Friendship Fails of Emma Nash

by Chloe Seager

  Maybe I could convince Steph and Andy to let me live in their shed, if I promise to be very quiet and not to scare their children with my unwashed hair and glazed eyes.

  Definitely not going in tomorrow. One day back was more than enough.

  Tuesday, 11 November

  posted by EditingEmma 08.36

  Mum wasn’t a fan of the whole ‘I’m not going back in on my second day’ thing, so here I am. Sigh. It’s probably for the best. It’s the first fashion show meeting tonight and now that I bugged Ms Parker about joining, I’m definitely going to have to turn up.

  posted by EditingEmma 16.01

  So, I am currently at my first, official after-school activity. Waiting for Ms Parker to arrive to commence the voluntary captivity. I feel weird and not at all like myself, like Stefan Salvatore when he gets the taste for human blood after 150 years.

  WHO AM I?

  Anyway, this new, pod-person Emma, who stays at college more than thirty seconds after the bell rings, sat down next to Crazy Holly (who is also helping out with the fashion show). Holly carefully unwrapped a carved lemon from some tin foil and offered me a piece. I respectfully declined. Then she said, ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘I like making clothes,’ I said.

  She nodded profoundly.

  ‘That’s what they told me to say, too,’ she said and winked.

  WHAT AM I DOING?

  posted by EditingEmma 18.07

  Home

  I can’t believe I’m saying this but…I think I might have actually…had fun? At school? At school when I didn’t have to be there?

  For a while I watched people leaving out the window, going back to their homes, walking towards their freedom, and I felt quite wistful and helpless… Like I was the guy in Shawshank Redemption, wrongfully imprisoned for a crime and left to rot. I sort of had the urge to call out, ‘I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. I WANNA GO HOME!’ But then Ms Parker arrived and began chatting about the plans for the show, and it actually all sounded really cool.

  There were about twenty-five of us and we went around the circle introducing ourselves and dividing out roles. I didn’t really recognize anyone except Holly, but the guy who sat next to me was nice. He had very ‘high-fashion’ hair and shoes and managed to look sort of preened in a way that I can never achieve after three hours getting ready, never mind after a day at school.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Charlie.’

  ‘Hi,’ I replied. ‘I’m Emma. What teams are you going for?’

  ‘Design.’ He shrugged, as if there were no other answer.

  ‘Oh cool!’ I said. ‘Me too!’

  Then he showed me a pair of paisley trousers he’d been working on and how he’d stitched the seam to be curved like the paisley. A cool trick, which I made a mental note to steal for future designs.

  ‘Did you make this?’ he asked, pointing to my top.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘I really like the buttons.’

  ‘Why thank you.’

  It was SO NICE to be able to talk to people who were really interested in making clothes, too. As I explained my choice of buttons I waited for him to raise one eyebrow sceptically, or to shout ‘Why didn’t you use CHOCOLATE buttons’ and try to fit a whole pack in his mouth, like Steph did the other day. But no… He listened to me, explaining my choice of buttons, as if it were a legitimate and interesting thing to be speaking about.

  This must be what Steph feels like when she’s with her football team talking about the offside rule, rather than trying to explain it to my unconscious, sleeping body.

  Anyway, I volunteered for design and social media. Holly kept putting her hand up for every single team and eventually Ms Parker said, ‘Are you sure that’s not too many, Holly?’

  ‘I can handle the heat.’ She shrugged.

  I’m actually really, really excited. If I get design team then I get to make fifteen outfits for the show and people will actually BE LOOKING AT MY DESIGNS. ON A RUNWAY. (Even if it is just some wooden planks cobbled together by Holly, that will probably collapse.)

  When I was leaving Ms Parker said, ‘It’s really nice to see you doing something other than gazing out the window and nodding, Emma.’ And she smiled at me. It made me feel a tiny bit sickened at first, but then really happy. I like Ms Parker. And for once, she wasn’t exasperated with me!… Maybe she could be my new BFF?

  Emma Nash @Em_Nasher

  Would it be weird to make a friendship bracelet for a teacher?

  Steph Brent @Brentsy

  @Em_Nasher Yes

  posted by EditingEmma 19.16

  Sigh

  So I know I said I wasn’t going to mention the unmentionable person, but looking back at that last post feels somewhat disingenuous, because, unfortunately, that very same unmentionable person walked in right in the middle of the meeting.

  AGsdhhdjsnv~HSHDHHDHDHDHDH.

  GAGH.

  Ms Parker had just mentioned that people in lighting and set could ‘maybe’ use a strobe light, and Holly got so excited she squirted a bit of lemon into Willie Thomas’s eye. Willie was clutching his face and swearing and I was just googling ‘what to do when you get citric acid in your eye’, when he, oh nameless one, stumbled in through the door. Looking all flustered and messy-haired-but-in-an-annoyingly-good-way.

  ‘****,’ said Ms Parker. ‘Good, you’re here.’

  ‘Sorry, I…’ He caught my eye and looked away again quickly. I forgot how dark and round his eyes were. ‘I had to go see Ms Fray.’

  My heart wrenched against my will. Ms Fray teaches him Biology, which he so badly wanted to do well in but was pretty dire at (I know, because I used to help him). He’d probably stayed behind because he was struggling with something. Ughhhh. My heart wrenched again as I remembered that was one of the horrible things I’d accidentally posted about him online.

  ‘That’s OK, sit down. Emma?’

  ‘What? There’s no room!’ I panicked. For some reason it crossed my mind that she was suggesting he sit on my lap.

  ‘Er…did you find anything?’

  **** went and sat down on the other side of Charlie, who fist-bumped him. Are they friends? How is it possible that **** has a friend I don’t know about? Why have I never seen him on his Instagram feed before?! Boys baffle me sometimes. I’m a hundred per cent convinced that girls would never have such non-publicly declared relationships.

  In the middle of this inner-rant, I realized everyone was looking at me.

  ‘Oh right, yeah,’ I stammered. Willie was still howling. ‘If the pain doesn’t stop after you’ve washed it, get some saline solution drops and keep putting them in.’

  Willie looked like he was about to cry. Holly reached over and patted him on the shoulder, like he was just being a massive baby. I stifled a laugh and caught Leon’s eye as he smirked, and we both looked away again.

  This is a bit of a spanner in the works for my not thinking about Leon resolution, to be sure. But I can handle it.

  Wednesday, 12 November

  posted by EditingEmma 11.15

  Stupid Friends

  At break, I sat down with Faith and Steph.

  ‘Guess what I did last night,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Went to my first after-school activity.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Faith. ‘The fashion thing? How was it?’

  I paused.

  ‘Faith, I’m not sure you heard me properly. I went to an after-school activity. I stayed at school longer than I was legally obliged.’

  She blinked. ‘Congratulations?’

  ‘What?! Come on! This is big!’

  ‘I stay behind to finish my art projects all the time,’ said Faith.

  ‘I have football practice on Tuesdays and monthly matches on Saturday,’ said Steph.

  I sighed. ‘This is just like becoming a pen-writer all over again,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘So in primary school, you know how you use pencils, and then gradu
ate to pens?’

  Faith shrugged. ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Well in our class it was a really big deal. The first pen-writer, Gail Wandsworth,’ I said her name with venom, ‘was treated like bloody royalty. Her pen was bestowed upon her like a knighthood and everyone clapped. And she was all, I’m Gail, everywhere I go I leave a trail of permanent ink that smells like roses and superiority. Gail… ugh. Then there was Polly Kendrick, and Dan Sharma…’

  ‘Are you going to go through your whole primary school class?’ asked Faith.

  ‘Shh,’ said Steph.‘I want to see the depths of her bitterness.’

  ‘And by the time it got to me, loser Emma Nash, pen-writer number fifteen, NO ONE CARED ANY MORE. Does my achievement mean any less because I got there a bit later? Do my successes not mean anything on their own? Must they constantly be compared to that of my superior friends and peers?’

  ‘You’re right.’ Faith patted me on the shoulder. ‘Well done.’

  ‘I just don’t feel like you mean it.’

  ‘Better show appropriate enthusiasm, Faith,’ said Steph, ‘You don’t want to end up like Gail, buried in a shallow grave with a pen stuck down her throat.’

  Why do I bother?

  posted by EditingEmma 13.55

  Steph came with me to look at the fashion show sign-up sheet, to see what teams I’m on. I got social media and design like I wanted!! Score!!! Then Steph pointed at a name lower down.

  ‘LEON is doing it?!’ she shouted.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Agh, WHAT. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME.’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘It IS a big deal. AGH. That’s so ANNOYING. This was something you were just doing for you. And he has to ruin it with his stupid…annoying…presence!! Ugh, why doesn’t he just cheese off, seriously!!!’

  ‘Cheese off?’

  ‘It felt right in the moment.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘he won’t ruin it.’

  ‘AGH!!! It’s so UNFAIR.’ She shook her fist at a passing Year 7.

  ‘Steph, really!’ I took hold of her fist. ‘I was a bit shocked and at first I was very…aware of him in the room…but after a while I just got on with it and forgot about him.’

  ‘Really?’ Steph peered at me.

  See. I can’t lie to Steph.

  ‘OK, I didn’t totally forget about him. But I nearly did. I promise. He’s not going to ruin it.’

  ‘He’d better not,’ said Steph. ‘Remember this is something you’re doing for you and ONLY YOU.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’ I nodded. ‘Anyway, he’s doing set with C-Holz, so I’ll barely ever see him.’

  ‘They’re letting Crazy Holly do set?’ Steph exclaimed.‘Isn’t that a health and safety hazard?!’

  ‘Probably.’

  She got distracted then, thankfully. Because I don’t think I was doing a great job of convincing her. But she really needn’t be worried. I’m definitely not thinking about him.

  posted by EditingEmma 20.19

  Why Is My Mother Incapable of Dating Men With Normal Jobs?

  Mum came into the kitchen, looking a bit glamorous for a Wednesday night…

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

  ‘Out,’ she said.

  Expansive.

  ‘You’ve got a date?’ I prodded.

  ‘…Yes.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘The nice man we met on Halloween.’

  ‘Oh my God, the pumpkin carver!!!’ I practically screamed.

  Mum sighed. ‘His name is Graham. And he’s a vegetable artist.’

  I stopped. I stared.

  ‘A what?!’ I repeated. ‘What the hell is a vegetable artist?!’

  ‘Must you be so obsessed with my boyfriends’ jobs?’ Mum sighed. ‘Can’t you ever just focus on their personalities?’

  ‘I will, once you go out with someone who’s an electrician, or a plumber, or in advertising, or sales… What about sales, Mum? What about a nice, normal salesman?’

  ‘I don’t want to date a salesman. I want to date Graham.’

  ‘Well then. It’s up to you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to keep referring to him as the Pumpkin Carver.’

  ‘Vegetable artist,’ she replied, through gritted teeth.

  She left before telling me what that meant, exactly. I’m sure time will tell.

  Thursday, 13 November

  posted by EditingEmma 17.01

  Friendships Take Actual Work: A Realization

  So, in amongst all my terrible friend-making, I’ve been comforting myself with the fact that at least mine and Gracie’s friendship is totally solid now. Well, I was in for a rude awakening from the cold mackerel of truth. This afternoon I was sitting with her, giggling at ‘worst sex injuries’ on the internet (which I’ve got to say, doesn’t inspire me – the most clumsy person in the universe – with much hope for my future) when she said, ‘So, when are you going to start dating again?’

  ‘I’m not,’ I said.

  She laughed.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  She realized I was being sincere then, and nodded in a way I imagine she thought was supportive.

  ‘Gracie,’ I said. ‘People don’t have to have a love interest to lead a worthwhile and satisfying life.’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  Silence.

  ‘People don’t. You do,’ she added.

  And for some reason, even though it’s completely a comment I would usually expect from Gracie, it sort of stung me out of nowhere. I’d foolishly let my guard down, because I think somehow I thought our relationship had just… I don’t know…magically transformed over the holidays. But no, here we were, just the same people as we were last term.

  After she said that she went back to the laptop, as if nothing had happened, and I sat back feeling grumpy and childish. I decided to ignore her until she noticed and then go to lessons. But, clearly too enthralled by genital piercing mishaps, she didn’t notice me ignoring her… And during this time, I had time to cool off and assess my options. I thought…

  1) I can carry on ignoring her

  2) I can snipe back at her

  3) I could actually say something

  1 and 2 are definitely how I’ve spent my entire life with Gracie, up until now. I took a deep breath. I so badly wanted to walk off and scribble ‘Gracie is a butt’ over my work all afternoon (it’s very therapeutic). But I thought about my resolutions. If I wanted things to change, I was going to have to change them.

  ‘Gracie.’ I broke my silence (that she hadn’t yet noticed). ‘I feel like we need to chat.’

  She looked up from her screen. My heart started thudding.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Um, important relationship stuff.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘All right…’

  She leaned back in her chair, looking at me expectantly.

  I continued. ‘It’s just… Er.’ Oh God, this was hard. I swallowed. ‘I know we’re all good now and that’s great, but I feel like we can’t have a fight, clear the air and then just move on. I feel like maybe we need to talk about how we’re going to change our relationship, otherwise we’re just going to fight again. And clear the air. And fight again. And it will be an endless cycle of fighting and air-clearing until we have no air left to clear. Our friendship will be trapped in an airless room and die.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ she said, looking at me like I’d just put on a hat in the shape of a pineapple.

  ‘Right.’ I ploughed on regardless.‘So I’ll go first, then. I feel like…sometimes you unnecessarily make me feel like I’m being weird. Like just then. And it’s mean.’

  ‘Ooookay,’ she said.

  ‘There!’ I shouted. ‘You’re doing it again! Talking about our relationship is not a weird thing to be doing!’

  She sighed. I waited.

  ‘All right,’ she relented. ‘I don’t think you’re weird, but this makes me feel…uncomfortable. I don’t really like
talking about this. So maybe it’s a defence or something, I don’t know.’

  ‘GOOD!’ I yelled, doing a little dance. ‘Progress! Get it all out in the open, Gracie!’

  She paused.

  ‘But then sometimes I do think you’re weird.’

  ‘Point taken. Your turn.’

  ‘All right, um, hmm. OK. I feel like sometimes I can’t say stuff around you because you make everything into a joke. It makes me feel like everything I say is being mocked. You never take me seriously.’

  Just as she said the word ‘seriously’ she looked all pouty and I reflexively pouted back at her. She huffed and crossed her arms.

  ‘Oh, I see, this is one-way criticism.’

  ‘No, no, I’m sorry!’ I yelped. ‘It was my facial muscles. They just do silly things on their own. I do take you seriously!!’

  She nodded.

  ‘All right, you go.’

  I took a breath.

  ‘OK. I feel like…whenever something bad happens to me, you react in a way that makes the whole thing seem worse. Like, OH MY GOD THAT’S AWFUL, and then I feel ten times worse…like you’re rubbing it in, or something.’

  She paused.

  ‘I feel like, that’s actually me being genuinely sympathetic. Because if half the things that happened to you last term had happened to me, I’d be mortified.’ She shuddered.

  I know I found my mum’s Tinder profile, had a date where literally the only five words spoken were ‘Do you want a Minstrel?’ and accidentally went out with a thirteen-year-old, but really, does she need to shudder?

  ‘See! You just did it, just then!’ I shouted.

  She sighed. ‘It looks like we’re set in our ways.’

  ‘No, come on, we can do this. Um… Maybe we could make a signal? So, you know, whenever I don’t take you seriously, or you make me feel unnecessarily weird, we could, erm…hoot like an owl?’

  She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

  I hooted like an owl.

  ‘Our signal is not going to be an owl!’ she whined.

  I kept hooting.