by Alice Oseman
‘So,’ said Pip, twisting her body round so she was facing me. ‘Keira Knightley. Thoughts?’
I snorted. ‘Are you asking me whether I fancy Keira Knightley?’
‘Yup.’
‘Oh.’ So this was how we were doing it. ‘Well, um, no.’
‘What about … girls in general?’
Pip held her mug in front of her mouth, staring at me with quiet cautiousness.
‘No,’ I murmured.
I guess I was sure about that now. But it still felt almost impossible to admit. For Pip, at least, it probably would have been easier to understand if I did like girls.
‘So … the thing with Rooney …’ Pip looked down. ‘Was it … were you just curious, or …?’
Curious. I wanted to laugh. I was, and always had been, the opposite of curious.
‘Desperate is the word I would use,’ I said before I could stop myself.
Pip frowned, confused. ‘Desperate for what?’
‘Desperate to like someone.’ I looked at Pip. ‘Anyone.’
‘Why?’ she whispered.
‘Because … I don’t. I can’t. I can’t like anyone. Not boys, not girls, not anyone.’ I ran a hand over my hair. ‘I just … can’t. I never will.’
I waited for the words that would inevitably follow. You don’t know that. You’ll meet someone one day. You just haven’t met the right person.
But all she said was, ‘Oh.’
She nodded slowly in that way she did when she was thinking hard about something.
I was just going to have to say the words.
‘It’s called aromantic asexual,’ I said on an exhale.
‘Oh,’ she said again.
I waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t. She just sat there, thinking really hard.
‘Thoughts?’ I said, letting out a small, nervous laugh. ‘Do I need to look it up on Wikipedia for you?’
Pip snapped out of her little thought bubble and looked at me. ‘No. No Wikipedia needed.’
‘I get that it sounds weird.’ I could feel myself going red. Would I ever stop feeling embarrassed about explaining this to people?
‘It’s not weird.’
‘It sounds weird, though.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘It does.’
‘Georgia.’ Pip smiled, a little exasperated. ‘You’re not weird.’
She was the first person who’d said that to me.
I hated that I still felt, sometimes, underneath it all, that I wasn’t normal.
But maybe getting over that would take time.
Maybe, little by little, I could start to believe that I was OK.
‘A bit wordy, though, isn’t it?’ Pip continued, leaning back on to the side of the bed. ‘Eight whole syllables. Bit of a mouthful.’
‘Some people call it aro-ace for short.’
‘Oh, that’s way better. That sounds like a character from Star Wars.’ She made a dramatic gesture with one hand. ‘Aro Ace. Defender of the universe.’
‘OK, I hate that.’
‘Come on. You like space.’
‘No.’
We were just joking, but I sort of wanted to scream. Take me seriously.
She could tell.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to talk about serious things without making it into a joke.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s fine.’
‘Did you … feel like that all through school?’
‘Yeah. I wasn’t really aware of it, though.’ I shrugged. ‘Just thought I was super picky. And my fake feelings for Tommy were a bit of a red herring.’
Pip rested her head against my sheets, waiting to hear more.
‘I guess … I always felt, like … uncomfortable when I tried to have feelings for anyone. Like, it just felt wrong and awkward. Like what happened with Jason. I knew I didn’t like him like that because when we tried to do anything romantic, it just felt … wrong. But I guess I thought that everyone felt like that and I just needed to keep trying.’
‘Can I ask a dumb question?’ Pip interrupted.
‘Er, yeah?’
‘This is going to sound bad, but, like, how do you know you won’t find someone one day?’
This was the question that had been plaguing me for months.
But when Pip asked me it then, I realised I knew the answer.
Finally.
‘Because I know myself. I know what I feel and … what I have the capability to feel, I think.’ I smiled weakly at her. ‘I mean, how do you know you won’t fall for a guy one day?’
Pip made a face.
I laughed. ‘Yeah, exactly. You just know that about yourself. And now I know too.’
There was a pause and I could hear my own heart thumping in my chest. God, I couldn’t wait until talking about this didn’t give me high adrenaline and nervous sweats.
Suddenly, Pip slammed her empty mug down on the carpet and cried, ‘I can’t believe neither of us realised this earlier! For fuck’s sake! Why the fuck are we like this!’
I picked up her mug, slightly alarmed, and put it safely out of the way on my bedside table. ‘What d’you mean?’
She shook her head. ‘We were literally going through the same thing at the same time, and neither of us realised.’
‘Were we?’
‘Well, I mean, with some minor details changed.’
‘Like the fact that you like girls?’
‘Yes, like that. But apart from that, we were both trying to force ourselves to like guys, we were both struggling with the fact that we didn’t have crushes on the people we were supposed to, we were both feeling … I dunno … weird and different! And neither of us liked guys! And – oh my God, I was the one coming to you like, oh no, sad, I think I’m gay and I don’t know what to do all the while you were in such an intense state of repression that you literally thought you were straight despite the fact that doing anything with guys made you want to vom.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah!’
‘Are we both dumbasses?’
‘I think we are, Georgia.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yes. That’s the takeaway from this conversation.’
‘Great.’
And then Pip started to laugh. And that made me laugh too. And then we were laughing hysterically, the sound echoing around the room, and I couldn’t remember the last time Pip and I had laughed together like this.
We’d missed dinner, so we decided to have a little picnic with all the snacks I kept in my room – of which there were plenty. We sat on the floor and ate supermarket-brand cookies, a half-empty family-size packet of caramelised onion crisps, and bagels that were definitely almost stale, while watching Moulin Rouge, of course.
It was similar to last night, watching YouTube videos with Rooney. If I could spend every night of my life eating snacks and watching something silly in a giant bed with one of my best friends, I’d be happy.
My future still terrified me. But everything seemed a little brighter when my best friends were around.
We didn’t talk any more about identities and romance and feelings until the film had nearly finished, when we’d moved on to the bed and had been curled up in my bedsheets in silence for the better part of an hour. I was dangerously close to falling asleep.
But then Pip spoke – her voice soft and quiet in the low light of the room.
‘Why did you college propose to me?’ Pip asked.
There’d been a lot of reasons. I’d wanted to make a big gesture, I’d wanted to cheer her up, I’d wanted her to be my friend again, I’d wanted to make things right. I was sure Pip knew all those things too.
But maybe she needed to hear it out loud.
‘Because I love you,’ I said, ‘and you deserve magical moments like that.’
Pip stared at me.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
She leant on to one hand, covering her eyes. ‘You fucking dic
k. I’m not drunk enough to cry while having emotional conversations with friends.’
‘I’m not sorry.’
‘You should be! Where the fuck are your tears!’
‘I don’t cry in front of anyone, my dude. You know this.’
‘I’m making it my new mission in life to make you cry with emotion.’
‘Good luck with that.’
‘It’s going to happen.’
‘Sure.’
‘I hate you.’
I grinned at her. ‘I hate you too.’
I woke up groggily the next morning to the sound of the bedroom door opening, and when I raised my head, I was unsurprised to find Rooney creeping in wearing last night’s clothes – the full suit she’d worn as part of the proposal.
This was a relatively normal occurrence by this point, but what was not normal was the way Rooney froze in the middle of her aqua rug and stared at the space next to me on the double bed – Rooney’s side – which was occupied by Pip Quintana.
Pip and I had been chatting so much last night that by the time Pip realised she should probably go back to her own college, it was bordering on midnight, so I’d lent her some pyjamas and she’d stayed over. Both of us had utterly forgotten about the fact that things could be quite awkward between Pip and Rooney if they were in the same room.
There were a very obvious few seconds of silence.
And then I said, ‘Morning.’
Rooney said nothing for a moment, and then started very slowly taking off her shoes and said, ‘Morning.’
I felt movement next to me and turned to look, grabbing my glasses from my bedside table. Pip was awake, her own glasses already on.
‘Oh,’ she said, and I could see the colour filling her cheeks. ‘Um, sorry, I – we probably should have asked you if –’
‘It’s fine!’ Rooney squawked, turning away from us and rummaging frantically in her toiletries bag for a packet of make-up wipes. ‘You can stay over if you want!’
‘Yeah, but – this is your room too –’
‘I don’t really care!’
Pip sat up. ‘O-OK.’ She started clambering out of the bed. ‘Um, I should probably go anyway, I’ve got a lecture this morning.’
I frowned. ‘Hang on, it’s like seven a.m.’
‘Yeah, well, I-I need to wash my hair and stuff, so –’
‘You don’t have to leave because of me!’ said Rooney from the other side of the room. She was facing away from us, scrubbing her face with a make-up wipe.
‘It’s not because of you!’ said Pip much too quickly.
Both of them were panicking. Rooney started changing into her pyjamas just to give herself something to do. Pip began to gather up her own clothes from yesterday while determinedly keeping her eyes averted from Rooney, who was now just wearing pyjamas shorts.
I really, really wanted to laugh, but for both their sakes, kept my mouth shut.
Pip spent much longer than she needed to gathering her belongings and, thankfully, by the time she dared to turn round, Rooney had a pyjama top on and was sitting at her desk, attempting to look casual by scrolling through her phone.
‘Well …’ Pip looked at me, almost disoriented. ‘I’ll … see you later?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. I clenched my lips together so that I didn’t laugh.
Pip went to leave the room, but suddenly looked down at the pile of clothes she had in her hands and said, ‘Oh, shit, erm, I think – these aren’t mine?’ She pulled out a pair of leggings with the words ‘St John’s College’ on them. Rooney’s.
Rooney glanced over, feigning nonchalance. ‘Oh, yeah, those are mine.’ She held out a hand.
Pip had no choice but to approach Rooney and hand them over.
Rooney’s eyes stayed focused on Pip’s as she slowly approached. Pip held out the leggings and dropped them into Rooney’s open hand from a height that suggested she was nervous to put her hand anywhere near Rooney’s skin.
‘Thanks,’ said Rooney.
An awkward smile. ‘No problem.’ Pip hovered next to Rooney’s desk. ‘So … were you out last night, or …?’
Clearly Rooney was not expecting this. She clenched the leggings in her hand and said, ‘Oh, yeah! Yeah, I was just … me and some friends went out to Wiff Waff and then stayed in their room.’ Rooney pointed out of the window. ‘In a different building. I couldn’t be assed to walk back here.’
Pip nodded. ‘Cool. Wiff Waff … that’s the table-tennis bar, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That sounds fun.’
‘Yeah, it was good. I get so competitive, though.’
Pip smiled. ‘Yeah, I know.’
From the look on her face, this statement seemed to shake Rooney to her core.
‘Yes,’ said Rooney, strained, after a long pause. ‘So … you and Georgia had a sleepover?’
‘Oh, yeah, erm –’ Pip suddenly blanched. ‘I mean – just a platonic sleepover. Obviously. We didn’t – Georgia’s not –’
‘I know,’ said Rooney quickly. ‘Georgia’s not into sex.’
Pip’s mouth twitched. Rooney using the word ‘sex’ seemed to have sent Pip on to another level of panic.
‘Georgia’s right here,’ I said, literally unable to keep the giant smile off my face by this point.
Pip stepped back, her cheeks tinged red. ‘Um … anyway, yeah, I’d better go.’
Rooney looked dazed. ‘OK.’
‘I … well, it was nice to … um … yeah.’
‘Yeah.’
Pip opened her mouth to say something more, then shot a panicked glance towards me, and then she was out of the room without another word.
We waited a few seconds until we heard the door at the end of the corridor shut.
And then Rooney exploded.
‘Are you FUCKING JOKING ME, GEORGIA? Could you not have done me the tiniest courtesy of WARNING ME that the girl I like was going to BE HERE when I got back?’ She started pacing back and forth. ‘Do you think I would have waltzed in here wearing fucking LAST NIGHT’S CLOTHES with last night’s make-up smeared all over my FUCKING face had I known that Pip Quintana was going to be here with the most FUCKING adorable bedhead I have ever seen in my FUCKING life?’
‘You’re going to wake up the whole corridor,’ I said, but she didn’t even seem to hear me.
Rooney collapsed on to her side of the bed face first. ‘What sort of impression am I supposed to make wandering back into my own college room at seven a.m. like I’ve just been out fucking some person I never want to speak to again?’
‘Were you?’ I asked.
She lifted her head and gave me a sharp look. ‘NO! For fuck’s sake! I haven’t done that since before the Bailey Ball.’
I shrugged. ‘Thought I’d check.’
She rolled on to her back, spreading out her limbs as if willing herself to melt into the sheets. ‘I’m a mess.’
‘So’s Pip,’ I said. ‘You’re kind of made for each other.’
Rooney made a low grunting sound. ‘Don’t give me false hope. She’s never going to like me after what I did.’
‘Do you want my opinion?’
‘No.’
‘OK.’
‘Wait, yes. Yes I do.’
‘Pip likes you back and I think you should actually try talking to her normally again.’
She rolled on to her front. ‘Absolutely impossible. If you’re going to offer ideas, please offer realistic ones.’
‘Why is that impossible?’
‘Because I’m shit and she deserves better. I can’t fall in love, anyway. I’ll get over this. Pip should be with a nice person.’
The way she said it – light and casual – I could have easily mistaken it for a joke. But because I understood Rooney on a slightly deeper level by this point, I knew she wasn’t joking at all.
‘Dude,’ I said. ‘I’m the one who can’t fall in love. I think you just don’t want to.’
She made a ‘harrumph’ noise.
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‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Are you aromantic?’
‘No,’ she grumbled.
‘There. So stop erasing my identity and tell Pip you like her.’
‘Don’t use your identity to make me admit my feelings.’
‘I can and I will.’
‘Did you see her bedhead?’ Rooney mumbled into her pillow.
‘Er, yes?’
‘She looked so fluffy.’
‘She’d probably murder you if you called her fluffy.’
‘I bet she smells really nice.’
‘She does.’
‘Fuck you.’
We were interrupted by notification sounds from both of our phones.
A message in our Shakespeare Soc group chat. The one that hadn’t been used since before the new year – ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dab’.
Felipa Quintana
Forgot to say-
I would like to rejoin the Shakespeare Soc
If you’ll have me
I can learn my lines in two weeks!!!
We lay there on the bed, reading the messages at the same time.
‘We’re doing the play,’ said Rooney breathlessly.
I didn’t know whether she was thrilled or terrified.
‘Are you OK with that?’ I asked. I thought this was what she’d wanted. She’d been devastated when Pip and Jason had left and the society crumbled. It had sent her spiralling for weeks.
Rooney was so good at pretending she was fine. Even now I sometimes failed to spot when she was spiralling. And after her breakdown the other night, and the situation with Pip, and all of the feelings I knew she was fighting, and the ones I was still dealing with too …
Were we going to be OK?
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Against my will,’ Pip said, rolling her eyes while leaning against a pillar that I had spent a whole morning crafting out of cardboard and papier mâché, ‘I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.’
Rooney was lounging on a chair, centre-stage. ‘Fair Beatrice,’ she said, standing up with a flirty expression. ‘I thank you for your pains.’
We had ten days until the play.
This was definitely not enough time to finish staging all of the scenes, learn all of our lines, and prepare costumes and set. But we were trying anyway.