Loveless. Alice Oseman

in 1991 when my mum was a ballet teacher and my dad was in a band. I’m not even joking. They were literally the plot of Avril Lavigne’s ‘Sk8er Boi’ but with a happy ending.

      Both sets of my grandparents were still together. My brother married his girlfriend when he was twenty-two. None of my close relatives had been divorced. Even most of my older cousins had at least partners, if not whole families of their own.

      I hadn’t ever been in a relationship.

      I hadn’t even kissed anyone.

      Jason kissed Karishma from my history class on his Duke of Edinburgh expedition and dated a horrible girl called Aimee for a few months until he realised she was a knob. Pip kissed Millie from the Academy at a house party and also Nicola from our youth theatre group at the dress rehearsal for Dracula. Most people had a story like that – a silly kiss with someone they sort of had a crush on, or didn’t really, and it didn’t necessarily go anywhere, but that was a part of being a teenager.

      Most people aged eighteen have kissed someone. Most people aged eighteen have had at least one crush, even if it’s on a celebrity. At least half of everyone I knew had actually had sex, although some of those people were probably lying, or they were just referring to a really terrible hand job or touching a boob.

      But it didn’t bother me, because I knew my time would come. It did for everyone. You’ll find someone eventually – that was what everyone said, and they were right. Teen romances only worked out in movies anyway.

      All I had to do was wait, and my big love story would come. I would find the one. We would fall in love. And I’d get my happily ever after.

      

      ‘Georgia has to kiss Tommy,’ Pip said to Jason as we slumped down next to him on a sofa in Hattie’s living room.

      Jason, who was in the middle of a game of Scrabble on his phone, frowned at me. ‘Can I ask why?’

      ‘Because it’s been seven years and I think it’s time,’ said Pip. ‘Thoughts?’

      Jason Farley-Shaw was our best friend. We were kind of a trio. Pip and I went to the same all-girls grammar school and met Jason through the annual school plays, where they’d always get a few of the boys from the boys’ grammar school to join in, then after a couple of years he joined our school, which was mixed in the sixth form, and joined our youth theatre group too.

      No matter what production we put on, whether it was a musical or a play, Jason usually played essentially the same role: a stern older man. This was mostly because he was tall and broad, but also because, at first glance, he did give off a bit of a strict dad vibe. He’d been Javert in Les Mis, Prospero in The Tempest and the angry father, George Banks, in Mary Poppins.

      Despite this, Pip and I had quickly learnt that underneath his stern exterior, Jason was a very gentle, chilled-out dude who seemed to enjoy our company more than anyone else’s. With Pip being a harbinger of chaos and my tendency to feel worried and awkward about pretty much everything, Jason’s calmness balanced us out perfectly.

      ‘Uh,’ Jason said, glancing at me. ‘Well … it doesn’t really matter what I think about it.’

      ‘I don’t know if I want to kiss Tommy,’ I said.

      Jason looked satisfied and turned back to Pip. ‘There you go. Case closed. You have to be sure about these things.’

      ‘No! Come on!’ Pip squawked and turned to face me. ‘Georgia. I know you’re shy. But it’s totally normal to be nervous about crushes. This is literally the final chance you have to confess your feelings, and even if he rejects you, it doesn’t matter, because he’s going to uni on the other side of the country.’

      I could have pointed out that this meant a relationship would be pretty difficult should he respond positively, but I didn’t.

      ‘Remember how nervous I was telling Alicia I liked her?’ Pip continued. ‘And then she was like sorry, I’m straight, and I cried for like two months, but look at me now! I’m thriving!’ She kicked one leg into the air to make her point. ‘This is a no-consequence scenario.’

      Jason was looking at me through all of this, like he was trying to suss out how I felt.

      ‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘I just … don’t know. I guess I do like him.’

      A flash of sadness crossed Jason’s features, but then it was gone.

      ‘Well,’ he said, looking down at his lap, ‘I guess you should just do what you want.’

      ‘I guess I do want to kiss him,’ I said.

      I looked around the room and, sure enough, Tommy was there, standing in a small group of people near the doorway. He was just far enough away that I couldn’t quite focus on the details of his face – he was just the concept of a person, a blob, a generic attractive guy. My seven-year crush. Seeing him so far away and blurry took me right back to being in Year 7, pointing at a photo of a boy I thought was probably attractive.

      And that made up my mind. I could do this.

      I could kiss Tommy.

      I’d had times when I’d wondered whether I’d end up with Jason. I’d had times when I’d wondered whether I’d end up with Pip too. If our lives were in a movie, at least two of us would have got together.

      But I’d never felt any romantic feelings for either of them, as far as I could tell.

      Pip and I had been friends for almost seven years. From day one of Year 7, when we’d been sat together in our form-room seating plan and forced to tell each other three interesting facts about ourselves. We learnt we both wanted to be actors and that was it. Friends.

      Pip was always more sociable, funnier, and generally more interesting than me. I was the listener, the supportive one when she’d had her am-I-gay crisis at the age of fourteen, and then her I-don’t-know-whether-to-do-acting-or-science crisis last year, and then her I-really-want-to-cut-my-hair-short-but-I’m-scared crisis several months ago.

      Jason and I had met each other later, but we bonded faster than I’d ever thought possible, given my poor track record for forming friendships. He was the first person I met who I could sit quietly with and it wouldn’t feel awkward. I didn’t feel like I had to try to be funny and entertaining with him; I could just be me, and he wouldn’t dislike me because of it.

      We’d all had what felt like a thousand sleepovers with each other. I knew exactly where the broken springs were in Pip’s bed. I knew that Jason’s favourite glass in my cupboard was a faded Donald Duck one I got at Disneyland when I was twelve. Moulin Rouge was the movie we always watched when we hung out – we all knew it word for word.

      There were never any romantic feelings between Pip, Jason and me. But what we did have – a friendship of many years – was just as strong as that, I think. Stronger, maybe, than a lot of couples I knew.

      

      In order to get me physically closer to Tommy, Pip forced us to join a group game of truth or dare, which both Jason and I protested against, but Pip obviously won.

      ‘Truth,’ I said when it was my turn to suffer. Hattie, who was leading the game, grinned evilly and selected a card from the ‘truth’ pack. There must have been about twelve of us, all sitting on the living-room carpet. Pip and Jason were sitting on either side of me. Tommy was opposite. I didn’t really want to look at him.

      Pip handed me a crisp from