them just for her.
Every time you smile, you make my heart go wild,
Every time we kiss, I feel your sweet tenderness.
She wished she could tell him how amazing she thought he was, that she was certain he was going to be famous one day, but even though she’d been on his Facebook page a hundred times or more, she’d never plucked up the courage to send a friend request. Instead she read the exchanges between him and his friends, not always understanding them, but relieved to see that they were mostly about sports, or music, or stuff they were studying. Though it said he was in a relationship with Lindsay French, there were no pictures of her or messages that she could find, so maybe they weren’t together anymore. She liked to think they weren’t; it was easier that way.
After watching the video three times, she clicked on to another chat room and was just about to join in a row about Ellie Goulding, one of her favorite singers, when someone private-messaged her on Facebook.
It was Julie Morris.
Hey, how are you?
I’m cool, Paige typed back. Are you going to tell me who you are now?
Like I said yesterday, I’m a friend. I mean, if you’ll let me be.
But that’s just weird, being friends and not knowing who you are.
It’s complicated, but I promise I’ll explain when I know I can trust you. I heard Bethany Gates pushed you over in netball.
Not dumb enough to trust someone who could easily turn out to be Bethany Gates herself, Paige replied, Who told you?
I just heard. They’re real b*s that lot.
Though she’d like to go a lot further with what she thought of the Durham gang, she decided it was best to get off the subject just in case. Where do you live? she asked.
Just outside Oxwich.
Do you have any brothers and sisters?
There was a long pause before the answer came back. Yes, I do, and you’ve got a sister and two brothers.
How do you know?
It’s on your FB profile.
She was right, it was.
I understand now why you don’t want to go out with Owen.
Paige frowned at the screen. What do you mean?
Just that I get it. There’s no point if he’s gay.
Stiffening, Paige typed, Who says he’s gay?
You, on your FB page.
Paige’s heart missed a beat. She hadn’t posted any such thing. Quickly going through to check she saw the post with her own profile picture next to it, and her heart stopped beating altogether.
Owen Masters is gay. I am not his girlfriend, so everyone can just stop thinking I am.
“Oh my God,” she murmured in a panic. How had this happened? She definitely hadn’t put it there herself, but Owen was going to think she had. She had to ring him.
She tried his number over and over, private-messaged and texted him, but he didn’t respond, and by now all sorts of horrible comments calling her a two-faced bitch, a total fucking waste of space, even a c——t, were flooding onto her FB page.
“So where are you now?” Jenna was asking as she opened the car for Waffle to jump into the back.
“Still in Swansea,” Jack replied.
“Did you remember to take Wills’s glasses?”
“Yep, they’re already fixed.” He went off the line for a moment, saying something to someone else that she couldn’t quite hear.
“Are you still at Martha’s office?” she asked when he came back.
“I am, and she says hi.”
“Don’t let’s forget about that lunch,” Martha shouted out.
“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Jenna called back.
“OK,” Jack said, “I’m about to drive over to Cardiff to check out what this email’s all about from the Arts Council.”
Jenna slipped into the driver’s seat. “Tell me what it said again.”
“Hang on, I’ll get it up on the screen.”
As she waited Jenna reversed out of the forecourt and started down through the village. It was a dismal morning, with every shade of gray glooming the sky and a cloying mist shrouding the fields, but at least the rain had stopped, so she was grabbing the chance to take Waffle down to the beach for
Every time you smile, you make my heart go wild,
Every time we kiss, I feel your sweet tenderness.
She wished she could tell him how amazing she thought he was, that she was certain he was going to be famous one day, but even though she’d been on his Facebook page a hundred times or more, she’d never plucked up the courage to send a friend request. Instead she read the exchanges between him and his friends, not always understanding them, but relieved to see that they were mostly about sports, or music, or stuff they were studying. Though it said he was in a relationship with Lindsay French, there were no pictures of her or messages that she could find, so maybe they weren’t together anymore. She liked to think they weren’t; it was easier that way.
After watching the video three times, she clicked on to another chat room and was just about to join in a row about Ellie Goulding, one of her favorite singers, when someone private-messaged her on Facebook.
It was Julie Morris.
Hey, how are you?
I’m cool, Paige typed back. Are you going to tell me who you are now?
Like I said yesterday, I’m a friend. I mean, if you’ll let me be.
But that’s just weird, being friends and not knowing who you are.
It’s complicated, but I promise I’ll explain when I know I can trust you. I heard Bethany Gates pushed you over in netball.
Not dumb enough to trust someone who could easily turn out to be Bethany Gates herself, Paige replied, Who told you?
I just heard. They’re real b*s that lot.
Though she’d like to go a lot further with what she thought of the Durham gang, she decided it was best to get off the subject just in case. Where do you live? she asked.
Just outside Oxwich.
Do you have any brothers and sisters?
There was a long pause before the answer came back. Yes, I do, and you’ve got a sister and two brothers.
How do you know?
It’s on your FB profile.
She was right, it was.
I understand now why you don’t want to go out with Owen.
Paige frowned at the screen. What do you mean?
Just that I get it. There’s no point if he’s gay.
Stiffening, Paige typed, Who says he’s gay?
You, on your FB page.
Paige’s heart missed a beat. She hadn’t posted any such thing. Quickly going through to check she saw the post with her own profile picture next to it, and her heart stopped beating altogether.
Owen Masters is gay. I am not his girlfriend, so everyone can just stop thinking I am.
“Oh my God,” she murmured in a panic. How had this happened? She definitely hadn’t put it there herself, but Owen was going to think she had. She had to ring him.
She tried his number over and over, private-messaged and texted him, but he didn’t respond, and by now all sorts of horrible comments calling her a two-faced bitch, a total fucking waste of space, even a c——t, were flooding onto her FB page.
“So where are you now?” Jenna was asking as she opened the car for Waffle to jump into the back.
“Still in Swansea,” Jack replied.
“Did you remember to take Wills’s glasses?”
“Yep, they’re already fixed.” He went off the line for a moment, saying something to someone else that she couldn’t quite hear.
“Are you still at Martha’s office?” she asked when he came back.
“I am, and she says hi.”
“Don’t let’s forget about that lunch,” Martha shouted out.
“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Jenna called back.
“OK,” Jack said, “I’m about to drive over to Cardiff to check out what this email’s all about from the Arts Council.”
Jenna slipped into the driver’s seat. “Tell me what it said again.”
“Hang on, I’ll get it up on the screen.”
As she waited Jenna reversed out of the forecourt and started down through the village. It was a dismal morning, with every shade of gray glooming the sky and a cloying mist shrouding the fields, but at least the rain had stopped, so she was grabbing the chance to take Waffle down to the beach for
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