Solitaire. Alice Oseman

…?”

      “I just followed this trail of Post-it notes.”

      “What?”

      “I followed a trail of Post-it notes. They led to the Solitaire blog.”

      “Ah … that’s cool …”

      I love Becky, but sometimes she acts like such a bimbo. It really pisses me off because she got into grammar school for Christ’s sake. She got ten A grades at GCSE.

      Meanwhile, Michael is helping himself to our leftover starters. With his free hand, he points ambiguously towards Becky. “Are you Becky Allen?”

      Becky slowly turns to Michael. “Are you psychic?”

      “Just a fairly capable Facebook stalker. You’re all lucky I’m not a serial killer.” His finger, still flexed, gravitates towards Lucas. “And Lucas Ryan. We’ve met already.” He smiles at him so forcefully that it comes across as patronising. “I should thank you. You’re the one who led me to this girl.”

      Lucas nods.

      “I like your shirt,” says Michael, eyes glazing slightly.

      “Thanks,” says Lucas, definitely not meaning it.

      I start to wonder whether Lucas knew Michael at Truham. Judging by Nick and Charlie’s reaction, he probably did. Maybe he doesn’t really want to associate with Michael Holden. It’s almost making me feel sorry for Michael Holden. For the second time.

      Michael looks past Becky. “And what’s your name?”

      For a moment, I don’t quite realise who he’s talking to. Then I see Rita. She pokes her head round from Becky’s other side.

      “Er, Rita. Rita Sengupta.” She laughs. I’m not sure why she laughs, but she does anyway. Rita is probably the only other girl with whom I am civil, besides Becky and Lauren and Evelyn. She hangs around with Lauren, but you tend not to notice her. She’s the only girl I know who can pull off a pixie crop.

      Michael lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “Rita! That is a fantastic name. Lovely Rita!”

      By the time I realise that he’s referring to the Beatles’ song, the conversation has already moved on. It’s surprising I even recognise it. I hate the Beatles.

      “So, you and Tori just … met? And started talking?” asks Becky. “That seems sort of unlikely.”

      It’s funny because it’s true.

      “Yes,” says Michael. “Unlikely, yes. But that is what happened.”

      Once again, he looks into my face, casually blanking the entire group. I cannot articulate how uncomfortable I feel right now. This is worse than drama GCSE.

      “Anyway, Tori, there’s something I want to tell you.”

      I blink, sitting on my hands.

      Lauren and Becky and Evelyn and Lucas and Rita are listening intently. Michael glances at each face over his large glasses.

      “But … I, erm, can’t remember what it was.”

      Lucas sneers. “You tracked her all the way down to this restaurant to tell her something and now you can’t even remember what it is?”

      This time Michael picks up on Lucas’s tone. “Excuse me for having a memory like a sieve. I feel I deserve credit for making the effort to come here.”

      “Why couldn’t you just send her a message on Facebook?”

      “Facebook is for trivialities such as what takeaways people are having and how many ‘lols’ they had the night before with their ‘gals’.”

      Lucas shakes his head. “I just don’t get why you’d actually come down here and then forget. You wouldn’t forget if it was something important.”

      “On the contrary, you’d probably be more likely to forget the most important things of all.”

      Becky interjects: “So are you and Tori friends now?”

      Michael continues to contemplate Lucas before addressing Becky. “That is a fantastic question.” Then he faces me. “What do you think? Are we friends now?”

      I genuinely can’t think of an answer, because the answer, in my opinion, is definitely not yes, but it’s definitely not no either.

      “How can we be friends if you don’t know anything about me?” I say.

      He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see. I know that your name is Victoria Spring. You’re in Year 12. Your Facebook indicates that you were born on April 5th. You are an introvert with a pessimist complex. You’re wearing pretty plain clothes – jumper, jeans – you don’t like embellishments and fuss. You don’t care about dressing up for people. You’ll have ordered a margherita pizza – you’re a picky eater. You rarely update your Facebook – you don’t care for social activities. But you followed the Post-it trail yesterday, just like I did. You’re curious.” He leans in. “You like to act as if you care about nothing and if you carry on like that then you’re going to drown in the abyss you have imagined for yourself.”

      He stops. His smile vanishes, leaving only its ghost.

      “Jesus, mate, you are a stalker!” Lauren attempts a laugh, but no one else joins in.

      “No,” Michael says. “I just pay attention.”

      “It’s like you’re in love with her or something,” says Evelyn.

      Michael smiles a knowing smile. “I suppose it is a bit like that.”

      “You’re gay though, aren’t you?” says Lauren, forever unafraid to say what other people are thinking. “Like, I heard that you’re gay.”

      “Oooh, you’ve heard about me?” He leans in. “Intriguing.”

      “Are you though?” asks Lucas, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.

      Michael waves a hand about. “Some people say that.” Then he grins and points a finger at him. “You never know, it might be you I’m in love with.”

      Lucas immediately colours.

      “You’re gay!” squeaks Becky. “Tori has a gay best friend! I. Am. Jealous.”

      Sometimes I’m embarrassed to be friends with Becky.

      “I need to pee,” I say, even though I don’t, and I leave the table and find myself in the restaurant bathroom staring at myself in the mirror while P!nk is telling me to “raise my glass”. I stay there for too long. Older ladies shoot me discerning looks as they waddle in and out of cubicles. I don’t know what I’m doing really. I just keep thinking about what Michael said. Drowning in my abyss. I don’t know. Why does that matter? Why does that bother me?

      Jesus Christ, why did I bother coming out tonight?

      I continue to stare at myself in this mirror and I imagine a voice reminding me to be funny and chatty and happy, like normal people. As the voice reminds me, I start to feel a bit more positive about stuff, even though any residual enthusiasm for seeing Lucas again has drained away. I think it’s because of that Hawaiian shirt. I go back into the restaurant.

       FIVE

      “THAT WAS ONE hell of a pee,” says Michael as I sit down. He’s still here. Part of me was hoping he wouldn’t be.

      “You sound impressed,” I say.

      “I am actually.”

      Becky, Evelyn and Lauren are now talking across the table to some other girls