“ARGH! Get out!” I scream, flinging my headphones off, and sitting bolt upright. “How did you get in?”
Why the hell can’t he leave me alone? Why is he intent on making everything a million times worse? I would have quite happily skulked at the back at the orientation today. It would have been shit, but at least everyone would soon have forgotten about me. But, no! He has to make it all about him. It’s all about Jack! Jack, Jack, bloody Jack!
“‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?” Jack says. “I’d know that bass line anywhere.”
“Get. Out. Why are you here?”
“I’ve been talking with your folks.”
I glare at him.
“We have a proposal.”
I open my mouth to give it to him, but—
“Please do not reply with something along the lines of, ‘Well, I propose you get out of my room’,” Jack says.
“Well, I do propose that!”
“I’ll be downstairs,” he replies, smiling and heading out of the door.
I’m boiling over with so much fury and indignation I honestly don’t know what to do with myself, so I kick my wastepaper basket across my room.
“Nate!” Mum’s voice calls up from downstairs. “What are you doing up there?”
I want to scream.
I do scream.
“NATE!” Mum again. “Don’t make me come upstairs!”
I silently jump about on the spot, arms flailing, while I mouth, “Fuuuuuuuuuck oooooooffffff!” I make a huge, exaggerated wanking gesture at the door. Then Mum walks in. I freeze. She just looks at me, slowly blinks, and says, “Whatever you’re doing, stop it and come downstairs.”
She turns, leaves, and I bow my head and follow her out.
My dad and Jack (legs crossed, all serene), are in the lounge, waiting. “Sit down,” Mum says.
I plonk myself on the end of the sofa. Jack’s at the opposite end examining his fingernails. I flick my eyes to Dad.
“So!” Dad begins. “An idea for you! You’re not keen on this road trip id—”
“Road trip with structure,” Mum interrupts.
“Road trip with structure idea of ours, so we have a thought for you.”
Finally. Hopefully they’re about to suggest I can stay here and do my own thing for the summer.
“After all, you’re sixteen, and of course you don’t want to spend all your time with your loving family,” Dad continues.
“Dad, it’s not that—”
“You want to spend time with people your own age,” Dad says.
I release a breath. Thank god, they’re just going to leave me alone. “OK. Thank you,” I say.
“That’s fine, you’re welcome,” Dad replies. “So, that’s why we’ve asked Jack if he wants to come along on the trip too.”
My eyes widen as the blood drains from my face.
“It’ll be nice for you to have a boy your own age around!” Mum chirps.
I open my mouth, trying to form words.
No.
God, NO! I don’t want this trip at all! What’s wrong with just being sad and on your own? And even if I did want to go, being on the trip with Jack? I could go on tour with a circus clown belting show tunes through a PA system and it would be less embarrassing and more chilled than spending weeks in close proximity to Jack. Oh god! Everything is wrong. Everything.
I start shaking my head. “I, no, I don’t want a boy my own age, I’ve just been left heartbroken by a boy my own age, I hate boys my own age, they’re the absolute worst.”
“It’ll be nice for you to have a friend, Nate!” Mum says, smiling like there’s no problem here. “Someone to talk to, someone who knows exactly what you’ve been through—”
“Oh, please, god, no,” I mutter.
“Jack could be a bit like a therapist!” Mum declares.
I look at her in disbelief. “He’s not a therapist! He’s a … mental … ist!”
“Harsh and hurtful,” Jack says.
“Apologize,” Mum tells me.
“No.”
“Say you’re sorry. That was mean,” Mum insists.
I clamp my mouth shut.
Dad grins. “Well, you know who loves boys who are rude?”
I inhale sharply. “Dad, no.” I turn quickly to Jack. “Sorry, Jack.”
“Do we know who loves boys who are rude?”
Jack is all ears. “Who? Who loves them?”
“Nate?” Dad grins, flexing his fingers.
“OK! I’m being nice! I’ve apologized to Jack! I’m … please, can you just—” I indicate Jack. “No.”
“Tickle Monster!” Dad declares, launching himself at me, waggling his fingers.
I scream and try to dart out of his grasp, but he’s too quick, he’s got me, and my humiliation is utterly complete as he starts to actually tickle me like a small kid. Worse, I am super ticklish, so it looks like I’m probably enjoying this.
When he’s done, I’m gasping on the floor, exhausted and spent.
“Have a chat with Jack – offer’s there,” Dad says.
He and Mum leave.
Jack runs his tongue over his lips. “So, that was tremendous.”
I scramble back up to the sofa.
“If you don’t want me to come, I won’t,” he says.
“How did this even come up?”
“I don’t know, your parents suggested it.”
“And you agreed! Why would you do that? Why would you want to come on their stupid trip anyway?”
He shrugs. “I know it would have been a pretty crappy summer, it’s just it would have been a little less crappy than staying in town, constantly bumping into Dylan and Tariq being love’s young dream. But it’s fine, forget it, I won’t come.”
“Good.”
“Sure. You, your folks and your little sister in a camper van. It’ll be just like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, minus the drag queens and all the fun.”
I close my eyes because, as god is my witness, I am not spending the summer in a camper van with my family. And why Jack even considered it might be a good idea is beyond me. We’ve barely spoken for three years. We’ve only been brought back together by some treachery of the highest order – that’s not a basis for restarting a friendship, especially when we blatantly do nothing except irritate the hell out of each other.
“Jack, I’m not going anywhere in a camper van with anyone. Not gonna happen. You know, and maybe this thing with Tariq and Dylan will blow over and he’ll … well, whatever.”
Jack squints at me. “I’m sorry, what? You’re expecting Tariq to come back to you?”
I shrug. I don’t really know if I think that or not. Maybe, with me coming out at prom, Tariq can see I’m changing. Maybe he’ll start to see we could be “out there” and “living life” after all. But, whatever, I have no intention of discussing any of this with Jack, of all people.
“Oh, OK. You’re serious. Amazing.”
“Whatever. I’m just going to have a quiet summer here, doing my thing.”
“Oh, please! Doing what?” Jack laughs. “You’ll just spend your entire summer masturbating, it’s horribly inevitable.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. “That’s simply not true.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JACK
So I walk out of Nate’s house, and that’s that, he’s not up for it, whatever.
And, like, the very next day, I see him in the chemist, and he’s literally holding a bottle of hand lotion and a box of Kleenex, and I don’t need to say anything, I just raise my eyebrow, and he knows. He knows.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NATE
Jack’s face in the chemist’s says it all, I know exactly what he’s thinking and, just so we’re clear, I’m buying Sudocrem because I have this patch of eczema on my forearm that comes up when I get stressed.
Also, tissues are tissues, there’s nothing going on there, not that I have to explain myself to anyone, Jack can go to hell with his sugges
tive eyebrow raising and knowing smirks.
Anyway, the next day, I’m applying the aforementioned healing cream and wiping my greasy fingers on a tissue when Jack appears in my bedroom again, my parents clearly just treating him like a member of the family and letting him come and go as he pleases. The fact he doesn’t immediately crack a joke about the scene he has walked into puts me on edge.
He doesn’t speak, he just hands me his phone, which is displaying the most recent post on Dylan’s Instagram account: him and Tariq in the first pic, a couple of plane tickets in the second pic, Dylan kissing Tariq on the cheek in the third pic, and the pair of them clinking cocktail glasses together, laughing, in the final pic. And it begins to occur to me that Tariq seems to quite like Dylan, you know, there’s a lot of smiling and happiness going on in the pics, a lot of love, and the dull ache that’s been in my stomach for days suddenly becomes a stabbing pain, and I feel a bit sick, and cold, and, and, huh, I think the odds of me getting Tariq back just got a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JACK
I needed him to see this. I don’t deny part of it is selfish: I wanted someone to be indignant with. But also, Nate needs to stop being in denial – Tariq ain’t coming back any time soon, and hard as it is, the sooner Nate can accept that, the better.
He’s pacing the room, rubbing the back of his neck, chewing his lip and staring at the screen. “‘Summer with this one’?” he mutters, reading the caption. “This one? God, I hate that phrase, why can’t you just use his name? ‘This one’ is second only to ‘the boy’ in the league of top phrases used by tossers!” He clears his throat and glances at me. I nod my agreement. Other than grown adults who count down to a significant event by telling you how many “sleeps” remain, it’s the absolute worst.
“Loads of stuff planned, and just booked for Ibiza later in August, flying Club Europe?” Nate scoffs. “Ha! Courtesy of Tariq’s minted dad, that is! ‘Summer of frigging love’? I mean, that sounds … corny?”
He looks at me again. I nod again.
“How is this even a thing? How has it got so many likes?” He scratches at his forearm. “Hashtag living our best frickin’ life? Hashtag gay? Hashtag Instagay? Hashtag gay boys? Hashtag gay couple? I dunno, do you think they’re possibly gay or something?” He throws the phone on his bed. “AAAAARGGHHH!” he screams. “They’re such TOSSERS! Such utter DICKS! Fuck me, I HATE THEM BOTH!”
“Good, Nate, goooood,” I purr. “Let the hate flow through you!”
“SHUT UP!” he barks. “What’s in the comments?”
“Don’t read them,” I tell him.
“Let me see.”
He grabs the phone again and scrolls down, his breathing erratic. And then he collapses on his bed.
“Please don’t cry,” I tell him.
But he’s consumed with tears. I probably shouldn’t have shown him, though at least it looks like he’s running the full gamut of all the stages of grief, so I guess that’s good?
“Why did they have to do this?” he sobs. “Why is everyone so happy for them? Why does no one else see that they’ve completely screwed us over and now they’re acting like everything’s fine? I don’t get it. I don’t get any of it.”
“Well,” I say. “That’s probably more to do with me than anything.”
“Why, what have you done now?”
He’s staring at me, and I can’t take it, so I drop my eyes to the floor. “I haven’t done anything, Nate. It’s just me, isn’t it? People don’t like me.” I fiddle with the bracelet around my wrist. “The bullying only stopped when I got together with Dylan, and now I’m not, the knives are out.” I feel a thickness in my throat, but then I remember it’s Nate I’m talking to, so it doesn’t matter, he won’t use it against me.
“It’s not everyone. You’ve got friends.”
I look back up at him, and it’s his turn to look away. For a moment I wish it was like it used to be, when he’d put an arm across my shoulders and tell me to ignore the haters. He starts scratching at his arm again.
“You’ll make it worse,” I tell him.
He stops scratching, grabs the phone, and starts going through the rest of Dylan’s pictures, sniffling, probably barely able to see the screen through the blur of tears. He’s a mess. I’m a mess too, but right now, I’m less of a mess than him, and this has got to stop. Dylan and Tariq have already ruined prom, and they’re about to ruin our summer. And one thing I’m sure of – I don’t think you should allow other people to dictate your happiness.
“Nate?” I say gently. “We need to turn this around.”
He doesn’t reply, just laughs contemptuously.
“Only we have the power to do that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.
I turn an idea around in my head. “They’re not the only ones who can have a good summer.”
He laughs again. “Oh, sure, I mean if they could see us now!”
“They don’t have to win—”
“They’ve already won! Don’t you see? They’ve won! They’re kissing and drinking cocktails, and booked to fly Club Europe, and I’m—”
“Sitting on your bed, surrounded by wank tissues, crying at Instagram.”
He looks up at me and takes a deep, unsteady breath. “Sudocrem!” he barks at me. “I have a patch of eczema!”
“Right, well, as fabulous as all that sounds, I think we can do one better.”
He looks at me with dead eyes.
“We’ll have an amazing summer too.”
“Bullshit. How?”
“OK,” I say. “So, this has literally just occurred to me—”
“We’re not doing the thing with my parents.”
“And I think doing the thing with your parents is the perfect opportunity.”
“Brilliant.” He looks like he’s about to cry again.
But I reckon this is possibly my best idea ever. A way to wipe the smug smile off Dylan’s face, to show the world I’ve moved on… And, hey, maybe even to gain enough followers to finally launch myself as an influencer and have some brands want me to review their new cosmetics or herbal teabags. I’m going to get over this thing, and if I’m getting over it, I’m bringing Nate with me, kicking and screaming, if I have to. It might have been three years since we were properly friends, but I’m not going to leave him behind, wallowing in his grief, unhappy and unloved. Nate deserves better than that.
“Hear me out,” I tell him. “Social media is a lie. We all know it, but we all buy into it anyway. Instagram is only ever the highlights reel, right? Famous for it. It’s the best bits, carefully curated to make the world think you’re happy, successful, or whatever. And, believe me, you can dress up pretty much anything to look fabulous. Things can look fabulous, when really they’re…” I swallow and glance away briefly.
“They’re not?” Nate offers.
“Huh? Exactly!” I give him a huge smile. “Highlights reel, baby! This has every chance of being the worst summer road trip ever, with your parents, of all things. But we could make it look amazing … if we fake it! Me and you, on the road together! How do our followers know that road is really the A46 to the arse-end of nowhere? Having the time of our lives! If we say we are, then it must be true, right? What better way to show Dylan and Tariq—”
Nate groans and throws himself back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“What better way to show everyone that Jack and Nate are happier than ever before? Happier, out there, living life!”
Nate carries on staring at the ceiling, chewing his lip. “Happier, out there, living life?”
“Right!” I say.
Nate sits up again, a look of determination on his face. My eyes widen in anticipation.
“No,” he mutters finally.
I sigh. I feel my whole body deflate.
“Not just a highlights reel. If we’re gonna do it, it’s got to be the best. The mo
st epic highlights reel ever.”
Mum is characteristically unconcerned about the fact I’ve packed a load of bags and am clearly leaving the house.
“I’m going on a summer road trip,” I tell her.
She doesn’t look up from the piles of papers she’s sifting through on the dining table. “Sounds lovely.”
“Uh-huh.”
I wait to see if there’s any more – I don’t know, some parental objection, some questions – but there isn’t.
“So, yes,” I continue, “I’m basically just going with these two middle-aged blokes I met hanging around the children’s play park?”
“Mmm…”
“One of them isn’t actually allowed to drive after he lost his license, but the other one is fine to, as long as he’s had a few drinks to stop his hands shaking at the wheel.”
“Yup…”
“They’ve asked me to take as many packets of Sudafed as I can lay my hands on, but I guess they’re just worried about nasal congestion, right?”
Mum looks up at me. “Nate’s mum called me last night, but very amusing, Jack.”
“Huh.”
“Sounds like a nice idea. I didn’t realize you and Nate were still friends.”
“Well, we’re … we’re not, really. I mean, I don’t think. Not like we used to be.”
Mum nods. “Sounds dreary. I’ve put some money in your account.”
“Amazing. Thank you.”
She taps her pen up and down on the table. “If by any chance you’re passing near Norwich, why don’t you message your cousin and see if he’s about?”
“Elliot? Pourquoi?”
Mum shrugs, which is a super-suspicious reaction from her. “He’s your cousin, and you haven’t seen him for a couple of years.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Be nice for you all to hang out, maybe. Do whatever it is teenage boys get up to.”
“OK, you made that sound a lot more gross than was necessary,” I say.
Heartbreak Boys Page 8