life if she just hung around with me all the time.”
“You’re not boring. You’re the epitome of not-boring.”
Pause.
“I think you’re a really good friend,” he says. I turn again. He smiles at me and it reminds me of his expression on the day we met – wild, shining, something not quite reachable about it. “Becky is really lucky to have someone like you.”
I would be nothing without Becky, I think. Even though things are different now. Sometimes it makes me tear up thinking about how much I love her.
“It’s the other way round,” I say.
The clouds have mostly cleared now. The sky is orange at the horizon, leading up to a dark blue above our heads. It looks like a portal. I start thinking about the
Star Wars
film we watched earlier. I wanted to be a Jedi so badly when I was a kid. My lightsaber would have been green.
“I should go home,” I say eventually. “I didn’t tell my parents I was going out.”
“Ah. Right.” We both stand up. “I’ll walk home with you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
But he does anyway.
SEVENTEEN
WHEN WE ARRIVE outside my house, the sky is black and there are no stars.
Michael turns and puts his arms round me. It takes me by surprise so I don’t have time to react and my arms are once again trapped at my sides.
“I had a really good day,” he says, holding me.
“So did I.”
He lets go. “Do you think we’re friends now?”
I hesitate. I can’t think why. I hesitate for no reason.
I will regret what I say next almost as soon as I say it.
“It’s like,” I say, “you really … you really want to be friends with me.”
He looks slightly embarrassed, almost apologetic.
“It’s like you’re doing it for yourself,” I say.
“All friendships are selfish. Maybe if
Endgame
?”
“Samuel Beckett.”
“
A Room of One’s Own
?”
“Virginia Woolf.”
He gives me a long look. “
The Beautiful and Damned.
”
I want to stop myself saying the answers, but I can’t. I can’t lie to him.
“F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
He shakes his head. “You know all the names to books, but you haven’t read a single one. It’s like it’s raining money, but you refuse to catch a single coin.”
I know that, if I persisted past the first few pages, I would probably enjoy some books, but I don’t. I can’t read books because I know that none of it is real. Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. Films aren’t real, but I love them. But books – they’re different. When you watch a film, you’re sort of an outsider looking in. With a book – you’re right there. You are inside. You are the main character.
A minute later, he asks, “Have you ever had a boyfriend, Tori?”
I snort. “Clearly not.”
“Don’t say that. You’re a sexy beast. You could easily have had a boyfriend.”
I am not a sexy beast in any way whatsoever.
I put on an accent. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man.”
This actually makes Michael laugh so hard that he has to roll over and hide his face in his hands, which makes me laugh too. We continue laughing hysterically until the sun is almost completely gone.
Once we calm down, Michael lies back in the grass.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but Becky doesn’t really seem to hang around you much at school. I mean, if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t guess that you were best friends.” He looks at me. “You don’t really talk to each other very much.”
I cross my legs. Another sudden topic change. “Yeah … she … I don’t know. Maybe that’s why we are best friends. Because we don’t need to talk much any more.” I look back at him stretched out. His arm is laid over his forehead, his hair is splayed out in the dark and the remaining light swirls in kaleidoscope shapes in his blue eye. I look away. “She has a lot more friends than me, I guess. But that’s all right. I don’t mind. It’s understandable. I’m quite boring. I mean, she’d have a really boring life if she just hung around with me all the time.”
“You’re not boring. You’re the epitome of not-boring.”
Pause.
“I think you’re a really good friend,” he says. I turn again. He smiles at me and it reminds me of his expression on the day we met – wild, shining, something not quite reachable about it. “Becky is really lucky to have someone like you.”
I would be nothing without Becky, I think. Even though things are different now. Sometimes it makes me tear up thinking about how much I love her.
“It’s the other way round,” I say.
The clouds have mostly cleared now. The sky is orange at the horizon, leading up to a dark blue above our heads. It looks like a portal. I start thinking about the
Star Wars
film we watched earlier. I wanted to be a Jedi so badly when I was a kid. My lightsaber would have been green.
“I should go home,” I say eventually. “I didn’t tell my parents I was going out.”
“Ah. Right.” We both stand up. “I’ll walk home with you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
But he does anyway.
SEVENTEEN
WHEN WE ARRIVE outside my house, the sky is black and there are no stars.
Michael turns and puts his arms round me. It takes me by surprise so I don’t have time to react and my arms are once again trapped at my sides.
“I had a really good day,” he says, holding me.
“So did I.”
He lets go. “Do you think we’re friends now?”
I hesitate. I can’t think why. I hesitate for no reason.
I will regret what I say next almost as soon as I say it.
“It’s like,” I say, “you really … you really want to be friends with me.”
He looks slightly embarrassed, almost apologetic.
“It’s like you’re doing it for yourself,” I say.
“All friendships are selfish. Maybe if
Similar Books
