by Alice Oseman
Once we’d moved from the grammar school to the Academy after the grammar school burned down, she started talking less about her school friends, and though she never told me why, I figured it was because there was nothing to tell, and nobody to talk about.
“Why d’you talk to me every day?” she asked me, one day in the spring on the way to school.
I didn’t know whether to say it was because she talked to me every day, or because I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, or because I had a crush on her.
“Why not?” I said, and grinned.
She shrugged. “Lots of reasons, really.”
“Like what?”
“I’m just a bit annoying, aren’t I?” she said. “And really dumb compared to you.”
Her school grades were awful, I knew that. But I never felt like it made her inferior to me. In many ways, it felt like she transcended school – she didn’t care, she didn’t feel the need to care.
“You’re not annoying or dumb,” I said.
I really did feel like the whole thing would turn into some kind of brilliant romance. I thought she’d wake up one day and realise that I’d been there for her all along. I thought I’d kiss her and she’d realise that I cared about her more than anyone else in the entire world.
Delusional. I was delusional. I wasn’t there for her at all.
“I think you’d get on with my brother,” she said.
“Why?”
“You’re both too nice.” She looked down, and then out the window, and the sun shone in her eyes.
UNIVERSE CITY: Ep. 15 – c0mput3r m4g1c
UniverseCity 84,375 views
On the Importance of the Magic in the Pipes Below Us
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[…]
A spot of computer magic. That’s really all it needs, friends. When you live in a city as big as this, how else are you to communicate, but by computer magic? The Governors recently repaired all the pipes – one of the few good things they’ve done for us recently. I swear I can feel something evil about them, but ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
I’ve got contacts all over the place. More useful than friends, really. I have eyes and ears everywhere, I see and hear everything. I’m ready for whatever they’re going to throw at me. I know they’re going to throw something at me. I’ve seen it in my dreams and in my fortune mirror. I can see it from a mile away, from ten miles away. It’s coming.
But I have computer magic on my side. I have my friends–– no, contacts. Way more valuable, old sport, I really am telling you. There’s magic under our feet, not just in our eyes.
[…]
A TRUE FACT
“Frances, my darling, what’s going on?”
Mum linked her fingers together and leaned towards me over the breakfast bar.
“Wha?” I said, because I had a mouthful of cereal.
“You haven’t done a single piece of summer work or Cambridge prep all week.” Mum raised her eyebrows and attempted to look serious. This didn’t work because she was wearing her unicorn onesie. “And you’ve been hanging out with Aled about 500 per cent more than your normal friends.”
I swallowed. “That is … a true fact.”
“You’ve been wearing your hair down more often. I thought you didn’t like it down.”
“I can’t be bothered to put it up all the time.”
“But I thought you preferred it like that.”
I shrugged.
Mum looked at me.
I looked at her.
“What’s the prob?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s not a problem. I was just intrigued.”
“Why?”
“It’s just different and unusual.”
“So?”
Mum shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
I hadn’t thought about it, but Mum did have a point. Most of my summer holidays were taken up with me doing summer homework, revision, work experience, or the occasional terrible job at one of the town restaurants or clothes shops.
I hadn’t thought about any of those things.
“You’re not stressed out or anything, are you?” Mum asked.
“No,” I said. “No, I’m really not.”
“And that’s a true fact, is it?”
“A true fact.”
Mum nodded slowly and said, “Okay. Just wanted to check. I haven’t seen School Frances for a while.”
“School Frances? What d’you mean?”
She smiled. “Something you said a while ago. Don’t worry.”
LAUGH AND RUN
It took me until a week into August to realise that Aled was actively blocking me from talking to his mum.
I knew only a few things about Carol Last. She was a parent governor. She was a strict single parent. She always made conversation with my mum when they saw each other in the village post office. If she was in, Aled said we had to be at my house or go out somewhere, because apparently she didn’t like visitors.
Which sounded like a fair excuse until I actually met her.
That particular day I was planning to go round to his, and both Aled and I were late sleepers so we usually met up at around two. Since our trip to Creams, we’d both been wearing our weird clothes – me in my vast collection of bizarrely patterned leggings and oversized jackets and jumpers, him in his stripy shorts and giant cardigans and baggy T-shirts and those lime green plimsolls. That day he was wearing black shorts and an oversized black sweatshirt which had ‘1995’ on it in bold white letters. His hair had just about grown long enough to have a parting.
I always thought he looked cooler than me, but he always thought I looked cooler than him.
Normally I’d have to knock on his door, but today he was sitting outside, waiting for me. Brian, Aled’s ageing Labrador, was sat patiently on the kerb, but as soon as I stepped out of my house, he trotted up to me. Brian was in love with me already, which was doing good things for my self-esteem.
“Hello there,” I said to Aled as I crossed the road.
Aled smiled and stood up. “All right?”
We only hugged now when we were saying goodbye. I think that made it more special.
The first thing I noticed was that his mum’s car was in the drive. I already knew what Aled was about to say.
“I thought we could take Brian for a walk,” he said, pulling his sleeves over his hands.
We were halfway down the road when I broached the topic.
“It’s weird that I’ve never even, like, spoken to your mum.”
There was a significant pause.
“Is it?” he said, keeping his head down.
“Yeah, like, I haven’t even seen her. You’ve spoken to my mum loads of times.” I figured we were close enough now for me to just ask the awkward question. I’d been doing this quite a lot for the past week. “Does your mum not like me?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I’ve been to your house, like, twenty times and I haven’t seen her even once.” I put my hands in my pockets. Aled didn’t say anything, but he kept shifting from one foot to the other. “Let’s be real. Is she racist or something?”
“No, oh my God, no …”
“Okay,” I said, and waited for him to go on.
He stopped walking, mouth half open as if he were about to say something. But he honestly couldn’t tell me what it was.
“Does she— does she hate me or something then?” I said, and then added a laugh, thinking it might lighten the tone.
And he said, “No! It’s not you, I swear!” so quickly, with his eyes so wide, that I knew he wasn’t lying. Then I realised how awkward I was being.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” I stepped back a little, shaking my head in what I hoped was a sort of nonchalant dismissal. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. It’s fine. I’m just being weird.” I looked down. Brian was gazing up at me, so I bent down and ruffled his fur.
“Allie?”
A
led whipped his head around and I looked up too, and there she was. Carol Last, leaning out of her car window. I hadn’t even heard her car pull up behind us.
She looked terrifying, in that classic white, middle-class mum sort of way. Dyed cropped hair, slightly round physique, a smile that said ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ and eyes that said ‘I will burn everything you love’.
“You heading out, sweetheart?” she said, eyebrows raised.
Aled was facing her so I couldn’t see his expression.
“Yep, just taking Brian for a walk.”
Then her eyes found me.
“All right, Frances, love?” She raised a hand and smiled. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
I knew we were both thinking about Carys.
“Ah, yeah, I’m really good, thanks, yeah,” I said.
“How were your exams? Everything go to plan?”
“I hope so!” I said, with a very forced laugh.
“Yes, don’t we all!” She chuckled. “Aled’s got some pretty high grades to get if he wants to get into this university of his, hasn’t he?” She directed this at Aled. “But he revised like an absolute champ so I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
Aled said nothing.
Carol looked back at me with a half-smile. “He’s worked so hard. The whole family’s so proud. We knew he’d be a smart boy right from when he was a toddler.” She chuckled again, looking up as if reliving a memory. “He could read books before he even started primary school. He had real natural ability, our Allie. Always destined to be an academic.” She sighed and faced Aled. “But we all know that you don’t get anything unless you work hard, don’t we?”
“Mmm,” said Aled.
“Can’t get too distracted, can we?”
“Nope.”
Carol paused and took a long look at her son. Her voice lowered slightly and then she said, “You won’t be too long, will you, Allie? Nan’s coming over at four and you said you’d be around.”
“We’ll be back by four,” said Aled. His voice had gone weirdly monotonous.
“All right then,” said Carol. She laughed a small laugh. “Don’t let Brian eat any slugs!”
And then she drove off.
Aled started walking away down the road immediately. I jogged to catch up.
We walked in silence for a minute.
When we reached the end of the road, I said, “So … does she hate me or doesn’t she?”
Aled kicked a stone. “She doesn’t hate you.”
We turned left and climbed over the stile separating the village from the fields and woods beyond. Brian, knowing our route, had already clambered over it and was sniffing the grass a little way ahead.
“Well, that’s a relief!” I said, laughing, but there was still something.
We walked on and into the path through the cornfield. The corn had grown so tall that we couldn’t see over it.
After a few more minutes, Aled said, “I just … really didn’t want you to meet her.”
I waited, but he didn’t explain. He didn’t, he couldn’t. “Why? She seems fine …”
“Oh, yeah, she seems fine,” Aled said, his voice dripping with a bitterness I hadn’t heard from him before.
“Is she … not fine?” I asked.
He wasn’t looking at me. “It’s fine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Aled.” I stopped walking. After a few more steps, he did too, and turned round. Brian was off somewhere ahead of us, snuffling in the corn.
“If you’re feeling crap,” I said, quoting exactly what he’d said to me the night he taught me an entire maths topic in one hour, “it’s always better to talk about it.”
He blinked, and then he grinned too, like he couldn’t really stop himself. “I don’t even know. I’m sorry.”
He took a breath.
“I just really don’t like my mum. That’s all.”
And I realised suddenly why he’d had so much difficulty telling me. Because it seems like such a juvenile thing to say. A teenage thing. Ugh, I hate my parents, kind of thing.
“She’s just horrible to me all the time,” he said. “I know she sounded really nice back there. She’s just— she’s— she doesn’t usually act like that.” He laughed. “It sounds really stupid.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It sounds shitty.”
“I just sort of wanted to keep you and her separate.” The sun passed behind a cloud, and I could see him properly again. His hair lifted away from his forehead in the breeze. “Like … when we hang out, I don’t have to think about her or any family stuff or … work stuff. I can just have fun. But if she gets to know you, then … the two worlds will, like, cross over.” He made a gesture with his hands, and then he laughed again, but it was a sad laugh. “This is really stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“I just …” He met my eyes, finally. “I just really like hanging out with you and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”
I didn’t know what to say.
So I just hugged him.
And he went, “Oh,” like he did the first time.
“I would literally cut off my leg before I let anything ruin this,” I said, my chin on his shoulder. “Not even joking. I’d give up the Internet for a year. I’d burn my Parks and Recreation DVDs.”
He snorted, “Shut up.” But he brought his arms up to circle my waist.
“Not joking though,” I said, and squeezed him tighter. I wasn’t going to let anything ruin this. Not horrible parents, not school, not distance, not anything. It sounds kind of silly and stupid, this whole conversation. But I … I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why I felt this way when I’d only known him for two months. Was it because we liked the same music? Was it because our fashion tastes were the same? Was it because there were no awkward silences, there were no arguments, he helped me when no one else would, and I helped him when his own best friend was busy? Was it because I worshipped the story he wrote? I worshipped him?
I don’t know. I don’t care.
Being friends with Aled made me feel like I’d never had a real friend before, ever.
Half an hour later and we were chatting about the upcoming Universe City episode. Aled wasn’t sure whether Radio should kill the latest sidekick, Atlas, or whether Atlas should sacrifice himself for Radio. Aled liked the sacrificing idea, but I said that Radio killing him would be sadder and therefore better, since Atlas had been the sidekick for over three months. I was kind of attached to Atlas and thought he deserved a good death.
“It could be a zombie situation,” I said. “Like, Radio has to kill him before he turns into a raging flesh-eater. That never fails to bring out all the feels.”
“That’s so clichéd though,” said Aled. He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s got to be something original, or what’s the point?”
“Okay, not zombies. Dragons. Dragons instead of zombies.”
“Radio has to kill him before he turns into a dragon.”
“To be honest, it’s a bit shocking you haven’t put any dragons in there yet.”
Aled put his hand on his heart. “Wow. Rude.”
“Dragons over zombies any day. Come on.”
“Dragons aren’t as sad as zombies though. Atlas could easily live a happy dragon life.”
“Maybe he should live a happy dragon life!”
“What, so he doesn’t die?”
“No, he just turns into a dragon and flies away. Still sad, but also hopeful. Everyone loves a sad but hopeful ending.”
Aled frowned. “Hopeful … for a happy dragon life.”
“Yeah. Guarding a princess or something. Burning some middle-aged knights.”
“Universe City is set in the 2500s. We’re straying into AU territory.”
We crossed into a sheep field without noticing that the sky had clouded over, and when it started to rain, I lifted up my hand to check that it was really happening – it was summer, it was like twent
y-two degrees, and it had been sunny five minutes ago.
“Noooooo.” I turned to Aled.
Aled was squinting at the sky. “Wow.”
I looked around us. A couple of hundred metres ahead was a patch of woodland – shelter.
I pointed towards it and looked at Aled. “Fancy a jog?”
“Haha, what?”
But I’d already started running – no, sprinting towards the trees across the grass, the rain already heavy enough that it kept stinging my eyes, Brian galloping along beside me. After a moment I could hear Aled running too, and I glanced behind me and stretched out my arm to him and cried, “Come along!” and he did; he reached out and took my hand and we ran like that through the countryside in the rain, and then he laughed, and it reminded me of a child’s laugh, and I wished people could always laugh and run like that.
RADIO
My first Universe City episode came out on Saturday 10th August.
We’d settled on me making a small animation for each episode, not very long, just one that repeats throughout the twenty minutes. A four-second gif, repeating over and over and over again. The one I made for this episode was of the city – Universe City – growing out of the ground, and stars flashing in the sky. Looking back now, I guess it was pretty crap, but we both loved it at the time, which is what matters, I think.
I listened to Aled record the episode the night before. I was astounded that he let me. I knew Aled was a more private and quiet person than I was, even though we’d played High School Musical Just Dance that week, and ‘performing’, if that’s what this was, didn’t seem like something he would be okay with. Aled performing an episode of Universe City felt more personal than anything I’d seen or heard of him before, including the time we had a 2am discussion about bowel movements.
But he was okay with it.
He turned his bedroom light off. The fairy lights above our heads looked like tiny stars and the tips of his hair were lit up all different colours. He slumped into his desk chair and fiddled for a few minutes with this beautiful microphone, which must have cost a shitload of money. I was on a beanbag, his city blanket wrapped around me because it was always freezing in his house, tired, the room was dark blue and hazy, I could have fallen asleep –
