Paper Airplanes

by Dawn O'Porter

  “What did you do that for?” asks Margaret.

  I gather myself and keep walking. “She can be a bit too needy sometimes, that’s all.”

  I want the ground to swallow me up.

  At lunchtime, the atmosphere is tense.

  “OK, ladies, stand up, please. Let’s say grace.” It’s Miss Anthony’s day on lunch duty. When everyone has drawn to a silent pause, Margaret does her favorite trick of scraping her chair backward across the shiny floor, making a screeching sound so piercing that everyone puts their hands to their ears.

  “WHEN you are ready, ladies! For what we are about to receive . . .” continues Miss Anthony.

  We all join in, then in unison scrape our chairs as we sit down.

  “Hey,” says Nancy in a loud whisper. We all lean in. “I heard that Becca Stephens lost her virginity last weekend.”

  A brilliant start to the lunchtime conversation, and the perfect icebreaker.

  “Yeah, I heard that too,” adds Charlotte. “To some guy in the year above us at the boys’ school. She isn’t even sixteen yet.”

  “Loads of people have done it before they are sixteen, stupid,” says Nancy.

  “You haven’t,” says Margaret in her usual matter-of-fact style.

  “Yeah, well, none of us have!” says Bethan.

  Nancy’s defensiveness is now standard when girls in our year discuss their virginity. I’m not sure when this happened, but suddenly being called a virgin is an insult.

  “I guess it isn’t when you lose it, it’s who you lose it to that matters,” says Flo. All the girls nod in agreement. I sit back and stuff as much cake into my mouth as possible. I don’t want to say anything that might later be used as evidence against me.

  As we plow through our feast, a loud screech comes from the other side of the dining room, then the sound of a chair falling over, and then a scream for help. I look up and see a crowd gathering and Miss Anthony calling to the caretaker, “Ambulance, call an ambulance!”

  “Renée, Renée! Quick, get over here!” A girl from the year below us is calling me. I’m not sure what I am expected to do in an emergency. I lied about passing my St. John Ambulance’s first-aid course last year, as it seemed like such a waste of a Saturday morning.

  “Quick, Renée! QUICK!” says the girl.

  The crowd parts to let me through. What’s going on? There is mayhem all of a sudden. And then I see her—my sister, lying in the arms of one of her classmates. Her head flopped right back, her long thin body limp, her eyes and her mouth half open.

  “NELL!”

  I take her into my arms and shake her. She is so bony she could rattle.

  “NELL!”

  “OK, girls, give them some space. The ambulance is on its way,” says Miss Anthony.

  Flo is behind me, her hands holding on to my shoulders. I twist awkwardly until she lets go, and I feel her hurt as she backs away from me.

  Nell, I think. Just focus on Nell.

  At the hospital I’m told to wait in the hall. “We will tell you when you can come in and see your sister,” says a nurse.

  “Will she be OK?” I ask, frightened.

  “She is very weak, but it’s nothing some fluids can’t treat for now. Your sister is going to need a lot of help to get well again, though—a lot of help,” says the nurse.

  I watch her scuttle back down the corridor, her big bottom moving as two halves. I grip my knees with my hands and wait.

  “Renée!” The double doors open slowly and Nana and Pop come toward me. I am shocked by how they look. When did they get so old? Nana used to be tall and slim, but now she is little and round, her body moving differently. She looks in pain. And Pop, he was tall and handsome, but now he is stooped over and his face looks like it’s melting. How had I not noticed this change?

  “Where is she? Nurse, we are here to see Nell Sargent,” says Nana.

  “We can’t go in yet,” I tell them. “They say she’ll be OK after some fluids but that we have to wait here until she’s ready to see us.”

  Pop sits robotically on a bench, Nana next to him. I sit opposite them, my mind still battered by how old they look.

  “What happened? Did she fall?” Nana asks.

  “She fainted.”

  “Fainted? It’s so hot in that school. Haven’t I always said it is too hot in that school?” grumbles Pop.

  “She didn’t faint because it was hot, Derek,” Nana says firmly.

  “I’ll write to that caretaker again. He should know better than to keep the school so hot.”

  We all stand up when a doctor walks over to us.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher? Hello, I’m Dr. Brehaut. Nell is ready to see you now.”

  We follow Dr. Brehaut down the hall. She opens the door to Nell’s room, and I go straight over to where she is lying.

  “Nell, I’m so glad you’re OK,” I say frantically. “You fainted and your eyes were rolling. I thought you . . .”

  She has a hospital gown on and a drip in the back of her hand. She is awake, and the relief I feel when I see her makes me start crying, which is embarrassing for me and clearly awkward for everyone else.

  “Sorry to drag you away from the party of the century. I could hear that Margaret Cooper weirdo singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you from my table. She is so loud,” Nell says, still managing to be sarcastic even in her state.

  “Renée—your birthday?” says Nana as she puts her hands to her face.

  “Don’t worry, Nana, it’s OK.”

  “No, no, it’s not OK.” She lowers her voice and looks really sad. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now, now. Let’s not overblow this. Your nana and I are very sorry we forgot your birthday, Renée,” says Pop, rubbing his forehead.

  “It’s fine, honestly,” I say. “I think we should all just focus on Nell. My birthday isn’t important.”

  Nana takes Nell’s hand in hers. She looks guilty. “How are you feeling, darling? I know you have been unwell.”

  Nell doesn’t offer Nana any words of reassurance. I think she’s enjoying the impact she is having on us all.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, can I ask you to step outside with me for a moment?” says Dr. Brehaut.

  They all leave the room and stand just outside. I can see them through the window in the door. Dr. Brehaut looks serious, and as she talks to them they both drop their heads at exactly the same moment. Nana starts to cry.

  Nell and I sit awkwardly together.

  “Hopefully now they’ll understand that they can’t keep me away from my dad.”

  “Now?”

  “Now that it’s come to this,” she says, gesturing toward the drip in her hand.

  “Nell, you could have died.”

  “I know. But I didn’t. So they should listen to me now. They can’t keep me away from my own dad anymore. It isn’t fair.”

  I think back to the time I tried to speak to Nana, when I’d been so determined to sort all this out but didn’t see it through. I’d let Pop intimidate me, and I let the moment pass. I could have stopped this from happening, but instead I let it carry on, and now my little sister is committing a long, slow suicide to try and make them notice how much she is hurting. Nell was right, this is all my fault. Everything is.

  When Nana and Pop come in again, Pop stands at the back of the room while Nana goes over to Nell.

  “We will help you get through this, Nell. As a family. We can help you. Just tell us what we need to do. What do you need?” Nana asks, crying.

  “Dad. I need my dad,” says Nell.

  Pop leaves the room, making sure the door slams shut behind him. But she is right—this time he has to listen.

  Later that night, as I face the first night alone in our bedroom since Mum died, I wonder how it would be if Nell was to go and live with Dad. What would happen to me? Terrible as my relationship with her is, I don’t want to sleep in this room on my own.

  I don’t feel in control of anything. It’s all such a mes
s. I think back to what Miss Anthony suggested, to write a letter to the person who is hurting me the most. I never have to send it; it’s just for me. I have to clear up this mess. This is where it starts. I begin to write.

  Dear Julian . . .

  FLO

  I think Renée has gone off me, and it’s horrible. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but I’ve obviously really annoyed her. Did I go on about my dad too much? Was I too boring? Did I say something mean? I’ve read through every note she ever wrote to me, and I don’t see anything that has been said that should make her change her mind about being my friend, but it’s so obvious she doesn’t want to be around me. I feel like such a fool. Now I’ve dumped Sally, and Renée has dumped me—I’m left totally friendless. I feel so unhappy, my tummy is in knots, and the last thing I want is to go into town with my mother to buy some short-sleeved school shirts.

  “You don’t have to come with me. If you give me the money I can just buy the shirts myself,” I say as she storms into the uniform shop.

  “And let you loose with my money?” my mum says, as if she has reason to think I am untrustworthy.

  “I’ve never used your money for anything other than what you’ve told me to use it for,” I say.

  “That’s because I would never give you the chance. Not like that father of yours, throwing cash at you like it grows on trees. Like that school he put you in, leaving me behind to pay the ridiculous fees.”

  “Well, Mother, I am very grateful to you for giving me the chance to have an education.”

  “You’re not grateful. Why can’t you be more like her? At least she has a job.” My mum points at the rotund girl behind the counter who is wearing elasticized jeans, an apron, and a name badge that says JENNY.

  Jenny has worked in Hemans—the uniform shop—for as long as I can remember. Every year I’ve watched her large bottom disappear up a ladder to get the uniform in my size down from the top shelf, and every year she looks the same—around seventeen years old and hauntingly miserable. Dad and I always presumed that she is part of the family who owns the shop, because she is as much a part of it as the shelves that fill it.

  “You wish I was more like Jenny?” I ask sarcastically.

  “At least she pays her way.”

  How Mum thinks I could have a job, as well as study and look after Abi, is beyond me. I bite my tongue and ask Jenny to get me some shirts.

  “The size forty is best. I like them a bit loose,” I say. I’m two sizes bigger than last year, not because I am fat, but because my boobs are huge. Jenny brings the shirts and starts to put them in a bag. Mum gets some cash out of her purse and hands it to Jenny.

  “Get the change and be quick. I’ll wait outside,” she snaps as she leaves.

  Jenny and I stand quietly as she opens the till and works out the change.

  “There you go, £5.01,” she says, handing me the money.

  “Thanks.” I go to leave.

  “Flo? Your name is Flo, isn’t it?”

  I look at the money in my hand. Has she miscalculated the change? It doesn’t look like it.

  “I’ve worked in here every Saturday since I was twelve, and as soon as I turned sixteen my mum made me leave school and go full time,” she tells me. “You’re lucky you get to go to school and have lots of friends. I don’t have any friends. I’d love your life.”

  No one has ever told me they would love my life before.

  “It’s not all that,” I say to her. “I bet there are loads of things about your life that I would be jealous of.”

  I wait for her to answer me, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “FLO, hurry up!” Mum screeches as she swoops back in and grabs the fiver out of my hand.

  I turn back to Jenny. I never thought about her feelings before. It’s easy to just take people for what they seem and not think about what life is actually like for them. It makes me think about Renée, and how she has been behaving toward me. It’s easy to presume she is all right because of how confident she is, but her sister collapsed because she is so ill, things at home are bad, and Renée obviously isn’t coping.

  It hits me like a shock that I need to be a better friend to Renée. I’ve been so hurt by how distant she has been lately, but I have to stand by her. If she wants to push me away or use me as a punching bag, then fine, but I’ll still be there for her when she feels better. It’s the least I can do after she pretty much saved me when Dad died.

  RENÉE

  It’s hard to concentrate at school at the best of times, let alone when your sister is in the hospital being force-fed calories through a tube, your family is as functional as a broken toilet, you’re treating your best friend like shit because you feel so guilty, and the boy you love thinks you are a stalker who wears shellsuits. Pop had a massive go at me as I left for school this morning. He was going on and on about how I fill Nell’s head with rubbish and how I should be a better example to her. I don’t know what to say to him when he gets like that with me. Even Nana doesn’t try to stop him. He locks onto something and doesn’t let go, and I am sick of how that something always seems to be me. I’m over being the baddie all the time, with nothing good that I do ever getting noticed. GCSEs are the last thing on my mind.

  I sit in science class, slumped on my stool like I have fallen out of the sky and broken my spine. To top it off I have been moved permanently to the front bench after the incident with the vegetarians, so I can’t even gaze out the window without being told off. For once in my life, I want to be completely unnoticed. I have problems, real problems. Loads of them. Life is shit.

  A paper airplane hits me on the back of the head. It hurts.

  I have worked out that if you put blue tac in the nose then the notes fly farther. Flo x

  What is she talking about? I ignore her note. Another one hits me.

  Renée, are you OK? I know you’ve been really upset lately. I don’t mind you taking things out on me a bit, but I just wanted to let you know that I am here for you if you need me. You have been the best friend in the world to me, and I want to be the same to you. If you want to talk, I’m here. You don’t deserve all the stuff that’s going on in your life, and I am on your side. Flo x

  Why is it that when I have a bad day, no one will leave me alone and let me just be pissed off on my own? I spend my life giving people space, letting them thump around all angry and stressed while I just leave them to it and let them deal with their own shit. If I dare give even the smallest hint that I’m an emotionally volatile person, I get told off, called moody or selfish, or am told to pull myself together. I can’t be happy all the time!

  I ignore her letter again. I will talk to her soon and tell her everything, but right now I have enough on my plate. Mrs. Suiter picks up a pile of exam papers and starts to make her way around the class.

  “Well done, Margaret. Very good,” she says as she lays her exam paper in front of her.

  “Wow, seventy-three percent!” Margaret looks very pleased with herself, as does Charlotte.

  “Seventy-five percent, YES!”

  And Flo: “Eighty-five percent. I can’t believe it.”

  Then Mrs. Suiter gives me mine.

  “See me after class, please, Renée.”

  Twenty-three percent. Oh, bloody hell!

  When the bell rings, I stay put.

  As Flo walks past me, she puts her hand on my shoulder. I shake it off. I don’t even realize I do it until she looks back at me with the most pitiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “This is unacceptable, Renée. Did you do any revision at all?” Mrs. Suiter says sternly.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Suiter. Things have been really tough at home recently, and I’m finding it really hard to concentrate,” I say, notably upset.

  She looks at me with the “don’t give me that” expression that I usually get from teachers when I make up excuses for not doing well at school, but then her face changes and she gives me a much more sympathetic look.

  “Yes,
well, we are all hoping that Nell gets better soon,” she says gently.

  I sit waiting for my order mark, but it never comes. Instead she stares me in the eye in her usual intense way.

  “Life is tough sometimes, but without good exam results it will only get tougher. You must try to focus, no matter what is going on at home.”

  “I know, Mrs. Suiter, I will try harder. I’m just finding everything really hard and . . .” Tears start pelting down my face. It’s uncontrollable. Damn it, I hate crying in front of teachers. Mrs. Suiter also obviously feels as uncomfortable but stares at me even more intensely.

  “Now now, Renée. It’s just a mock exam. There is plenty of time to do some revision for your GCSEs.”

  “It’s not just my exams,” I say, giving into the tears.

  “Maybe you should pop home? I’ll tell Miss Anthony you felt a bit sick and that I excused you. Then you can go home and see your family. Will that help?”

  I think for a moment about seeing my family and wonder what a life where the thought of them didn’t make me want to bolt would be like, but I can’t imagine it. I miss Flo so much. What have I done? She was the best friend I ever had, and now I’ve made our friendship impossible because being with her makes me feel awful and two-faced.

  I feel a pang of regret for pushing Carla and Gem away. When I was friends with them, at least life was simple. They don’t have the brain capacity, or emotional intelligence, or whatever it is, to worry about life. If we were still friends I could have told them about Julian. They’d have told me I am funny and that he is mean, and they’d have hugged me until I didn’t care about him anymore, but as it stands I care about him more than anything else. More than Nell, more than Nana and Pop, my GCSEs, anything. I never thought I would be so bothered about my virginity, but having lost it, I wish I still had it. I held off for all that time with Lawrence because I didn’t want the entire experience to leave me feeling like shit, and here I am, feeling like total shit. I keep going over and over it in my head—and then I think of the blood. That huge red stain surrounding my crotch. Why would he ever want to have sex with me again now? Everything about it makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.