Lola Offline

by Nicola Doherty

  ‘But I do all of those things,’ she said, wide-eyed.

  The truth was, that did sound like Fletcher in lots of ways – not least because this seemed to be the first time she’d heard the expression. I’d never seen her really even use the internet aside from Instagram – she seemed to get all of her information from out-of-date magazines, like this one.

  ‘Look,’ I tried. ‘That’s a really stupid, sexist expression. Misogynist, even. I mean, there’s no male equivalent, is there?’

  She looked back at the list. ‘Her style icon is Kate Middleton,’ she read. ‘My style icon is Kate Middleton!’

  ‘Fletcher, there’s nothing wrong with being mainstream,’ I said. ‘Who cares if you like Pumpkin Spice Latte? It’s nice! You should just like what you like.’ I paused, as I thought about how I could do with taking that advice.

  ‘And anyway, they’re totally wrong about you never doing anything to surprise anyone.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you dumped Hunter. That was sassy.’

  ‘Maybe. But I still feel like the whole school is laughing at me.’

  ‘They’re not, at all. They’re laughing at him. Him and his stupid pancakes.’

  ‘Thanks, Lola.’ She brightened. ‘Actually something nice did happen today.’

  ‘Oh, what?’ I came over and sat on the end of her bed.

  ‘Tariq asked me to the ball. Wasn’t that sweet of him?’

  Her happy expression felt like a blow to my stomach. My throat suddenly felt as though it was closing up. I managed to say, ‘Very sweet.’

  ‘I think he knew I was dreading going by myself. It’s not a romantic thing, obviously, but it’s so nice not to have to go alone.’ She gave a little frown. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not! We are just friends. Like I said.’ I tried to smile.

  ‘But even if you are just friends – you might have wanted to ask him …’

  ‘No, honestly.’ How many times would I have to lie about this?

  ‘But who will you go with?’

  ‘I’ll dig someone up.’ My smile became a rictus grin. ‘Listen, I’ve got to do my homework. I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t worry about the stupid magazine!’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Needless to say, I didn’t get much homework done.

  After barely five minutes at my desk, I got up, put my hoody on over my jeans and T-shirt, and left the building. It was warm enough, for the first time, to go out without a jacket in the evening. I walked down the rue de Vaugirard, with its cafés teeming with people sitting outside, which always reminded me of the Van Gogh painting ‘Starry Night’. Then I wandered down place Saint Sulpice. The big fountain in the middle, with its stone lions, looked more magical than ever, the water illuminated by floodlights in the spring dusk. Everything was beautiful. Everything was awful.

  The loveliness of the spring evening couldn’t distract me from Tariq and Fletcher. No wonder Tariq had asked her. She was tall and blonde and beautiful – not to mention sweet and kind and bright. They would look great in photographs. Maybe he was even planning on asking her out. Why wouldn’t he? Miserably restless, I started walking back towards the school.

  Soon I was at the sports block, which was in an annexe a few doors down from the main building. I had never even known of its existence until a week or two ago, which said a lot about my lifestyle.

  I slipped in, looking for distractions. Maybe I would even go to the gym? Not something I’d ever have contemplated before. But I had a lot more energy now that I was running.

  The sports annexe was like a smaller version of our building, built around the same courtyard plan. At the far end of the courtyard was a low window where you could see into the basement where the the fencing court was. There was a light on, and I came closer to see.

  A pair of boys were sparring, while the rest watched. With their white uniforms and black masks, they looked like something from a costume drama.

  The taller one was obviously winning. He seemed to be a step ahead of his opponent at all times, stabbing with his long blade. Then the second guy seemed to rally, pushing back. I’d never thought fencing was easy, but as I watched them lunge back and forth, arms reaching and thighs straining, I realised just how hard it must be.

  There was something about this display of masculine aggression that was very, well, sexy. I didn’t even know these guys but you could tell how strong they were. And fit.

  Just then, the shorter boy ducked to avoid the taller one’s blade, and swung in with a sneaky counter-attack. But the taller one swung away from the blow and came back with one of his own, pinning his sword right to the centre of his opponent’s chest. The electric sensors buzzed.

  ‘Touché,’ said the smaller one, holding up his hand.

  They drew off their black masks, and saluted, before pulling off a glove each for a left-handed handshake. As the taller one turned round, I felt a shock that wasn’t a total shock. Because I had known, on some level, that it was Tariq.

  He looked up, and I stepped back quickly into the darkness, before he could see me.

  It was as if I’d seen him getting out of the shower or something. Though that would actually be less disturbing than the way he looked right now – hair flattened with sweat, dark face flushed against his white vest. Basically, a picture I would be unable to forget any time soon.

  One of his fencing-mates – one of the girls – was helping unzip the back of his vest. His T-shirt, underneath, was also soaked with sweat. For the second time today, I was shot through with jealousy.

  I turned round and started walking, feeling my misery multiply with every step.

  How could I have been so stupid? To fall for someone so far out of my league, without even realising I was doing it. To think that we were just friends, when actually I had a giant, painful crush on him, which was probably visible to the eye, like the Ready Brek glow. I doubted I would ever be able to look him in the eye again.

  My heart sank even further as I realised how much I would miss him. He was my best friend here – or he had been. Fletcher and Kiyoshi were great, and I still liked Vee – with reservations – but Tariq was the person I would miss the most. But I had caught feelings for him. Which meant that we could never be friends again the way we used to be.

  ‘The gym’s about to close, you know.’

  It was one of the teaching assistants. I hurried off to bed, hoping not to bump into Tariq, or anyone else, on the way.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  It was fairly easy to avoid Tariq for the rest of the week. As exam season was approaching, everyone was starting to spend more and more time in their rooms or in the library, fuelled by endless coffees and junk food. I was under much less pressure because I was only doing the certificate. So I had extra time to brood, and also to agonise over my outfit for the ball. I knew I wanted to wear black, with a veil – but I didn’t want to look like a Gothic Miss Havisham. I was gloomy enough as it was. And also, even though I knew Tariq wouldn’t be looking at me, I really wanted him to see me at my best. Whatever that was.

  ‘I just get really confused about clothes in general,’ I said to Fletcher one day, when we were sitting in my room studying. ‘I never know whether I want to look classic, or edgy, or rock chick or cute, or what.’ I held up my ripped jeans and my trench coat.

  ‘Can’t you be both?’ Fletcher said. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, one day you could wear something edgy. And another day you could dress as preppy girl. Depending on how you feel.’ She beamed. ‘And you could combine them. I mean, those jeans would go great with that trench. And your Great Catsby sweater … Which I love, by the way … Couldn’t you wear that with your little suede skirt?’

  I stared at all the items she mentioned, my head practically spinning.

  ‘Fletcher,’ I said, ‘you’re a genius.’

  To test her theory, I whipped on my ripped jeans with my polo neck, and stepped int
o my high heels. ‘No, that looks weird, though.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I think the polo neck is fighting with the heels.’

  ‘Yes! Let me try with my ankle boots instead.’

  That worked perfectly. So did the heels with one of my slogan T-shirts.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that before,’ I admitted. I sat down. ‘This sounds crazy, but I feel like I’ve been wearing different clothes almost based on who I’m with, instead of what I want.’

  ‘Unless you’re meeting the Pope, that doesn’t make sense,’ she agreed.

  ‘Do you ever feel like you’re a different person depending on who you’re talking to?’ I said. ‘I sometimes feel like my friends come from such different worlds, it means I’m leading a double life. Or a triple one.’

  Fletcher considered this. ‘I don’t think that’s a bad thing, though,’ she said. ‘The fact that you have different types of friends doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. It shows that your personality has lots of different facets, which is good. I feel like my friends and I used to all dress the same and act the same. And that wasn’t great either.’ She made a face. ‘That reminds me … Have you heard? Hunter is furious that Tariq’s asked me to the ball. Apparently he said to Riley, “This means war”.’

  ‘Ugh,’ I tried to say sympathetically. Though it was hard to sympathise with the problem of two men fighting over you, when I couldn’t even stay friends with one. Looking on the bright side: if Tariq and I weren’t friends any more, that was one less alternative life to worry about.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘Turn around,’ said Fletcher.

  Kiyoshi turned around slowly, revealing his outfit; a sharp white suit, shirt and tie.

  ‘It is uh-may-zing,’ said Fletcher. ‘Honestly Kiyoshi, you look like a hot Disney prince.’

  ‘Really? Thanks,’ he said, with a smile, smoothing his hair back and looking at himself critically. ‘I do like this suit.’

  It was finally Saturday; the day of the ball, and we were in Fletcher’s room getting ready. I had bought a simple black dress from the supermarket Monoprix, and Kiyoshi had unearthed a fabulous waterfall of a black lace veil with scalloped edges. I’d never put on a veil before and I had to say, it did make a person look fairly mysterious and magical. We had all taken turns trying it on, even Kiyoshi. But I felt sad as I thought that, no matter how good I looked, it would make no difference to Tariq. He would be along to pick Fletcher up shortly. I had to be gone by then.

  ‘It looks perfect with your hair,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘Do you think?’ I patted my hair cautiously. The night before, I had dyed it back to my original dark brown. It was a scary step but I felt happy about it. I was finally feeling a bit more like myself. Or rather, I finally felt that I knew who that was.

  ‘You look like a Sicilian widow on the way to a Mafioso funeral,’ Kiyoshi was saying.

  ‘Oh no,’ I said suddenly. ‘You don’t think that it’s going to be, like, triggering? Or that I’m being insensitive to people who’ve lost loved ones …’

  Kiyoshi and Fletcher stared at me blankly.

  ‘Nobody is going to think that,’ said Kiyoshi. ‘Now, what do I do with my hair? Product or no product?’

  ‘No product!’ Fletcher said. ‘You have such great hair, it doesn’t need anything.’

  To my great surprise, Fletcher and Kiyoshi had become pretty friendly over the couple of weeks. She had already heard all about the Marco Agnelli situation and advised being cool, not replying to all his messages, and letting him make the first move. Kiyoshi, in turn, had been helping her with her maths homework and also her costume, though she had refused his suggestion of a rubber Black Widow-type costume.

  ‘I just assumed she would be homophobic,’ he admitted to me. ‘Which makes an ass out of me and me.’

  ‘Where’s Vee?’ I asked Kiyoshi, as he finished his winged eyeliner. ‘I haven’t seen her in days. She hasn’t replied to my texts either.’

  ‘Oh, she’s with Priya I think. I asked her if she wanted to get ready with us and she said no.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Is she still planning on wearing her US flag?’ Fletcher asked. Vee had been planning to wrap herself in an enormous Stars and Stripes to depict the Triumph of Imperialist Capitalism.

  ‘I think so,’ said Kiyoshi, looking worried. ‘I really really hope it doesn’t cause a fight.’

  Then, of course, there were the obligatory selfies. I was worried about them going on Instagram but at least I had a big heavy veil. If only I could wear it all the time.

  ‘When is your date picking you up?’ Kiyoshi asked me, grinning.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said.

  The day before, I had received an invitation from Richard – the Star Trek fan in the year below us. I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  Fletcher said reassuringly, ‘Honestly, Lola, everybody will know that you’re just being kind by going with him. That’s if anybody notices at all.’

  I nodded sadly. That was how it looked to Fletcher, because she was so nice, but the world would judge it differently. She was also probably the only girl in the school who had resisted the urge to get sexy in her costume – instead wearing brown leggings, a suede waist-coat and a white shirt, and a toy bow and arrow over her shoulder.

  ‘That’s Tariq,’ she said, checking her phone. ‘He’s going to come over. He says he’s even got a corsage for me!’

  ‘A what? Where did he even get one?’ said Kiyoshi. ‘A museum?’

  ‘Cool!’ I said. ‘Oh, sorry. I just remembered I have to do a thing though – I have to, um, call my parents. I’ll see you both at the Ball, OK?’

  Kiyoshi called after me, ‘Don’t get so busy making out with Richard that you forget the ball is on. I know what you crazy kids are like!’

  I bolted back to my room, to the sound of their merry laughter.

  Chapter Fifty

  It was reassuring in a way that, even though Jean Monnet was so sophisticated, the Ball was still a school ball like any other, in the same hall where we had assembly. There were the white lights – installed under Fletcher’s supervision by the school’s grumpy caretaker after much signing of forms. There was a long table with punch, plastic cups, and a modest amount of beers and the controversial snacks. It wasn’t quite a magical fairyland, but it looked very pretty.

  Rose, in a plunging, feathery pink dress, clearly didn’t care that Fletcher had got her way on snacks. Priya, in a dress covered in hearts, was waltzing around with Tyger, who was dressed as, well, a tiger. No surprises there.

  ‘Hello, Lola.’

  It was Vee. Contrary to what she’d said, she was wearing a very severe Greek-style dress that set her olive skin off perfectly. Her hair was caught up on top of her head, and she wore a crown of green leaves. Of course; she was the Greek goddess Victory. I had never seen her look so stunning.

  ‘You look fantastic, Vee,’ I said sincerely. ‘Where’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘Here and there,’ she smiled. ‘What are you meant to be exactly?’

  ‘Sorrow,’ I explained. ‘Lola is short for Dolores which means Sorrow. Bit of a weird one, but there it is.’

  ‘Yeah, it is weird,’ she said, musingly. ‘Especially because …’

  She paused weirdly, making me feel nervous.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said brightly, after a minute. ‘Enjoy the party.’ And she was gone.

  I had no time to speculate about what that was all about, because Richard was back with two paper cups full of beer.

  ‘Thanks!’ I put back my veil, and necked mine gratefully. It had to be said, Richard was being a pretty good date so far. To get me beer was thoughtful. Positive thinking, I told myself.

  ‘It should be Romulan ale, shouldn’t it!’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said weakly.

  Richard, of course, was wearing a Star Trek outfit. A full, mustard-coloured Captain Kirk uniform. I knew
this would happen. I was fairly certain that he would have worn this even to the original Venetian Ball.

  ‘Doesn’t your name mean “king”?’ I asked him. I had googled this to make sure I knew what to expect in terms of his costume.

  But Richard was ready for me. ‘Aha. You see, I’m actually dressed as Captain Kirk in Season One, Episode Fourteen, which of course is called …’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The Conscience of the King! Get it? It’s the one where Kirk is sent to Planet Q, to investigate this guy who’s pretending to be an actor putting on Hamlet, but he’s actually a mass murderer. At least, Kirk is originally sent there to investigate this new food source …’

  I looked around the room. I had just seen Tariq come in, with Fletcher. He was wearing … football gear? Oh, of course. His name meant ‘Striker’. I just so happened to have googled that, too. He and Fletcher were talking to Nicolas and Rose, and they all looked like they were having a fabulous time.

  ‘Of course,’ Richard was saying, ‘I could also have dressed as King Abdullah of Jordan. He actually appeared in an episode in Season Two. That’s Star Trek: The Next Generation obviously. I can’t remember the episode number. Let me see. I can google it …’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said quickly.

  The next hour crawled by. I talked to Richard’s computer-nerdy friends. Kiyoshi and Marco Agnelli seemed to be getting on great. Tariq and Fletcher were everywhere to be seen, though I avoided them as much as possible. Hunter caused a stir by appearing in full army camouflage, with a fake gun that the teachers immediately took away from him. American Ben, one of Richard’s friends, horrified me by saying he wanted to vote for him.

  ‘I really like pancakes,’ was all he could say.

  ‘Hi,’ said a voice behind us.

  It was Tariq, in his blue football shorts and blue-and-white strip. I tried not to stare at his legs.

  ‘You look nice, Lola.’ His gaze travelled up to my hair, and he smiled. ‘I miss the pink, though.’