by Various
I plug my iPod in and fix my gaze firmly back on my textbook, but I can’t ignore the flush of embarrassment still in my cheeks. Charlie has one thing right: I’m an expert at hiding.
I know it’s not impressive as super-powers go, but it’s harder than you think. When I was younger, it was simple: all I needed was a tiny space to crawl into, a tree to climb. My favourite books were those about a group of mischievous kids who roamed around 1950s England – they were forever discovering smugglers’ plots and mysterious gold shipments, or running off to live on a secret island. I would keep a packed bag with me at all times, full of essentials: pen and paper (for SOS notes); provisions (crumbled biscuits in foil); a twist-on torch (for flashing Morse code); and, of course, three more books, to pass the time while I was stowed away in the back of that shipment of priceless antiques.
Not that I had anything bad to hide from, just my rowdy older brothers, and Dad’s obsession with Radio 4, and a mum who sincerely, to this very day, believes that a girl should learn how to cook her future husband’s dinner before she even gets her first period.
“But what if I’m a lesbian?” I would whine, just to tease her.
“Doesn’t matter.” And Mum would pull the straps of my apron tighter, like the shackles of patriarchy. “Lesbians eat chapattis too.”
You can see why I liked hiding.
The problem is, now I’m sixteen, it’s harder to disappear. I can’t fit into the cupboard under the sink, and there are no handy trees in the grounds of Central Sussex Sixth Form College for me to scramble up. Besides, it’s different now: I’m not trying to keep out of sight so much as hide my feelings. Pretend like I don’t care that suddenly, halfway through year twelve, I’m all alone in a sprawling school of a thousand people who have already made their groups, found their BFFs, and don’t need anyone else tagging along on the edge of their crowds. I don’t care that I have nobody to eat my lunch with, or hang out with during free periods; I walk around with earbuds in to drown out the unbearable silence of nobody talking to me.
And I definitely don’t care about the tight, hollow bubble in my chest, like I’m on the verge of tears all day long, and it’s all I can do to dig my nails into my palms and make it home again to sit in my bedroom, surrounded by magazine cut-outs and plans for a future when I don’t feel so hopelessly, miserably alone.
I catch a flash of motion out of the corner of my eye: Charlie and Kristii, visible through the gap in the books. Curious, I lean back in my chair for a clearer view. They’re kissing up against the stacks, hot and heavy, the way I’ve never kissed anyone in my life. Like it matters, like it’s necessary. He drops his lips to her neck, hands roaming upwards and round to her front. She moves them back down. He waits a beat, kissing some more, and then slides them back up. This time, she slaps them away.
“Charlie!”
“Sorry, babe. Couldn’t help myself.” He gives her that grin, and sure enough, Kristii melts.
“Not here, OK?” She slides her arms around his neck again. “My ’rents are up in London Friday night; we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“Are they now?” Charlie nuzzles her neck and growls playfully. She giggles, until he mock-bites her, and then she squeals in protest.
“No marks!”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys, and then they’re kissing again, shifting just out of view. I lean further, further—
My chair slips. I yelp, grabbing the desk to steady myself. Charlie opens his eyes and looks at me through the gap in the bookshelves.
I freeze.
He’s still kissing her: Kristii’s arms are around him and he has one hand in her hair, but he’s looking at me. Just looking with those grey-blue eyes, curious. Watching me watching him.
Oh God. I unfreeze, quickly turning away as a furious blush floods my whole face. What am I doing staring at them like some kind of kiss-deprived freak? I shove my files into my bag and grab my books, rushing so fast I bash my knee on the corner of the desk. Owwwww! I bite back my cry and limp painfully into the aisle, but before I go, I can’t help looking back at them, just once.
Charlie is still watching me, over her shoulder. He winks.
I bolt.
I don’t see Charlie for the rest of the week; life continues as normal. I get up, I go to school, I hide out in the library, and if I make it home without that tight knot of loneliness in my chest consuming the whole earth, I count the day a success. My parents don’t know anything has changed: as far as they’re concerned, I’m still BFFs with Jenny. They haven’t noticed that my mobile doesn’t ring any more, or that I never stay out after school, or that I spend every weekend at home, instead of shopping down in Brighton, or sleeping over, or doing all those basic teenage-girl friendship things that I took for granted.
“It’s good you’re buckling down, with your exams coming up,” is all my mum says when she finds me curled up in my room reading on Saturday night. “Your cousin Alon got a B in his maths A level, and look at him now.” She tuts, as if Alon’s wayward life running a surf school in Sydney is something to be pitied, not applauded.
But that’s the point, I suppose. I’m hiding so well, nobody sees. Not my family, not my teachers, not even my former friend, whose gaze drifts past me in the hall so casually, you’d never guess we spent years clustered under the cover at sleepovers, breathlessly confiding every tiny hope and dream. That’s the irony: I’m trying so hard to be invisible, when all I really want is for someone – anyone – to notice, just see that I’m here. I exist.
Well, almost anyone.
“Hey, babe.”
I return to my corner of the library for a free period the next Monday to find Charlie sprawled in my seat, his battered vintage Adidas trainers up on the desk. My desk.
I tense. “What are you doing here?” Just the memory of last week – the kissing, the watching – is enough to make my skin flush, a nervous flutter start in my stomach.
Charlie grins, like he can tell I’m flustered. “I had a free period, thought I’d see what you’re up to.”
“Studying,” I answer flatly, clutching my folder against my chest like armour.
“Doesn’t look like study to me…” He waves my copy of The Duke Returns, the dog-eared romance novel I left face down on the desk. Clearing his throat dramatically, Charlie begins to read from the back cover. “‘Lady Flora is content to be a spinster, watching from the sidelines of society balls. But when the rakish Duke of Sussex—’”
I snatch it from his hand, blushing. “Don’t you have to meet Kristii?”
“Kristii’s over.” Charlie shrugs. “Too clingy.”
“Remind me to send a condolence card.”
Charlie laughs, and finally unfolds himself from the chair. He makes a show of it: dusting the seat down, pulling it out for me, gesturing extravagantly. Cautiously I sit.
“I like your hair like that.” He flicks one of the braids I have twisted around my head. (When you have zero social life, there’s a lot of time to braid.) “It’s cute.”
“Uh, thanks,” I manage, thrown, and then there’s a delicate cough behind us.
We turn. Another girl is hovering in the aisle: Lucy Henderson, from my lit class. She’s shy and bookish, and blushing like she can’t believe she’s meeting Charlie Sutton in the library stacks.
Charlie grins at me. “Love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a hot date!” He drapes an arm round Lucy’s shoulder and leads her into the next row, the same place he was groping Kristii just last week.
At least he’s consistent.
I settle in at the desk, half listening for the telltale giggles next door, but there’s silence. Not that I care. I open my economics book, as if I can block out all thought of what Charlie is doing just metres away from me, but the chapters all blur into one.
I will not look. I will not look. I will not—
I look.
They’re up against the stacks like he was before, making out in furious, passionate breaths. I bli
nk in shock. Shy little Lucy? Grabbing at the back of Charlie’s shirt like a girl possessed? They bump up against the shelves in their enthusiasm, the books quivering, and then he comes up for air, his eyes flickering open – straight to meet mine.
I freeze, flushing, but for some reason, I don’t look away this time. Neither does Charlie. Our gaze holds as Lucy kisses his neck and along the line of his jaw, oblivious to me watching from between the books, and Charlie’s attention on me.
I stop breathing.
Charlie’s eyes don’t leave mine; slowly he smiles. Not that famous cheeky grin, but something quieter. Curious. The moment stretches, almost as if it’s frozen there between us, and I feel a rush of unfamiliar emotion. Excitement. A thrill.
I slowly smile back, caught up in the heady kick of my pulse and prickle of heat on my skin. I should look away – God, I should be dying of embarrassment right now – but I’m caught; locked in the line of sight from his blue eyes to mine, wondering—
The bell sounds, jolting me out of my daze. I snap my head away, scrambling for my things and practically sprinting out of the library. I fight my way through the students heading reluctantly to class.
What was that?!
I feel a hand on my arm. “Vita!” Charlie pulls me to a stop, and then I’m staring into those eyes again. Only this time, they’re just inches away.
“What?” I’m breathless, mind still fuzzy.
“You’re, um, you left this.” Charlie holds out a pen.
I blink. It’s a cheap biro, bitten on one end. “Uh, thanks,” I manage to say, taking it from him. My fingers brush against his for a split second before I pull back, shoving the pen into my bag.
“So…” Charlie starts, then trails off. He looks as weirded out as me, his usual arrogant expression now awkward. “I…” He pauses, swallowing. “You got class now?”
I nod.
“Me too.”
Another pause. I glance away, and realize for the first time that we’re standing in the middle of the main foyer with people all around. People who are staring curiously at us. People like Jenny, lounging on the stairs with Sascha and their cooler-than-thou artsy friends. Sascha leans over to whisper to Jenny, looking from me to Charlie and back again.
I gulp. “I should, you know…”
“Go?” Charlie suggests, with a flicker of a smile.
“Right. Yes. That.”
“See you in class.” Then he’s walking away, joining a group of boys as they shove and joke their way down the hall, until the crowd closes around him and he’s gone.
“So what was that about?” Jenny’s voice comes from behind me. I startle, spinning round. She’s smiling, the way she used to, the way I haven’t seen in months. “Since when are you friends with Charlie Sutton?”
I could say a dozen things. Since you last spoke to me. Since you cut your hair and got that pink streak, and started sucking face with a boy whose jeans are tighter than mine. Since I stopped mattering.
But I don’t. I shrug vaguely, about to answer when Sascha barges in, her armfuls of silver bangles clattering as she tugs Jenny’s hand. “We have to get to class. Darkroom sign-up, remember?”
Jenny makes a face. “Crapsticks. Gotta run. See you!” And then they’re gone too, and I’m left alone.
After that, things get … awkward. Despite the fact I’ve spent half a year at this school barely registering Charlie’s presence, suddenly he’s all I see – and no matter how hard I try, I can’t un-notice him. How he swaggers around college, so confident and nonchalant. The fact he’s got everyone – from the staff, right down to the snobby popular girls – all wrapped around his little finger. The way his vintage Manchester United shirt sort of clings to his body. The way he never, not once, looks as if he’s lonely. Not that he’d have a chance, given the number of girls practically ripping each other’s earrings out for a place on his hook-up calendar.
I try my best to avoid him. I even surrender my library hideout, and make do with loitering in empty classrooms during lunch, and out on the hill by the sports field – armed with a book and my earbuds and an expression that I hope screams “mysterious loner” more than “pathetic reject”. But by Friday lunchtime I’m back in my familiar carrel, and Charlie Sutton is the last thing on my mind.
I have more important things to hide from.
“Hey, babe.” Charlie appears between the stacks. “Haven’t seen you all week. Miss me?” He straddles a chair, scooting in close to me.
“Sure.” I manage a faint smile. “I cried into my pillow every night.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He reaches over, scooping a finger of icing from the single cupcake on my desk. “Fancy. What is it, your birthday or something?”
I don’t reply.
His eyes widen. “Oh, shit, really? Congrats. You doing anything fun?”
I give him a look. “Does it look like I’m doing anything fun?”
Charlie doesn’t reply for a minute; he just studies me, thoughtful. “What about those girls, Jenny and what’s-her-name, the goth one? I thought I saw them with balloons out there.”
“Yup,” I reply quietly. “It’s Jenny’s birthday too. We have the same.”
Charlie is still waiting with an expectant look, so I take a breath, and find myself explaining to him. “We always used to celebrate together. Last year, we went down to Brighton for a gig, and then the year before, Jenny’s mum treated us to makeovers, but now…” I let out a wistful sigh. “Now I get to watch her with her balloons, and presents, and friends, while I sit here with my pathetic loser cupcake. Alone.” I stop, suddenly realizing how much I’ve shared with him, but Charlie doesn’t look fazed at all.
“Moping much?” He snags another scoop of icing. “And you’re not alone. I’m here.”
“Until Lucy shows,” I correct him. “Or are you done with her already?”
“Don’t say it like that,” Charlie protests. “We had a mutual parting of the ways.” He breaks off a chunk of cake this time, and inhales it without even chewing. “Well, actually, she dumped me. Said I was a pig; can you believe that?” He grins, icing smeared across his chin.
“The mind boggles.” I feel a sudden urge to wipe the sugar off his face. With my tongue. I look away, mortified.
“So what happened?” Charlie asks, oblivious to my face-licking impulses. “With your friends, I mean. Did you have a massive bitch fight? With pillows. In your underwear?”
I give him a withering stare.
He grins. “No, I mean it. What went down?”
I shrug, silent. The truth is, even I don’t know. There was no fight, or reason why; she just started spending more time with Sascha, and less with me. I tried tagging along at first, to their after-school hang-outs down the park, and the skanky pub in Lingfield that never asked for ID, but it was clear I didn’t belong.
Charlie must see something in my expression, because he gives me a sympathetic look. “People change.” He nods, reaching for the cake.
I slap his hand back. “Save some for me!”
He sighs, breaking what’s left into two pieces and handing me the bigger one with a martyrish look, like it’s the biggest sacrifice ever. “I don’t know why you even came in today. I always skive on my birthday. It’s like a rule.”
“I thought about it, but my mum—”
“But nothing.” He pushes back his chair. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. London, Brighton…” He grins. “Trains come every ten minutes. We’ll figure it out after.”
“No, but…” I blink. We. He said we. As in… “You mean, go. With you?”
“Why not? We’ve only got economics later. I didn’t do the homework.”
“You never do.” I sit, but he’s still there, waiting. “Is this some kind of joke, because I’m really not—”
“Jesus, Vita, stop thinking so hard.” Charlie flicks my braids. “You don’t want to be here; I really don’t want to be here. S
o we make it so we’re not here. Simple.” Charlie beams, because to him it really is that simple. Never mind that I’ve never skived off in my life, let alone to just waltz on up to London with a boy who … who…
“I can’t,” I say, because I really can’t. Why doesn’t he see that? “Thanks, really; it’s sweet of you to even offer, but I’m not that girl.” I stop. “I mean, I don’t—”
“Have fun?” Charlie finishes for me. “Do what you want?” He reaches to flick my hair again. I duck away.
“No!” I protest. “I have fun!”
But he’s already backing away. “Limited time offer, Vita. Going, going…”
I don’t move. Charlie’s smile slowly fades. “Oh. Right. Should’ve known…” I watch, torn, as he pushes his hands back in his pockets and shrugs with trademark nonchalance. “Suit yourself.”
He saunters away.
I’m surprised by the rush of disappointment I feel as he disappears from view. But that’s just stupid. Of course I can’t skip out on college for no good reason. And with Charlie Sutton! Doesn’t he know I’m not one of his harem? I’m not delusional enough to think I’m special, that he’ll change for me, that I’ll get anything more from him than a half-hour of passionate kisses – his arms tight around me, my fingers tangled in his choppy dark hair…
Before I can take another second to think, I grab my coat and bag and race out of the library after him.
“Charlie!”
He doesn’t turn.
“Charlie, wait up!” I catch up with him in the foyer, yanking him to a stop. He finally turns, arching an eyebrow at me: the old, arrogant Charlie Sutton back in place.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I mean, let’s go; get out of here. If you still want to?”
He pauses, and I become painfully aware of the people around us – of Jenny and Sascha on their spot on the stairs, surrounded by gift wrap and balloons.
“Well?” I gulp, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. If he blows me off here, in front of everyone…
“Sure thing, babe.” Charlie’s face relaxes into his familiar grin.