Page 54 of Unnecessary Drama

I walk out the door, as quickly as possible, hoping I can somehow lose Jesse.

‘What’s going on?’ he says, a step behind me. ‘One minute you’re smiling, and now you look upset and you were going to leave without telling me? Did Henry say something? Or Tristan?’

‘No. They’re fine. Everything’s fine. I’m not upset.’

‘Yes you are.’

‘I just feel bad, lying to Tristan.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since I thought about it in the bathroom.’

‘Well, it was Penny’s idea, let’s blame her,’ Jesse says. ‘Anyway, Tristan probably won’t even remember this night at all—if he keeps drinking.’

‘He will. And he’ll tell other people from school about it. This is going to become a whole thing, people thinking we’re together.’

‘It’s fine,’ Jesse says. ‘My schoolfriends aren’t in touch with Tristan.’

‘Well, some of mine are.’

‘Okay. So we’ll say we broke up, if anyone asks. Or we pretend to be together for a while. Or we tell them it was a joke. Or whatever you want! Who cares what they all think,’ Jesse says.

It really doesn’t matter to him. The tangled web of lies and rumours and people asking questions and our reputations and some people never knowing the truth, because the original gossip headline travels faster and further than the correction, everyone knows that, and so most people will just hear that Jesse and I are together, and why does the thought of that hurt me so much, and why didn’t I consider all of this before I agreed to the plan.

‘I do. I care,’ I say. I can feel anger bubbling.

‘Okay, fine, you care,’ Jesse says. He sounds confused. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

‘You just don’t seem to care about much,’ I say.

‘I did you a favour tonight, and you’re mad at me for not caring that it might be a big mistake?’ Jesse says, half-angry now too.

‘I’m not mad at you.’

‘It sounds like you are.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘Can you slow down for a second?’

‘No.’

‘Is this about what just happened, with the kiss?’ he says, after a beat of silence.

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

God, his tone is so patronising, I could scream.

‘I don’t care about the kiss,’ I say, walking faster.

‘Ten seconds ago you’re telling me you do care, now you’re telling me you don’t care.’

‘I was talking about different things.’

‘Okay. Well, what if I care about the kiss?’