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Her mouth twists with a sneer. ‘You know what, you’re unhinged. No wonder Zayan dumped you.’
I let myself smile, and it’s not kind. It’s not sweet. Or peaceful. It’s victorious. Because this girl can’t say it again. Won’t. Not to me, at least. Not in front of others.
I stand abruptly, causing some students to look at me, disgruntled. The professor goes on with his lecture, completely unaware. I lean close to Maisie, making sure our eyes meet.
‘Here’s some advice: the next time you insult me, think carefully.’ My tone is eerily calm. So different to the war running through my body right now. ‘I always have cameras on me. Paparazzi, Zayan’s fans … and all it will take is one soundbite, one clip of you insulting me with that disgusting slur, and I will have it sent to campus security. I’ll post it on every social media site that exists. So think twice before slinging words like that around again.’
Terror is crystallized in her gaze. She can do nothing to me. Can’t hit me because campus security will be on her in minutes. Can’t shout because she’s surrounded by students and a professor. She is the one locked in silence, and it is beyond gratifying.
It is freeing.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, shoulder my bag and walk straight out of the auditorium with one purpose in mind: finding The Tragedies.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t belong here. I want to be on stage. I want to be with The Tragedies. I want to be with Gibitah in rehearsal right now. I want to talk to them, not hide in silence any more. Zayan was right. Silence can be a punishment. Silence allows them – the LSDCATS, the racists, the oppressors – to win.
As soon as I step outside, the cool air hitting my heated skin, I unblock each of the group one by one. My phone is bursting with incoming texts that I’ve missed. There are too many to wade through, and my phone begins lagging with the onslaught of notifications.
I give up after a minute, deciding I’ll just go to the Limelight; hopefully they’ll all be there.
But as I’m walking down the campus stairs, I collide with someone. My books spill on to the steps, and I kneel to pick them up before they’re trampled.
All the while, apologies slip past my lips. ‘I’m so sorry – I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
I stand up with all my books haphazardly clasped in my arms, and come face to face with the last people I ever expected to see.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
There is a huge chance that one of The Tragedies will murder me today. Right now, from the glower Anushka is levelling my way, my bet’s on her.
‘How are you guys?’ I offer, aiming for pleasant and falling just short of I’m feeling incredibly awkward, but someone needed to break the silence.
‘How are we?’ David bursts out angrily. We’ve walked, silently, to an empty seminar room to have our discussion – all The Tragedies on one side, and me on the other. ‘Are you kidding me right now, Farah?’
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to grasp the confidence I’d felt when confronting Maisie only twenty minutes ago.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say immediately. ‘I know you’re angry that I quit the play –’
‘Forget the play,’ Nur interrupts, and defensiveness walls up round me. ‘None of us care about the play. We care about you. We care about how you just left, out of the blue, without talking to any of us first.’
My heart aches in my chest; exhaustion tugs at my every cell. I’m so tired of all of this. Of the anger. Of the sadness. Of the secrets.
‘I thought it was for the best,’ I whisper, the familiar burn of tears irritating my eyelids.
‘Nur,’ Ben admonishes quietly. ‘Attacking her isn’t going to fix anything.’
‘No,’ Nur argues back. ‘We can’t go on like this. It’s not healthy.’ She trains an unblinking stare on me. ‘Farah, you have been such a rock during all of this. We know you care about the play – I mean, the fact that you trained the understudy just in case something went wrong says enough. But quitting our friendship? Refusing to speak to us? That was wrong.’
My jaw trembles, like a chill has settled into my bones. Nur’s breathing heavily, but her gaze refuses to leave mine.
My voice feels stuck in my throat. The words are formed on my tongue, but saying them feels wrong. I consider retreating again, but the memory that I’ve spent so long trying to forget dances across my mind, tauntingly, mockingly.
Unsuitable.
The audition. The library. The little comments, needling away at me.
The Tragedies watch me with a mixture of confusion and encouragement – their plain desire for me to tell them what’s going on is easy to read.
‘You don’t owe us your secrets,’ Anushka says finally. She’s been silent for most of this, blank-faced as well. Now her gaze is filled with understanding, with more compassion than I think I deserve. ‘You have your boundaries, you have things you want to keep to yourself, as is your right. But we want you to know that we will listen to whatever you want to share with us. We are here for you. Sometimes I worry that you don’t know, or don’t believe that.’
