Heartbreak Boys

by Simon James Green

  “Um … the YouTubers party?” I say.

  She nods and smiles. “Third floor.”

  “Thanks!” I say, pressing the button for the lift. “This is all very smooth,” I whisper to Nate and Elliot.

  “Right?” Elliot replies. “No one seems bothered that I’m only just sixteen!”

  “Pipe down!” I tell him. “Besides, all the YouTubers are young, the hotel must be cool with it. The law applies less if you’re rich, everyone knows it.”

  There’s a ping and the lift doors open. “This is it, boys, this is the moment.”

  “What moment’s that?” Nate frowns.

  “The moment we move into the upper tier of influencer society! The moment we can say we’ve made it, we’re here. Who needs a promise ring and some scabby trip to a naff Spanish island when you’re at one of London’s top hotels with all the movers and shakers?” I get my phone out again and take a selfie of us all in the lift. I’ll caption it Moving on up! because that’s clever and will hopefully piss Dylan off.

  It’s the smoothest lift I’ve ever been in. How the other half move between floors!

  The lift doors open on to some kind of nirvana.

  Fabulous people are everywhere. I have literally never seen so many beautiful individuals in one place. The clothes, the hair, the aura they’re giving off, it’s electric. Billowing drapes hang down around the room, sectioning off different areas which promise more fabulousness beyond; there are massive candles inside huge glass jars on the tables and central bar area; there are people with video cameras shooting interviews, and others getting photographs taken, using proper cameras, in front of a set of giant display boards which have various brand logos on them, just like you see at the movies!

  “Drinks?”

  I blink at the waitress standing before us with a silver tray on which there are various glasses.

  “Champagne, white and red wine, gin and tonic, or we have soft drinks at the bar too,” she says.

  Are we allowed this? I’ve no idea. I don’t want to look at Nate or Elliot, in case that looks weird and gives the game away, so I just confidently take a glass of champagne. Elliot does the same. So does Nate.

  “Cheers, thanks, that’s awesome!” Elliot says, in a really high voice that definitely gives the game away.

  The waitress smiles and weaves her way back into the crowd.

  “Is this free? Do we have to pay?” Nate asks.

  “Just go with the flow!” I tell him.

  “Because I only have ten quid and a five-pound book token on me,” he continues.

  “Let’s find Leila Bhatia,” I suggest. I glance at him. “Relax.”

  He just scowls and does anything but. I know this isn’t Nate’s sort of place, but he needs to understand this will be the icing on our Instagram cake. He’ll get over it. Besides, Nate is generally cross and grumpy at everything. We could be lying on the most opulent feather-soft pillows being fed peeled grapes by hot boys, and he’d still find reason to scowl.

  “Love you,” I mouth.

  He gives me daggers and I laugh.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  NATE

  The lift doors open on to some kind of hellscape.

  Terrible people are everywhere. I have literally never seen so many utter tossers in one place. The clothes, the hair, the aura they’re all giving off – it’s nauseating. The whole space is a fire hazard, a high-risk mix of flapping material, huge candles and eau de toilette, and, frankly, I’d happily see the lot of them go up in flames, running around with crazy self-importance as they make videos and get their picture taken in front of a big board that’s covered in logos for some new alcopop called Prohibition and something else named “Scrummy Emma’s Woodland Mix”, which I assume is granola.

  Anyway, Jack appears to be in his element, and I guess he deserves to have a nice time because I think this is basically everything he’s ever wanted, so I decide to do my best to look like I’m having an OK time, even though I stick out like a sore thumb in my chinos and hoodie, among this crowd who are wearing stuff you might normally see in nightmares. I mean, on the catwalks. The whole situation reminds me of one of those school parties attended by all the popular and mean kids. Everyone’s really good-looking, and ostensibly having a good time, but there’s an unmistakable simmering tension in the room, like, you sense that no one here really likes anyone else and behind all the bravado, everyone’s really insecure because of the amount of bitching going on.

  “Did you hear? Tom blocked Matty on Twitter and Insta after he slagged off Beth on Tumblr!” a random beautiful girl giggles to her friend as I pass by. It has the same ring to it as hundred of pieces of school gossip I’ve ever heard. It takes an age to squeeze through the crowd, so I manage to catch the reason for this influencer outrage, and apparently it has something to do with Beth endorsing a Superdrug lip balm, which, I mean, wow, right?

  I feel completely out of place swanning around with a glass of champagne in my hand, and I don’t like the taste of it at all, but Elliot downs his within seconds, so I do the same, just to show willing. No sooner than our glasses are empty, another waitress appears with two bottles of champagne and refills them. I don’t understand why everyone is being so nice and why no one has asked us for any money or ID, but I just lamely follow Jack as he winds his way through the glamorous throng, looking for Leila, while simultaneously doing some sort of live broadcast from his phone.

  Elliot tugs on my sleeve. “Why is everyone so good-looking?”

  “Right?”

  “Maybe we could tell Jack we’ll meet him at Shake Shack?” Elliot says.

  “Yeah, I fancy a Shake Shack, I like Shake Shack. I feel like I belong in Shake Shack.” I sigh. “But Jack’s wanted this for ages, so we should probably stay.”

  Elliot nods.

  “And Leila’s right – he has done a lot of stuff for me.” I shake my head, watching Jack chatting and getting a selfie with a girl I recognize from the big boards advertising granola – yes, it’s Scrummy Emma herself. “It’s just…”

  “What?” says Elliot.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s stupid.” I take a sip of my drink and hope it will help me stop worrying that this is year nine all over again – this is Jack, finding his new mates, people who are more glittering and fabulous than me, and that he’s going to leave me behind because I could never shine this brightly even if I covered myself in hairspray and set myself on fire. I can’t quite work it out though, because we had this chat, we got it all out in the open, and I totally believed Jack when he said it would never happen again, that we were friends, best friends, and that would never end. So my stomach feels heavy and my chest feels tight because…?

  Why is it not enough? Why is mates not enough for me? I don’t own him. He’s not mine. He’s going to have other friends too. What the hell is wrong with me that I don’t even want to share?

  Another waitress appears in front of us, with a huge platter of amazing snacks. She looks at me and smiles, so I smile back. I glance at the tray. Is this for us? More free things?

  “Mini burgers, mini fish and chips, chargrilled chilli prawns, and sun-dried tomato and feta mini tarts,” the waitress says.

  I chew my lip. “Um, we haven’t paid for any of this.”

  The waitress laughs, but the money thing doesn’t seem to be an issue, and she just extends the platter towards us.

  OK, I’m starving, so fine, then.

  I take the whole platter from her.

  She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Um … OK?” she replies.

  Elliot picks a prawn on a stick from the tray. “Mmm!” he says.

  Anyway, Elliot and I are standing there with this huge platter of snacks, which, frankly, is quite an inconvenient way to serve them, and the waitress just frowns and heads away again, so what’s suddenly got into her, I don’t know. It’s only when Elliot and I have settled on two small soft stools with the tray balanced across our lap
s that I realize all the other guests are just taking one item each from the food trays, before the waiting staff take the tray to someone else, and so now I feel like a total dick who has no manners and is totally uncouth but also, WHO TOLD EVERYONE ELSE HOW IT WORKS?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  JACK

  I swear to god, I leave those boys to their own devices for barely a minute, and what happens? I’ve just shared some small talk with none other than Scrummy Emma of Woodland Granola fame (who loved the idea of @TheHeartbreakBoys and suggested I take some hashtag gifted granola to promote on the account – WIN!) and have spotted Leila Bhatia up ahead, standing by herself, tapping away at her phone. I turn to make sure Nate and Elliot have followed, and I see them taking AN ENTIRE PLATTER OF FOOD from one of the waitresses, like that’s in any way what you actually do at these things. I actually can’t even. I cannot even. I have no even left. I watch in horror as they settle down on two soft pouffes with the tray balanced across their laps and they tuck in like neither of them has eaten for days. What are they doing? Do they not understand this isn’t about the food, it’s about networking?

  I’m going to have to leave them to it. I take a deep breath to expel the horror and stride up to Leila Bhatia.

  “Leila Bhatia!” I beam.

  She glances up from her phone. “Hey, Jack.” Something’s wrong. She looks tired and beaten down, not her usual sparkly self, full of positivity and inspirational life quotes.

  “A-mazing party!” I say. “Thank you so much for the invite.”

  “Getting some good pics for your highlights reel?”

  “I mean, Dylan and Tariq are going to be livid. But also this isn’t about them, because they’re basically dead to me now; this is about moving on with my life and being happy and successful with the things that I have. And now I’m here, I can see I have so much, so thank you again.”

  Leila take a deep breath and gives a wry smile. “So, you know the shit has hit the fan, right?”

  My eyes widen. “I did not know, no. Whose shit? Which fan?”

  “Turns out someone snapped a pic of me buying those burgers and carrying them back to V Machine?”

  “Ohh,” I say. “Sneaky!”

  Leila cocks her head. “Sneaky? I think you mean ‘deliberate attempt to shit-stir’, Jack!”

  I nod. ‘Yes, that’s what I meant. What happened next?”

  “Posted online, went viral, lots of people calling me a hypocrite, among an assortment of other charming names.”

  “Vile.”

  “Naturally, I respond. I announce that it’s not right for people to police what other people eat. That you don’t know what health issues or otherwise people have faced that means they need to eat certain things.”

  I nod. “Excellent.”

  “Yes,” Leila says. “And after that, most people were onside, loads of tweets of support, and lots of people saying how the person who originally called me out should mind their own business and stop causing drama.”

  I nod. “Fabulous. Damn right too.”

  Leila gives me a small grimace. “Until it materializes that the person who made the original post is in fact a fourteen-year-old, and so now I stand accused of bullying a child and sending my fans after her.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “The kid’s mum got involved, saying how her daughter saw me a role model but now I’m basically trash and pretty much a child killer in her eyes…”

  “Crazy. This is all crazy!”

  Leila nods.

  “You can’t let them win—”

  She holds her hand up. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

  I smile. “You’ve sorted it? You’ve found some perfect response?”

  “You’ll see,” Leila says. She glances over at Nate and Elliot and laughs. “They’re getting their money’s worth!”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Cute,” she says. “I love how they just don’t care.”

  “I think it’s not that they don’t care, as such – it’s blissful ignorance?”

  Leila laughs again. “Either way, respect.” She squeezes my arm. “How you doing, anyway?”

  I shrug. “Good, I guess. Dylan and Tariq did a big promise rings thing on their account which was annoying, but whatever. I think…” I glance over at Nate. “I think there are more important things.”

  “And people?”

  “Huh?”

  Leila smiles at me, then glances around the crowded room. “So! Who have you already met?”

  “Had a chat with Scrummy Emma,” I say. “How amazing to have your own granola brand in all major retailers at her age!”

  Leila looks unimpressed. “Right? It’s incredible when she only has millionaire parents who happen to own one of the biggest supermarket chains in the UK. How did she do it?”

  I stare at Leila.

  “It’s pure talent,” Leila smirks. “Pure hard work and talent.” She clocks my disappointed face. “Hey, you wanna meet some other people?”

  My face breaks into a wide smile. “I mean, OK!” OMG, this is it!

  Leila guides me through some of the crowd, towards a group of insanely good-looking guys, one of whom I recognize instantly as gay YouTuber Sammy Evans, like, this guy was a total inspiration to me back in year nine when I came out, and I love his videos so much, and now here he is, real, in front of me, and I’m gonna get to talk to him.

  “Sammy? This is my friend Jack,” Leila says, getting his attention by touching his elbow.

  I clock the other two guys Sammy was talking to, and the look on their faces tells me they don’t appreciate this interruption – it’s a look of annoyance, but it’s fleeting, and then they’re back to smiling as Sammy turns to shakes hands with me.

  “Hey, Jack!” he smiles. “How you doing?”

  “Ha ha ha!” I say. “Yep!”

  “Jack’s recently set up a brilliant Instagram account,” Leila explains.

  Sammy nods. “Yeah? Cool, what’s it about?”

  “Oh,” I shrug, “not much really, just—”

  “Sammy!” A new guy appears next to him, slapping him on the back. “How was Paris?”

  “So awesome!” Sammy grins.

  I nod and smile, like that’s amazing, but also, I was about to talk some more.

  “You doing the Virgin Atlantic gig?” New Guy asks.

  “Yeah! You?”

  “Yeah! Oh my god, that’s gonna be out of this world!”

  I nod and smile, like that’s amazing, but also, I was about to talk some more.

  “Sammy! Congrats, man!” another new guy says, joining the group.

  “Danny boy!” Original New Guy says, bumping fists with him.

  “Saw your piece for Pepsi!” Sammy says to Danny Boy. “How’d you bag that one?”

  I’m just grinning manically, standing there like a total no-mates, like, no one actually knows who I am, I don’t know these guys, but they all know each other, and I honestly don’t quite know how to extract myself. Do I just slope off? Edge backwards? And they’re all so successful and doing Things with Brands whereas I’m basically … nothing. Luckily, just as I’m about to die of an awkwardness I’ve never before experienced, Leila pulls me back, and guides me round to this guy in his late teens, tall and skinny, dressed in black, who she introduces as Atticus, an “Instagram Poet”.

  “What sort of poetry is it?” I ask.

  “I don’t put my work in boxes,” he replies, giving me a look that lets me know he thinks I’m an uncultured yob.

  Nevertheless, I persevere, because it’s small talk and that’s what you do. “Does it … rhyme?”

  He stares at me. For a moment I think he might hit me. And then he laughs in my face.

  Leila is pretty quick to remove me from Atticus, and then I meet a woman called Tonks, who is a PR, lives in Chelsea, brays like a horse, and liberally scatters the most offensive swear words in sentences like confetti. Tonks has just come back from “fucking Bali” and has an a
mazing way of not actually listening to anything you’re saying, partly because whenever anyone else speaks, she just repeats, “Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah,” all the way through it.

  Then there’s some guy who works for Simon Cowell and clearly thinks that makes him the most important person in the room; at least five “film producers” who say they’ve worked on big stuff like Star Wars but when I check on IMDB afterwards just seem to have made a short film two years ago; an “underground DJ” who’s too cool for school and looks at everyone she meets like they’re actual shit and tells me this room is full of “people with so much privilege it makes me sick”, although it later transpires that she has actually just left one the UK’s top private schools and is now studying at Oxford. And after I’ve met Indigo, who was recently “cancelled” after posting about a popular band and saying people should “beg, borrow or steal a ticket” which was interpreted as condoning theft, I’m just standing with some people, and I don’t even know who they are any more, but they’re jabbering on about promos, and their managers, and book deals, and I suddenly feel like I don’t belong here and I’m not even sorry about that. I’m … glad. Because I don’t want this. These aren’t my people. I glance over at Nate and Elliot, and Nate looks up, raises his eyebrows, and gives me this goofy grin and a little wave. And my heart is suddenly so full and I smile.

  “Want to get out of here?” Leila says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I do.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  NATE

  “This is so my happy place,” Elliot says, biting into his ShackMeister. “I feel much happier here.”

  I think we all do. We’re sitting very contentedly around a mess of Shack burgers, cheesy fries and shakes, and with these goofballs, there isn’t a single place on earth I’d rather be.