Freshmen Page 20

  Back in my room, I found my phone humming with Wall of Shame comments, but I didn’t even look at them. Instead, without thinking too much about it, I wrote Abbey a message:

  Hey. Long time…How are you? Really hope you’re ok.

  I didn’t hesitate, just pressed “send.” Then I lay back on my bed and tried to wrap my head around the impossible-to-understand medieval literature we were supposed to read for next week’s seminar.

  A few minutes later, she replied:

  Hey. I’m good. Much better anyway. I miss you.

  The library was the most distracting place I’d ever tried to work. We’d been there for two hours but all I had done was wander around the English section twice and watch who was going up and down the stairs. My phone was already in my hand when Frankie texted us. I looked up at her. She was sitting on the other side of the huge room, accidentally-on-purpose right next to the Renaissance History section, with her hair arranged into a just-got-out-of-bed messy bun to complement her casually chic gray cashmere sweater and matching slate eyeliner.

  Her text said:

  The OTHER woman is here—wearing a fishing coat—her face looks like one of those toys babies push shapes through.

  Ed’s possible love interest, Sophie or Sarah, was walking across the floor to the Sociology section. She was wearing a yellow rain coat and had a perfectly normal face. I gently nudged Negin. We both looked at her and she smiled slightly awkwardly, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know us. My phone flashed again:

  OK this is horrendous, we now have to leave.

  We wandered out into the cold and trudged down the hill.

  “I don’t know why I bother, honestly.” Frankie’s bottom lip jutted out as she unpinned her hair and kicked a can off the path huffily. “Ed never comes in the library anyway. I think he’s so intelligent he doesn’t need to.”

  Negin nodded. “Yup, that makes perfect sense.”

  Frankie squealed and jabbed her finger at the Starcups window display. “Oh my god, free hat with every gingerbread par-tay la-tte.” She broke out into a sort of canter. “Holidays are coming,” she chanted as she tumbled down the hill and into the café.

  We followed her inside. “Look! The mice are here.” She waved enthusiastically at a group in the corner. “Roomies!” she yelled, and threw a clenched fist in the air.

  “When was the last time you actually went back to your suite?” Negin asked.

  “When Fiona helped me with my first essay and made macaroni and cheese. I go back there for archaeology talk and food. They are the greatest. I hope to be exactly like them when I am old.”

  “What are they? Like, twenty-two?” Negin whispered.

  “Fiona’s twenty-three.” Frankie pouted.

  We sat down with our red cups. “I actually feel Christmassy now,” I said. “The semester is going really quickly—I can’t keep up.”

  Frankie pulled on her free, synthetic, red pom-pom hat and sniffed her drink. “My mum actually won’t let me come home before Christmas. In case I change my mind and won’t leave.”

  “My mum is the opposite,” Negin said. “Every day she texts me and is, like, ‘It’s your brother’s birthday, come home,’ or ‘We’re having chicken, come home,’ or ‘Your father can’t get Netflix to work, come home.’ ”

  “This tastes like a warmed-up almond croissant,” I said, sipping my latte.

  “Guys.” Frankie readjusted her bobble hat. “Deep and meaningful. The reason I bought your drinks is because I’m trying to bribe you. I’ve actually been super uptight about this.” She took an exaggerated deep breath. For a split second I wondered if it was about Luke. “I don’t know how to say this.” She pulled the hat down fully over her entire face and let out a warbled groan. I whacked the table and she jumped.

  “Doyouguyswannalivewithme?” She yelped it so quickly it sounded like one word.

  Everyone in Starcups turned and looked at us. It made me laugh involuntarily with sheer joy and relief.

  Me and Negin both nodded.

  “Awkward.” Frankie pulled the hat up to reveal one eye. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything?”

  “We both nodded,” Negin said, laughing. “Assertively nodded.”

  “OK, well, I couldn’t see that so I felt really sad. But now I’m super happy. I was also thinking we should ask Becky.” Frankie took a massive gulp of par-tay la-tte and I could see Negin was relieved.

  “Definitely,” I said. I couldn’t stop smiling. “We’ll need two doctors with the amount of disasters we have.”

  “You have.” They said it at exactly the same time. Then Frankie downed her latte. “Let’s go home and celebrate.”

  We linked arms as we walked home and showed each other Pinterest boards with cushions and photo walls and brightly colored kettles.

  “Let’s go and ask Becky,” Frankie said as we pushed open the doors of D Dorm.

  We walked past our own rooms and stood outside Becky’s door. Frankie looked at us both and then knocked. But as she did, it swung open. We all stood looking in.

  It was totally empty. Nothing on the walls. The bed stripped. The curtains still closed. It looked exactly the same as the day we had moved in.

  “Do you think we can go in?” I asked.

  “Well, she’s not here.” Negin stepped inside and me and Frankie followed her. With us three in the room it felt full, but still completely empty.

  Frankie sat on the bed. “I don’t understand. We saw her yesterday.”

  “Maybe she’s just moved rooms,” Negin said. “Let’s text her before we jump to conclusions.”

  Frankie opened the desk drawers and the sink cupboard. “It’s all just…empty.”

  All the jolliness of the last hour had disappeared. We walked silently back down the hall and pushed the kitchen door open. Everyone was in there. It was completely packed and boiling hot. They were all standing at the table, gathered around something.

  “Oooo…that one is bad.” I could hear Liberty in the center but I couldn’t see her. I watched Frankie’s face change. She could see something I couldn’t over the top of the crowd.

  “I’ve got that pillowcase,” Liberty shouted. “Exact same one. It’s from Dunelm. Can’t believe it.”

  I pushed past Nathan and Phillip and the others. Connor was sitting in the middle of them all, at a laptop. On the screen there was a picture of a girl. Well, half a girl’s face, slumped on a pillow. She had brown hair and freckles.

  “I know that girl,” Connor said. It was the quietest and most serious he’d ever sounded. It was actually scary. “I swear she’s in my program.”

  “She looks like she’s having a dream. She’s kind of smiling in her sleep.” Liberty said it like she was cooing over a baby.

  Connor scrolled up and another girl’s face appeared, her red hair pressed against the pillow and her mouth gaping slightly open. My hands started to feel tingly and all the blood rushed to my ears. I felt like I was going to vomit.

  “Fuck, is this actually real?” Frankie said.

  “Where did you get these?” Negin asked, and Connor turned to her:

  “Someone leaked them to The Tab. They’re everywhere.”

  Liberty squinted at the screen and read out one of the comments underneath. “Ginny Weasley’s rank sister.” She laughed and then covered her mouth straight away. “Sorry, that’s horrible.”

  “This is just grim, man,” Connor muttered.

  I felt dazed. I wasn’t sure if anyone else had noticed it, but the comment underneath it was from “Luke Taylor.” I peered closer at the screen. It wasn’t about the girl; it was just him asking what time everyone was meeting for practice. But it was from Luke Taylor.

  I thought about the Fit Sister gig; the way he had sounded when he said
it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to look at Negin or Frankie. I let Liberty and Nathan crowd me out as they huddled closer toward the screen. I shut my eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

  And then Connor flicked to another screenshot and the whole room went silent. I couldn’t see the screen very well, but I knew what was on it. Deep down, I must have known Will had done it. I didn’t want to cry in front of them all. I would have to try to pretend like I didn’t give a shit. Liberty took a step back and looked at me. I tried to arrange my face to look normal and pushed in front of Nathan.

  But the girl in the photo wasn’t me. It was Becky.

  “Man, you guys fucking suck,” said Arthur, high-fiving Rita triumphantly. “One more game?”

  Ed shook his head and finished his pineapple juice. “Got an essay to write. Plus, y’know, getting battered six games in a row isn’t exactly doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

  We were in Wulfstan Bar, killing time between lectures, seminars and essays by playing table soccer. Which had been fun at first until me and Ed had realized that Arthur and Rita were basically an unstoppable dream team; she was rock-like in defense, he was insanely quick-flicking in attack.

  “Me and Reets are a bit good, there’s no denying it,” Arthur admitted, digging into his pocket for more change.

  Rita shook her head. “The amount of time we wasted at this table last year.”

  Arthur waggled the coin at Ed. “Come on, Edward, don’t be a dick. You can write your essay later.”

  “I’m not being a dick,” said Ed. “And it’s Mund.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s Edmund, not Edward.”

  Arthur nearly spat his beer out. “Are you fucking kidding me? Your name’s Edmund? Are you literally from the Middle Ages? Is that why you’re doing Renaissance History? Because it’s when you were born?”

  “The Middle Ages and the Renaissance are different periods,” Ed said drily. “And I’m Edmund ’cause of Edmund Hillary. My dad’s into mountain climbing and all that. Anyway, I’ll see you guys later.”

  “Later, Ed,” I said.

  “I bid you farewell, good Edmund!” Arthur shouted after him.

  I watched him go, slightly annoyed he hadn’t stayed longer. Over the past few days, as I’d seen less and less of Will, I’d started to form this stupid, probably overoptimistic idea that me, Ed, Arthur and Rita could live together next year. I wanted to sound Ed out on it first, but for all I knew, the three of them already had houses figured out.

  The idea of being the one person on campus without anyone to live with was too fucking terrifying to think about.

  Arthur turned back to me: “Come on, Luke, one more game. Cheeky little one-on-one. I’ll even play left-handed.”

  “You are left-handed.” I grabbed my bag. “And I’ve got a class in, like, ten minutes, which I’ve done literally no reading for.”

  “What’s it on?” Rita asked.

  “Medieval literature. This book called Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.”

  “Should’ve asked Edmund about it,” muttered Arthur. “He probably wrote the fucking thing.”

  “I am genuinely quite worried. Like, if I get asked anything I will be totally screwed.”

  Arthur leaned in, conspiratorially. “OK, look, if you promise to play one more game, I’ll let you in on my foolproof, works-every-time, haven’t-done-the-reading trick.”

  Rita frowned. “What trick?”

  “You know—Arthur’s Law. I discovered it, that’s why it’s named after me. It’s a simple yet effective rule to be employed whenever you haven’t done the reading for a class.”

  “Sounds ideal,” I said.

  “Sounds like bullshit,” Rita said.

  Arthur ignored her. “Basically, Arthur’s Law states that the first person to speak in class will not get asked to speak again. If you step up straight away, the TA forgets you’re there—they try to get everyone involved except you.”

  “OK…But what do I say?”

  Arthur shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It can be the most meaningless, obvious, pointless thing in the world. Any old shit off Wikipedia. Just say it first and you’re in the clear for the rest of the day. Trust me. Get on Wikipedia now, then let’s play.”

  “Can’t. My phone’s dead.”

  “Fuck’s sake. Use mine.”

  I quickly memorized an appropriate comment off the Gawain Wikipedia page, and then we played one more game, which Arthur won, 8–2.

  When I got to the seminar, Phoebe was already there. But she hadn’t saved the seat next to her, like she normally did. Katie and Liverpool Paul were seated on either side of her.

  I said “Hey” but she didn’t even look up from her book. A couple of people giggled awkwardly, and Paul saved me from total humiliation by saying “Hey” back, which was pretty nice of him considering we’d only spoken twice.

  Feeling a bit flushed and confused, I went and sat on the other side of the room, next to Mary. Our TA—a short, curly-haired man called Hugh—came in and started speaking straight away, which left me trying desperately to make eye contact with Phoebe and wondering what the hell was up with her.

  “So what did everyone think of Gawain?” Hugh was saying. “And don’t say that he’s basically a medieval James Bond. Even though, to some extent, that’s true.”

  There was a split-second pause, so I dived right in: “I thought it was interesting how the pentangle on Gawain’s shield came to represent the five virtues of medieval knights: chastity, generosity, courtesy, piety and friendship.”

  A suitably awestruck silence followed this, and Hugh smiled. “Yes, that’s a good point, Luke.”

  Mary gave me a shit-that-was-impressive grin, but Phoebe still wasn’t looking up from the desk. I wondered if something had happened between her and Negin or Frankie. But then, why would she be taking it out on me?

  “What did everyone else think?” Hugh asked, looking around the room as people shuffled in their seats. “Picking up on what Luke said, some critics see the book as a satire on chivalry. What do you make of that?”

  No one piped up, and I sat there smugly, wondering who he would pick on. He swiveled his chair back to me. “How about you, Luke? You seem to have really gotten to grips with this text. Did you see it as a satire?”

  All eyes were back on me. Except Phoebe’s.

  “Erm…yeah,” I mumbled. “I mean, sort of. I guess.”

  Another silence followed this. It was noticeably less awestruck than the first one. Mary was biting her lip and staring up at the ceiling.

  “Right,” said Hugh, dragging the word out to last about five seconds. He swiveled back to the group. “I mean, what was everyone’s take on the meaning of the Green Girdle?”

  No one seemed to have any particularly strong thoughts on the Green Girdle, so he turned back to me again. “Luke—the Green Girdle?”

  I felt myself starting to go red. “Erm, well, I was more…I actually thought the pentangle was more interesting, actually, as it represented—”

  “The five virtues, yes, you said.” Hugh nodded. “Right. Maybe we should all read the first part of the text together, as a group, and see what we can get out of it. Mary, can you kick us off?”

  Mary started reading, and I sat there next to her, feeling my cheeks burn and trying to figure out the most painful way to murder Arthur.

  When class finally ended, Phoebe was out of the room quicker than the accidental-text day. I ran and caught up with her in the hall, trying my best to be casual. “Hey. So if Arthur ever tries to give you advice about homework, trust me—”

  She didn’t stop, just kept walking.

  “Phoebe!”

  “Fuck off, Luke.” She didn’t even turn around to say it. I caught up with her aga
in.

  “Phoebe, what’s up? Are you OK? What’s wrong?”

  She finally spun around and looked at me. Her face was hard, and her blue-green eyes were shining with anger.

  “Did you take any of me?” she said. I noticed the strap of her backpack was trembling, and then realized it was because she was trembling.

  “Did I…What are you on about?”

  “Come on. Let me see your phone. Did you take any of me?”

  “My phone’s dead. Seriously, what is going on?”

  She shook her head bitterly: “Oh, that’s a coincidence.” Then all the hardness went out of her face suddenly and she just looked…tired. “You’re such a prick, Luke. You lied, right to my face.”

  My first thought was Abbey. But while I was turning to ice on the inside, I kept up the performance on the outside: “Lied about what? Phoebe, what’s going on?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Luke! You can stop pretending now.” People were streaming out of another room, slowing down to watch us.

  “Pretending about what?”

  Phoebe looked close to tears. “The…‘Wall of Shame’? Isn’t that what you all call it? And don’t fucking lie again, Luke. I saw you on it. And now Becky’s gone. She’s left college. Not that any of you give a shit. So don’t fucking speak to me anymore. I don’t want to know you.”

  The streams of people had passed now, and in the silence I could hear the soft hum of the vending machines.

  Phoebe turned to go. “I don’t know why I thought…Fuck it. You’re exactly what you were at school. A dumb fucking jock.”

  I stood there numbly for a few seconds, watching her walk off, not knowing what to do or what to think. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Mary strolling past.

  “Cheer up, Pentangle.” She smiled. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  To everyone else I acted like I was furious with Luke. Like I hated him. And in part that was true.

  But other things were true, too. That I was lonely. That I felt paranoid that no one liked me anymore. That maybe people were suspicious that I had known. That I was guilty by association.