Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Oh, I know that look."

Mrs C appeared at my side the following lunchtime as I was staring out of the library window. It was a warm afternoon again and everyone was out on the field lapping up a bit of sun and enjoying themselves. I couldn't help noticing how many couples were holding hands as they sauntered across the grass, completely unbothered by anyone. Last night I had ended up digging my notebook out from its secret hiding place under my drawers and starting a new story. The story of two boys who liked each other, and it wasn't a problem. Neither of them was consumed with guilt about liking the other, and nobody else gave them any hassle. They could hold hands in school, like everyone else. They could even kiss. They went to parties together and would share jokes, and hang out, and just live like everyone lived. I called them Jamie and Rob, and I hoped they existed. I read once that there's a chance that different versions of you exist in different parts of the universe – that space is so vast and infinite that, every so often, some atoms will combine in such a way that another you could be living a life very similar to yours, but any number of other variables could also change, often in good ways, and I hoped that was the case. I hoped, somewhere out there, there was a me and a Rob and things were better and easier. I hoped there was a version of this story where there's a happy ending.

Anyway, all of that only served to depress me further. Why did I have to end up as the atoms with the shitty outcomes?

"Heartbreak and angst," Mrs C continued. "I'd know them anywhere. What's happened?"

"Nothing." I shrugged.

She didn't look like she believed me. "Funny thing," she said. "I was bracing myself for the fallout from Wildflowers – I actually have my resignation letter typed up and in my bag – but nothing's happened." She leaned around so I couldn't avoid eye contact with her. "Fancy that!"

"Fancy that."

"What did you do?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Fair enough." She smiled. "How about a custard cream?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"Ohhh, this is bad. My office, anyway. I absolutely insist, and as a staff member who is inexplicably still employed by the school, you really do have to obey me."

She smiled and sauntered away to her office. I made brief eye contact with Beth, across the library, shelving some books, then sighed and plodded after Mrs C into the office, where she closed the door and cracked open the biscuits. I plopped down on an office swivel chair opposite her.

"I'm still here, you and Rob have found each other… I'm clearly missing something. Why the long face?"

"I'd just hoped we … could be friends." I couldn't look at her. "But … he doesn't seem to want to be. Or thinks we can't be, or something."

Mrs C nodded thoughtfully. "I presume you've talked a bit? What has he told you about himself?"

"His dad's the MP." I shrugged. "He's very ambitious and very anti-gay, by the sounds of it. Rob got … kicked out of his last school—"

"Did he say he was kicked out?"

"Well, no … removed. How do you know that?"

She smiled. "I have access to student files, Jamie. When Rob transferred here, they asked me to do a library induction with him. He was quiet and sweet and bright, and the opposite to what everyone else was saying about him. And his records from his last school told the same story – he's a straight A student. Something felt off, so I gave the librarian over there a call."

"God, you have a … network?"

"Of course we do! We all talk, all the time. Sharing ideas mostly, tricks to get students reading, making our libraries welcoming. But also, gossip and bitching – the most fun part. So, I learned what really went down, and that's when I recommended Wildflowers to him."

"Oh. I see."

"OK, so you know all that."

"And then about his mum."

Mrs C nodded. "Very sad. And only last year."

"Must be hard."

"He's lost a lot," she said. "Uprooted from his old school, his mum. And you and him … it shouldn't be, but it's a risk. He stands to lose even more. You both do."

I shook my head. "It's just not fair."

"No. It's not."

Be nice, wouldn't it, if this was the moment Mrs C dropped some nugget of wisdom that made everything click and told me what I needed to do to make things work out? What I got was:

"How about I put the kettle on?"

Because when adults don't know what to do, if they're British, they make tea. One of the hardest and rudest wake-up calls you get growing up, is the moment it dawns on you that there isn't always someone there with the answers. That life is fundamentally unfair, the world is full of villains and, very often, they don't get their comeuppance.*

Close-up: me, miserable as sin, moping about, but I decide to do something useful and write another letter to Speak No Monkey, begging them to play at the ball, because the only way things could get any worse was being held up as a massive bullshitter and everyone demanding refunds on their ball tickets.

Dear Speak No Monkey,

I don't know if you got my previous letter, or if my dad has really spoken to your manager, but my name is Jamie Hampton and I'm organizing the sixth form ball at school. I'll cut to the chase: everyone loves your music and if you played, even just one song, it would make everyone's night. Truly, it would be a memory none of us would ever forget. We don't have much money, but we cheer loudly, and the librarian here has great biscuits.

If you can play, please call the school and leave a message, or write back to me.

And, if you can play, would you dedicate a song to someone for me, please?

His name is Rob West. But don't say I asked for it.

It'd really mean something if you did.

Yours faithfully,

Jamie Hampton

A bit of positive action.

It felt good.

I'd been a passive bystander all my life. A people-pleaser. Never wanting to rock the boat, even if it meant losing out on things I wanted. Maybe I needed to prove myself a bit? Show a bit of fight? Because, yeah, there were things to lose … but maybe some of them I was prepared to lose.

You can probably see where this thought process is leading, but here's the key point: very often it's not other people who solve your problems. It's you.

So, let's see how I work things out, shall we?

The moment I broke bad.*

*What I didn't appreciate then, of course, was that Mrs C knew damn well that one of the best solutions is giving something (or someone) time.

*And bear in mind, this is all relative. Breaking bad for a nerdy sixteen-year-old in Lincolnshire looks very different to the hit Netflix show about a terminally ill family man in New Mexico, so relax, this story isn't about to take a dark turn, and I'm not going to set up a crystal meth lab.