We Are Not Okay

by Natália Gomes

  I’ve never understood why people say that. It’s not like the person sobbing before them will suddenly be able to turn the switch back to Normal mode as soon as those words are spoken. For me, it just makes me want to cry more.

  ‘I…I…’ Why won’t the words come out?

  ‘I know,’ she says.

  Does she know? Does she understand? Aiden would never do this to her. But then, I never thought Steve would do it to me. Is she thinking that too? Is she thinking, ‘What if it was me?’ Or maybe, she’s thinking ‘Thank God it isn’t me.’

  When I look up I see Trina Davis standing at the other side of the alleyway, looking right at me. She’s by herself. She’s always by herself. I wonder sometimes if she gets lonely. That’s how I feel right now. Cigarette in hand, she sends a half wave my way. Her eyebrows turned up, she looks like she knows, that she’s heard the rumours about Steve too. Everyone probably has at this point. Thank God it’s Friday. I just want to get away from this place, from these people. I don’t wave back at her. I don’t want to be rude, it’s not who I am, but I’m worried she’ll come over and want to talk, want to hug me too. And then I might crumble in front of her and people will pity me more. Everyone pities me right now, how could they not? I’m pathetic.

  ‘Lunch bell rings in ten. If you’re going to do it, you should do it now.’

  I look at Ulana who has my bag in her hand. She slips it over my shoulder and nudges me back towards the cafeteria backdoor.

  When I go inside, sounds of laughter, ranting, whispering, yelling scattered among smells of grease and fat bombard me at the entrance. No one is looking at me, so I edge further in and skim the crowds for him.

  ‘There he is,’ Ulana points out. She stands close behind me.

  Steve is sitting with his back to us, beside his friends.

  ‘Should I just wait? I can ask him over to mine later then talk to him properly without everyone here watching the drama unfold.’

  ‘No. Because if he comes over to your house tonight, you’re not breaking up with him. You’re listening to all his lies, and next week we’ll probably be back here with you crying into my shoulder and me telling you that it will happen all over again. Which it will.’

  ‘It could just be a one-off,’ I repeat for the fiftieth time since Ulana first told me.

  ‘A “one-off” is one girl, one time. It’s not five girls—’

  My feet are moving before she’s even finished her sentence. They’re taking me closer to him. My soles are skimming the floor but I don’t feel it. I’m floating and I can’t stop.

  I’m standing behind him before I can turn back. ‘Steve?’

  He turns around and feigns a smile across his face. ‘Oh, hey.’

  ‘Oh, hey’? That’s all I get? After everything?

  ‘Hey,’ I mutter back and feel immediately stupid for matching his greeting.

  He stares at me waiting for me to speak first. Who is this person sitting here in front of me? This isn’t Steve, not my Steve. This is someone else.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘The bell is about to ring. I can’t be late again to English.’

  ‘Then I’ll talk fast—’

  ‘Not now, Soph. I’ll come over later.’

  ‘No, it has to be now. I—’

  ‘I’ll text you later.’

  ‘No. I want to—’

  The bell rings. Everyone gets up and starts collecting their bags, phones, throwing Coke cans into the blue recycling bin, half-eaten cold lunches into the brown bin, plastic into the green. Why is he getting up? I’m not finished yet. I’m still talking. Why is everything moving so fast? It’s spinning like I’m drunk. I grab a chair to steady myself and open my mouth. ‘Steve, I want to break up,’ I blurt out loudly.

  He turns slowly. ‘What?’

  A couple of his friends start laughing. ‘Shut up!’ he yells at them. His face reddens, his cheeks turning a warm crimson colour but I keep going.

  ‘It’s over between us.’

  ‘Why?’ he asks.

  Why? He’s asking me for a reason?

  ‘You cheated.’

  ‘No I didn’t. I told you, stupid rumours. Soph, I—’

  ‘You cheated! I have proof.’ I bite my lip and hope he doesn’t ask to see it. I don’t have anything, but I just want the truth for once.

  ‘Look, it didn’t mean anything.’

  My chest heaves as I double over. So it is true. I didn’t want it to be so badly. I wanted it all to be just a rumour.

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘That’s it, it’s over.’

  I hadn’t realised how loud that was. Now a small crowd gathers around us. Steve looks around then turns back to me. He straightens up then casually runs a hand through his hair. ‘You know what, Soph? I was done with you anyway. You’re nothing but a tease.’

  ‘I’m not a tease!’

  He smiles but it’s a strange smile. It’s a smile that tells me this isn’t over. Then he turns his back on me, and walks away, pushing past the crowd that’s got bigger.

  Ulana grips me by the arm. ‘You did it. It’s over.’

  But it doesn’t feel over.

  It feels strange. Not right. As if I’m inside someone else’s body and they’re in control. They’re speaking for me, they’re ending it with Steve. But I don’t want that. I don’t want to lose him.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, pulling me towards biology.

  When we get there, I see Steve’s friend Barker in the back row. He’s smiling. It’s that same smile though. Why is he looking at me like that? What does he know?

  The afternoon drags on but Steve’s smile lingers in my mind. Then I see his eyes, his hair, that little dimple in his chin just off to the left. I miss him. I miss him so much.

  I hurry home when the bells rings at 3.10 p.m. I can’t cry again at school. So I rush back, drop my bag at the base of the stairs, and collapse onto my bed. I pull the rose pink blanket up over my head and surrender to the darkness where it’s safe and warm.

  I can’t stop seeing his face, replaying the fight at lunch over and over again. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything at all to him. If I hadn’t, he’d be here with me now. Holding me. Kissing me. Telling me how sorry he is. And I’d be able to forgive him. I would. I already forgive him.

  I’m so stupid.

  It’s all Ulana’s fault. She got me so worked up outside. She doesn’t know our relationship. We would have got past this. It would have made us stronger, closer.

  But what if she’s right, what if it happened again? And again?

  How many times could I forgive? How many times would he ask me to forgive?

  My phone beeps. It’s not ‘Love’ by Lana del Ray so it’s not Steve.

  Why isn’t it Steve?

  My temples ache so I coax them gently to relaxation with my fingertips. But I can’t relax. There’s so much in my mind that won’t let me be. It hurts so much. Everything. Well, mostly just everything to do with Steve.

  I glance at my phone screen without unlocking it. It’s not Steve. I already knew that so why do I feel so disappointed that Ulana is texting me, and not him?

  I don’t want him to text me.

  He hurt me. He used me. He humiliated me. He cheated on me.

  I DON’T WANT HIM TO TEXT ME.

  But…I do want him to text me. I want him to come over and tell me how sorry he is and how much it was a mistake. Better yet, I want him to convince me and everyone at school that it’s not true. It’s a rumour that’s not true because he would never cheat on me. He loves me.

  Does he love me?

  Does he know how much I love him?

  My phone rings again, reminding me there is still an unanswered message waiting for me in my inbox that’s not from Steve. I give in and press my thumb down hard on the ID touch.

  Are you at home?

  My thumb moves quickly across the keypad.

  Yeah, why?

  Check Steve
’s Facebook page

  I don’t move. My eyes skim the bedroom until they rest on the pink laptop sleeve on the armchair in the corner. But I don’t get it. My phone beeps again. It’s still Ulana.

  Are you on it yet? I can’t believe he would do that to you. Why does he even have photos like that of you anyway?

  My upper body moves faster than my legs and I spill out onto the floor. Scrambling up, I yank the laptop towards me. Curled up like a tight ball, I kneel over and type quickly into the search engine.

  My phone screen lights up once more. Sophia?

  Facebook. Steve…I click on his name from an old post on my wall and jump right into his profile. I don’t see the profile picture that he’s updated to display just his face. I’ve been cut out from that photo, even though I’m there. I don’t see that he’s changed his status from ‘In a Relationship with’ to ‘Single’. I don’t see that there have been over 220 comments under the photo he posted less than three hours ago.

  No. I see only the photo.

  Of me.

  Me.

  I’m naked.

  My body is completely exposed except for the lace underwear. It’s there for everyone to see, for everyone to comment on.

  He’s Facebook friends with 2,467 people.

  2,467 people.

  My phone is beeping beside me somewhere on the rug. Somewhere beside me, or under me. I don’t know where anything is anymore. Where anything belongs anymore.

  What’s happening? Did you see it?

  I can’t breathe.

  Hello?

  I can’t see. Everything is so blurry.

  We need to report him

  I’m going to be sick.

  This has to be illegal?

  Everything is slipping away, the light from the bedroom, the light from the laptop screen, the light from the phone, the light from…from…

  LUCY

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Hmm?’ I look up and see Lily looking at me, carrot stick still caught in between her fingers.

  ‘Did you hear a word I said?’ she says, finally taking a bite.

  ‘Oh. Sorry, did you say something?’

  ‘Only for the last ten minutes!’ Mollie giggles and splits her sugar packet, half the contents spilling out on the table around her latte. She mutters under her breath then gets up to find more.

  ‘Are you feeling OK?’ Cara asks.

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘You just look a little pale. Still hungover from Saturday night?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not feeling a hundred per cent. Maybe I am still hungover,’ I say, knowing that I spent all night with only apple juice in my wine glass, just in case – wait, just in case? What does that mean? ‘Um, I probably just didn’t sleep well last night or maybe I’m coming down with a cold.’ A plate of mashed potatoes and buttered beans sits in front of me, steam no longer rising. I’d thought I’d wanted it when I sat down to eat it, but now I suddenly couldn’t remember why I was craving it in the first place. Just the sight of it made me want to throw up. And that smell. My mouth waters and I feel nausea surfacing.

  ‘You didn’t eat much today,’ Cara points out, nodding to my plate.

  ‘Yeah, I’m not surprised. Who orders mash and beans for lunch?’ snorts Mollie as she plops down in her chair with a large handful of small brown sugar packets. She must be anticipating several more attempts at opening one.

  ‘I thought it looked good but it’s actually gross.’ I slide the plate away from me. Something pink and sparkly catches my eye and I think I see Trina Davis at the other end of the room. I instantly feel the blood boiling inside me and squint to look again. But it’s not. As I turn back to my tray, she appears from behind a large crowd of fifth-years.

  ‘And I thought you looked rough,’ scoffs Cara.

  Trina perches on the edge of a long table, her tray empty except for a takeaway cup of coffee. Her face is red and puffy, and her hair is scraped back in a low bun. She’s swallowed up in a baggy navy jumper and leggings that make her legs look like sticks. I barely recognise her from the Trina from Saturday night. The one that danced wildly, and swigged vodka from the bottle, and flirted with Rhys at the party – the one that almost risked everything. As if he can hear my thoughts, he appears from behind the fifth-years too and immediately heads for her table. I want to rush over there and yank her off that bench by her hair before he reaches her. Maybe no one will notice, and I can go on pretending that there’s a real chance that Rhys and I will get back together.

  Like there’s any chance now.

  Not now. Not with—

  ‘Is that Trina with Rhys again?’ blurts out Mollie, another sugar packet spilling out between her fingers. Why is it so difficult for this girl to open a small paper envelope of sugar?

  Cara and Lily both turn in that direction and a couple of nosy girls at the next table look over too. Mollie’s voice tends to carry far, even in a busy cafeteria.

  ‘What is he doing?’

  ‘Doesn’t he know you’re right here? You can see them. We all can. That’s so disrespectful.’ Cara looks at me, waiting, her eyes wide.

  What does she expect me to do?

  Lily waves another carrot in the air, gesturing towards their bench.

  They clearly all expect me to do something. And if I don’t, they’ll know something is different about me.

  They’ll know about It.

  Before I can stand, I see Rhys and Trina get up from the table. He’s trying to say something to her but she’s backing away from him, not waiting until he’s finished talking. Maybe they’re fighting. That’s perfect. Then I don’t have to do anything at all, I can just – oh no, she’s coming this way. I feel it again. Blood. Boiling. Some kind of weird sensation in my belly – what is that?

  ‘Well?’ Lily says, turning around to see how far she is from our table.

  She’s close. But I wait until she gets a little closer…just a little closer…there. I jut my foot out sharply, cracking into her ankle and through her legs. She grunts and goes down, fast and hard, to the ground. Her shoulder bag slides out in front of her, contents spilling out everywhere. When she peels herself off the ground, I’m impressed to see she’s still holding her coffee cup. Even though the entirety of its contents is on the ground. And all over her jumper. It soaks through the fabric and clings to her chest.

  Mollie starts squealing, followed by Cara and Lily. Then most of the cafeteria.

  I hadn’t meant to kick her that hard. I watch as she slides onto her knees and starts frantically shoving everything back in her bag, her cigarettes the last to go in. She inches up to standing, careful not to drop anything in front of me again. Her right knee is slightly bleeding, having hit the tile floor first. A twinge pulls at my stomach, but I push it away.

  She deserved this.

  I don’t know why, but she deserved this.

  Her cheeks are red, and she takes a step towards me, but doesn’t follow through. Her eyes drop to the ground and she pushes past me. She rushes out the door, bag smacking off the handle as she flees. I hear a noise escape her lips before she disappears round the corner. Is she crying? I don’t think I kicked her that hard…did I?

  ‘Bye Trina!’ Cara yells after her. I force myself to smile along with her, with my friends, even though I don’t feel victorious in any way. Glancing over at Rhys’ empty table, I take a deep breath. If he’d been here, if he’d seen, I’d have lost my chance with him forever. Which could still happen if…if… ‘I’m skipping the rest of the afternoon,’ I announce, swinging my bag over my shoulder. I can’t go on like this. I need to know. I need to be sure.

  ‘Ooh, can I skip with you? Shopping? Cinema? I’m dying to see the new Zac Efron movie. I hear he gets shirtless like ten minutes into it. Bonus!’ Mollie claps.

  ‘He’s kinda old now,’ shrugs Lily.

  ‘Sorry not today…I’m meeting my mum in town.’ When I slide off the bench, I see Trina’s pink lipstick still lying on the ground by the
table legs. I don’t know why but I pick it up and drop it into my bag.

  I walk out the same door Trina ran through and take the same path. But while she probably took a right through the woods to go smoke in the clearing by the chemistry lab, I go left towards the main centre.

  I walk past the chemist on the high street and cross over to the bus stop. I can’t go in there for what I need. I can’t risk seeing someone that recognises me. So I wait for the 67 bus.

  A cold breeze stabs through my coat as raindrops start to fall all around me. I haven’t brought an umbrella, so I step back under the shelter. But I suddenly don’t want that dry comfort. I want to feel the rain. I want to feel it on my hands, my fingertips, on my cheeks. It tangles in my hair and trickles down the strands, finally resting on my shoulders. But it doesn’t cool me. It doesn’t extinguish the heat searing in my stomach. The only thing that can do that is a Negative sign on that pregnancy test.

  When the bus arrives, I drop a couple of pounds into the red plastic tray and weave my way to the back, avoiding curious faces and watchful eyes. It only takes eleven minutes to get to the next town, through a winding maze of country lanes, ‘bend ahead’ signs and single-lane roads. I don’t look out the window. I don’t see the fields go by, or the sheep grazing, or the cows sleeping. I don’t count the red cars like I used to with my dad when I was little, that I still do now when no one is watching me. No. I stare at my hands the entire eleven minutes. I squeeze patches of skin with my fingers and watch as the skin whitens then goes red. And I try to calm the volcano that’s erupting inside my mind.

  I try to coax it back to the Glen Affric camping trip. To the ochres of deep oranges and rusted browns that meet overhead. To the sizzling hot grill awash with hot dogs and salted corn on the cobs. To my parents sitting side by side under the crystal clear night sky, exchanging the occasional romantic glance when they think I’m not watching. I try to ease my thoughts back to those simpler times.

  But my mind fights back. And when we pull into the main centre, I claw my way to the front and escape back into the rain, feeling it once again trickle over me. Then I cross the street, take a left up Upton Road, and a right through the door of Superdrug. I pass the tiny glass bottles of shimmery nail varnish, tall tubes of stronghold hairspray, multi-coloured coiled hairbands, pin-like kirby grips, and feathery wands of jet black mascara. I go to the back. The very back.