Nick and Charlie

by Alice Oseman

No. Clearly not. They were bored.

  And I guess I started to think, ‘What if Nick’s bored?’

  We don’t do many exciting things. We just sit around at each other’s houses.

  I’m pretty boring as a person.

  So, I guess I wanted to test him, to check whether he wanted to break up, but I couldn’t even say it. I couldn’t even say it properly.

  Stupid.

  I’m stupid.

  I’m a fucking stupid idiot.

  I’d rather not have known. I’d rather have just carried on in blissful ignorance of what he thought, rather than this absolute mess. Now I have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he just angry at me, or does he actually want to break up?

  The thought of texting him to find out makes me feel physically ill.

  We’ve argued before, but nothing quite as bad as this. We’ve never woken up still angry at each other. I haven’t woken up feeling this shit in a long time, hungover and wanting to be sick and wanting to cry and that familiar emptiness I thought I’d gotten rid of a long time ago. That feeling that makes me want to stay in bed and never get up again.

  One time back when I was in Year 11, a few weeks after I got out of the hospital, Nick said something he didn’t mean while we were eating dinner – some stupid thing about how I wasn’t trying hard enough – and I started having a go at him and it turned into a massive argument, ending with him leaving. But even then, he still came back a few hours later. And everything was okay again. I think that might have been the first time we slept in the same bed, actually.

  I roll over so I’m out of the sun and pull my covers over my head, but the birds tweeting outside are too loud and it’s still too bright in my room, so I just end up lying there. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could keep turning back time to Thursday, and every time I got to the end of Thursday, I’d rewind time to the beginning of Thursday again, and I’d just be with Nick every day for the rest of my life.

  Can’t believe I even think stuff like this. Pathetic. I’m so pathetic.

  “Morning,” says my sister Victoria when I slump down next to her on the lounge sofa. She’s in her pyjamas and dressing gown and is watching Bridesmaids with a large bag of Kettle Chips on her lap.

  “Morning. Why are you watching a film at eleven o’clock in the morning?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why Kettle Chips?”

  “First day of study leave treat.”

  “It’s your second day of study leave.”

  “Then… it’s my second day of study leave treat.”

  I laugh and watch the film with her for a few minutes. I never really got into this film, but Victoria’s weirdly obsessed with it. It might be because the main character is super sarcastic, just like her.

  “So… you feeling okay?” She turns to me. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Feel a bit sick. It’s nearly lunchtime anyway.”

  “Hm.” She doesn’t comment. Normally Victoria’s the first one to make me eat when I don’t want to. “What happened to Nick last night? You’re lucky Becky had her car. And why were you drunk and crying in the conservatory?”

  I groan and roll my head back against the sofa. “Do we have to talk about it?”

  She shrugs and looks back at the screen. “Nope. Thought you might want to.”

  We sit in silence for a minute.

  And then I decide to tell her.

  I tell her the full story, not that there’s much to tell anyway. Nick’s constantly talking about university, me getting all anxious about it, hearing about Elle and Tao, getting scared, saying stuff I shouldn’t have, Nick freaking out – everything is my fault, as usual.

  “Jesus,” she says, once I’ve finished. She gazes at me, the remains of her eyeliner smeared under her eyes, and then she pauses the film. “Sounds like a really bad argument.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “You don’t think he wants to break up, do you?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. He didn’t say no I don’t want to break up, you know? He just… got so angry…” And then suddenly I feel tears in my eyes. I bring up a hand to cover my face and when I speak, my voice is all high-pitched and wobbly. “I feel like shit.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” Victoria puts down her crisps and pulls me into a hug, running one hand over my back. “It’s okay.”

  I shake my head into her shoulder, trying not to get tears all over her dressing gown. “It’s not okay… it’s really not okay…”

  She lets me cry into her shoulder for a few minutes before she speaks again.

  “I think you need to talk to him.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.

  “Just something. Anything.”

  “He hates me.”

  “That’s untrue.”

  “He’s angry.”

  “That’s temporary.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say,” she says. “You just have to say something.”

  NICK

  Saturday is a nothing day. I get up at around ten. I take Henry for a walk. I eat. I have a nap. I play with Henry in the living room. I play video games for five hours. I eat again. I nap again. I go on YouTube for four hours. I discover that I’ve lost my disposable camera. I spend an hour looking for it. And then I cry myself to sleep.

  On Sunday morning I stay in bed. I start to realise that the reason I feel numb is because I’m in shock. In shock that Charlie would even suggest breaking up. I also start to realise that the shock is turning into panic, I’m panicking now, panicking that long distance really isn’t going to work after all, that it’s going to be too hard. If Charlie’s this upset now, he’ll be even worse when I leave. But I can’t stay here just because he’s upset about it. What am I supposed to do? There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. It is what it is. Charlie wants to break up with me before it gets too painful. Maybe we’d end up breaking up anyway. Maybe we’re just getting it out of the way.

  What? I don’t know. I have no idea what I think any more.

  I go to text Charlie but then realise I can’t because I don’t know what to say. I can’t speak to him until I actually understand what I feel.

  I start crying again.

  Mum asks me what’s wrong on Sunday afternoon. I tell her me and Charlie had an argument.

  “Oh, you two’ll get that patched up though, won’t you, love?” she says, and then leaves the kitchen before I have the chance to say: not necessarily. Maybe not. Maybe this is it.

  CHARLIE

  Wednesday arrives and I still haven’t done anything and neither has Nick. I guess I hoped if I waited long enough, he’d be the one to text me first, or call me, or something. But there’s nothing.

  Honestly, I have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe he really does want to break up. Why else would he have just lost it at me? He’s never been so angry with me before. God, I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to break up. I’m pathetic.

  I try to distract myself with revision, but it doesn’t really work. My Thursday Latin language exam rolls around and it goes fine. I memorised all the vocab in the end; there’s nothing I’ll let stop me from doing my best in my exams. But I don’t feel happy when it’s over. I just check my phone for the six hundred billionth time. And there’s nothing, of course. Nothing.

  I know I should text him, but if I ask whether he really does want to break up and he says yes, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  What’s the point of a life without Nick?

  Wow. I’m so embarrassing.

  If he wants to talk to me, he will. If he doesn’t then I guess that’s it.

  That’s the end.

  NICK

  Nine days since the party. A Sunday. I messed up my psychology exam on Friday, but I don’t think that was because of our argument. Everyone knows psychology A Level came straight out of hell.

  I’ve got a few days until my next exam so I don’t do anything again this weekend.
I don’t even take Henry for a walk; I ask Mum to do it. I just sit in my room, curtains shut, playing video games, watching TV, doing nothing.

  Mum walks in at around 1pm to ask if I want lunch, but stops when she sees me wrapped up like a burrito in my duvet, my hair greasy and a property show on the TV.

  She sits down on the bed. “You all right, Nicky?”

  “Mmm.”

  “How’s Charlie? I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

  I blink slowly and look at her.

  “We argued.”

  “That was a while back though, wasn’t it, love?”

  “Nine days.”

  “And you still haven’t sorted it out?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, baby.” She pats what she thinks is my leg but is actually just a bit of lumpy duvet. “Have you tried talking to him?”

  “He broke up with me.”

  “What? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “Yes.”

  She breathes out. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” She holds out her arms for a hug and I sort of fall into them, still in my duvet-burrito form. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be all right.”

  It takes quite a lot of effort not to start crying again.

  “D’you want to order pizza tonight?” she asks. “Special treat.”

  I nod. “Yes please.”

  “I love you so much, baby. You’ll be okay.”

  “Love you, Mum.”

  But I don’t think I’ll be okay. Ever. I don’t think I’ll ever be okay ever again.

  FOUR

  CHARLIE

  Two weeks after the argument is my penultimate exam – music. A Friday. I don’t think about anything except my exams for the entire week. Well, except the fact that I can’t remember the last time I spent two days away from Nick, let alone two entire weeks. God.

  Do I need to start trying to get over this? Because I have no idea how people do that. Nick is the best and most important person I have ever met.

  God.

  I go out with my friends that evening, just to Simply Italian for a big end-of-exams celebration meal, even though my last exam isn’t until next Thursday. I try to have fun and laugh at people’s jokes and talk about how horrible exams were, but everything’s fake. I don’t want to laugh at anything. I want to go home and sit in bed and do nothing.

  I’m sitting next to Aled and he stays quiet for most of the evening, as he does. But as we’re all sorting out who’s paying what, he says, “Charlie,” and I look at him, and I see genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Have you spoken to Nick at all?” he asks.

  Word of our argument has spread everywhere, obviously.

  “No,” I say, trying to keep any and all emotion out of my voice.

  “So… is that it, then?” His voice is almost a whisper. “Have you, erm, broken up?”

  “Yeah.” I realise that this is the first time I’ve said it. I’ve been distracting myself up until this point, but now I don’t have revision to distract me any more. And there it is. We’ve broken up. “Yeah, I, erm… I think so.”

  Aled looks at me for a long moment. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “No, but –” he shakes his head – “you’re Nick and Charlie.”

  I laugh. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s…” He laughs too, a nervous expulsion of air. “You’re… it’s hard to explain. It’s like, if you had to provide evidence for soul mates, everyone would pick you two.”

  I snort. “There’s no such thing as soul mates.”

  “Maybe. But you two present a pretty convincing argument.”

  “If we were, he wouldn’t have broken up with me.”

  “Is that actually what happened?”

  I stare at Aled. I’ve never heard him so assertive. I don’t know how to answer.

  “Did he actually say, Charlie, I want to break up with you?”

  I frown. “Well, no, not exactly. But, he didn’t say I don’t want to break up.”

  “But obviously he wouldn’t have said that.”

  “What?”

  “If he thought you were trying to break up with him, he’s not going to start protesting against it. If he thought you didn’t love him any more, he wouldn’t make it difficult for you. He’d just be heartbroken.”

  “Well, he’s an idiot then!”

  Aled laughs. “Exactly. Two idiots in love. Couple goals.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Someone interrupts us to see whether Aled’s sorted out what money he owes. I really want to believe what he’s saying. That Nick never wanted to break up.

  As soon as I get home, I sit down at the breakfast bar where Victoria is sitting with her laptop and a large glass of diet lemonade. She turns to me.

  “You look at least two hundred percent more cheerful than you have been collectively in the past two weeks,” she says.

  “I need to talk to Nick, like, soon.”

  She throws her hands into the air. “Jesus Christ! Finally! Revelation of the century!”

  I swivel on the stool. “But also, I really don’t want to.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve had your tantrum time, okay? You’re a Year 13 now.”

  “Not till September.”

  “I always count it from the last day of the year before.”

  “Well I don’t.”

  She takes a long sip of lemonade and then points violently at the door. “Go talk to him, you giant child!”

  “Oh my God, fine!”

  I get up from the breakfast bar and wander towards the door, but Victoria speaks just as I’m about to leave.

  “By the way, I found this stuffed between the sofa cushions.” She picks up something next to her and holds out Nick’s disposable camera. “Is it yours?”

  I take it from her. “Oh, that’s Nick’s.”

  “Oh. He might want it back then.”

  “Yeah.” I walk slowly out of the room. The number on the tiny screen at the back is at zero – I didn’t even know Nick had taken that many pictures. When did he take them all? He could only have left the camera here two weeks ago while we were getting ready for the party, and I didn’t see him take any then. So it must have been the day before that.

  And that’s when I know exactly what I’m going to do.

  Straight after my shift at Topman on Saturday morning, I speed-walk to Boots to get the camera developed.

  I have absolutely no idea what’s on it, but I figure there might be something I can send Nick. I don’t know whether that’ll help anything. But a picture speaks a thousand words, I guess. Blah blah blah, something cheesy and romantic. Yep. Cool.

  I arrive at Boots and turns out I have to wait an hour for them to develop the photos, so I wander around town with my umbrella over my head. I buy an Oreo Dairy Milk bar from a newsagent’s because Nick’s obsessed with them. Then I sit down on a bench and take out my phone, balancing my umbrella on my shoulder.

  And then I see I have a text from Tao.

  I open it immediately.

  Tao Xu

  (15:34) Hey Charlie, I know we haven’t really talked about the Nick thing… and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you personally about me and Elle, like… I was having a hard time dealing with it myself tbh. Just wanted to say I’m so sorry if me and Elle caused some weird drama between you and Nick and I really hope it’s cool between you guys soon, and if this is at all helpful I saw Nick quickly as he was leaving Harry’s and he was really upset about it… like I’m pretty sure there’s no way he wants to actually break up with you.

  I read the message several times before replying.

  Charlie Spring

  (15:52) hey! sorry, it’s definitely not your fault… i’ll keep you updated on the nick thing… i don’t really want to break up either haha

  And that sort of makes me feel a bit better. Just saying it out loud.

  I do not want to break up with Nick.

  After that,
I wander back to Boots to pick up the photos.

  I don’t look at them until I’m on the bus home.

  The first photo is the one Nick took of me when I found him in the box fort on the last day of school. I look sort of bewildered. My eyes are all wide and my mouth half open, and it’s not a terrible photo. It’s nice because it looks natural, I guess.

  The second is the one Harry took when we weren’t looking, and it doesn’t look half as awkward as I thought it was going to. We’re standing on the grass with our hands touching, just sort of looking at each other like we’ve come to a pause in conversation, the grass at our feet and the trees overhead looking so bright in the sun. It’s kind of arty. Harry would probably be very pleased with himself.

  The third is the one I took of Nick, and it is a terrible photo. I laugh out loud. It’s hilarious actually – he’s mid-blink. He’ll probably throw it in the bin as soon as he sees it.

  And the fourth one is the selfie we took together, Nick’s arm around my shoulders and our heads together, both of us smiling, a little lens flare from the sunshine falling across Nick’s chest. I look at that one for a while. Thursday was such a lovely day. I wish the past two weeks had been as lovely as that day.

  There are a few after that still at school, several of Nick with his Year 13 friends and even a couple just of the school building itself, as if Nick just wants to remember what it looks like.

  And then there’s the one of me in Nick’s car. Sitting with my legs tucked up on the seat, my sunglasses on, scrolling through my phone. It’s nice. I hardly ever see pictures of me like this; they’re almost always selfies or posed photos with friends.

  The bus jolts suddenly and the photos fall off my lap on to the seat next to me. I slam my hand down on them before they fall on the floor but they’ve all spread out like playing cards, and one photo catches my eye.

  It’s me, asleep in Nick’s bed. The streetlights outside send a soft orange glow through the thin curtains behind me. My hand is curled next to my face and my hair has gone all messy and pushed to one side, as it often does while I’m asleep, judging by what it looks like when I wake up every day. I don’t know when he took this one. I think I fell asleep before him but I honestly can’t remember.