Solitaire

LUNCH. COMMON ROOM. I am staring into my reflection in a smudgy blank computer screen with my head in my hands. Not because I’m particularly stressed or anything—this is just a very comfortable sitting position.

“Hello,” says Lucas, smiling and sitting in the chair next to me. I look up at him. He doesn’t look so embarrassed today, which is colossal progress.

“Why so cheerful?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Why not?”

I roll my eyes, faking sarcasm. “I don’t like your attitude.”

He stares at me for a minute or so. I take out my phone and scroll through my blog feed.

Then he says, “Hey, erm, what are you up to on Saturday?”

“Er, nothing, I guess.”

“Do you . . . we should do something.”

“We should?”

“Yeah.” Now he’s embarrassed. “I mean, if you want.”

“Like what?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just . . . chill somewhere.”

I force myself to think very carefully about this. I could try. For once. I could try to be a legitimately nice human being. “Oh, er, I said I’d go to this thing in the evening. But I’m free in the day.”

He lights up. “Great! What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. It was your idea.”

“Oh, yeah . . . well, you could come round mine if you want? Just watch movies . . .”

“Is Evelyn all right with that?”

Yep. I went there.

“Um . . .” He sort of laughs, like I’m joking. “What?”

“Evelyn.” My voice starts to fail. “Are you not . . . you and Evelyn . . . ?”

“Er . . . we’re . . . no . . .”

“Okay. Right. Cool. Just checking.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Becky calls over to us. We both spin around in our chairs. “You look like you’re talking about something interesting. I want gossip. Spill.”

I put my legs up on Lucas’s lap because I just can’t be arsed to be reserved right now. “Obviously we’re flirting. God, Becky.”

For a second, Becky thinks I’m serious. It is a truly triumphant moment.

Later, I pass Michael in the corridor. He stops and points directly at me.

“You,” he says.

“Me,” I say.

We speedily transfer our conversation to a stairwell.

“Are you free on Saturday?” he asks. He’s got one of his stupid mugs of tea again. He’s actually spilt some on his white shirt.

I’m about to say yes, but then I remember. “Er, no. I said me and Lucas would do something. Sorry.”

“Ah. Don’t worry.” He sips his tea. “You’re not allowed to ditch the Solitaire meet-up, though.”

“Oh.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Well, everyone’s been talking about it.”

“They have?”

We look at each other.

“Do I have to go?” I say. “You are aware that I literally don’t give a single fuck about Solitaire.”

“I am aware,” he says, which means yes, I do have to go.

The horde of lower-school girls thundering up the stairs behind us is slowly thinning. I need to get to English.

“Anyway,” he says. “Yes. Get to mine Saturday evening. When you and Lucas are finished . . . canoodling.” He moves his eyebrows up and down.

I slowly shake my head. “I don’t think I have ever heard anyone use that word in real life.”

“Well then,” he says. “I’m glad I’ve made your day that bit more special.”