‘I’ve got to go,’ I tell Fi, standing up. ‘I’ll … text you later?’
Fi stares up at me. She looks taken aback.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, turning away. ‘I just … I’ve got to go.’
‘Wait.’
I turn back round.
‘I … I might have a lead,’ Fi says.
‘What?’ I sink down beside her. At the party on Saturday, she told me she had nothing. So is this a new development since the weekend? Or was she hiding it from me? ‘Tell me everything,’ I say.
‘It’s a real long shot. Nothing concrete yet. But … I just thought you should know …’
‘Right. Long shot. I get it.’ My stomach’s bubbling. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but it happens every time, no matter how much I try to stop the excitement, or nerves, or whatever it is. ‘Can you tell me anything?’ I ask, my voice now small.
Fi shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to jinx it. But the moment I know anything, you’ll know … I promise.’
I nod. ‘Right. Yes. Don’t jinx it. That makes sense.’
Fi looks away. ‘Anyway, you better go before you get caught, right?’ she says, an edge to her voice. ‘The teachers will be out on the prowl soon. Go on. Fuck off. Abandon me, why don’t you!’
‘I’m not abandoning you!’ I say, looking towards the school. The dread is taking over again.
She pulls down her glasses. Shrugs. ‘Whatever.’
I hesitate. The last thing I want to do is upset Fi. She’s practically the only friend I’ve got now. But Ms Jones is watching me – that’s what she said this morning – so I can’t risk being caught up here. I give Fi a quick hug and, although my stomach tenses when she doesn’t respond, I make my way back towards the school.
That afternoon, in lessons, I block out all thoughts about clues and possibilities and I stop myself replaying the night it all happened in my head. I also ban daydreams about Josh. Art college, art college, art college: that is my mantra to help me focus. I make so many notes that my fingers ache from gripping the pen so tightly. I stick my hand up to answer question after question. I’m extra polite to the teachers. It actually feels good. ‘You can do this, Neena,’ Ms Jones said to me earlier. And, for the first time since everything happened, I actually believe it. I’ll work hard and get good marks and Dad will let me study art. I’ll have my own life away from Mum and Dad. Away from everything. A fresh start.
Towards the end of last lesson, Josh messages to ask when he can see me. I tell him I’ll see him when the bell goes and we plan to meet round the corner from school, where there’s a small park set away from the houses and the street. I need to get it over and done with. I have to tell him nothing more can happen between us. I feel a surge of anger towards Dad and Mum as I send the message, for all that has happened, and for all the things they won’t let me do. But I block the feelings before they swamp my plan. Art college, I remind myself. Art college.
But, when I see Josh, art college slips out of my head. The plan is not so easy to stick to.
We stand huddled in the shade of an oak tree, far away from the street so that no one can see us together. We are in our own world. Nothing else matters.
‘How was your day?’ he asks. And I can’t remember the last time anyone ever asked me that. But Akash used to. Every day, when we walked home from school.
I don’t know what to say to Josh – there are too many things that I want to tell him. So instead I just nod. ‘And you?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘Could’ve been better,’ he says, and then a cheeky smile spreads across his face. His neck and ears go red.
He touches my hand, curls his fingers round mine, and I let him. I can’t help it. And all I want is to kiss him.
Art college, I say to myself.
But I can’t pull away. As much as I want to study art, I want Josh too. When we kissed on Saturday night, something inside me shifted. Everything else, all the crappy stuff that’s happened over the past ten months, went away for a while. We were all that mattered. And I feel that again now.
But no – I can’t sneak out of my window and kiss boys and drink wine any more. Not if I want to study art. Not if I’m ever going to get away from Mum and Dad. Not if I want to have my own life.
Josh leans forward and kisses me, and my body tingles all over. I kiss him back.
Could I maybe, somehow, do this? Could I carry on climbing out of my bedroom window when I’m sure Mum and Dad are asleep? We could meet up here at lunchtimes. I could say I’m studying at the library after school and see Josh instead. Maybe, just maybe, we can make it work.
I lean into Josh, and we kiss again, and I want to stay like this forever.
But then I remember Dad sitting on my bed, and staring up at Akash’s cap. His clenched jaw. That horrible silence.
You’re a mess.
I pull away, breathless from the kiss. Every bit of me wanting to kiss Josh again.
‘My parents …’ I say. ‘I’m sorry but …’
Josh’s face falls. He brushes his hand through his hair and steps back. ‘I thought you said …’
‘I know, I know. I …’ How can I explain how different things were on Saturday? Where do I begin? He crosses his arms. Looks at the ground. Panic swirls in my throat. I’m losing him already.
I can’t. I can’t lose him.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘I don’t know … I can’t think straight.’ I step towards him again. Close enough to smell his breath – coffee and apple and minty gum. I feel a bit calmer, but my mind is whirring, trying to figure out what to do.
I don’t want to lose Josh.
Maybe, once Dad trusts me again, I can be with him.
Maybe we just need some time.
‘I really like you,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve just got some things to sort out. Can we maybe … sort of press pause? Can you … wait for me?’ I hold my breath.
‘Wait?’ he says. ‘For … for how long?’
I swallow. ‘I don’t know. A few weeks?’ I say, hopefully. I can’t believe how nervous I am.
His shoulders loosen. He smiles. He takes my hand again. ‘I’ll wait,’ he says. ‘For sure.’
Relief washes over me and we grin at each other. We have one more kiss. OK, more like five. Then I do actually leave. I make my way home, smiling, and with a plan. I’m going to work hard. And I’m going to do some major sucking up to Dad when he gets home from work.
I like the brand-new me. She has more energy than I’ve had in a long time. She’s organized. Crisp. Lighter somehow. I once saw a sticker on the back of a car that said WARRIOR NOT WORRIER, and that is how I feel.
I shut old me out of my bedroom and I sit at my desk. I don’t move until I’ve done all my homework. Then I draw up a revision timetable, highlighting each subject in a different colour until the piece of paper is a luminous rainbow of times and topics. There are just eight weeks until the exams. Eight weeks! Why haven’t I started revising? I bet Raheela’s been revising for months. I reckon everyone in the year except me has started their revision. I don’t quite understand it. I knew I needed to, but it’s like I, well, forgot. Flutters of nerves burst in my chest. But no, I won’t let them overwhelm me. I must focus now.