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Jay’s eyes went wide. “YOU, knocked on HIS door? Fucking hell, I guessed you must be desperate for it but that makes you fucked in the head as well.”
“Hardly. I knocked on his door, because I needed help getting YOUR dad off MY mum before he choked her to death.”
“Sure, yeah. Whatever you say. He’s a fucking pervert. He’s using you.”
I hated the thought of all the people gossiping about how I was just a stupid girl being taken advantage of. People preaching on about how I was a kid who didn’t know better.
“I’m saying what’s true,” I said. “Julian isn’t using me. He loves me, and I love him.”
Jay laughed at that. He actually laughed.
“Think what you want, Rosie. Your glasses have gone rose-coloured. The creep’s full of shit and you’re buying into it. Shame he had to fuck his own family over, let alone you on top. He’s told everyone he’s a dirty old cunt who likes fucking teenagers himself, you know. At least he was fucking honest about it. Sick twat.”
He barged past me and stormed off into college. He was right about that, of course. Julian had been honest about it. Noble, but such a shame that he’d condemned himself to a load of idiots.
I was reeling a bit, standing outside the gates as my lessons were about to start. It was time to get myself together. I needed to face my classes.
Everyone was staring.Everyone. News must have spread like wildfire, as the whole community seemed to be whispering and casting snidey glances, and I felt every single one of them. Myfriendsdid nothing but dig, but it was angled, as though I was even more of an outsider than usual, and they were only out for their own amusement. I knew they’d be bitching the moment I walked away. So, I did walk away. I walked to the library and sat there on my own. At one point I wished I had Trisha’s trumpet voice myself. I wished I could stand up in front of the whole college and tell them they were all talking shit about me and Julian, but what would be the point? They’d never believe me.
I was reading a thriller paperback in the kind of genre Julian wrote when someone put down a satchel on the table beside me. It was a battered dark brown leather, and had glitter and stickers all over it, strange. I was still looking at it when its owner took a seat beside me. I’d seen her around vaguely. She had glasses like me, but thicker framed, and she had long, red hair in a braid. She was from the art college block, I was sure.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi,” I said back, suspicious, since I knew there was something more to it. There were plenty of empty tables.
“I heard about you and the guy,” she told me, and I wanted to roll my eyes and sayyou and the rest of the universe, who gives a shit, but her tone wasn’t like any of the others. Hers was nice.
“I get shit all the time, too,” she told me. “My boyfriend is nearly forty, and that’s bad enough. Your gossip must be like a tornado.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Just thought I’d say, that if you need anyone to talk to, or hang out with or whatever, you can talk to me. I get it. Well, kind of.”
She smiled and got up to leave, but I held out my hand for her to stay.
“Wait, just…” I smiled back at her. “That’s really cool. Thanks. I’d love that.”
“Sure,” she said, and plopped her bag down as she took her seat. “I’m Lola, great to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“What are you reading?” she asked, and I showed her the cover.
“Midnight on the Run.”
“Nice.”
“Are you a reader?”
She shook her head, and got a laptop out of her satchel. “Not really. I’m more of an artist.”
That figured.
“What kind of artist?”
“Digital,” she said. “I love it. I’ve been drawing since I was a kid, just got it onscreen now rather than using colouring pencils.”
I turned the conversation back to the obvious.
