“She thinks I slept with the boy she likes.”
“Our little virgin Em?” Maz asks as he stirs, showing the first signs of life since I walked through the door. “Need me to beat someone up for you?”
I burst out laughing but somewhere along the way it gets subverted into a string of tears.
“It mightn’t seem like it now,” Ratty says in his soothing voice. “But she’ll come around. Nobody busts up years of friendship over a misunderstanding.”
“I’m not a good friend.”
The admission is shameful, but it’s true. There’s always something hanging over me; some new drama, some new threat. It means I pay more attention to myself than what’s going on with her.
Like her announcement this morning that she’s into Taylor. What if that’s her attempt to come out, and I just brushed it off as nonsense?
A good friend would have considered that the moment she said anything. But me? I’m only thinking of it now.
“You were there for her when her parents were separated, weren’t you? I’m thinking of the right girl, yeah?”
I nod. A lot of that had happened while I was going out with Zach, so I’d had enough breathing room from my own problems to give some time to her. “But that was nothing. I’m sure I’ve still stayed over at her house more times.”
“And helped with her chores and filled in for a couple of shifts when she ran out of sick leave at that burger place.”
“She puts up with a lot more from me.”
Ratty says nothing for a long time, long enough that my breathing has settled into a relaxed rhythm and my tears have dried. Then he says, “You’re worth a lot more than you think, you know.”
The pronouncement makes me laugh. Thanks to Wilbur, I know exactly how much I’m worth. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Exactly how cheap.
“Things’ll be better when you’re off to uni,” Maz contributes, belatedly arriving at the conversation. “You’ll make new friends, based on your interests, and there won’t be nearly as much petty bullshit. High school’s not a reflection of real life.”
“I’m not going to uni.”
“Sure, you are.” He glances over with what passes for a surprised expression on his face. “You’ve got the grades, don’t you?”
“I don’t have the money.”
“That’s what the government’s for.” He leans forward and rifles through the detritus on the table, retreating to his spot on the sofa when he finds the rolling papers. “It’s the only time when your parents being poor is an advantage. They’ll give you an allowance and subsidy and loans to cover fees—”
“All of which need to be paid back.”
“There’s a fees-free scheme,” Ratty says. “And there’ll be benefits. With the money you already make, you’ll be fine.”
When my posture doesn’t change, Maz takes another look at me. “Hasn’t Cheryl talked this over with you?”
My mother’s interest in my schoolwork begins and ends with how long it’ll get me out of the house. “I don’t think she cares much about that stuff.”
“Of course, she does,” Ratty declares, ruffling my hair. “What else were you planning to do?”
“Work.”
He shrugs. “You’re good at that makeup stuff. You should book makeovers.”
The thought isn’t a bad one. Especially not for a man still mellow from his afternoon hit. But I shake my head, already poking holes. “There’s no space to do them here and I can’t afford to rent a place.”
“You could ask around the local hairdressers. Someone will probably be happy to rent you a chair.” When I stare at Maz in utter confusion that he’d know anything about the subject, he says, “What? I used to date a girl who did that sort of thing, back in the day.”
“Or you could go to their places,” Ratty adds. “Post something on social media, quote them a hundred all up, and see how many takers you get. You’ve already got so much you use yourself, there won’t be any additional outlay.”
I nibble the inside of my cheek, trying to come up with another argument against. The idea is good. A few test posts can’t hurt.
