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“But—” I begin.
“I’ve got this,” she repeats, brooking no arguments.
My stomach growls again, and this time I don’t try and disagree. I follow her out of the studio and back up to her flat. Twenty minutes later I’m sitting on her bed eating a grilled cheese sandwich and slurping a cup of tea. Chewing on the last mouthful, I get up and pop our empty plates and mugs in the sink, washing them up. Clancy flicks through her phone, and clicks on a track in her Spotify playlist before placing the phone into her speakers. It’sHideawayby Kiesza, a lively song with a wicked beat that makes you want to clap your hands and stomp your feet, or in Clancy’s case, tap dance.
She jumps up grinning, grabs her tap shoes, stuffs her feet into them and then starts to dance around me in the tiny space between where her bed lies and her kitchen ends. Her feet move like lightning, her tap steps in time with the deep club music, the tune harks back to 1990’s dance. I fucking love it. I fucking love her infectious positivity.
“Come on, girl!” she shouts over the music, grinning crazily at me.
“We’ve just eaten!” I retort, laughing.
“What are you, mymum? Move your damn feet!” She dances over to her speakers and turns the music up until my ears are ringing with the sound.
I dance.
Wildly.
Freely.
With a full belly and friendship in my heart.
We jump up and down and wave our hands in the air like a bunch of ravers with no rhythm. She laughs.
I laugh.
We hug. We spin. We sing along to the song.
And I feel her friendship like a warm, comforting hug.
This girl’s a keeper.
By the time the song’s finished we’re both lying on the bed, breathing hard and grinning. I feel a thousand times lighter. She turns her head to face mine, her pea-green eyes sparkling.
“Those boys are stupid for not seeing how amazing you are. I’m here, okay? I’m here when you need to talk, when you want to vent, when you want to dance like a drugged-up nineties raver.” She giggles at that, and I smile back. We’re totally on the same wavelength.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
“So, how’s your sister?” Clancy asks, propping herself up on her bent arm as she looks down at me, the music still blares out and I can barely hear her over the sound of some dubstep.
“A perfectly obnoxious teenager,” I respond, not wanting to openly lie to her again. Guilt wraps around my heart. I told Clancy I was visiting Lena this weekend and the fact that I haven’t doesn’t sit well with me. I feel guilt for not seeing my sister and guilt for lying. I make a promise to go and see Lena as soon as she’s back from her school trip to the Isle of Wight.
“Yeah, teenagers suck,” Clancy responds grinning, giving me a funny look.
“What?”
“You know, strictly speaking I’mstilla teenager…”
“Wait, what? How old are you?” I giggle.
“I’m nineteen, bitch. My birthday is in a couple of weeks.”
Laughing, I sit up, pulling her up with me. “Well then, we got to make some plans, right?” My words run away with me before I’ve had time to really think about what I’m saying. I can’t afford a night out, not to mention the fact I don’t know what nights I’m supposed to be working for Grim… as a goddamnstripper. The thought of taking my clothes off for other people’s pleasure pisses me the fuck off. I don’t know Grim but after our brief chat, I thought I understood her, but clearly she’s fucking me over too.
“Yesssssss, girl! We are going to partaaaayyyy!” Clancy exclaims, unaware of my inner turmoil. Her infectious excitement makes me smile despite my predicament. “I want to dance, I want to drink, I want to let loose, but most of all I want to find a nice man to fuck the rest of the night away with.”
“Clancy—” I begin, about to be a party pooper again and explain I may have gotten ahead of myself, but I’m rudely interrupted by banging on her door.
“Who is it?” Clancy yells over the music, pulling an ‘oh shit, we’re in trouble, but I don’t really give a fuck,’ face.
