Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The badge said Student Librarian.

It was being worn by Beth, who was sitting behind the main desk, the BBC Master Computer at her side, presiding over the library in a red tartan miniskirt, black tights, black patent Doc Martens, Nirvana tee and black biker jacket, none of which I'd seen before. Beth and I didn't do fashion. Now, apparently, she did. And good for her, but I also hated it. Change, you know?

(Note to editor: everyone hates a petty protagonist – but I can't help being bitter and afraid of change that risks leaving me behind. Best to lie? Could write scene where I embrace Beth in style of camp gay guy and wax lyrical about her look? "O-M-G, you look fabulous!", etc. To be discussed.)

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Extracurricular," she replied. "It occurred to me I really should have something I can put on my UCAS form. This seemed like the least effort." She glanced over at some second years. "Silence in the library!" she barked, then looked back at me. "Piss easy."

"Why didn't you just join the ball committee?"

She laughed.

That was her entire response.

"OK, well, I'm just going to get on with some stuff."

"Plus, I get to see you more," she said. "You seem to spend all your time here, even when there's the sixth form study area."

I moistened my lips. "Yeah, I just like being near the books. I find it helps."

She met my eyes and nodded. "Whatever floats your boat."

I glanced at her outfit. "Is this all … new?"

She nodded. "Trying a new look out. Thoughts?"

"Nice."

"God, Jamie! Do you have to be so over the top?! Please! I'm thrilled you like it, but just tone it down a bit, can't you? It's embarrassing how enthusiastic you are!" She gave me a sarcastic smile.

"Yeah, OK, I do love it actually."

She held my gaze for a moment. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing!" I cleared my throat. "Nothing."

"Is it the ball? Speak No Monkey haven't confirmed, have they?"

I nodded. "Right. Exactly. There's a lot on my mind."

"Hence why you're hiding away in here?"

"Can't keep anything from you, can I?"

She tapped her head. "Female intuition."

It wasn't ideal, Beth being a student librarian. It was bad enough being watched by Mrs C, but at least – if she did suspect anything – she was keeping it to herself. If Beth started suspecting things, she would start asking me things. I didn't want to be asked things. Especially when I didn't know any of the answers.

I headed off to do a quick fly-by of the book and check for messages. I rounded the bookshelf and bumped into a figure lurking by non-fiction.

"Dan!"

"Oh, hi, Jamie."

I don't know, his sweet face, so open and trusting, his little nose (he had a little nose), or that red-checked flannel shirt he had on, over a white T-shirt, my heart just swelled at the sight of him. "What are you doing here?"

"Books?" he suggested.

I met his eyes. Fine, it was a library, but he looked … guilty? Or was that projection? He was shifty, certainly, his cheeks taking on a pink tint. Like I'd just walked unannounced into his bedroom and caught him doing you know what.

I probably didn't need to think about that.

I let my eyes drift to the shelf where Wildflowers was sitting, then back to him.

He put his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. Way too casual. It looked fake.

"Actually, I was hoping to find you," Dan said. "I wanted to buy a ball ticket." He pulled a crumpled cheque out of his pocket, smoothed it down, and handed it to me.

"Great!" I glanced at the amount written on the cheque. "A couple's ticket?"

"Please."

I pulled my book of tickets from my rucksack and tore one off.

"Not that I have a date yet," he added. "But who knows!"

Beth's voice sailed across the library. "I can hear talking!"

I handed him the ticket, then he glanced back at me. "Are you going with anyone?"

My heart rate doubled. "Um … hadn't really thought about it."

"You have to go with someone!"

"Not really. I'll be busy with … everything. Although … I'm not saying I wouldn't. Just that I … haven't thought about it."

He smiled at me. He had, without question, a lovely smile. Gentle. Sweet. "What about Beth?"

"Oh, we're just friends. I mean, we could go together, as friends, but that would be all."

"I wasn't sure."

"OK. Well, yeah. That's us."

"Someone is still talking!" Beth shouted again.

Dan cracked a smile, then whispered, "I don't even know why I've bought a couple's ticket. I'm crap at asking people out. In fact, I've never done it."

I smiled too. "But you went with a couple's ticket anyway?"

"Maybe I'm trying to force myself to try it, under pain of losing money?"

I laughed.

"Silence for the books!" Beth bellowed.

"She's getting angry," Dan whispered. "I don't suppose you fancy getting some lunch in the canteen? I hate eating by myself."

Close-up: me, trying to hide my facial expression, which basically reads: you bet I bloody do, hooray, hoorah!

If you wanted a definition of cognitive dissonance, have me. I'd stumbled across the term in a psychology textbook I'd been idly flicking through while skulking in the library, and kind of wished I hadn't. Once a condition has a name, it's more real, isn't it?* But there I was, ticking all the boxes for it. Absolutely one hundred per cent straight. Yet made so giddy and happy – heart fluttering, stomach fizzing – by being in the presence of a sweet boy and him wanting to have lunch with me. But that didn't make me gay! Oh no, no. That's what friendship is, you see? Really close male friendship. It's easy to see why some people could get confused. But not me. I was not confused.

It's normal to feel pride when walking alongside another boy in the corridor.

It's normal to guide him around a chicken and mushroom pasty that someone had dropped on the floor, and that he hadn't seen, so he didn't step in it, getting an endorphin shot just from touching him briefly.

It's normal to order the same thing for lunch, even though you would have preferred the pasta bake, because there's a part of you that admires him so much you want to be like him, and while you're thinking about it, where did he get that shirt because it's nice and you might like one too?

Normal.

Sausage, chips and baked beans.

A boy with a can of beans? Or a boy with a plate of beans?

Either way, another suspect for the murder wall, right? I was dying to know whether I'd interrupted Dan just as he'd finished writing in the book! I hoped my impatience didn't show as we chatted over lunch, but I couldn't think of much else.

Beth watched me as I ran in at the end of lunch. "Think I dropped something!" I explained.

"We're closed!"

"I'll be so quick!"

I scurried around the shelves to non-fiction and pulled the book out.

There was no reply.

My heart plunged.

But maybe I'd interrupted him as he was about to write in the book. Was my obsession with finding out who this was going to scare him off and ruin things for me? And was that my enthusiasm or did I actually want to scare him off?

But why would I self-sabotage?

"Because part of you can't deal with what might happen if this goes any further," Electra said plainly, standing opposite me in the library.

I froze. Being in my bedroom was one thing. Appearing, at random, in the world at large was another. One minute you're hearing occasional voices, the next, tanned, swimwear-clad athletes from TV shows are standing opposite you, and they're still there no matter how much you blink and rub your eyes?

"There's nothing to ‘deal' with," I hissed at her. "Because nothing is happening. We're not even friends, I'm just trying to help. Furthermore, you have no business—"

My eyes flicked to Beth, suddenly in front of me, Electra now gone, and I froze. What had just happened?

"Please," she said. "Don't stop on my account. You seemed to be having a lovely conversation … with yourself."

"Like I said, I have a lot on my mind."

"Are you OK?"

"Couldn't be better."

Our eyes met. She didn't believe me, I didn't believe me, and she knew I knew she knew that.

That's the thing with good friends, isn't it? They know.

She also knew she wasn't going to get anything else out of me, so she turned on the heel of her flashy new Doc Martens and went to admonish some first years who were still hanging about despite the bell having rung ages ago.

Time-lapse montage sequence: me, Jamie Hampton, sitting in economics.

The teacher, Mrs Prince, talking about supply and demand.

Me, on edge, leg bouncing up and down, pen tapping.

The clock, ticking, every second painfully slow.

Flashback to Electra: "You can't deal with it!"

Flashback to Dan: "Do you fancy getting some lunch?"

Me: beads of sweat on my forehead.

Flashback to Adam giving me sex eyes: "I want to do things with you."

WHAT?!

I shook my head. That categorically did not happen.

It was a long, painful lesson, made worse because I knew I should be focusing, I needed to, I had to, I wanted an A, I had to concentrate, but I couldn't. I was out of there like a shot when the bell went.

To the library, for one last check.

Bingo!

My heart leapt when I saw the words. He'd replied:

As real as me? Well, I don't know who I am, so not sure that tells us much.

That made me smile, the slightly sardonic and self-deprecating tone. I liked that. I could relate to that. This was the first little hint of his personality, and it made me feel a little bit closer to him. Underneath that, more words:

No identifying details. No names. No year groups. Deal?

I held my breath. Oh. I mean, absolutely, I had no problem with anonymity, it was just … this was an acknowledgement. That we shouldn't be doing this. That it was wrong. If anyone found out, our lives would be made hell. The risks were sky high – we could talk, but we could never really know, because anyone could find this book and then anyone could work it out…

But work what out?

What was this?

Two people who had found one another in the pages of a book. That was all. And I don't know why I felt shame as I did it, but I pulled out a pencil and wrote:

Deal.

And then, since we were talking now, I added:

So, what did you think of the book?

That felt safe. That didn't feel like we were doing anything wrong. No identifying details.

I carefully slotted the book back in its place and wished the books could talk, could tell me who he was. It was funny to think that he would have been standing there, exactly where I was, writing in the book like I had just done, here, in this space, just—

I froze when it hit me.

I'd returned the book at the end of lunch. And the message had appeared by the end of the school day – exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later.

The only students who were allowed in the library during lesson time were sixth formers.

He was a sixth former too.

More than that, I knew last period was a supervised private study lesson for some people because Beth had one then.

Which meant there was also a list somewhere of exactly who was in that class, and therefore who was in the library at the time the note was written.

But did I really want to know?

Because you know what they say?

Ignorance is bliss.

*To be fair, any medical condition I've ever read about, I immediately feel I have. I regularly diagnose myself with all manner of horrible diseases, although, to date, inaccurately every time. One day, I'll be right, though, won't I? (You see? That's how I think.)