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No. I’m not.
Since arriving at Kingswood, I’ve been a changed woman. Celibacy took some getting used to, but the longer I go without, the more I appreciate how much I used the thrill of sexual connection to paste over emotions I found difficult to process.
Feeling self-conscious? Unlovable? Worried that I’ve never fitted in anywhere and I never will? There’s nothing like hooking up with a random stranger to wipe those concerns away.
Until they return the next day at double the size and twice the teeth.
“You don’t count as ginger,” I tell Marnie. “Your hair is the cutest shade of strawberry blonde I’ve ever seen.” I pull a loose curl towards me, almost salivating with envy. My hair is a shade of brown with so little enthusiasm for colour, it’s practically grey. To call it mousy is to elevate it beyond its station. “And even if you did, you’re still the most beautiful”—at a sharp glance from Floss, I amend my statement on the fly—“jointly beautiful girl at school.”
“Jointly, hm?” Her eyes briefly widen with amusement at my awkward correction. “Along with everyone in the car?”
“Exactly.” Just call me a fast learner. “You wouldn’t tell the rest of us to lose weight, so pretending that James has a clue of what he’s talking about is just indulging his delusion.”
She laughs along as the car weaves closer towards its destination. When we get out in front of the club, the long queue for entry testament to its newness, she seems brighter. Then I catch the worried frown as she checks her reflection in the mirrored glass doors and feel uneasy again, concerned she’s taken James’ unfounded criticism to heart.
We join the end of the line, spotlights outside the club making it bright as day, meaning we can primp in the mirrored club walls while we wait.
The queue is long enough for my feet to protest loudly about the height of my heels, a strident call that continues long after I slip them off and stand in my sheer tights, the beat of the music vibrating up through the soles of my feet.
While standing, the air temperature grows colder with each passing minute. Luckily, the crush of people and the strong lights shelter me enough that it doesn’t sink into my bones.
“This should be good,” Floss says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’s a year below us in school and enjoys sneaking into places with false credentials doubly satisfying. “I’ve heard so many great things about this place.”
Brooke gives her a sidelong glance, lips curled with wry amusement. “It better be good, considering the entrance fee.”
My stomach takes a nosedive and I press my hand against my abdomen. I want to ask how much, but I also don’t want to remind everyone in the group that I’m poor. They’ve already been reminded of that today when I borrowed a dress from Marnie because I’ve only got one clubbing outfit and it bears the stains of a dozen different drinks from a dozen different outings.
I do some quick calculations in my head. Before joining in tonight, I made sure there was enough on my prepaid card for the entrance fee to our usual nightclubs, plus a round for the table. With any luck, that’ll still translate to enough to get in, and maybe to buy one drink for myself.
A bunch of nerves at the top of my jaw get all tight and bubbly. If they tug any harder, my eyes will water.
Not having money never bothered me much at my old school because nobody did. Even now, it’s not the lack that upsets me, just that it sets me apart. I’m already trying to fit into a place where everyone else has known each other since kindergarten.
Cue the self-pity.
The internal eyeroll cheers me enough that I bite my lip to stop from laughing. Amateur dramatic hour is never far away when I get time to think about all the ways I’m different, but it’s stupid to let it ruin the fabulous things I do have.
Like a best friend who lent me a dress that shimmers like it’s made from actual gold. Or that I was gifted with a big enough brain to get into this elite clique.
And a thick skin. If I’m embarrassed at the head of the queue, asking for a loan from my friends, I’ll get over it. Pragmatic is my middle name.
I also delivered two essays just before I got ready to come out. Once the students—unwilling or unable to write their own homework—approve those and pay me, I’ll be rolling in it. With mid-term assignment season rapidly approaching, I’ll soon have more customers than time. I can pay any money back with interest.
“Woah,” Floss says, and she must be impressed because she taps me lightly on the elbow to draw my attention to the man in line behind us. “Would you look at him?”
I do. For so long, I’m worried I’ll be caught staring. When I jerk back around, meeting Floss’s gaze, I give her a big nod of approval. “Yes, please.”
She bursts out laughing, dropping back a step so she’s between me and the other two. Brooke is so head over heels in love with her boyfriend Harrison that it’s borderline disgusting, while James absorbs Marnie’s attention until she won’t even window shop.
The two of us pretend to examine our reflections in the mirrored frontage when we’re really taking another leisurely perusal of the tasty snack behind us in the queue.
Light brown hair, the tips bleached blond in the sun or by the skilled hand of a far more expensive hairdresser than I can afford. Side on, his profile reminds me of a movie star—all the Hemsworth swirled together in a new and better amalgam, taking the best from each.
As the woman beside him talks, he leans in to listen, pulling her closer to his side. The stance sets my heart aflutter even more than his stunning good looks.
He’s got a gorgeous—likereallygorgeous—woman beside him. Obviously, his girlfriend. Of course, he’s taken.
But I’m just storing up fodder for lonely nights, not marrying him. There are no rules against looking, even when said look promotes a sudden spill of saliva into my otherwise dry mouth.
