Solitaire. Alice Oseman

still playing over and over. Apparently, the caretakers are trying to fix it, but at the moment the only solution appears to be cutting the electrics of the entire school, which, according to Kent, would classify as “giving in”. He’s got that World War II Churchill attitude, old Mr Kent. I take a quick glance out of the windows behind the computers. I know I should be doing some homework too, but I’d much rather play chess and admire the windy greyness outside. That’s my major problem with school. I really don’t do anything unless I actually want to. And most of the time I don’t want to do anything at all.

      “You’ve had quite a good first week,” I say, my eyes still focused on the sky.

      “Best week of my entire life,” he says. Seems like an exaggeration to me, but each to their own.

      Lucas is such an innocent guy. Awkward and innocent. In fact, he’s so awkward that it’s almost as if he’s putting it on. I know he’s probably not, but that’s still the way it comes across. I mean, awkward is very in fashion at the moment. It’s frustrating. I have experienced my fair share of awkward, and awkward is not cute, awkward does not make you more attractive and awkward certainly should not be fashionable. It just makes you look like an idiot.

      “Why did we stop being friends?” he asks, not looking at me.

      I pause. “People grow up and move on. That’s life.”

      I regret saying this, however true it might be. I see a kind of sadness fizzle into his eyes, but it quickly disappears.

      “Well,” he says and turns to me, “we’re not grown up yet.”

      He takes out his phone and starts to read something on it. I watch as his face melts into something confusing. The pips that signal the end of break somehow manage to sound over the music and he puts the phone away and starts to gather his stuff.

      “Got a lesson?” I ask and then realise that this is one of those pointless questions which I hate.

      “History. I’ll see you later.”

      He walks several paces before turning as if he has something else to say. But he just stands there. I give him a strange sort of smile, which he returns and then walks away. I watch as he meets a boy with a large quiff at the door and they start up a conversation as they exit the common room.

      Finally at peace, I return to my music. My iPod has shuffled on to Aimee Mann – just one of my many depressing nineties artists that nobody has heard of. I get to wondering where Michael Holden might be. I haven’t seen him since Tuesday. I don’t have his phone number or anything. Even if I did, it’s not like I would text him. I don’t text anyone.

      I don’t really do much for the next hour. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be in a lesson, but I really can’t find the will to move. I briefly wonder again who Solitaire might be, but I conclude for the billionth time that I just don’t care. I set an alarm on my phone to remind me to take Charlie to counselling tonight because Nick is busy, and then I sit very still with my head on one arm and doze off.

      I wake up just before the pips go again. I swear to God I’m a freak. I mean it. One day I’m going to forget how to wake up.

       EIGHT

      I’M SPRAWLED ON the computer desks in the common room at 8.21am on Monday with Becky raving on about how cute Ben Hope was at Lauren’s (that was six days ago, for God’s sake) when someone bellows with extreme resonance from the door: “HAS ANYONE SEEN TORI SPRING!?”

      I wake from the dead. “Oh Christ.”

      Becky roars my location across the air and before I have time to hide under the desk, Zelda Okoro is standing in front of me. I flatten my hair, hoping it will shield me from her dictatorial intervention. Zelda wears full make-up to school every day, including lipstick and eyeshadow, and I think she might be certifiably insane.

      “Tori. I’m nominating you for Operation Inconspicuous.”

      It takes several seconds for this information to register.

      “No, you are not,” I say. “No. No.”

      “Yes. You haven’t got a say. The Deputy Heads voted on who they wanted in Year 12.”

      “What?” I slump back on to the desk. “What for?”

      Zelda puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head. “We’re facing a crisis, Tori.” She speaks way too fast and in extremely short sentences. I don’t like it. “Higgs is facing a crisis. A team of eight prefects just isn’t going to cover it. We’re upping the stake-out ops team to fifteen. Operation Inconspicuous is a go. Tomorrow. 0700.”

      “I’m sorry – what did you just say?”

      “We’ve come to the conclusion that most of the sabotage must be happening during the early hours. So we’re staking out tomorrow morning. 0700. You’d better be there.”

      “I hate you,” I say.

      “Don’t blame me,” she says. “Blame Solitaire.” She clip-clops off.

      Becky, Evelyn, Lauren and Rita are all around me. Lucas too. I think he’s one of Our Lot now.

      “Well, you’re obviously in the teachers’ good books,” says Becky. “Next thing you know, they’ll be making you an actual prefect.”

      I shoot her a look of severe distress.

      “Yeah, but if you were a prefect, you could skip the lunch queue,” says Lauren. “Fast food, man. And you could give Year 7s detentions whenever they’re being too cheerful.”

      “What did you even do to make the teachers like you?” asks Becky. “You don’t exactly do much.”

      I shrug at her. She’s right. I don’t do much at all.

      Later in the day, I pass Michael in the corridor. I say ‘pass’, but what actually happens is he shouts “TORI” so loudly that I manage to drop my English folder on the floor. He lets out this deafening laugh, his eyes scrunching up behind his glasses, and he actually stops and stands still in the middle of the corridor, causing three Year 8s to bump into him. I look at him, pick up my folder and walk right past.

      I’m in English now. Reading Pride and Prejudice. Now that I’ve reached Chapter 6, I have established that I hate this book with a profound passion. It’s boring and clichéd, and I constantly feel the urge to hold it over a lit match. The women only care about the men and the men don’t seem to care about anything at all. Except Darcy maybe. He’s not so bad. Lucas is the only person I can see who is reading the book properly, with his calm and quiet expression, but every so often he checks his phone. I scroll through a few blogs on my own phone under the desk, but there really isn’t anything interesting on there.

      Becky is in the seat next to me and she’s talking to Ben Hope. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid them without moving to a different seat or leaving the class or dying. They are playing Dots and Boxes in Ben’s school planner. Becky keeps losing.

      “You’re cheating!” she exclaims and attempts to grab Ben’s pen. Ben laughs a very attractive laugh. They have a small wrestling match over the pen. I try not to throw up or dive under the table from sheer cringe.

      In the common room at lunch, Becky tells Evelyn all about Ben. At some point, I interrupt their conversation.

      “What happened to Jack?” I ask her.

      “Jack who?” she says. I blink at her, and she turns back to Evelyn.