by Chloe Seager
But then he looked away again, and walked off.
“Oh, right, yeah. Do what you do best. Communicate via telepathic waves. I’m still waiting for the ones you sent over summer to arrive, by the way,” I called after him.
And, once more, I had ended up literally chasing him around school.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:55 P.M.
Mystery Solved
I thought today couldn’t get any worse, but oh, look at that. It did.
After lunch we all came back to the Sixth Form Centre.
I phoned Greg, and he mostly kept saying, “What?? What??” and then finally,
“No, Emma, I did not put up your diary for everyone to read. If you don’t mind, I have class.”
(Ouch.)
When I hung up the phone Faith and Steph were staring expectantly. Gracie was looking down at her shoes, all pink. She caught my eye briefly, and that’s when I knew. It was her. I remembered logging on to her computer, in her room, but it didn’t even occur to me that one of my friends would do this. Steph and Faith were looking between us, confused and wide-eyed, and I got up and left.
This is so, so much more hurtful than if it had been Greg. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Why? I know we fight a lot, but I thought when it came down to it we had each other’s back. Why would she do this?! I don’t even want to know. Nothing she says can ever take this back.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:03 P.M.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Steph has rung about a million times, but I’ve turned off my phone and put myself to bed. Don’t want to think about this horrible day. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.
WEDNESDAY, 22 OCTOBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:06 P.M.
I told Mum I was sick this morning, and needed to stay home. Thankfully she’s easy and believed me. She nodded fervently, feeling my forehead and declaring that “her glands were up, too.” I swear for a moment she almost considered staying home herself. I’m on the sofa watching Working Girl. Because ’80s hair always puts me in a slightly better mood.
Couldn’t eat anything this morning. I feel numb. I’m feeling so bad about so many things I hardly know what to think about.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:20 P.M.
Finally turned on my phone. For no other reason than because I thought Steph might be worried. As soon as it came on it started ringing.
“Emma, where have you been?!” she yelled.
“Zimbabwe. At home, obviously,” I said.
“DON’T do this again, Emma. Don’t you DARE hide away again, and shut the world out. Shut me out.”
“I...”
“No. I don’t want to hear it. Because you’re better than this. You were doing so well. You seemed...happy for a while. And it wasn’t to do with Leon. It was to do with you. So, this has happened and it’s rubbish, but don’t let it drag you down again. Don’t let this ruin everything. Now, what kind of mini-bites do you want?”
“Chocolate cornflake.”
“Great. I’m coming over.”
When Steph arrived, we avoided the subject for a while, until she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Emma, about Gracie...”
“Ugh. Really? Are we really going to talk about this?”
“I think we have to.”
I stayed silent.
“Look, she did a bad thing and I’m not going to defend her. That’s up to her. But you two will work it out, and...and...and maybe this hasn’t gone so terribly.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”
“Look. The things you said were bad, but they weren’t...that bad. I mean, considering. Leon had hurt you. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty about this, Emma.”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“No. He’s been such a prick, Emma. I’m sorry. I’ve refrained from saying it all this time. I know how much you like him. But he’s a giant, prick-headed prick. Essentially, he treated you like mud, as Faith put it, and now he’s treating you like mud again because you were angry about being treated that way in the first place. It’s doubly prickish. And well...now at least you know it.”
And I know that she’s right. We watched TV and ate heaps of chocolate and it felt, just for a while, like maybe the world didn’t have to end after all.
THURSDAY, 23 OCTOBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 1:22 P.M.
Mum clocked that I wasn’t sick when she caught me hot-flannelling my head and made me come in. Spent the day so far successfully avoiding Gracie. On my way to French, I passed Leon in the corridor. He looked down, and it was so infuriating that I stood in front of him so he couldn’t get past me.
I said, “We’re done, Leon. As friends and as whatever we were. I don’t need people like you in my life. Don’t bother talking to me ever again.”
He kept his eyes on the floor the whole time and walked on.
Steph said, “So you told someone who’s not talking to you, to not bother talking to you?”
“Don’t ruin my moment.”
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:13 P.M.
Walking home alone. I waited at the gates for Steph and Faith, but Faith said we should wait for Gracie so I left.
“You can’t avoid her forever, Emma!!” she called after me.
“I can!” I shouted back.
“You have Home Ec with her ALL AFTERNOON tomorrow!!”
Drat. She’s right.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:03 P.M.
I notice that Gracie hasn’t posted anything since we stopped speaking. Should I unfollow her on Twitter?
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:07 P.M.
No. There are some things in life you can never get over and I think that may just be one of them.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 5:35 P.M.
Fighting with a compulsion to post a clip from Bad Blood. The urge is almost primal. But I feel like that would be returning to my less mature, summer self. Oh God. Looking back at some of my tweets about Leon from July:
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
You’re my first and last and I’m NOTHING to you
(Why Barry White?! Why?! I blame my mother for constantly playing him.) And then in my even more pathetic, sad moments:
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
You should always give someone the chance to explain if they did something wrong, before you walk away
Emma Nash @Em_Nasher
What did I do wrong?
Who am I? I might as well be posting My Chemical Romance song lyrics.
In fact, that would have been less embarrassing.
Anyway, I have deleted all those cringe-worthy tweets. I will never again be attention-seeking on the internet, hoping that he will see and be persuaded to change his mind, and I will not sink to the level of having an internet-go at Gracie through Taylor Swift lyrics.
I fleetingly wonder what she’s thinking, if she’s upset or guilty, or satisfied? Then I go back to pretending she doesn’t exist.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:08 P.M.
Heather is round for dinner, which is always a welcome distraction from misery. She left her glasses on the train, and her phone on the bus.
“It was only when I was looking out the window I realized my vision was a little blurry!” she chirruped, laughing away.
How?
Anyway, I see that she is now the proud new owner of the dinosaur phone.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 6:53 P.M.
THE CHEWITS ARE GONE
“Oh, by the way, Emma, you really need to clean your room more,” Mum said.
“What? Why? It’s fine.”
“I had to throw away this gross bundle of rubbish from under your bed.”
“Ew, what rubbish?! I don’t have rubbish.”
Then it hit me.
“Mum, WHY were you under my bed?!”
“I thought you might have some spare glasses to help Heather.”
“Well don’t!! Don’t go in my room, and stay away from my things!! Agh, I can’t believe you threw them away!!”
“Threw what away?!”
Now I’m in my room, staring at the blank space under my bed where the Chewit wrapper collection used to be. I think this time last week I might have been more upset, but now it feels weirdly prophetic. I started crying loudly and gutturally. Mum came in.
“What on Earth is that noise? You’re disturbing Heather.”
Then she saw me crying on the floor.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
I couldn’t breathe properly or form words so I shook my head in response. Mum retreated slowly from the room.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 7:44 P.M.
The crying has stopped. I definitely feel a lot better this time around, Leon-wise. Comparatively, anyway. I still feel totally rejected and abandoned, but like my core being is still intact. Like he hasn’t managed to get at some part of me that he did before. He’s treated me like I’m worthless but I don’t feel worthless, if you see what I mean.
But Gracie... I keep going over it in my head. Gracie reading through my blog. Gracie clicking “publish.” Gracie watching me cry at school and not saying anything. I just don’t understand.
At least before, when it was just about Leon and Greg, it was just...boys. Somehow this makes all that seem a bit...stupid. Now that the problem is my friends I feel worse than ever before. Like my foundations have been shaken and I’m not sure how I’ll ever stand up again, let alone carry on.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:15 P.M.
Making another dress on the sewing machine. Still feeling numb but quite creative. Heather came in and peered at the designs and said it looked “wonderful.” Earlier on I heard Heather describe a fridge magnet as “wonderful” but I’m going to take the compliment anyway.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 10:50 P.M.
Faith called.
“Emma, I think you should talk to Gracie.”
I snorted.
“Look, I know you’re upset, but so is she.”
“Oh, boo-hoo.”
“I know she did a bad thing. But...you aren’t without fault here.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can be quite mean to her.”
“She’s mean to me!!!”
“I know, but...look, just talk to her, all right?”
“No.”
“Emma, come on.”
“No.”
FRIDAY, 24 OCTOBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 2:35 P.M.
In Home Ec
Pretending Gracie doesn’t exist is so much harder when she’s sitting next to me. Why did I choose a recipe that only takes me fifteen minutes, AGAIN? Stupid syllabub. Now I’m just sitting here twiddling my thumbs, which is making my blatant ignoring even more obvious. I only picked it because I wanted to hear it over and over in conversation with Ms. McElroy. But she said,
“So, Emma, how do you feel the syllabub emerged today? Tell me about the syllabub’s journey.”
And I felt nothing. It’s a sad day when the word syllabub doesn’t even elicit a smile.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:07 P.M.
My syllabub isn’t very mousse-like. It’s runny and yellow and looks like washing-up liquid. Tastes like it, too. Gracie would normally make fun of it, but she’s concentrating really hard on her muffins rising in the oven. She looks like she’s about to cry.
Oh God, I think I might cry.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 4:50 P.M.
Back Home
Gracie opened her mouth a few times, but then stopped herself. I could see her in the corner of my eye.
Eventually, I said, “Sorry, did you want to look at my phone? There’s probably loads on it you can humiliate me with. The passcode is 1989.”
I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth, because then Gracie really did cry, and so did I. Everyone was staring at us (including Apple, who looked deeply uncomfortable). Ms. McElroy said we needed to go and “express our emotions” and excused us from class. I’m pretty sure she thought we were actually crying over the failed syllabub.
I went into a cubicle and really let rip, in that sort of loud, snotty way that can also sound a bit like guffawing. I could hear Gracie sniffling outside. Then she came and squished in next to me, locking the door.
“Emma, I’m really sorry,” she choked.
“Why did you do it?” I asked, mascara running down my face.
“I just...ugh, it seems so silly now. I came upstairs and I was having a really crap evening. I felt really insecure because I thought no one was coming. And then when people did come I wasn’t even having a good time. I don’t know, I felt really lonely and just a bit socially out of it, you know? Like I’d been looking forward to this for so long. And... I don’t know. I know it’s silly, but I guess I’d been hoping that maybe I’d get with someone. And you were just running around between Greg and Leon and I just... You’re really lucky.”
“Lucky?” I scoffed. I’d never thought about it like that before. “Gracie, the only boy I’ve ever really liked pretends I don’t even exist.”
“But Greg doesn’t. Greg really likes you and you were treating him like he didn’t even matter.”
I felt a stab of guilt.
“So what? This is punishment for my bad behavior?”
“No! Maybe... I don’t know. I just came upstairs, feeling sorry for myself and a bit annoyed at you, I guess. And then I saw that you’d left your blog open. I know I shouldn’t have, but I started reading it, and, you know...”
I blinked. “What?”
“‘An Ode to Steph’? ‘Reasons That Faith Is One of the Best Humans I Know’?”
And suddenly it dawned on me.
“I mean...what about me, Emma? I’m your friend, too. And then I shouldn’t have, but I searched my name, and all that was coming up was just horrible, mean stuff. And the worst part is I knew it would be. I did it on purpose. I don’t know why I even looked, when I knew it would make me upset.”
I knew the feeling.
“Is that all I am to you?” she went on. “A joke?”
“No, of course not,” I said, feeling genuinely ashamed. “It’s just venting. Like the post about Leon. True friends are always horrible to each other. You know...like on Girls.”
“Am I your friend?” she asked.
“Am I yours?”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“I guess we’ve both been pretty crap,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she looked so sad and small.
“I’m really sorry, too, Gracie.”
We were silent for a moment, and then we hugged. I could feel her wet cheeks soaking into my shirt.
“I’m sorry I ruined things for you and Leon,” she said into my shoulder.
“You didn’t ruin it,” I said, “he ruined it.”
When we got back into the classroom she patted me gingerly on the arm and said, “I’ll pour your syllabub down the drain for you if you like.”
And I knew we were going to be OK.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 9:01 P.M.
Inspecting my eyes for signs of another lurking sty. Thankfully there isn’t one...yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I probably deserve it for being so horrible to Greg.
Greg. I wonder what Greg’s doing? Does he still like me? Or does he hate me?
SATURDAY, 25 OCTOBER
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 12:06 P.M.
Saw a picture of Greg playing football with his friends. Posted twenty minutes ago. He looks OK. If only there was a way to know from it how he was actually feeling... I wonder if he’s talki
ng to other girls already? AGH, I need to stop thinking about this.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 2:17 P.M.
Fighting the compulsion to read Greg’s comment conversations and try to detect potential flirtations. I called Faith.
“Do you think Greg is talking to other girls?”
“I think if he were, that would be his prerogative.”
“You’re always right.”
“I know. Don’t try to find out.”
“I won’t...”
“Are you and Gracie all right now?”
“We’ve got a long way to go, but we will be.”
“Good. That’s good. I have to go. Hope wants to look at me in various ugly bridesmaid dresses. Oh by the way... GUESS WHAT.”
“What?”
“Guess.”
“You had sex?!”
“NO. Why do you always think that?”
“Sorry. It’s my vagina talking.”
“Well, I signed up for this new sketch class on Saturdays, and there’s this girl...”
“OH MY GOD.”
“What? You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“Well, now it’s going to be really anticlimactic. I followed her and we’ve been liking each other’s tweets and I think she’s really cool. But it could just be a friend thing for her. I don’t know. That’s it. That’s my news.”
“OH MY GOD!!”
“Shut up.”
“No really, that’s really great!!”
“It feels like she might like me. But I don’t know...”
“She likes you.”
“She might not.”
“She likes you. I hope you have more luck with her than I did with Paolo. Or Alex.”
“Me, too, no offense. Bye bye now. AND DON’T STALK GREG.”
“I won’t!!!”
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:04 P.M.
Opened the laptop.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 3:06 P.M.
Closed the laptop.
POSTED BY EDITINGEMMA 8:43 P.M.
Went downstairs. Mum was sitting on the sofa crying into a bag of crisps watching American Gigolo. I sat on the sofa with her. It’s not really a sad film but somehow her crying has made me cry, and I’m just so angry at the gross injustice Richard Gere is facing. Why is he being set up? He doesn’t deserve this.