Loveless

by Alice Oseman

  It was probably just a faulty test.

  ‘You look nice!’ was one of the first things he said to me when we met outside the Gala cinema on Saturday afternoon.

  ‘Oh, er, thank you?’ I said, looking down at myself. I had selected some khaki overalls with a Fair Isle jumper underneath, though most of the outfit was hidden by my giant coat because Durham was already dipping below ten degrees and I did not deal well with the cold.

  Jason, on the other hand, was wearing his teddy-bear jacket and black jeans, which was his look pretty much all year round.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said as we walked inside the building, ‘the cinema was probably a terrible idea for a – for, like, a meet-up.’

  He’d been about to say ‘for a date’. He knew it was a date too, then.

  It was on.

  I chuckled. ‘Yeah. Let’s meet up and ignore each other for two hours.’

  ‘Basically. I mean, it sounds pretty relaxing, to be honest.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘I think the perfect marriage would be made up of two people who can sit in comfortable silence with each other for extended periods of time.’

  ‘Steady on,’ I said. ‘We’re not married yet.’

  This made him let out a spluttery, somewhat scandalised laugh. Nice. I could flirt. I was acing this.

  We were half an hour into the movie when the fire alarm went off.

  Until that point, things were going rather well. Jason had not attempted to hold my hand, put his arm round me, or, thank God, kiss me. We were simply two friends watching a movie at the cinema.

  Obviously I didn’t want him to do any of those things because they would have been terribly cliché and almost kind of sleazy.

  ‘So, now what?’ he asked as we stood in the cold outside the cinema. Nobody else seemed to know whether the fire was real, but it didn’t seem like we’d be getting back inside any time soon. A staff member had just come outside and was giving out cinema vouchers.

  I pulled my coat a little tighter round me. This was not how I’d hoped this afternoon would go. I had hoped we would sit next to each other in silence for two hours, watch a nice movie and then go home.

  But we couldn’t end the date now. That would be awkward. That would not be date-like behaviour.

  ‘Erm … I guess we could just go back to college and have tea, or something?’ I said. That seemed to be the thing people did to socialise at uni. Tea in our bedrooms.

  Oh wait. Bedroom. Was going to a bedroom a good idea? Or would that mean –

  ‘Yeah!’ Jason smiled, slotting his hands into his pockets. ‘Yeah, that sounds good. D’you wanna come to mine? We could watch a movie in my room, or something?’

  I nodded too. ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’

  OK.

  It was OK.

  I could do this.

  I could be normal.

  I could go back to a boy’s room on a date and do whatever was usually involved in that. Talking. Flirting. Kissing. Sex, maybe.

  I was brave. I didn’t have to listen to my own thoughts. I could do all of it.

  I actually don’t like tea, which obviously Jason knew, and he automatically made me a hot chocolate instead.

  He had his own room, like Pip and most students at Durham, which meant it was small. It was probably a third of the size of mine and Rooney’s, with one single bed. The décor was much the same though – a crusty old carpet, yellow breeze-block walls, and IKEA furniture. His sheets were plain blue. He had a laptop and some books on his bedside table, and a few pairs of shoes were tidily lined up underneath the radiator.

  But it wasn’t any of this that I noticed first. It was the wall that I noticed first.

  The wall was entirely blank apart from a framed photograph of Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Jr in Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed.

  I looked at it.

  Jason looked at me looking at it.

  ‘I have questions,’ I said.

  ‘Understandable,’ he said, nodding and sitting down on his bed. ‘Er, d’you remember Edward? From my old school? He gave it to me.’

  He finished his sentence, as if this was the end of the story.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘So … OK, you’re gonna have to come sit down if I’m gonna explain this.’ He patted the space next to him on the bed.

  This made me a little nervous. But it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to sit in the room, and he didn’t do it in a particularly flirty way, so I guessed it was fine.

  I sat down next to him on the edge of the bed, holding my hot chocolate.

  ‘So, we all know I’m a Scooby-Doo stan.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘And also a Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Junior stan.’

  ‘I mean … OK, sure.’

  ‘OK. So, at my old school, like, before I moved to ours for sixth form, I was kind of known as the guy who’d never kissed anyone.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘Well, you know I left that school, because, like …’ He made a face. ‘A lot of the guys there … I mean, it was an all-boys school and people would just rip the shit out of each other for every tiny thing.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Jason had told us a little bit about that before. How people at his old school were kind of nasty, generally, and he didn’t want to be in that sort of environment any more.

  ‘So they all picked on me for having never been kissed. And I guess I got teased about it a lot. Nothing serious, but, yeah, it was a thing. Everyone thought it was pretty weird.’

  ‘But you’ve kissed people now,’ I said. ‘Like … you’ve had a girlfriend before.’

  ‘That was all after. Before then, that was the thing people would pick on me about. And you know … people would say it was because I was ugly and I had acne and I liked musical theatre and just stupid shit like that. That sort of thing doesn’t bother me now, but I guess it did when I was younger.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, but my voice felt hoarse all of a sudden. ‘That’s horrible.’

  ‘When we left in Year Eleven, Ed gave me this framed photo.’ He pointed at the photo. ‘Sarah and Freddie. And Ed was like, this is a good luck charm to help you get a girlfriend. We both really loved the Scooby-Doo movies, and it became an ongoing joke that Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Junior were, like, the pinnacle of romance, because they’re real-life married and on-screen love interests. Every time someone we knew got into a relationship, we’d be like, but are you at Sarah and Freddie’s level, mate. I … yeah. OK. It sounds weird when I try to explain it.’

  ‘No, it’s funny,’ I said. ‘I just hope they don’t get divorced any time soon.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. That would kind of mess the whole thing up.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Anyway, after he gave it to me, I had my first kiss like a week later.’ Jason chuckled. ‘I mean, it was a shit kiss, but … I guess I got it out of the way. So now it is a good luck charm.’

  Jason told this story like it was a funny anecdote that I was supposed to be laughing at. But it wasn’t funny.

  It was really fucking sad.

  I remembered the story of his first kiss with a girl he didn’t really like that much. He’d told me and Pip that it wasn’t great, but he was glad he’d got it out of the way but hearing all this from Jason now made me realise what had actually happened.

  He’d felt pressured into having his first kiss. Because people were bullying him for not having kissed anyone, he forced himself to do it, and it was bad.

  A lot of teenagers did that. But hearing it from Jason made me really, really angry.

  I knew what it was like to feel bad about not having kissed anyone.

  And to feel pressured into doing it because everyone else was.

  Because you were weird if you hadn’t.

  Because this was what being a human was all about.

  That was what everyone s
aid.

  He looked up at the picture. ‘Or maybe it isn’t a good luck charm. I guess my romantic experiences until now haven’t been … great.’ He looked away. ‘A shit first kiss and then … Aimee.’

  ‘Yeah, Aimee was a disgusting human being.’

  ‘I think I only stayed with Aimee for so long because I was scared of being single and, like … being that person again. People had been shitting on me for years because I was … I dunno, unlovable or something. If I broke up with Aimee, I thought I was gonna be, like, unlovable forever.’ His voice quietened. ‘I really believed she was the best I deserved.’

  ‘You deserve more,’ I said immediately. I knew this to be true because I loved him. Maybe I wasn’t in love with him, not yet, but I did love him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I mean, I know. I know that now.’

  ‘OK, Mr Self-Confidence.’

  He laughed. ‘Just wish I could tell that to sixteen-year-old me.’

  I was a hypocrite.

  I was doing exactly what Jason had forced himself to do all those years ago. Have experiences, kisses, relationships – all because he was scared to be different. He was scared to be the guy who hadn’t kissed anyone.

  That was exactly what I was doing. And I was going to end up hurting him.

  Maybe I should just tell him now. Tell him we should stop this, end it, just stay as friends.

  But maybe, if I just held on for a little bit longer, we would fall in love, and I would not hate myself any more.

  Before I had the chance to speak again, Jason had already moved to the headboard and opened up his laptop. ‘Anyway. A movie?’He patted the bed next to him and pulled a blanket from underneath him. ‘You can choose, since I chose the cinema movie.’

  I moved next to him to survey the movie options. He pulled the blanket over our legs. What if this was all a precursor to us having sex? Or even just kissing? This was the normal time when we would start kissing, right? People who were on a date didn’t just sit through a movie. They got ten minutes in and then started making out. Was I going to have to do that? Just thinking about it made me want to cry.

  I chose something and we watched in silence. I kept fidgeting. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

  ‘Georgia?’ Jason asked after about twenty minutes. ‘You … OK?’

  ‘Erm …’ I was freaking out. I was majorly freaking out. I liked Jason and I wanted to chill out and watch a movie with him. But I didn’t want to do any of the other stuff. What if my sexuality was just the letter ‘X’, like the Kinsey Scale had told me? ‘Actually, I’m feeling a bit unwell.’

  Jason sat up from the headboard. ‘Oh no! What’s wrong?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing bad, I just … I’m just a bit headachy, to be honest.’

  ‘Do you wanna call it a day? You should go take a nap, or something.’

  God. Jason was so nice.

  ‘Would that be OK?’ I asked.

  He nodded earnestly. ‘Of course.’

  When I left, there was a short moment of overwhelming relief.

  But after that, I just hated myself.

  I didn’t even end up going back to St John’s.

  I went straight downstairs and out of Castle college, thinking I was going to go to Tesco to get some comfort food for the evening. But then I just sat down on the steps and couldn’t move.

  I was utterly, utterly messing this up.

  I was going to end up hurting Jason.

  And I was going to end up alone. Forever.

  If I couldn’t like a guy who was lovely, kind, funny, attractive, my best friend … how could I ever like anybody?

  It didn’t play out like this in movies. In movies, two childhood best friends would eventually realise that, despite everything, they had been made for each other this whole time, that their connection went beyond just attraction, and then they’d get together and live happily ever after.

  Why wasn’t this playing out like that?

  ‘Georgia?’ said a voice from behind me. I twisted my body, startled that someone whose voice I didn’t immediately recognise knew who I was. I was startled again to see that it was Sunil, my college parent, who had the self-confidence of a member of Queer Eye.

  ‘Sunil,’ I said.

  He chuckled. He was wearing a thick colour-block coat over a classic black tux.

  ‘Correct,’ he said.

  ‘How come you’re at Castle?’

  ‘Music practice,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘I’m in the student orchestra and needed to run through a couple of things with the other cellists.’ He sat down next to me on the steps.

  ‘You play the cello?’

  ‘I do. It’s quite enjoyable, but orchestra is stressful. The conductor doesn’t like me because me and Jess always get caught chatting.’

  ‘Jess … from the Pride Soc stall? She’s in it too?’

  ‘Yup. Viola, so she wasn’t there today. But we pretty much do everything together.’

  I thought that was a cute thing to say, but I was struggling to feel any positive emotions about literally anything, so I just tried to force a smile, which obviously failed.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  I opened my mouth to say yes, I was absolutely fine, but I started hysterically laughing instead.

  I think that was the closest thing I had to crying in front of someone else.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Sunil, eyes widening in alarm. ‘You’re definitely not OK.’

  He waited for me to say something.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. If I was a doll, that would be one of my pre-recorded phrases.

  ‘Oh no.’ Sunil shook his head. ‘That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my life.’

  That actually did make me laugh for real.

  Sunil waited again to see if I was going to elaborate, but I didn’t.

  ‘You didn’t come to the Pride Soc Freshers’ Week club night,’ he continued, turning to me a little.

  ‘Oh, er, yeah.’ I shrugged weakly. ‘Er … club nights aren’t really my thing.’

  I’d got the email about it, of course. It’d been two weeks ago. Pride Soc Welcomes You! Come Party with Your New Family of QUILTBAGs! I had to Google what QUILTBAG meant, but even while doing that, I knew I wouldn’t go. Even if I liked drinking and clubbing, I wouldn’t go. I didn’t belong. I didn’t know whether I was a QUILTBAG or not.

  He nodded. ‘You know what? Same.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. Can’t stand alcohol. It gives me the shakes and I’m such a lightweight. I’d much rather have a queer film night or a queer tea party, you know?’

  As he spoke, I glanced down at his jacket and found that he was wearing those badges again. I homed in on the one with the purple, black, grey and white stripes. God, I’d meant to look up what that meant. I really did want to know.

  ‘Speaking of Pride Soc,’ he said, gesturing at his tux, ‘I’m heading off to its autumn formal. The rest of the exec team are setting it up right now and I’m hoping there haven’t been any disasters.’

  I didn’t know what possessed me to ask, but the next thing I said was, ‘Can I come?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You want to come along? You didn’t RSVP to the email.’

  I’d received that email too. I hadn’t deleted it. I’d imagined quite vividly what it would be like to attend something like that, confidently a part of something.

  ‘I could … help set up?’ I suggested.

  I liked Sunil. I really did. I wanted to hang out with him a little more.

  I wanted to see what the Pride Soc was like.

  And I wanted to forget about what had just happened with Jason.

  He looked at me for a long moment, and then he smiled. ‘You know what? Why not. We could do with an extra person to help blow up balloons.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  Suddenly I felt myself getting cold feet. I looked down at my ov
eralls and woolly jumper. ‘I’m not dressed for a formal.’

  ‘No one gives a shit what you’re wearing, Georgia. This is the Pride Society.’

  ‘But you look sexy and I look like I just rolled up to a nine a.m. lecture.’

  ‘Sexy?’ He laughed like he had a private joke with the word, and then he stood up and held out a hand.

  I didn’t know what else to do or say, so I took it.

  Sunil held my hand all the way through Durham. In a slightly odd, but nonetheless comforting way, I felt like I was hanging out with one of my parents. I supposed, in a way, I was.

  He didn’t seem to feel the need to talk. We just walked. Sometimes he would swing my hand. About halfway there, I wondered what I was doing. I wanted to be curled up in bed, reading the Jimmy/Rowan Spider-Man AU fanfic I’d started last night. I shouldn’t be at this formal. I didn’t deserve to be at this formal.

  I needed to message Jason and explain.

  I needed to explain what was wrong with me.

  I needed to say sorry.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Sunil, smiling. We had reached a red door leading into one of Durham’s many old Dickensian buildings. I looked at the shop it was connected to.

  ‘Gregg’s?’

  Sunil snorted. ‘Yes, Georgia. We’re having our society formal dinner at Gregg’s.’

  ‘I’m not complaining. I love sausage rolls.’

  He opened the door, revealing a narrow corridor leading to a stairway and a sign: Big’s Digs: Restaurant and Bar.

  ‘We’ve rented out Big’s for the evening,’ said Sunil cheerfully, leading me up the stairs and into the restaurant. ‘The club nights are fine, obviously, but I insisted we have formals as well this year. Not everyone is into clubbing.’

  It wasn’t a huge space, but it was a beautiful one. It was one of Durham’s old buildings, so the ceiling was low, adorned with wooden beams and soft, warm lighting. All the tables had been arranged in neat squares, laden with white tablecloths, candles, shiny cutlery and colourful centrepieces that featured all sorts of different pride flags – some I recognised, some I didn’t. A few multicoloured balloons hung from the corners of the room and streamers bordered the windows. Right at the back, overlooking the whole room, was a big rainbow flag.