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Authors: Laura Jarratt
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his lesson and he’s sussed that, when you try to be a player, you’ve got to face the possibility that there’s someone who will play nastier than you.’
Certainly if Lloyd hadn’t got that message by now then he must be really thick.
‘I owe you massive thanks,’ Josie said to him.
‘No, you don’t,’ Silas replied. ‘Not at all. You’re hanging out with my sister and it’s making her happy so you don’t owe me a thing.’
He didn’t see my face, but Josie did. I turned away abruptly and pretended to fiddle with something inside my bag. Silas walked on, but Josie shook her head at me as I followed slowly. ‘Later,’ she whispered.
My throat was tight and rough, as if sandpaper had been drawn down it. There was a scream waiting to come out. Of rage at Silas, that I didn’t want a friend bought by his actions. I didn’t want one on those terms. I wanted one like everybody else. One who liked me for me.
How did he not know that?
Josie invited me into her house as we got to the gate and I accepted gratefully. I didn’t even want to see Silas right now.
‘I honestly don’t think he meant it how it sounded,’ she said as we walked up her front path. ‘I know how you interpreted it and I know why – he didn’t phrase it well. But really all I think he meant was, “You’re my sister’s friend so I’ve got your back.”’
I nodded, because it was expected of me, but she wasn’t fooled.
‘Now are you going to be so dumb that I have to tell you that is so not why we’re friends? Please tell me you know that, right?’
I don’t know. Maybe .
‘I will get really mad with you if I have to explain that we’re friends because we’re just made to be. Because I totally thought you understood that already!’
Possibly . . .
‘Oh, come on, Rafi!’
I forced myself to nod more certainly. Trust, right? That’s what friends did.
She twitched her mouth from side to side, assessing me. Then she got her phone out and opened up her Pinterest page. ‘See that?’
It was a quote by Emily Dickinson, written under a picture of an umbrella: ‘I felt it shelter to speak to you.’
Ridiculously, tears welled up in my eyes.
‘See, stoopid,’ Josie said gruffly and hugged me. ‘Now come in and I’ll make us milkshakes with ice cream.’
Josie’s house was a large Victorian villa with a double front. She pointed out a black VW Golf on the drive. ‘My dad’s old car. He’s saving it for me when I learn to drive next year.’ I looked suitably impressed.
We skirted round the path to the side of the house, through high, dense laurel hedges, to a side porch hidden from view from the road.
‘We never use the front door,’ she said, unlocking the porch and letting me into a big open-plan kitchen. It wasn’t at all what I expected from the exterior, which was traditional decor framed by the standard period-style garden. But inside the walls had been ripped down to make a huge space painted stark white with glossy white kitchen units and a pale stone floor. The kitchen ran on into a living space with contemporary white sofas and a giant plasma TV screen mounted on the wall.
‘This is where we mostly hang out,’ she said.
We . She meant her and her dad of course. It seemed an awfully big space for the two of them. Come to think of it, it was a massive house for the two of them. I wondered if she had hoped to fill it with her friends before everything went wrong. Maybe two or three lounging around would make the room seem less barren.
She walked over to the island in the kitchen and began pulling glasses from a cupboard and throwing fruit and milk and ice cream into a blender. I watched, fascinated, from a high stool. This was not something I was familiar with. Silas might cook, but he didn’t make fripperies like this. She whizzed the whole lot together and then decanted it into two tall glasses, added another scoop of vanilla ice cream to the top of each and stuck a straw
Certainly if Lloyd hadn’t got that message by now then he must be really thick.
‘I owe you massive thanks,’ Josie said to him.
‘No, you don’t,’ Silas replied. ‘Not at all. You’re hanging out with my sister and it’s making her happy so you don’t owe me a thing.’
He didn’t see my face, but Josie did. I turned away abruptly and pretended to fiddle with something inside my bag. Silas walked on, but Josie shook her head at me as I followed slowly. ‘Later,’ she whispered.
My throat was tight and rough, as if sandpaper had been drawn down it. There was a scream waiting to come out. Of rage at Silas, that I didn’t want a friend bought by his actions. I didn’t want one on those terms. I wanted one like everybody else. One who liked me for me.
How did he not know that?
Josie invited me into her house as we got to the gate and I accepted gratefully. I didn’t even want to see Silas right now.
‘I honestly don’t think he meant it how it sounded,’ she said as we walked up her front path. ‘I know how you interpreted it and I know why – he didn’t phrase it well. But really all I think he meant was, “You’re my sister’s friend so I’ve got your back.”’
I nodded, because it was expected of me, but she wasn’t fooled.
‘Now are you going to be so dumb that I have to tell you that is so not why we’re friends? Please tell me you know that, right?’
I don’t know. Maybe .
‘I will get really mad with you if I have to explain that we’re friends because we’re just made to be. Because I totally thought you understood that already!’
Possibly . . .
‘Oh, come on, Rafi!’
I forced myself to nod more certainly. Trust, right? That’s what friends did.
She twitched her mouth from side to side, assessing me. Then she got her phone out and opened up her Pinterest page. ‘See that?’
It was a quote by Emily Dickinson, written under a picture of an umbrella: ‘I felt it shelter to speak to you.’
Ridiculously, tears welled up in my eyes.
‘See, stoopid,’ Josie said gruffly and hugged me. ‘Now come in and I’ll make us milkshakes with ice cream.’
Josie’s house was a large Victorian villa with a double front. She pointed out a black VW Golf on the drive. ‘My dad’s old car. He’s saving it for me when I learn to drive next year.’ I looked suitably impressed.
We skirted round the path to the side of the house, through high, dense laurel hedges, to a side porch hidden from view from the road.
‘We never use the front door,’ she said, unlocking the porch and letting me into a big open-plan kitchen. It wasn’t at all what I expected from the exterior, which was traditional decor framed by the standard period-style garden. But inside the walls had been ripped down to make a huge space painted stark white with glossy white kitchen units and a pale stone floor. The kitchen ran on into a living space with contemporary white sofas and a giant plasma TV screen mounted on the wall.
‘This is where we mostly hang out,’ she said.
We . She meant her and her dad of course. It seemed an awfully big space for the two of them. Come to think of it, it was a massive house for the two of them. I wondered if she had hoped to fill it with her friends before everything went wrong. Maybe two or three lounging around would make the room seem less barren.
She walked over to the island in the kitchen and began pulling glasses from a cupboard and throwing fruit and milk and ice cream into a blender. I watched, fascinated, from a high stool. This was not something I was familiar with. Silas might cook, but he didn’t make fripperies like this. She whizzed the whole lot together and then decanted it into two tall glasses, added another scoop of vanilla ice cream to the top of each and stuck a straw
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