Loveless

by Alice Oseman

  ‘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 t
he 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 convers
ation 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.’