Lola Offline

by Nicola Doherty

  ‘I love your jacket! Is that a Bollywood star?’ I asked.

  ‘No. It’s Frida Kahlo,’ she said, giving me a weird look.

  Oh, no. She clearly thought that I’d said that because she was Asian. I went red, completely unable to explain myself.

  ‘She does look very Bollywood there – it’s the colour scheme,’ Vee said. I smiled at her gratefully.

  As we left the building, she fell in step beside me. ‘So how’s it all going?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine … I’m panicking over IB stuff a bit.’

  Vee shook her head. ‘Don’t let the hype get to you. If you look at all the great entrepreneurs, loads of them dropped out of college or didn’t go.’ She started typing furiously on her phone. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered after a second. ‘It’s just this idiot – I’ve been trying to educate him about misogyny but it is not working.’ She explained the background to the Twitter row she was having with a guy about a sexist remark at an awards show.

  ‘You agree with me, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘No, you’re absolutely right,’ I said, because she was. Though I was less sure when she said the guy was ‘too stupid to live.’

  Suddenly I had a horrible thought. Vee obviously followed every single Twitter storm going. So surely she would have seen mine? It was only six months ago. What if one of the pitchforks raised against me was hers?

  Well, if it had, I had only myself to blame. I tried to snap out of my funk and listen to her.

  ‘Anyway,’ she was saying. ‘I don’t really care about school work. I want to study art. So all that really matters is my portfolio.’

  ‘Where do you want to do that?’

  ‘My dream would be to go to the Slade in London,’ said Vee. ‘But my parents want me to study something “sensible” like politics or economics. My plan B is computer programming but they don’t even think that’s a proper job.’

  ‘What? That’s crazy!’

  ‘I know. Anyway, I really want you to tell me all about London. Do you know I haven’t been since I was ten? I’m dying to go back.’

  ‘I don’t know why you would want to leave Paris. It’s so beautiful,’ I said.

  We were on one of the streets that curved down from the Jardin du Luxembourg to Boulevard Saint Germain. The night was drawing in, but each dinky shop window illuminated a solitary sculpture or a few antique books; candles glowed from the teeny-tiny restaurants. Soft yellow lamps lit the pavements, which were wet from the recent rain. One of the navy-and-green street signs told me this was rue Monsieur le Prince. Even the names here were beautiful.

  Vee gestured dismissively with her cigarette, looking very French suddenly. ‘Of course I love Paris, but this area has really changed for the worse – too many rich Americans. We’ll show you the real Paris,’ she added, squeezing my arm suddenly.

  ‘Thanks!’ I was touched. I couldn’t really understand why Vee was so keen on me – but I certainly wasn’t going to question it. As long as she never found out who I really was, we could be great friends.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The restaurant was very cool and minimalist, with paper screens and wooden furniture. The staff seemed to know us and there was some chit-chat in Japanese between them and Kiyoshi, as we sat down, plus bowing. I thought bowing was something racist people had made up, but obviously not. Once again I realised how little I knew about the world.

  Although Priya ordered a beer, the others were having something called soba tea. They were all so mature. I ordered soba tea as well; there was no way I was risking alcohol.

  I nearly spat my tea out when I realised it was cold – but luckily I stopped myself in time.

  ‘You OK?’ Kiyoshi said. ‘Have some bubbles.’ He poured me some of his sparkling water.

  ‘I’m totally fine!’ Once I got used to it, the tea was nice. ‘I’m just wondering what to have …’ I added, hoping none of the others would hear, ‘I’m not really such a fish person.’

  ‘No problem. They do a vegetarian set – look.’

  I smiled at him gratefully. He was so adorably and unbelievably nice, not to mention handsome. I wondered why he didn’t have a boyfriend.

  ‘Are you a vegetarian?’ Vee asked eagerly. ‘Or a vegan?’

  I shook my head reluctantly. That would be too much of a lie, even for me.

  ‘I’ve definitely considered it,’ I said, feeling guilty.

  ‘I can send you some videos,’ she said, ‘that will literally make sure that you never eat meat again.’

  ‘Or anything else,’ Kiyoshi said, grinning.

  When the food arrived, the others all got out out their phones to Instagram it.

  ‘Lean in!’ said Vee, motioning to all of us to huddle for a picture. There was no choice; I had to do it. I forced a smile, and watched, my hands going cold, as she casually uploaded it – where, I didn’t even know. Instagram probably. Suddenly my stomach clenched.

  ‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I said. And rushed to the bathroom.

  I splashed cold water on my face, locked myself in a cubicle and pressed my hands over my eyes, trying to breathe deeply. Calm down, I told myself. It’s just one photo. Nobody will see it. But I knew this was just the beginning. How did I ever think I could keep my picture off the internet? Sooner or later, I’d be found out.

  I walked back out to join the others, and let them all chat while I concentrated on manipulating my chopsticks without spraying sushi everywhere.

  ‘Oishi-desu,’ said Kiyoshi to one of the waiters, who came by to ask how everything was.

  ‘Does that mean it’s very good?’ I asked him, mentally filing the expression away.

  Kiyoshi smiled. ‘Yes! Oishi means delicious. Very important word.’

  Do you speak Japanese?’

  ‘No, I just like learning languages.’ Suddenly I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. ‘That’s sort of why I’m here,’ I added. ‘I want to improve my French.’

  They looked a bit sceptical, and I didn’t blame them. Nobody needed to improve their French so urgently that they changed schools mid-way through February.

  ‘So …’ I said, to try and change the subject. ‘Where are you all from? I mean how long have you all lived in Paris?’

  ‘Five years,’ said Vee. ‘My mum is French. My dad is English. We lived in Boston until I was twelve … and now we live in Paris. So I’m not really from anywhere.’

  ‘My dad is Dutch and my mum is from Kolkata,’ said Priya. ‘I was born in Brussels and we lived in four countries before I was fourteen. Now we’re in Paris. I’m not really from anywhere either.’ She shrugged.

  ‘My parents are both Japanese but I’ve never lived there,’ said Kiyoshi. ‘I was born here in Paris, but I’ve always been in international schools. I guess I’m … Japofrench? I don’t know where I’m from.’

  They all looked at me.

  ‘I’m a bit like that …’ I said cautiously. ‘My mum is Welsh and my dad is from Huddersfield, in the north of England. And we used to live in York. But now we live in London.’

  Everyone laughed. Thank God they all thought I’d made a deliberate joke. But I’d never felt so white-bread and boring in all my life.

  There was a load of gossip about people I didn’t know, though Tariq’s name came up when they were discussing the Student Council elections.

  ‘He is so in love with himself,’ said Vee. ‘You know he won’t let anyone take a photo of him at a party, or around people who are drinking, or doing anything unless it’s getting an award or something?’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked, interested.

  ‘Because he wants to be a politician and he doesn’t want anything tarnishing his image. It’s like, come on. You’re running for president of a shitty student council, not the United States.’

  ‘Tariq and Priscilla are like the Obama and Michelle of Jean Monnet, don’t you think?’ said Priya, laughing.

  ‘They wish,’ said Vee.

  ‘Did you hear? They’re both going
to run for Student President,’ said Priya. ‘That’s got to cause some upset, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’d vote for Priscilla over him,’ said Priya. ‘I like Tariq, but the Student Pres is always a boy … I’m sick of it.’

  ‘I’m not voting for either of them,’ Vee said. ‘They’re so entitled. And the system is corrupt. I’m spoiling my ballot.’

  I almost gasped. I couldn’t imagine spoiling a vote – the idea of voting was totally sacred to me, even if it was just a student election. People had died for the right to vote. No matter how bad the choices, you had to vote for the least bad option. But I wasn’t going to say so.

  They started talking about more people I didn’t know. As I looked around the restaurant full of strangers, I felt more and more dislocated from my surroundings. What was I doing here? I wished I was in Nando’s with my old friends. Or … with my family. What were they doing right now? Probably all at home, with a pizza. Don’t cry, I told myself sternly.

  Vee turned to me, while the others were talking about their Higher Maths teacher.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Are we being really boring?’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  ‘I know it’s hard at first, being new. I only came to Jean Monnet two years ago.’ She made a face. ‘I joined in the middle of term too. It was awful. It’s like you’re entering this really complex ecosystem … and you’ve got to adapt to survive. But it gets easier.’

  I began to relax. ‘Yeah – that is what it’s like. You feel like a kind of invasive species.’

  ‘Like a rabbit in Australia,’ Vee said.

  ‘I hope I don’t get myxomatosis,’ I said.

  We both started laughing. And I decided that I had been worrying too much. Vee was full-on, but she was fun and interesting; plus she obviously had a big heart and was a loyal friend. Which wasn’t something I could afford to pass up right now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After my exciting Friday evening, the weekend seemed lonely and hard to fill. I woke up on Saturday morning and looked out of my window at the courtyard below, so busy during the week, now deserted except for the three bare chestnut trees. They were just beginning to put out tiny buds. Positive omen, I told myself sternly.

  It was also increasingly hard to stay off the internet. Even though I’d deleted all my accounts, I still missed being able to flip through Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat, on a neverending loop. My fingers were actually itching to do it – but for some reason, it seemed very important that I stay offline. Partly to protect myself, and partly to prove to Mum that I wasn’t an internet-addled teen. It was so annoying the way she always said that – especially given how much time she spent on Facebook and Mumsnet.

  Thinking about Mum, I wished I could be there at home, having an argument with her, right now. She wasn’t answering her mobile, so I phoned the landline.

  ‘Hi, love!’ Dad said. ‘So … first weekend in Paris! How was your Friday?’

  ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘It was—’

  Just at the same moment, Dad said, ‘I read that—’

  ‘No, go on,’ we both said, at the same time. I told him about going out with the others. Dad told me about an article on Paris’s markets that he’d been reading. I had the horrible feeling that he’d saved it, in order to have something to say to me.

  I didn’t understand where our relationship had gone wrong. When I was little, Dad used to take me swimming, and I’d ride on his shoulders around the pool pretending to be a baby octopus – classy. We even used to watch Star Trek together, cuddled up on the sofa. Now, we were like strangers on a train.

  The sad fact was, even before the internet catastrophe, Dad and I were growing apart. He seemed to feel that now that I was a teenage girl, he should leave me to Mum, while he focused on Lenny. So that was what happened.

  ‘Is Lenny there?’ I said now.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ said Dad, sounding relieved. ‘I’ll get him for you.’

  ‘Sup,’ said Lenny, after a long pause. He sounded out of breath.

  ‘Nothing – what’s up with you?’ I said. ‘Have you just been jogging, or – no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know why you’re panting.’

  ‘Just been on my Segway,’ Len said.

  ‘Your what?’

  Lenny had wanted a Segway for ages and talked about saving up for it. Obviously that was never going to happen since he didn’t have a job, and since Mum and Dad considered Segways dangerous and ridiculous. Didn’t they?

  ‘Where did you get a Segway from?’

  ‘Parents,’ Len said, briefly.

  ‘What? Since when do Mum and Dad want you to have a Segway?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Wednesday? That’s when it arrived anyway.’

  He sounded like he was chewing something.

  ‘What’re you eating?’ I asked. ‘I can barely hear you.’

  ‘Pain au chocolat,’ he said, indistinctly.

  Pain au chocolat? That was meant to be a Sunday treat!

  ‘But it’s Saturday!’ I said. ‘What’s next? Are they going to put a Coke fountain in your room – in my room?’

  ‘Course not.’ Chew, chew. ‘How’s Paris?’

  I had considered telling Lenny the truth, but now I was too annoyed. ‘Mervulendo,’ I said, which was ‘fantastic’ in Delilish. ‘The people here are really cool. We went out for sushi last night.’ I didn’t even know why I was saying that. I just wanted to impress him.

  ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘I knew it would be fun. I’d love to go to boarding school tbh.’

  ‘Len, I’ve told you before. You can’t say tbh. You sound like a moron. You can write it, but you can’t say it.’

  ‘OK, Delilah,’ he said soothingly. ‘Relax.’

  This made me even more speechless than the Segway. Was Lenny really being more mature than me? Or was he just winding me up? Either way, I got off the phone feeling even worse than before.

  I tried to think positive. There were six other girls on my corridor. Surely one of them could be a friend? There was Fletcher, of course, and I would definitely try and hang out with her this weekend. Then there were twin sisters – Huan and Jiao, from China. They were friendly enough, but very quiet: they stopped talking every time I walked into the room. I would have liked to practise my Mandarin with them, but I knew they were there to learn English.

  Then there were three gorgeous blonde girls. At first I thought they were all Scandinavian but now I knew Lauren was from South Africa and Mette and Kristina were Swedish. I had already seen more of them than I’d bargained for; they all had fantastic figures and strode around the communal showers butt-naked.

  It seemed too early to knock on anyone’s door, so I went off to have a shower. Lauren was in there, brushing her teeth.

  ‘Are you choming cho the boarders’ outing chomorrow?’ she asked indistinctly, in between brushes.

  ‘Definitely! What was it again?’

  She spat, rinsed and put her brush down. ‘It’s a trip to the Louvre. Then Mette and I are going shopping, and for tea at Angelina’s …’ As she continued chatting about her plans for the weekend, she went to one of the cubicles, sat and peed, without closing the door. I was so shocked I could barely keep a normal expression on as I rinsed out my tooth-paste, keeping my eyes carefully fixed on my reflection.

  ‘Later!’ Lauren said cheerily, after flushing and washing her hands.

  ‘Later!’ I said faintly. Was that a South African thing? Or just a boarding thing? Either way, it was definitely an eye-opener. I would have loved to tell Ellie about it – but of course, I couldn’t.

  I considered seeing what Fletcher was doing, but a note on her door told me she was away with the Athletics Club. With nothing else to do, I put on my coat and went out. I walked as far as the Pont des Arts on the Seine, which was a wooden pedestrian bridge filled with people hanging around and taking pictures. I paused for a while to gaze at everything; the Louvre, the quays with their booksellers and stalls, Notre D
ame in the distance, and behind me a fabulous golden dome that I couldn’t even identify.

  The beauty of the city, with its spring light falling on the pale facades and dove-grey roofs, did lift my spirits. But it also felt pointless if I couldn’t Instagram it or Facebook it. And it wasn’t because I was a social media addict, as Mum would have said. I just wanted to share it with somebody.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I spent the rest of the day walking – all the way from the river back up through the bustling rue de Seine with its outdoor market, to the Jardin du Luxembourg. With its blonde gravelled paths and perfectly clipped green hedges, it was a pretty cool back garden to have. Though officially, it was the garden of the Palais du Luxembourg, whatever that was – just another palace; they seemed ten a penny here.

  As I walked, I started to feel a bit better. Who needed friends anyway? I liked this new self: a mysterious, aloof figure, going for solitary walks in Paris in my long overcoat, while the wind lifted my hair. Paris was certainly somewhere you could walk all day long and never get bored.

  I stopped to watch a few kids in dinky cords and jackets playing with toy boats on a huge round basin. The smell of roasting chestnuts from a nearby stall made me suddenly homesick for Oxford Street in winter and Christmas shopping with Mum.

  The views from the park were as spectacular as the place itself. I could see the Eiffel Tower, and a big grey dome which looked like St Paul’s Cathedral, plus a huge skyscraper I couldn’t identify. I noticed that everywhere there were beautiful statues of women on high pedestals, imposing among the bare trees. A sign told me that these were the Queens of France, erected by Marie de Medici in the 1600s. I squirrelled that fact away to tell someone, though I wasn’t sure who would be interested.

  Maybe I could try contacting Ellie at least, if not the others. But I didn’t think they would want to hear from me. And they would ask where I was, and then everything would fall apart. It was easier to just leave it – to disappear into my new life.