Lola Offline

by Nicola Doherty

  He shrugged.

  ‘Come on, Yosh,’ Vee said. ‘You can tell her. He likes Marco Agnelli.’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Kiyoshi, suddenly sounding much younger. A second later, he said more quietly, ‘Maybe. But he would never be interested in me.’

  ‘Oh, I know Marco,’ I said. ‘He’s in my Greek and Roman Lit class. How do you know he wouldn’t be into you?’

  ‘I just do. Can we change the subject? Vee, what about you? We can’t all be tragic single spinsters. If you had to shag someone in Jean Monnet who would it be?’

  Vee said, ‘Nobody. Maybe if I met an older man – or woman. But why would I want some tedious adolescent to drip over me all day, like a three-legged race?’

  We both nodded. Once again, I wished I was like Vee.

  ‘My little brother has just gone out on a date,’ I said suddenly. ‘It’s so weird. He’s only fourteen. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘It must be nice to have siblings,’ said Vee. ‘I bet you feel like less of a failed science experiment.’

  Kiyoshi said, ‘I feel more like our cat. She’s a ragdoll,’ he added, to me. ‘They’re beautiful but too stupid to go outside, so we’ve built her all these ladders and platforms to replicate the outdoors. It’s like she’s living in the Matrix. Which is basically how my parents want me to live my life. They’re, like, Give him the blue pill.’

  I groaned sympathetically, relieved that the conversation had moved on from the committee.

  The alarm on Kiyoshi’s phone started ringing. ‘Come on. We better get back.’

  As we walked back to school, I felt absolutely sick. Vee was so pathologically honest. I couldn’t imagine her lying about anything, ever. She was full disclosure, all the time. She was bound to find out about the committee some time. And then, if she found out about the other thing …

  ‘Guys,’ I said suddenly. I stopped dead.

  They both turned round.

  ‘I feel really stupid but … I have something to tell you.’ I clasped a hand to my forehead.

  ‘You’re pregnant with Monsieur Mougel’s baby!’ said Vee.

  ‘You’re not a student!’ said Kiyoshi. ‘You’re here undercover, like in 21 Jump Street.’

  Quickly and miserably, I said, ‘I joined the Entertainment Committee. I’m helping organise the ball.’

  ‘What? Why?’ said Vee.

  ‘I don’t know! They needed help … I’m new here, I wanted to meet people.’

  ‘It’s OK, Lola,’ Kiyoshi said. ‘You haven’t joined the Nazis.’

  I could see Vee was about to say ‘Nearly’ but she closed her mouth. ‘I just don’t know why you didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I was embarrassed! And you obviously think they’re awful …’

  ‘Look,’ said Vee. ‘You’ve got to do what you want to do! Be yourself. Just be honest with us. And promise me you’re not going to turn into one of them.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, feeling weak with relief. Though I also couldn’t help thinking that those three promises might turn out to be mutually exclusive.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On Saturday afternoon Fletcher knocked on my door to see if I wanted to come shopping for supplies for the ball. I was pleased to be able to accept one of her invites, for once.

  ‘Bring an umbrella, though,’ she said. ‘It’s raining cats and dogs.’

  I smiled as I found my umbrella. Fletcher was full of homely expressions like that – she had told me the other day she was at ‘sixes and sevens.’

  ‘Hello ladies,’ said a voice, as we came through reception.

  It was Tariq, back from fencing practice.

  ‘Want to come with?’ Fletcher said, after explaining our errand.

  He looked a bit subdued, but he agreed. He was also uncharacteristically dressed-down in a grey hoody and old red cords.

  We took the Metro to a department store called Bon Marché, at Sèvres-Babylone. It was as lovely as everything else in Paris – an original art deco building, with a vaulted glass ceiling, and graceful escalators that soared above a display of artificial cherry trees. Fletcher had wanted to go to a cheap shop in the Fourteenth Arrondissement, but Tariq insisted that we should buy quality equipment that we could leave to the school as our legacy.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about Priscilla leaving,’ I said tentatively, while Fletcher was deep in the back of the shop, comparing different fairy lights.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s … Yeah. It’s hard.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘But it’s not that long until the Easter holidays. We’ll meet up then, somehow.’

  Fletcher joined us. ‘What do you guys think?’ she asked, seriously, holding up some lights. ‘White, blue or multicoloured?’

  ‘White,’ Tariq and I said in unison, and laughed at each other.

  ‘If you’re finished, let’s have a hot chocolate,’ said Tariq.

  Over hot chocolate for me and Tariq, tea for Fletcher and macaroons for all of us, Tariq started to perk up. The spring rain battered against the high windows as Tariq told us about Priscilla’s new life in New York, in an apartment that overlooked Central Park. Her school was ‘challenging in a good way’, she’d already been invited to a party, and her parents were talking about getting a dog.

  Fletcher looked wistful. ‘I’m really going to miss her in track club,’ she said. ‘We were going to do a 10k together, it sucks that she’ll miss it. And that I have to train without her. I’m glad she has somewhere nice to run though.’

  ‘She definitely does,’ said Tariq. ‘And, apparently there’s a place near her that does hot chocolate with edible cups. Which makes me want to visit her even more, if that’s possible.’

  ‘Aww,’ said Fletcher, while I wondered if anyone would miss me when I left Jean Monnet.

  ‘I guess, looking on the bright side … it’s a good thing that you and Pris don’t have to run against each other for Student President?’ Fletcher said tentatively.

  Tariq made a face. ‘Yeah – I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you know who’ll run instead?’ I said.

  ‘No idea. I hope someone does.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to run unopposed?’ I asked.

  ‘No! This isn’t North Korea. I suppose it depends on who gets made Grade Rep.’

  ‘Is that just appointed by the teachers?’ I couldn’t hide my fascination with the intricacies of student politics.

  ‘Normally it’s a vote. But if someone has to leave in the middle of term, the teachers just pick someone,’ Tariq said.

  ‘I bet it’ll be Lauren,’ said Fletcher. ‘Her grades are awesome and she’s so nice. Or Rose maybe. The Grade Reps are always a girl and a boy,’ she added, to me.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Tariq. ‘There was a big fuss when that rule was made initially – it was a few years ago.

  People said it was tokenism and that people would take the girls less seriously.’

  ‘But now everyone’s totally used to it,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘I actually think the Student Pres candidates should always include at least one girl, too,’ Tariq said. ‘Otherwise it’s always two boys running against each other. Pris and I were going to be the first to break the pattern in ages.’ He looked subdued again.

  ‘You should run, Lola!’ Fletcher said to me. I laughed out loud.

  ‘You have to be in the school longer than two years, or I’d agree,’ Tariq said, smiling. ‘Why don’t you run, Fletcher?’

  ‘Me?’ She put down her teacup, looking genuinely shocked. ‘No way! Are you kidding? I could never.’

  ‘Of course you could,’ said Tariq. ‘Why on earth not? But hey, I won’t push you into it. Maybe I want to turn Jean Monnet into my own private dictatorship.’ He helped himself to another macaroon. ‘Tuesday would be renamed Tariqday and we’d have crepes every morning for breakfast. Also a big statue of me in the courtyard. Gold.’

  We were all giggling now. ‘Is tha
t your fifth macaroon?’ I asked.

  ‘My sixth.’ He brushed crumbs off his lap. ‘Shopping uses almost as many calories as kick-boxing, did you know? I made that up,’ he added, to Fletcher’s protests. ‘But that reminds me, I could do with some new socks.’

  ‘I’ve had two, and a madeleine! I’m such a disgusting pig. But I did run a six-miler this morning,’ she said to me, almost anxiously.

  ‘Listen, I’m on my third,’ I told her. ‘And I’m not a runner.’

  Fletcher was sweet – but every time I spent time with her, something happened to confirm that we were from different planets and would never be BFFs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On Monday, the IB One class was asked to stay behind for a special announcement after community meeting, in order to hear who was going to be the new Grade Rep. I was sitting beside Kiyoshi and Vee who was thumbing away furiously at her phone, in total breach of the school rules.

  ‘Have you got a new game?’ I asked her.

  ‘No,’ said Vee. ‘I am talking to an idiot on Facebook who doesn’t know the difference between a Muslim and a terrorist.’

  I sighed inwardly, as I remembered happier times when I used to do that – riding my keyboard horse into battle and taking down all comers. But now … there was no way I could do that. Not just because I wanted to stay hidden; I just didn’t feel that sure of myself or my opinions anymore.

  ‘Your new Grade Rep is someone who works hard at her studies, and is always friendly and open to newcomers – especially within the boarding community,’ M. Mougel was saying. I noticed Lauren, beside me, straightening up. She was open to newcomers all right – when it came to toilet doors anyway.

  ‘That person is Fletcher Harrison,’ he continued.

  I turned round to see the shock and delight on Fletcher’s face. ‘Oh my God!’ she said, clasping her hands to her face. Her boyfriend, Hunter, hugged her, though he looked more surprised than happy, I thought. Tariq leaned over and gave Fletcher a big thumbs-up. I was happy for her too, though I did worry that this new duty would tip her right over the edge.

  ‘Did you see Hunter’s face?’ Kiyoshi said, as we went out. ‘He did not look pleased. Maybe he wanted Grade Rep.’

  ‘He couldn’t have. The Grade Reps are always a boy and a girl,’ I said automatically.

  Vee gave me a funny look. ‘Big deal. It’s not like they’ve got the nuclear codes,’ she said.

  I laughed, and we all started making our way out of the room. With the prohibition on phones lifted between assembly and class, everyone started checking their screens – except me.

  I had a text message, though. Lenny had sent me a photo.

  ‘Hope you like my accent wall.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I said out loud.

  It was a picture of my room. One of the walls – the one furthest from the door – was painted black. And not even very well painted; I could see that the ceiling had splodges on it – and so did my bookshelf.

  ‘I am going to kill him,’ I said.

  ‘Who?’ Vee looked over my shoulder. I showed her the picture, and she said, ‘It looks pretty cool actually.’

  I just shook my head. I was willing to bet he’d asked them while they were deep in a box set, and they’d said yes without listening, just to get rid of him. And now I was imagining him turning my room into a love-nest for him and Holly to hang out in. Satin sheets and … whatever else people had. I shuddered.

  ‘I’d love to paint my walls black but I would never be allowed,’ Vee said.

  As we all filed out towards the exit, Fletcher caught my eye. ‘Still on for the meeting?’ she said, pointing both index fingers at me. ‘Five p.m., Room 18.’

  ‘Yes – see you then!’ I said, knowing that I was going pink.

  ‘What’s that about?’ said Vee.

  ‘Oh, nothing. We’re just finalising the poster for the Spring Ball.’

  ‘Of course. The Entertainments Committee. Awesome .’ Vee pointed both her index fingers at me, copying Fletcher.

  ‘Very funny,’ I said, giving her a shove.

  ‘I just don’t want you going over to the dark side,’ said Vee.

  I laughed uneasily. Even though I had been honest with the other two, I felt as if I was cheating on them in some weird way by being on the committee. Even though that made no sense. I would have to do something about it. I was already living a double life; a triple one was too much, even for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was still only March, but the weather had turned freakishly warm. People were beginning to sit outside during breaks, turning their sun-deprived winter faces upwards. I was looking out of the window during Greek and Roman Literature, when I noticed that the chestnut trees in the courtyard had definite green buds, and there were daffodils growing underneath them.

  With Priscilla gone, there were only four of us in the class – Tariq’s friend Patrick, Mette and my Vulcan friend Richard. Which made for a nice atmosphere. I was loving the Iliad, and speaking up a lot more than I did in my other classes.

  ‘Now, I’d like to start by reading out this passage in Greek,’ Mr Gerardo said. ‘You do need to hear it in Greek, I think. You’ll see the translation side by side. Listen.’

  I’d never heard someone read aloud in ancient Greek. I listened, absolutely rapt, as the harsh and alien syllables unfolded, totally incongruous coming from Mr Gerardo. It sounded like a language from outer space, but at the same time I kept hearing words that sounded familiar.

  I started poring over the passage, and the English. Luckily, Mr Gerardo had provided a transliteration, so the alphabet would be relatively easy to crack. I underlined the vowels and began to teach myself the symbols. That meant e; that meant PS; that was a ‘th’ sound … It would be easier to learn it properly, of course, but this felt fun in a Da Vinci Code way …

  ‘What do you think, Lola?’ Mr Gerardo said.

  I looked up, heart pounding. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Mr Gerardo’s mouth twitched, and I had a feeling he knew I hadn’t been listening.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Patrick?’

  After class, he asked me to stay behind.

  ‘I see you were enjoying the original,’ he said, nodding at my page. ‘Either that or you were doing some amateur cryptography.’

  ‘I was just trying to decipher the alphabet.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ He picked up my printout and smiled. ‘Very nice and methodical. I do have a guide to the alphabet. Unless you’d prefer to crack the code yourself?’

  I laughed. ‘No, that’s OK.’

  ‘I noticed that you haven’t joined our Facebook group yet.’

  ‘I’m not on Facebook. Sorry. I’m not on any social media,’ I added out of habit, to stop the inevitable questions. Though Mr Gerardo was hardly going to follow me on Instagram.

  He looked at me curiously, but all he said was, ‘Ah. Like Achilles, you’ve withdrawn from battle. Well, that will leave you some extra time for the IB. And maybe even for my Baby Greek class? I realise that sounds odd,’ he added. ‘It just means Greek for beginners. We’ve had some new joiners this term, so you won’t be alone. Eight-thirty on Thursdays, in Room 32 on the first floor.’

  ‘Wow! I would love that!’ But then my face fell. ‘It’s just that, I’m having so much trouble keeping up with the IB as it is. Even though I’m only doing the certificate.’

  ‘What are your other subjects?’

  When I told him, he said, ‘You sound like quite the linguist. Do you know what you’d like to study at university?’

  I shook my head. I used to think History and Politics, with the idea of being a politician of some kind. But that was out of the question now. I would probably have to work in a morgue or somewhere like that, where they weren’t choosy.

  ‘You could study linguistics,’ he suggested.

  ‘Really?’ This was a new idea. ‘What kind of job would that get me, though?’

  ‘That’s a sad way to
look at it.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ I blushed. ‘Learning is important for its own sake, and everything.’

  ‘It’s vital for its own sake,’ he said. ‘Once you’ve learned something, nobody can take it away from you. In any case,’ he said, sliding off the desk where he’d been sitting. ‘There’s no pressure regarding Baby Greek. But if you do enjoy it … It’s worth paying careful attention to your enthusiasms. They help you find your happiness, I think.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, standing up too. ‘Is enthusiasm a Greek word?’

  ‘Yes! From enthous: possessed by a God. Which is a fine way to be,’ he said. He held the door open for me as we left. ‘Though my wife would say otherwise, based on the size of my record collection.’

  I did a double take. For some reason, I had totally assumed he was gay. And I never would have pictured him collecting original vinyl. Was there no end to the ways in which people could surprise you?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The warm weather held all week, and it was still gloriously sunny on Friday, when I met the others on the Pont des Arts. This was the wooden bridge over the Seine that connected the Left Bank to the Louvre. I thought we would be meeting there to go somewhere else, but it turned out that the bridge was a destination in itself. People had gathered for picnics, playing guitars and sipping plastic cups of wine. It was getting a little chilly, but nobody wanted to let go of the summer feeling.

  ‘Want some wine?’ Priya said. We hadn’t seen much of her lately, because she had a new boyfriend. He was a posh English boy called Tyger, who was on the football team and wore a man bun.

  The others were drinking red wine; Kiyoshi had his usual sparkling water. They also had baguettes, fresh ham and delicious-looking cheese. I took a plastic cup, marvelling again at how teenagers could openly sit around drinking wine here. Looking around at the view I realised I could now name some more of these magnificent buildings. That golden dome opposite us was the Académie Française; up the river, the other golden building was the Assemblée Nationale. I hadn’t been inside either of them yet, but at least I knew what they were; baby steps.