Loveless

by Alice Oseman

  This actually caused Rooney to sit up, eyes wide and sparkling. ‘Wait. You act?’

  ‘Um …’

  I did act, but, well, it was a bit more complicated than that now.

  When I was in my early teens, I’d wanted to be an actor – which was why I’d joined the youth theatre group that Pip already went to and started auditioning for the school plays with her. And I was good at it. I got top marks in drama class at school. I usually got a pretty solid speaking part in the plays and musicals that I did.

  But as I got older, acting just started to make me nervous. I got more stage fright the more plays I did, and eventually, when I auditioned for Les Misérables in Year 13, I was shaking so much that I got relegated to a role with only one line, and even then, come showtime, I threw up before every single performance.

  So maybe a career in acting wasn’t for me.

  Despite this, I was planning to continue with acting at uni. I still enjoyed figuring out roles and interpreting scripts – it was the audiences I had problems with. I just needed to work on my confidence. I’d join the student theatre society and maybe audition for a play. I needed to join one society, at least, if I was going to branch out and open up and meet new people.

  And find someone to fall in love with.

  ‘Yeah, a bit,’ I said.

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ Rooney clapped one hand to her heart. ‘This is amazing. We can go join the DST together.’

  ‘The DST …?’

  ‘Durham Student Theatre. They basically run all of the drama societies in Durham.’ Rooney flipped her ponytail back. ‘The Shakespeare Soc is literally the main society I wanna join. I know most freshers do the Freshers Play but I had a look at what plays they’ve done the past few years and they’re all kind of boring? So I’m at least gonna try and join Shakespeare. God I’m praying they’ll do a tragedy. Macbeth is literally my dream …’

  Rooney rambled on without seeming to care whether I was actually listening or not.

  We had something in common. Acting. This was good.

  Maybe Rooney would be my first new friend.

  ‘Oh, wow!’ said Jason later that day as he and Pip stepped into my – well, my and Rooney’s room. ‘It’s the size of my garden.’

  Pip stretched out her arms and did a twirl on the spot, emphasising the unnecessary amount of empty space in the room. ‘I didn’t realise you’d joined the college of the bourgeoisie.’

  ‘I don’t understand why they couldn’t just … build a wall in the middle,’ I said, pointing at the gap between mine and Rooney’s sides of the room, which was currently only occupied by Rooney’s aqua rug.

  ‘How very Trump of you,’ said Jason.

  ‘Oh my God, shut up.’

  Rooney had left a while ago with a group of people she’d befriended on our corridor. They’d invited me, but honestly, I needed some down time – I’d been trying my best to say hi to new people for most of the day, and I really, really wanted to see some familiar faces. So I’d invited Jason and Pip to come hang in my room for a bit before this evening’s freshers’ events at our separate colleges, and thankfully, they’d both finished unpacking and didn’t have anything else to do.

  I’d already told them a little bit about Rooney – that she liked theatre and was generally quite nice – but her side of the room was a much better summary of her personality.

  Jason surveyed it, then looked over my side. ‘Why does her side look like an Instagram influencer’s bedroom and yours looks like a prison cell? You brought so many bags with you!’

  ‘It’s not that bad. And a lot of the bags had books in them.’

  ‘Georgia, my dude,’ said Pip, who had slumped on to my bed. ‘Her side looks like Disneyland. Yours looks like a stock photo.’

  ‘I didn’t bring any posters,’ I said. ‘Or fairy lights.’

  ‘You – Georgia, how the hell did you forget fairy lights? They’re an essential element of university room décor.’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘You’ll be sad without fairy lights. Everyone’s sad without fairy lights.’

  ‘I think Rooney’s got more than enough for both of us. She’s already letting me share a rug.’

  Pip looked down at the aqua and nodded approvingly.

  ‘Yes. It’s a good rug.’

  ‘It’s just a rug.’

  ‘It’s a shaggy one. That’s sexy.’

  ‘Pip.’

  Pip suddenly leapt out of the bed, staring at Rooney’s fern in the corner of the room. ‘Hang on – wait one fucking second. That plant …’

  Jason and I turned to look at Roderick.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. That’s Roderick.’

  And it was at that moment that Rooney Bach returned to our room.

  She swung the door wide open, kicked her Norton Anthology in front of it to act as a doorstop, and turned to face us with a Starbucks in her hand.

  ‘Guests!’ she said, beaming at the three of us.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I said. ‘These are my friends from home, Pip and Jason.’ I pointed at each of them. ‘And this is my roommate, Rooney.’ I pointed at Rooney.

  Rooney’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my God. This is them.’

  ‘It’s us,’ said Pip, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘And we’ve met already!’ Rooney gave Pip a once-over, her eyes flicking briefly up and down from her tortoiseshell glasses down to the stripy socks visible beneath her rolled-up jeans, before striding towards her and holding out her hand with such force that Pip looked, for the briefest second, afraid.

  She shook the hand. She gave Rooney a once-over in return – from her Adidas Originals all the way up to the hairband just visible at the top of her ponytail. ‘Yes. I see Roderick has settled in.’

  Rooney’s eyebrow quivered, like she was surprised and pleased that Pip’s immediate reaction was banter. ‘He has. He’s been enjoying the northern air.’

  She turned to Jason and held out her hand again, which he took. ‘We haven’t met, but I like your jacket.’

  Jason glanced down at himself. He was wearing the fluffy brown teddy jacket he’d owned for years. I truly believed it was the most comfortable item of clothing to exist on this planet. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, thanks.’

  Rooney smiled and clapped her hands together. ‘It’s so nice to meet you both. We’re going to have to become friends, now that me and Georgia are friends.’

  Pip gave me a look as if to say, friends? Already?

  ‘As long as you don’t steal her away from us,’ Jason joked, though Pip whipped her head round to him, seemingly taking the statement very seriously indeed.

  Rooney noticed this happen, and a small curl of a smile appeared at the side of her mouth.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve heard you’re interested in theatre,’ Pip said. There was a nervous tone to her voice.

  ‘Yes! Are you?’

  ‘Yeah! We all went to the same youth theatre group. And we did school plays together.’

  Rooney seemed genuinely excited by this prospect. Her love for theatre was definitely not fake, even if some of her smiles were. ‘So you’ll be auditioning for a DST play?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘A lead role?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  Rooney grinned, and after taking a sip from her Starbucks cup she said, ‘Good. We’ll be competing, then.’

  ‘I … I guess we will,’ said Pip, flustered, surprised and confused all at the same time.

  Rooney suddenly made a concerned face and checked her phone. ‘Oh, sorry, I have to head out again. Got to meet this girl I’ve been chatting to on the English Soc Facebook group down at Vennels. I’ll meet you back here at six for the Freshers’ Barbecue?’

  And then she was gone, while I was wondering what Vennels was, and why I didn’t know what Vennels was, and how Rooney already knew what Vennels was when she’d only been here for less than one day, just like me.

  When I turned back to my frie
nds, Pip was standing very still with a startled expression on her face that made her look a bit like a cartoon scientist, post-explosion.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  Pip swallowed and shook her head a little. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. She seems nice.’

  I knew that look. It was a Pip look I knew well. I’d seen it when she had to be gymnastics partners with Alicia Reece – one of her most intense crushes – in Year 11 PE. I’d seen it when we went to a Little Mix meet and greet and Pip got to hug Leigh-Anne Pinnock.

  Pip didn’t fancy a lot of girls – she was quite picky, actually. But when Pip did fancy someone, it was very, very obvious. To me, anyway. I could always tell when people had crushes on each other.

  Before I could make a comment, Jason interrupted. He was peering at the photo of Rooney and Mermaid-hair Beth. ‘It’s so odd that you ended up with a roommate. What did you write on your personality quiz?’

  We’d had to fill in personality quizzes after we got accepted into Durham, so that if we ended up having to share rooms, they’d try to match us with someone we’d get along with.

  I strained to remember what I’d written on mine – and then it clicked.

  ‘Shakespeare,’ I said. ‘The quiz – one of the questions was about your interests. I wrote Shakespeare.’

  ‘So?’ said Jason.

  I pointed at Rooney’s Much Ado About Nothing poster.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Pip, her eyes widening. ‘Is she also a Shakespeare stan? Like us?’

  ‘So she says.’

  Jason nodded, seemingly pleased. ‘That’s good! You can bond over that.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pip, much too quickly. ‘Befriend her.’

  ‘I mean, we’re roommates. So hopefully we will be friends.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Jason repeated. ‘Especially since we won’t get to hang out all the time any more.’

  This made me pause. ‘Won’t we?’

  ‘Well – no? I mean, at least this week. We’re at different colleges.’

  I genuinely hadn’t thought about that. I’d had this idea that we’d meet up every day, hang out, explore Durham, begin our university journeys together. But all our freshers’ events were at our own colleges. We were all on different courses – I was doing English, Jason was doing history, and Pip was studying natural sciences. So he was right. I probably wouldn’t see much of Pip and Jason at all this week.

  ‘I guess,’ I said.

  Maybe this could be OK. Maybe this would be the kick I needed to branch out and find new people and have experiences.

  Maybe this could all be part of the plan. The romance plan.

  ‘Right,’ said Pip, slapping her thighs and bouncing to her feet. ‘We should head. I still haven’t finished unpacking all my shirts.’

  I let Pip bundle me into a hug before she trotted out of the room, leaving just me and Jason. I didn’t want Jason and Pip to go. I hadn’t wanted my parents to go. I didn’t want to be left here alone.

  ‘I wish I was at Castle too,’ I said. I sounded like a five-year-old.

  ‘You’ll be OK,’ said Jason, in his usual calming tone. Nothing fazed Jason. He had whatever the opposite of anxiety was. Absolute, unerring peace of mind.

  I swallowed. I really, really did want to cry. Maybe I could have a quick cry before Rooney got back.

  ‘Can I have a hug?’ I asked.

  Jason paused. Something unreadable crossed his face.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah. C’mere.’

  I crossed the room and let him envelop me in a warm hug.

  ‘You’ll be OK,’ he said again, rubbing his hands gently over my back, and I don’t know if I believed him, but it felt nice to hear anyway. And Jason always gave the warmest, cosiest hugs.

  ‘OK,’ I mumbled into his jacket.

  When he stepped back, his eyes darted away.

  He might even have blushed a little bit.

  ‘I’ll see you soon?’ he said, not looking at me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Message me.’

  My friendships with Pip and Jason wouldn’t change. We’d made it through seven years of secondary school, for God’s sake. Whether we hung out all the time or not – we would always be friends. Nothing could ruin what we had.

  And getting to focus on a new friendship with Rooney Bach – a fellow Shakespeare enthusiast who was significantly more sociable than me – could only be a good thing.

  At the St John’s College Freshers’ Barbecue, Rooney moved around the courtyard like an ambitious businesswoman at an important networking event. She befriended people in a quick, easy way that left me in awe and, to be honest, very jealous.

  I had no option but to trail her like a shadow. I didn’t know how to mingle solo.

  University was where most people made friendships that actually lasted. My parents still met up with their uni friends every year. My brother’s best man had been one of his uni friends. I knew I had Pip and Jason, so it wasn’t like I was going in friendless in the first place, but I still figured that I might meet some more people I got along with.

  And at the barbecue, people were on the hunt for friendships. Everyone was being extra loud, extra friendly and asking way more questions than is normally socially acceptable. I tried my best, but I wasn’t great at it. I’d forget people’s names as soon as they said them. I didn’t ask enough questions. All the posh private-school boys in zip-neck jumpers blended in with each other.

  I thought about trying to make progress with my finding love situation, but no particular romantic feelings arose for anyone I met, and I was too anxious to try and force myself to feel them.

  Rooney, on the other hand, flirted.

  At first, I thought I was just seeing things. But the more I watched, the more I could see her doing it. The way she’d touch guys on the arm and smile up at them – or smile down, because she was tall. The way she’d listen when they spoke and laugh at their jokes. The way she’d give the guy direct, piercing eye contact, the sort of eye contact that made you feel like she knew you.

  It was absolutely masterful.

  What I found interesting was that she did this to several guys. I wondered what her goal was. What was she looking for? A potential boyfriend? Hook-up options? Or was she just doing it for fun?

  Either way, I thought about it a lot while I was trying to fall asleep later that night in a new room and a new bed, with a person already asleep a few metres away from me.

  Rooney seemed to know exactly what to do. I’d watched her master the set-up. The romance pre-game. She did it the same way she befriended people – with the precise expertise of someone who’d had a lot of practice and a lot of success. Could I do that? Could I copy her?

  Would she teach me how to do it?

  It seemed to take Rooney a monumental amount of effort to wake up on Monday morning. I thought I was bad at waking up in the mornings, but Rooney had to hit snooze at least five times before she managed to drag herself out of bed. All of the alarms were ‘Spice Up Your Life’ by the Spice Girls. I woke up at the first one.

  ‘I didn’t know you wore glasses,’ was the first thing she said to me after she’d finally arisen.

  ‘I wear contacts most of the time,’ I explained, and it reminded me of how surprised Pip had been, aged eleven, to find out that I was short-sighted after six whole months of being friends. I’d started wearing contact lenses the summer before secondary school.

  When I awkwardly asked her if she wanted to head down to the cafeteria for breakfast, she looked almost like I’d suggested throwing ourselves out of the window, before replacing the expression with a broad smile and saying, ‘Yeah, that sounds good!’ And then she changed into sportswear and became the bubbly, extroverted Rooney I’d met the day before.

  I stuck close to Rooney throughout our first official day of Freshers’ Week, through our introductory English lecture to our afternoon off. In the lecture, she effortlessly befriended the person
sitting next to her, and in the afternoon, we went out for coffee with a few people who also did English. She made friends with all of them, too, and broke away to talk to this one guy who was obviously attractive in a conventional sort of way. She flirted. Touching his sleeve. Laughing. Looking into his eyes.

  It looked so easy. But even imagining myself doing it made me feel a bit nauseated.

  I hope this doesn’t sound like I thought badly of Rooney for flirting and making connections and setting herself up for, without a doubt, some sort of grand university romance that she’d be able to tell her grandchildren about when she was an elderly over-sharer.

  I was just very, very jealous that I wasn’t her.

  The main event of the Tuesday of Freshers’ Week was ‘College Matriculation’, a bizarre pseudo-religious ceremony that took place in Durham Cathedral, at which we were welcomed into the university. We all had to wear posh outfits and our college gowns, which made me feel very sophisticated.

  I stuck with Rooney until, on the way out of the cathedral, I spotted Pip and Jason, walking together across the grass, no doubt heading to their own matriculation ceremony. They saw me, and we ran to each other through the graveyard in what felt like slow-mo with the Chariots of Fire music playing in the background.

  Pip leapt on me, almost drowning me in her college gown. She was dressed as fancy as she’d been dressed at prom – full suit and tie, a halo of carefully styled curls, and she was wearing a cologne that smelt like a forest after the rain. She felt like home.

  ‘I’m going to write St John’s a letter of complaint,’ she said into my shoulder, ‘to tell them to let you transfer to Castle.’

  ‘I don’t think that will work.’

  ‘It will. D’you remember when I complained to Tesco and they sent me five packets of Maltesers? I know how to pen a strongly worded letter.’

  ‘Just ignore her,’ said Jason. Jason was also suited up – he looked fancy too. ‘She’s still hungover from last night.’

  Pip stepped back, adjusting her collar and tie. She did look a little less chipper than usual.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Is your roommate being normal? Are you dying of stress?’