by Alice Oseman
‘Where shall we go first?’ said Pip. ‘Cinema room? Marquee?’ She turned round, then frowned, confused. ‘Rooney?’
I turned too and found Rooney a few paces away from us, leaning against the wall. She was drunk for sure, but she was also looking at Pip almost like she was scared, or at the very least nervous. Then she covered it with a wide grin.
‘I’m gonna go and see my other friends for a bit!’ she shouted over the crowd and the music.
And then she was gone.
‘Other friends?’ said Jason, confused.
‘She knows everyone,’ I said, but I wasn’t sure how true that rang any more. She knew a lot of other people, but I was starting to realise that we were her only real friends.
‘Well, she can fuck off, then, if she’s gonna be like that,’ said Pip, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Jason rolled his eyes at her. ‘Pip.’
‘What?’
‘Just … you don’t have to keep doing that. We both know you like her.’
‘What?’ Pip’s head snapped up. ‘What – no, no I don’t, like – I mean yes I like her as a person – I mean, I admire her as a director and a creative person but her personality is very intense so I wouldn’t say I liked her, I just appreciate who she is and what she does …’
‘But you fancy her,’ I stated. ‘It’s not a crime.’
‘No.’ Pip folded her arms over her jacket. ‘No, absolutely not, Georgia, she’s – she’s objectively extremely hot and yes in any ordinary situation she would be exactly my type and I know you know that but – I mean, she’s straight and she literally hates me, so even if I did, what would be the point –’
‘Pip!’ I said, exasperated.
She shut her mouth. She knew there was nothing she could say to hide it any more.
‘I think I should go find her,’ I continued.
‘Why?’
‘Just to check she’s OK.’
Pip and Jason didn’t protest, so I left to go and find Rooney.
I had a feeling that, if she continued to get even drunker, she was going to do something she regretted.
Rooney was nowhere to be found. There were hundreds of students swarming the college, and it was difficult to even get through the corridors, let alone spot anyone in the crowds standing around chatting, laughing, singing, dancing. She was in there somewhere, no doubt. Rooney seemed to operate like she was a video-game protagonist in a world of non-player characters.
I hung around the marquee for a while, hoping she might show up, but even if she was here, I probably wouldn’t have found her. It was packed because this was where all the fun activities were – a photo booth, popcorn and candyfloss stalls, a rodeo bull, and the main attraction: ‘Capulet vs Montague’, which looked like a bouncy castle with two raised platforms inside, upon which two students would battle it out with inflatable swords until one person fell down. I watched a few people play, and I really did want to have a go, but I didn’t know where Rooney was and I’d have felt kind of embarrassed to ask her. I guess I had this feeling that she’d just say no.
I got another drink from the bar, which I didn’t need because I was already drunk, and stumbled aimlessly around the ball and all its various rooms. The more I drank, the more I could space out and not care about being alone, in every sense of the word.
It was hard to forget, though, when every single song that was playing overhead was about romantic love. Obviously this was deliberate – the theme was Romeo and Juliet, for God’s sake – but it still pissed me off.
Everything started to remind me of the prom afterparty. The flashing lights on the dance floor, the love songs, the laughter, the suits and dresses.
When I had been at that party, I had felt that this was my world, and one day, I would be one of these people.
I didn’t feel like that any more.
I would never be one of these people. Flirting. Falling in love. Happily ever after.
I went to curl up in the tea room, only to find myself stuck opposite a couple who were making out in the corner. I hated them. I tried to ignore them and drank my wine while scrolling through Instagram.
‘Georgia.’
An incredibly loud voice shattered the relaxing atmosphere of the room, startling everyone in the room. I turned towards the door and found Pip there in her green jacket, one hand on her hip and a plastic cup undoubtedly full of alcohol in the other.
She grinned sheepishly at the sudden attention. ‘Er, sorry. Didn’t know this was the quiet room.’
She tiptoed over and crouched down next to me, spilling a drop of her drink on the floor.
‘Where’s Rooney?’ she asked.
I just shrugged.
‘Oh. Well, I have come to challenge you to a Capulet vs Montague duel.’
‘The bouncy castle thing?’
‘This is so much more than a bouncy castle, my dude. This is an ultimate test of endurance, agility and mental fortitude.’
‘It looks exactly like a bouncy castle to me.’
She grabbed my wrist and hoisted me up. ‘Just come and try it! Jason said he needed a nap already so he’s gone back to Castle.’
‘Wait … He’s gone?’
‘Yeah. He’ll be fine, you know he’s terrible at staying up late.’
I immediately felt guilty – it was my fault Jason was in a mood – and I clambered to my feet, only for the world to move around me, nearly sending me crashing back down.
Pip frowned. ‘Jesus. How much have you drunk?’
‘Oh,’ said Pip as we entered the marquee.
At first, I assumed she was referring to the state of the marquee. When I had come in here at the start of the night, it had been shiny and exciting, colourful and new. Now it looked like a run-down fairground. The floor was sticky and scattered with trampled popcorn. The stalls were less busy and the staff operating them looked tired.
But Pip wasn’t referring to any of that, which I realised when we were approached by Rooney in her Bond villain dress.
She was still, impossibly, wearing her heels, and she must have just touched up her make-up, because she looked radiant. Highlighter shimmering, contour as sharp as a knife, she smiled down at Pip with wide, dark eyes.
She was also obviously quite drunk.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, smirking. ‘Who invited you? You’re not a John’s student.’
Pip smirked right back, immediately going along with the joke. ‘I snuck in. I’m a master of stealth.’
‘Where did you go?’ I asked Rooney.
‘Oh, you know,’ she said. She put on a voice that made her sound like a rich heiress. ‘I’ve just been around, darling.’
‘We were just about to have a bouncy castle battle,’ said Pip. ‘You can join us. Someone’s about to get absolutely wrecked.’
Rooney smiled at her with a hint of menace. ‘Well, I do love wrecking people.’
‘OK,’ I found myself saying. If I had been sober, I probably would have just let this play out, but I was drunk and tired and fed up with both of them, and every time they gazed at each other with that fiery passion that bordered love and irritation, I wanted to die because that would never happen to me. I looked at Pip, whose bow tie was askew and her glasses too far down her nose, and at Rooney, whose foundation was not hiding the flustered blush on her skin.
And then I looked between them at the ‘Capulet vs Montague’ challenge.
‘I think you two should go first,’ I said, pointing at it. ‘Against each other. Just to get it out of your system. Please.’
‘I’m in,’ said Rooney, meeting Pip’s glare with knife eyes.
‘I … OK,’ Pip spluttered. ‘Fine. But I’m not gonna go easy on you.’
‘Do I look like the sort of person who likes it when people go easy on me?’
Pip’s eyes drifted down Rooney’s dress, then quickly back up. ‘No.’
‘Well then.’
This was becoming absolutely unbearable, so I walked up to the guy op
erating the contraption and said, ‘These two want a go.’
He nodded wearily, then gestured at the two raised platforms. ‘Climb on.’
The two girls didn’t speak as they clambered on to the bouncy castle, Rooney kicking her heels off as she went, and then on to the two raised platforms. This was clearly more difficult than either of them had anticipated – Pip’s skinny trousers were only slightly more practical than Rooney’s tight dress – but they made it, and the guy handed them each what looked like a swimming pool noodle.
‘You have three minutes,’ he droned, gesturing to the countdown timer on display at the back of the bouncy castle. ‘The aim is to knock the other person off their platform before the time runs out. Are you ready?’
Rooney nodded with the intense focus of a tennis player at Wimbledon.
‘Fuck yeah,’ said Pip, gripping her noodle.
The guy sighed. Then he pressed a button on the floor, and a beep sounded three times. A countdown.
Three. Two. One.
Start.
Rooney went straight for the jugular immediately. She swung the noodle wildly towards Pip, but Pip saw it coming and blocked it with her own noodle, though not without wobbling on her platform. The platforms were circular and could only have been half a metre in diameter. This probably wasn’t going to last very long.
Pip laughed. ‘Not fucking around, then?’
Rooney grinned. ‘No, I’m trying to win.’
Pip thrust her noodle forward in an attempt to push Rooney backwards, but Rooney swerved her torso, doing an almost ninety-degree bend to one side.
‘All right, gymnast,’ said Pip.
‘Dance, actually,’ Rooney shot back. ‘Until I was fourteen.’
She swung the noodle at Pip once again, but Pip blocked it.
And the fight began.
Rooney swung this way and that, but Pip’s reflexes only seemed to have been sharpened by the alcohol she’d drunk, which made no sense whatsoever. Rooney swiped left, Pip parried, Rooney swiped right, Pip dodged. Pip jabbed forward, trying to push Rooney back by the shoulder, and for a moment, I thought it was all over, but Rooney regained her balance with a sly grin, and the battle continued.
‘Your concentration face is so funny,’ said Rooney, laughing. She did an impression of Pip’s scrunched-up expression.
‘Er, not as funny as your face is gonna be when I win,’ Pip shot back. But there was a hint of a smile on her face too.
There were more swings and jabs and at one point they were having a full-on lightsaber battle. Pip prodded Rooney in the side and she nearly went down, saving herself at the last second by using her noodle as a crutch, which made Pip laugh so hard she nearly fell off on her own.
That was when I realised that they were enjoying themselves.
That was also when all the alcohol rushed to the top of my head and I felt like I was going to fall over.
I stumbled as carefully as I could over to the side of the marquee and sat down against the fabric to watch the finale.
I couldn’t help but notice that Rooney, as ruthless as she appeared from her wild, large swings, was strategically avoiding Pip’s face so as not to hit her glasses. Pip, however, was out for blood.
‘Why are you so bendy?’ Pip cried as Rooney dodged another jab.
‘Just one of my many charms!’
‘Many charms? Plural?’
‘I think you know all about them, pipsqueak.’
Pip swung her noodle at Rooney, but Rooney blocked it. ‘You are a fucking nightmare.’
Rooney smirked back. ‘I am and you love it.’
Pip released what could only be described as a war cry. She jabbed the noodle at Rooney, then again, and then a third time, knocking the girl back slightly each time, and on the fourth, Rooney went down, falling perfectly backwards from the podium and down on to the bouncy castle, letting out a short scream as she went.
‘YES!’ Pip cried, holding her noodle aloft in victory.
The guy operating the bouncy castle stopped the timer and gestured vaguely at Pip. ‘Glasses wins.’
Pip leapt off the podium and started bouncing next to Rooney, making it hard for her to get up. ‘Having some trouble down there, mate?’
Rooney tried to get to her feet but just ended up tumbling back down again as Pip bounced next to her. ‘Oh my God, stop –’
‘I thought you were a dancer! Where’s your coordination?’
‘We didn’t dance on bouncy castles!’
Pip finally slowed down her bouncing, coming to a halt and holding out a hand to help Rooney up. Rooney looked at it, and I could see her considering, but she didn’t take it, instead standing up on her own.
‘Good game,’ she said, one eyebrow raised. Then she walked away – or, rather, clambered away across the bouncy castle and rolled over the edge on to solid ground.
‘You’re not gonna be a sore loser, are you?’ Pip called after her, also dropping down and rolling off the contraption.
Rooney tutted so loud even I heard her from across the marquee.
‘Oh.’ Pip grinned. ‘You are. I should have guessed.’
Rooney started cramming her feet back into her heels. She probably wanted to regain her significant height advantage against Pip.
‘Hey!’ Pip raised her voice, calling after her. ‘Why d’you hate me so much?’
Rooney stopped.
‘Yeah, that’s right!’ Pip continued, raising her arms. ‘I said it! Why d’you hate me? We’re both drunk so we might as well just get it out there! Is it because I was Georgia’s best friend first so I’m in the way?’
Rooney said nothing, but she finished putting on her heels and stood up to her full height.
‘Or do you just hate who I am as a person?’
Rooney swung round and said, ‘You are very stupid. And you should have let me win.’
There was a pause.
‘Sometimes I get to have what I want,’ said Pip with unnerving calmness. ‘Sometimes, I get to be the person who wins.’
I barely had time to think about the statement, because Rooney was about to erupt. She scrunched her hands into fists, and I could sense a real argument was coming, drink-fuelled and embarrassing to look back on. I needed to stop it. I needed to end this before it got any worse. These were the only two friends I had left.
So I hauled myself to my feet, which was a task in my dress.
I opened my mouth to speak. To try and bring this to a halt. Maybe even to try and help.
But what actually happened was all the blood rushed to my head. Stars tingled at the corner of my vision and my hearing went fuzzy.
And then I passed out.
I regained consciousness to find Pip patting my face slightly too hard.
‘Oh my God oh my God oh my God,’ she was stammering.
‘Please stop slapping me,’ I mumbled.
Rooney was there too, the annoyance completely gone from her expression and replaced by serious concern. ‘Holy shit, Georgia. How much did you drink?’
‘I … fourteen.’
‘Fourteen what?’
‘Fourteen drinks.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘OK, I can’t remember how much I drank.’
‘So why did you say fourteen?’
‘Sounded like a good number.’
We were interrupted by a few other students peering over Pip and Rooney’s shoulders, asking politely if I was OK. I realised I was still lying on the floor, which was awkward, so I sat up and reassured everyone that I was fine and had just had a bit too much to drink, which they chuckled at and went on with their evening. If I hadn’t been absolutely pissed out of my head, I would have been deeply embarrassed, but thankfully I was, and the only thing going through my mind was how much I wanted to throw up.
Rooney pulled me to my feet, one arm round my waist, which seemed to annoy Pip for some reason.
‘We should go chill in the cinema room for a bit,’ said Rooney. ‘We’ve st
ill got six hours to kill. We can get you sobered up.’
Six hours? Sober was the last thing I wanted to be right now.
‘Noooo,’ I mumbled, but Rooney either ignored me or didn’t hear me. ‘Let me go. I’m fine.’
‘Clearly you are not, and we’re going to sit on a beanbag with some water for the next half an hour whether you like it or not.’
‘You’re not my mum.’
‘Well, your real mum would thank me.’
Rooney supported most of my weight as we walked through the floral, twinkling corridors of college, Pip trailing behind us. Nobody spoke until we reached the door of the cinema room and a loud voice behind us cried, ‘PIP! Oh my God, hi!’
In my hazy state I peered behind me at the voice. It belonged to a guy leading a large group of people who I didn’t recognise, most likely because they were from Pip’s college.
‘Come hang with us,’ the guy continued. ‘We’re all going to dance for a bit.’
Pip shuffled awkwardly. ‘Oh – er …’ She turned back to look at me.
I didn’t really know what to say, but thankfully Rooney spoke for me. ‘Just go. She’ll be fine with me.’
I nodded in agreement, giving her a wobbly thumbs-up.
‘OK, well … erm … I’ll meet you back here in, like, an hour?’ said Pip.
‘Yeah,’ said Rooney, and then we turned away, and Pip was gone.
‘Here,’ said Rooney, handing me a large glass of water and a toastie in a folded-up napkin as she slumped down next to me on a beanbag.
I took them obediently.
‘What’s in this?’ I said, waving the toastie.
‘Cheese and Marmite.’
‘Risky choice,’ I said, biting down into it. ‘What if I hated Marmite?’
