“For the most part. I thought I got it all wrong at the date.”
“The date?” I ask. “You mean the movie. I thought … I thought I got it all wrong.”
Oliver smiles and pulls me close. I lean my head on his shoulder. It feels natural, perhaps because I’ve known him so long. Maybe it’s because I’m beyond caring what people around me think. Maybe it’s because this one moment is so bright against the rest of this day, and I want to make the most of it.
“Ruby hates me,” I say after a moment. “Again.”
“She’ll come around,” Oliver says. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make her see sense. You’re best friends.”
I nod, my cheek brushing his shirt. “Noah hates me too.”
“He does?” A moment later: “He’ll come around too.”
Although I don’t believe it, I nod.
Days go by, and life remains awful. I speak as little as possible in class, not putting my hand up and only saying “thank you”, which doesn’t happen as often as it should. For example, sometimes people hold the door open for me, and some people let the door slam close.
I spend most of my free time with Oliver. One lunchtime, we walk to the library, when I’m stopped short by a poster sticky-taped to the door.
“I forgot about this,” I say.
Oliver reads.
THE SENIOR SUMMER SOCIAL.Year 11s and Year 12s.
It’s at the Frederick Hotel, which hosts all school events. The tickets are being sold until next week, and the social is a week after.
“They announced the details during assembly,” Oliver says.
During assembly, I half-paid attention. I remember staring at Ruby, sitting with Isra and Jasmine. I remember noticing Noah and Henry sitting in different rows.
Noah and I haven’t spoken since Monday. We don’t look at each other. I walk around Heller Lake in the evenings, because I walked before we were friends and I won’t go out of my way to avoid him. But I never see him.
The memory of Noah and I discussing the social hurts.
“I’m visiting my dad that weekend,” Oliver says. “But I can change my plans.”
“No. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see everyone. Do you want to go?”
He shakes his head. “Socials are overrated, anyway. And there’s a school event every term. We can always go to another one.”
What will my life be like in a term’s time, three months away?
Oliver and I head into the library and I’m relieved to see few Year 11s around — most students are catching up with schoolwork and there is a group of Year 9 boys playing games on their computers while being hushed by librarians.
Oliver holds my hand as we walk through the fiction bookshelves and sink into two beanbags nearby a window. Through it, I see Ruby sitting at a table with Jasmine and Isra.
Oliver follows my gaze. “She’ll get over it soon.”
Will she? I’ve tried to talk to her, but every time she makes an excuse to leave, or to deflect my questions with short, dry answers. I’ve called her, and I’ve sent a single text message because our friendship isn’t the only thing I need to talk to her about.
Eve: Please don’t say anything about Noah.
She never responded. Did she understand what I meant? Did I insult her by asking her to do something as obvious as keep his secret?
“There’s no way she’ll throw away your friendship over something this childish,” Oliver continues. He said he’s talked to her, but it didn’t go well. They ended up fighting before going into their respective bedrooms and slamming the doors.
“Okay.” Again, I nod, though I’m not optimistic.
