‘Grabbing my wrist.’
He stands up, his eyes even darker, lets go of my wrist. ‘It feels like the safest place to touch you.’
I feel there’s layers of meaning to the statement, but I don’t want to probe any deeper. If I’m honest, I’m afraid of what I might find.
‘Thank you,’ I say softly.
‘Good. I now need to get to homework duty,’ he says, smiling at me, before heading for the door.
‘Oh, before you go, you’re invited to my birthday party in a few weeks – it’s on Friday first of December,’ I say.
He cocks an eyebrow. ‘I assumed I was invited, as you came up with the idea in front of me. And I live next door.’
‘Take this as a formal invitation,’ I say, unable to stop myself smiling.
‘I’ll be there.’ He laughs. He turns around briefly, pauses. ‘Is Ollie coming to your birthday?’
I look out the window. ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘he texted that he was really excited to come.’
‘Good for you, Writer,’ says Ty, waving a hand and leaving.
Good for me indeed.
Selena Pia:Your future journalist
I’ve always been a storyteller. It’s been a part of me as far as I can remember. From being sentimental over the change of seasons, and trying to understand people’s motives and reasons, to giving overt meaning to ice cream flavour stamps (a story for another time). I’ve found stories, both real and fictional, a way to escape and a way to convey how I really feel.
I never realised that could be journalism . . . until this year.
For the past few years, I’ve been sending my friends these texts called ‘Selena Says’. They were observations of what I thought and the daily newsfrom around the school and our community. It became a discussion point for the three of us. A source of debate and laughter. Of keeping up with what was happening. It was a microcosm of news, but only the news that mattered to us.
When my friend suggested I should send them in to the school newspaper, I initially was resistant. Who would care about my mundane thoughts? Well, to cut a long story short, they ended up in the newspaper. And it turned out . . . a lot of people cared about my thoughts.
I write as the ‘Secret Sender’ in my student newspaper, a columnist who has a lot to say on what’s going on in the school. Every week, my short, five-line column is the most-talked about piece in the school. It might not be breaking news, but it’s a pulse on what everyone is feeling at the time. A document of the current status of our corner of the world. And if that isn’t news, what is?
I don’t know if I want to be a hard-hitting investigative journalist – that’s the truth. I don’t have any connections, and I haven’t been doing this for years. But I want to tell stories, and I want people to read them, and I want to get better at it.
So please take a chance on a writer like me.
I submit the application to the sound of Rose Conrad’s ‘Let’s Get Going’ echoing around my bedroom. Another big momentmarked by another song. Let’s hope it brings me luck.
Thirty-Two
I’ve been waiting and watching
My clock’s been a-ticking
I’m feeling this itching
Right in my soul
‘Let’s Get Going’ fromThe In-Between
Today’s Take:Let’s get real on Rose Conrad fans
Real Rose Conrad fans have been around sinceThe Brink of Teenage Freedom, not sinceDreamers. They know her lucky number is 8 and that even though she lives in LA, she calls Memphis home. Real Rose Conrad fans have sat down and gone through the song lyrics, looking for links between albums, notes she’s laid down for us. We know her through the trail of breadcrumbs she’s left for us, hints and stories unlocked through details.Real Rose Conrad fans are going to The In-Between Tour not because it’s a cool thing to do or because it’s a world tour, but because it means the world to them. Let’s hear it for the real fans.
Over a week after I send my application to the Croydon Post, I get a reply. I’ve been accepted.
