‘You’ll love it. Eventually,’ Jenna assures me, handing one empty glass to me and another to Alice. Bryn picks up four at once in practised hands, and we all follow him across the room to a cosy corner where Michael is guarding an empty table, scowling at anyone who comes too close. No sign of Oliver but it’s so crowded in here, he could’ve been standing right next to me at the bar, and I wouldn’t have seen him.
‘Here we go.’ Jenna pours the drinks as we all choose a chair, then distributes them around the table. ‘Double firsts all round, cheers to the third year.’
‘And to new friends,’ Alice adds.
They all turn to look my way, drinks raised. The sweating glass is slippery in my hot, clammy palm and every second I don’t lift it to my lips drags out into an hour. After too long of an awkward moment, Jenna is the one to break the silence.
‘I know a pint of squadka isn’t exactly the classiest cocktail on the planet but it’s a tradition. The first one can be a challenge but by the time you’re on your second, you’ll be golden.’
‘I thought it was a double first,’ I say, staring at it.
‘It is. A double first is a double squadka.’
Which clears up nothing.
‘And what is in a squadka exactly?’
‘Traditionally, it’s orange squash and vodka but every student union has their own take on it,’ Alice explains, the remaining bright orange liquid in the pitcher swirling ominously. ‘Ours stillhas vodka and orange juice but we add some cranberry juice and lemonade, a bit of triple sec and depending on what we’ve got the most of, some elderflower or blackcurrant liqueur. To make it a double first, you just double the vodka.’
‘Wow, I’m sure it’s great,’ I say, sure of nothing. ‘It’s just that, I don’t drink.’
‘You don’t?’ Jenna’s eyes open wide as Bryn and Michael exchange a guilty look.
‘I’m not anti-drinking, I just don’t.’
I wish I had a better line prepared, but I still haven’t worked out a way to say it without sounding like a Sunday school teacher who’s trying too hard.
‘It’s not a big thing with me,’ I go on, unable to stop talking. ‘You should all drink, get totally wasted, please. I’m not weird about it.’
Exactly what someone who is weird about it would say.
‘Oh, we will, don’t worry,’ Michael says. ‘Maybe you just haven’t found the right beverage.’
Jenna clacks her hot-pink manicure against her traffic-cone-coloured drink. ‘And you think squadka is the place for her to start?’
Before he can answer, Alice takes the glass out of my hand and pushes it away across the table like it’s radioactive. Which, from the way it’s glowing in the dark, I fear it might be. Then she stands, pulling a slipping spaghetti strap back onto her shoulder.
‘We should’ve asked, I’m sorry. I was going back up for a bag of crisps anyway, what can I get you?’
‘No, you don’t have to, I’ll go—’ I shoot up to my feet, but Alice shakes her head and gently but firmly pushes me back into my seat.
‘I’ll get served faster than you, my elbows are sharper. What’ll it be?’
‘A Coke would be so good,’ I reply, grateful. ‘Thank you.’
She smiles like it’s nothing then melts away into the crowd, and when I look back at her friends, no one looks annoyed. Either it truly is no big deal or they utterly despise me, and this is that British reserve I’ve heard so much about.
‘Honestly ought to be off the booze myself.’ Michael’s actions contradict his words as he tips back his sparkling cocktail and drains half the glass in one gulp. ‘I’ve got training first thing in the morning.’
I cock my head to one side. ‘Training?’
He leans back in his chair with a modest shrug. ‘I just so happen to be the best goalie Hemden has seen in a decade.’
‘You guys play hockey here?’ I ask, surprised.
Jenna howls as Michael rakes his light brown hair back from his face.
‘Thankfully, no. The last time I put on ice skates, I made Bambi look elegant. I’m talking about football.’
