I follow my mum into the living room to get the extra dinner set for Aiden. ‘You’re not angry?’ I whisper to her.
‘Of course not. We trust you, Ulana. We always have.’
I wrap my arms around her and rest my cheek on her chest, the scent of oleander getting stronger. She smells of apricots in the summer. I hug her tighter.
‘Besides, at least now you don’t have to sneak around with him.’
I pull away, my cheeks feeling warm. ‘How do you know—’
‘Ulana, I’m your mother. I know you very well. And I also remember what it feels like to be seventeen.’ She smiles. ‘Now come on, we’d better get in there.’
‘Is Dad angry?’
‘You’re his only daughter, and you just brought a boy home. Give him some time. But I think once he gets to know him, he’ll like Aiden a lot. We both will.’
When we return to the dining room, Aiden and my dad are talking, just about football. But they’re talking.
A soft silence washes over the table when we sit down. I bite my lip, wondering what to say. Then Aiden clears his throat. ‘So I heard you like the Beatles, Mr Alami?’ he says, leaning in.
A wide grin spreads across my dad’s face as he launches into an animated conversation about the Sgt Pepper album.
I pull out the squashed buttercups from my pocket, and set the yellow flowers down next to my silverware. I smile – Sophia would enjoy this story.
TRINA
24.06.2019 – Last Journal Entry!
Well this is it.
My last journal entry.
I am officially eighteen years old and (self-determinedly) now too old to be writing in journals anymore.
Besides, I don’t want to keep the journal from this last year. I don’t want the reminder of what happened, what went wrong, what we did, what we didn’t do, what we should have done.
I don’t want to be reminded of how much I blamed myself for what happened to me, of how much it changed me. I don’t want to see his name again, as happy as I am that I had the courage to write it down, to speak it, to recall it at the police station. I never want to see him again. I don’t think anyone will for a long time. Turns out it wasn’t just me at that party, or before, or after. I wasn’t alone.
I never was.
This journal isn’t me anymore. Sure, I still have those thoughts every now and then in my mind – the guilt, the self-blame, it’s only natural – but I don’t need them written down. It will never be forgotten. We will never forget Sophia Greer.
Birchwood is a very different place now. The school’s anti-bullying campaign really took off. Teens across the country took to Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, any social media platform they had access to, and advocated for a better school climate in every building – for a better future. We filmed a documentary for YouTube last month, which got over ten million hits and is still being viewed today. It’s even being shown in some high schools throughout the country, as a way to start conversations between students about bullying and social media trolling.
Everyone from the school was there on the day of filming, so much so that the faculty had to expand it over three days because we just couldn’t fit everyone in on one day. Everyone showed up. Everyone had something to say. And even if they couldn’t verbalise how they really felt, they simply held up a pasteboard that showed Sophia’s face. Holding up that board proved they had a voice and they weren’t willing to sit quiet. Even Ulana came on the first day of filming. It was hard for her, but Aiden was there. She stands in front of a slideshow of Sophia, of all of us, of teens across the world, along with the words, ‘#WeAreNotOkay’.
And yes, even Steve came. And Lucy. And on the day, after everything that happened, no one gossiped or pointed fingers, or whispered behind their backs. Steve started a Facebook page for Sophia after the documentary. He’s raised over ten thousand pounds for the Anti-Bullying campaign. I don’t know how I feel about that, but it’s not for me to judge. It’s not for any of us to judge or question. We don’t have the right to do that when it comes to other people’s lives.
I see Ulana a lot now. For the first time since we were kids, I’ve been spending time at her house again. It’s nice to be a part of her life again. I missed her. She had a hard time after Sophia’s accident – can I call it an accident? That’s what the newspapers called it at first, no one wanted to say what Lucy said she saw that night. That Sophia didn’t accidentally stumble drunk – drugged – onto the path of an oncoming car, on an icy night. Lucy said she stepped out in front of it, calmly, intentionally, without a doubt in the world. People said she was lying, just trying to get attention through the whole ‘I was there. I saw it.’ But I believed her. Everyone who knew Sophia, who witnessed the hell that was this school year, knew Lucy was telling the truth. And then everyone believed her, even her parents, even Steve, even the school. And then the anti-bullying campaign grew from that, until everyone in every school knew the story.
But Ulana is doing better, much better. She got her place at Oxford. In fact, they offered a scholarship which I think means she gets to go to university for free, which is kinda cool.
Speaking of university – and don’t laugh because I remember exactly what I said, that further education is for people who read William Shakespeare and colour-coordinate their school folders – but I’m actually planning to go too. I left school at the end of December and started an access course at the local college. I still have another year left – I didn’t get the best grades at Birchwood, surprise! – but in another year, assuming I keep up the grades I’m getting now, which are really good, then I’ll be joining those girls at university. You know, the ones who drink tea in the afternoons and season-coordinate their wardrobes :)
BUT, I will never own a pen with a fluffy thing on top. However, I do now own a copy of Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare. Yes, thanks to Lucy and her birthday present to me, I am now one of those people who read Shakespeare! :)
So, Lucy – bet you never thought I’d be writing about her like this in my journal. Yep, we are officially friends. More than friends, actually. We see each other almost every day. She had her baby girl at the end of May and called her Annabel Sophia McNeil. She has light golden hair with flecks of dark brown, red rosy cheeks and the bluest eyes that I have ever seen. She’s beautiful. And Lucy is already an amazing mum.
I knew she would be.
And she doesn’t regret bringing Annabel into this world – not for a second. Yes, it’s changed her life forever. Yes, she has to make new decisions for a future that she now shares with another person. But this other person is just incredible. And I’ve never seen Lucy so happy, and so sure about anything before.
Sometimes she and Annabel meet me after class in the centre of town. We get the bus to the beach and walk along the sandy shores, throwing stones into the lapping tides until we hear the drop. One day, Annabel will be big enough to throw her own stones. But right now, we throw one for her, and we make a wish for her when we do.
And when Annabel’s fast asleep in her cot that sits beside Lucy’s bed at her mum’s house, we sit downstairs and watch a movie together, or paint our nails and talk about everything – music, clothes, even boys. In fact, she’s now become the only person that I can really talk to about anything. I confide in her and she confides in me. And we trust each other, and we trust this new connection we’ve found, even if it blossomed from rocky, unsteady, often sharp, ground.
Who would have ever thought, eh? Lucy and me: Best Friends. I can’t believe how much I once hated her. So much so that it became ingrained in my every step, my every moment. I woke up hating her. I went to bed hating her. But if I’ve learned anything from the past year, it’s that HATE is a strong word. And I’d like to think that I’d never use that word again. I don’t need to.
So here we are. Lucy and I. Hanging out together, laughing together, supporting each other. I never used to think that anything was permanent. I thought everything changes because ev
entually people leave – they move on, or they change their mind, or they just give up. But I see now that some things are permanent, like friendship. Friendship doesn’t leave us behind.
I’m going to play Dad’s old CD later tonight, the one I found in the attic. I think I’m ready to hear it now. I think I’m ready to be me again.
If you are impacted by any of the issues raised in this book, please don’t be afraid to ask for help.
Join the Wear Blue campaign in November 2019 and support anti-bullying efforts in schools. For more details on these issues, visit http://www.bullying.co.uk/
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the incredibly talented team at Peters Fraser & Dunlop, HQ, and HarperCollins, especially Silvia Molteni, Clio Cornish, Anna Baggaley and Hannah Smith.
To Dr Liam Murray Bell at the University of Stirling, Cherise Saywell, and my class peers for renewing my love of writing fiction. And lastly, thank you to my family – my parents and my brothers for supporting me regardless, and my sister who always gets lumbered with the task of editing my first drafts!
About the Publisher
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We Are Not Okay Page 21
