Lola Offline

by Nicola Doherty

  I had barely recovered, when Fletcher started to jog again.

  ‘Again?’ I said, protesting. ‘But we already jogged.’

  ‘You can do it! You’re strong!’ she chirped back, leaving me no option but to follow her along. She kept the pace really slow, as before, and I started to notice something really strange. It was getting easier.

  ‘It’s funny,’ I said breathlessly. ‘I always found that running was easy at first, but then I’m knackered after ten minutes.’

  Fletcher started laughing. ‘Knackered? What the heck does that mean? Tired? Well, you will be tired, but you can run for longer, because you’re not burning out.’

  We jogged on for a while, and my feet and arms began to settle into a rhythm. I was getting used to it. It almost felt good.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Fletcher. ‘The sad thing is … I do miss Hunter. Isn’t that weird? And I’m bummed out that I have to go to the ball alone. Who are you going with?’

  ‘Um, no one,’ I said, feeling worried. ‘I mean, just Vee and Kiyoshi probably. Do we have to go with someone?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I mean, you don’t notice once you’re actually at the ball. But all the couples’ names go up on the Facebook page, a few weeks before. So it’s really obvious if you’re not going with anyone.’

  Ugh. I hadn’t thought of that. Vee and Kiyoshi would probably go together. Who would I go with? Horrors, horrors.

  ‘Maybe Tariq will ask you,’ Fletcher said, slyly. ‘Tariq? No way! I mean he’s—’ I broke off abruptly. I had been about to say that he was gay, but thank God I had stopped myself. I was finally becoming a bit less tactless.

  ‘Were you about to say he’s gay?’ Fletcher said, psychic-like. ‘I promise you he’s not.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because Priscilla was my friend. You get to hear a lot about someone’s life when you’re jogging together. And I heard all about their relationship.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And when I say all about it … I mean all about it. He is definitely not gay.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean anything,’ I said, forgetting the fact that I wasn’t meant to be outing him. ‘He might have been faking it. Or he might be bi.’

  ‘Maybe. But I promise you, he wasn’t faking it.’

  ‘Oh.’ I tried to absorb all of this. ‘Well, anyway, we’re just friends. He’s too smooth for me,’ I added, to make it sound convincing.

  I was so preoccupied, I had barely noticed how much ground we’d covered. We were already back at the entrance to the park. I felt exhausted; my limbs were like spaghetti – but I also felt great. How was this possible?

  ‘You did awesome!’ Fletcher said. ‘Much better than I even imagined! We ran for fifteen minutes, and then for ten minutes, plus ten minutes walking in between … probably about three miles.’

  ‘Three miles?’ I stared at her, open-mouthed. Impossible. That was an inhuman, Paula Radcliffe-style distance. There was absolutely no way that I could have managed that.

  ‘That’s nothing! Next time we’ll do five miles. And you know what comes after that?’

  ‘An ice-cream?’ I suggested hopefully, nodding towards the stall in the distance.

  ‘An ice-cream for sure. But then … 10K, baby.’ There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. ‘You and I are entering a race.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I was so befuddled by everything Fletcher had told me, that I forgot to hide from Mette and Lauren in the communal showers that evening. I just stripped off along-side them, tuning out their talk of where to buy the best slutty underwear in Paris (their words, not mine).

  Tariq wasn’t gay. His relationship with Priscilla had been real. Which meant he must really miss her. And he had obviously just been drunk and lonely up on the roof … and now he probably thought that I had a giant crush on him like everyone else in the school. And that I was a pervert who took advantage of drunken boys.

  Still: why did he knock on my door? Could he like me?

  No. For a start, Priscilla was an Alpha: beautiful, intelligent, probably going to be running the UN in a few short years. Pretty hard to live up to. Not to mention, he would not want to get involved with anyone so soon after they broke up.

  But had there been something there? Did I imagine it all?

  ‘Something on your mind, Lola?’ Mette asked. ‘You look like you’re trying to solve quadratic equations.’

  ‘Not really. Just stressing about French homework.’ I stepped out and wrapped myself in my towel quickly before they could see my unkempt bikini line – so different from their perfect landing strips. I would have loved their advice, but they were like bloodhounds when it came to gossip; even if I changed all the identities, it would be all around the school before our hair was dry.

  I knew Tariq wasn’t into me. If he was, he would have kissed me while he had the chance. I didn’t know that much about boys, but I knew that there was a difference between a girl who was fun to hang out with, and one that you actually wanted to go out with. I could predict that Tariq would be looking for a trophy girlfriend like Priscilla, and that wasn’t me. Not that she was a trophy. More a First Lady.

  Feeling sad, I dialled home, but Mum and Dad were out. I tried texting Lenny, but although there was a read receipt, he didn’t reply. He was still angry at me; we hadn’t spoken in days.

  ‘Sorry,’ I texted him. A few minutes later, he sent me an angry face and a poo emoji. So much for me thinking he was growing up too fast.

  In the interests of procrastination before homework, I decided to send my dad a quick IM telling him I’d been on a three-mile run. He was a runner too, so that was the kind of thing he’d like to hear. I wasn’t sure if it was missing Lenny, or hearing Fletcher say she didn’t want to regret things, but a thought had occurred to me. Maybe it was time for me to start making an effort with him.

  To my surprise, I got an IM back from him within minutes. ‘Great stuff! Three miles is very decent for the first outing! Make sure you have a pizza or something this evening. Or some pasta. Do they have pasta in France ;)?’

  Which was actually the longest message I’d had from him in months. Grinning, I tapped out a few runner emojis in reply and told him that yes, they had pasta in France. I spent a good ten minutes IM-ing back and forth with him before I finally settled down to my homework.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Over the next two days, my suspicions about Tariq proved totally correct. He barely acknowledged me, except for a few awkward waves as we passed each other between classes or at lunch.

  It wasn’t until Friday afternoon that we finally talked.

  I had just come back from another jog with Fletcher, and was at the pigeonhole, seeing if there was any post for me (there never was), when he came up to me.

  ‘Look at you! I didn’t know you were so … sporty.’ He glanced at my Lycra-clad form, then looked away.

  ‘Fletcher made me do it,’ I explained.

  We both paused as two IB Twos swept by us. As soon as they were out of earshot, he said, going even pinker, ‘I am so sorry about the other night, Lola. I was pretty drunk.’

  ‘It’s OK. I was half-asleep myself – I can barely remember it.’ I almost couldn’t look him in the eye, I was so embarrassed. He probably thought I had been cherishing the memory of that night. Which was obviously not the case. Well, not quite.

  ‘All of that stuff I said about the election and everything … I was being overdramatic. I’m not that bothered about it really. Obviously.’

  Oh.

  Now I felt even worse. He wasn’t worried about the fact he’d put his head in my lap, or that we had almost kissed – or whatever that was. That was insignificant. He was embarrassed that he’d revealed his vulnerable feelings to me. But his vulnerable feelings weren’t about me; they were about the election.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly.’

  We walked back into the courtyard where people were sitting under the trees. It was the most beautiful eveni
ng – warm and balmy, almost more like summer than spring. And everyone in sight was studying: another clue that exam season was coming. Why was the weather always nicest just before exams? And what on earth was I going to say to him now?

  ‘Lola,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. Suddenly I felt unaccountably shy.

  Was he – maybe – going to ask me something personal after all? Maybe even – ask me to the Spring Ball?

  Tariq took out a notebook. ‘Here’s a list of everyone in IB One … who I think would vote for me. Could you take a look and tell me if you agree?’

  ‘Oh.’

  Trying to hide my disappointment, I skimmed over the names. Patrick; Nicolas; Mette; Jun … I didn’t know them all but it seemed likely enough. He also had Fletcher down; his intelligence must be good.

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re safe with all these,’ I said, eventually.

  ‘What about Kiyoshi? I’m not asking you to talk to him or anything. I just wondered what you thought.’

  I tried to put my bruised feelings aside, and look at it objectively.

  ‘Yeah, I think you definitely have Kiyoshi. I can’t see him voting for Hunter, anyway.’

  ‘OK, great.’ Tariq added the name to his list then paused. ‘What about Vee? I know she’s maybe not my biggest fan but … I can’t see her voting for Hunter, can you?’

  ‘No. But I think she might just spoil her ballot or something.’

  He nodded. ‘And you?’ he added, almost shyly.

  ‘Of course you have my vote.’

  ‘Thanks, Lola.’ He gave me a quick smile. ‘That means a lot. It’s just that I keep hearing people saying they’re going to vote for Hunter. I have more support among the staff, and in IB One, but the younger kids are really into Hunter …’

  After a minute or two, I couldn’t listen any more.

  My last few days had been full of turmoil, wondering what was going on between us. Meanwhile, he was worrying about the election.

  I thought I had known him pretty well, but now I saw him so much more clearly than I ever had before. He cared more about random people’s opinions and his own popularity rating, than about how I felt. It was nice that he was confiding in me, but it was nothing to do with me. I could have been anyone.

  As I left him to go in and change, I tried to swallow down my disappointment. I knew that it was for the best. Even if he was interested in me – which he wasn’t – I could never tell Tariq the truth about myself. No matter what he thought about it personally, it would look bad, and to use a reference from my Greek and Roman class, that was his Achilles heel.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Over the next two weeks, the main topics of conversation all over IB One were the election, and the ball. People endlessly discussed what they would dress as, who they would go with, and who they would vote for. I had assumed Tariq would be the firm favourite, but I was hearing more and more people enthusing about Hunter and his pancakes.

  Meanwhile, we kept up our running, and I was amazed to find myself actually liking it. On Friday, a week after we’d started, we actually ran five miles. The next day we did a shorter interval training session – polite code for ‘hell’, but I felt amazing afterwards. For longer runs, our usual route was to run down to Notre Dame, or upriver in the direction of the Invalides bridge with its enormous golden statues. I was seeing more of Paris than I ever had before. I began to look forward to our long runs, and get obsessed with adding another mile or ten more minutes to our time. And with every passing mile, I felt less upset about Tariq.

  ‘You’re not going to become one of those running bores, are you – going on about shoes and times and nutrition gels?’ said Vee one morning, when I came to breakfast straight from a run.

  ‘No!’ I said. I didn’t mention that Dad had given me some advice about running shoes via IM that morning, and I was planning to get new ones in a shop where they analysed your gait.

  ‘But we are doing a race,’ I added, proudly. ‘Me and Fletcher.’

  ‘You and Fletcher,’ said Vee. ‘That sounds so super fun. Are you going to be BFFs?’

  ‘Well, she is my friend,’ I said, uneasily. ‘I’m allowed to have other friends, aren’t I?’

  I realised that I felt uncomfortable even saying this, which was ridiculous. What were we, thirteen?

  ‘Yes – of course you are,’ Vee muttered. ‘Sorry.’

  Later, Kiyoshi said that Vee was under a lot of stress these days with her parents, and not to take her too seriously.

  ‘She always feels a bit threatened by her friends getting new friends. I think it’s because her parents moved around so much when she was small. She hates change. No, not like that! Like this.’

  We were in the same sushi restaurant we’d been to when I first arrived, having an early dinner. Kiyoshi had insisted I had to learn to use chopsticks.

  I wanted to be understanding about Vee, but really, she was becoming exhausting – far more exhausting, in her own way, than a five-mile run. I couldn’t believe how sophisticated and cool she had seemed when I first met her. Now I thought she was like an angry five-year-old. I even felt bad for having dinner with Kiyoshi without her, though she was at the ballet with her mother.

  In any case, I had enough on my mind with school work, the awkwardness with Tariq – and the problem of what to wear to the ball, and more importantly, who to go with. Kiyoshi was going with Vee, or he would have asked me.

  ‘You didn’t want to ask Marco?’

  ‘No way!’ said Kiyoshi.

  ‘Is he still with the messaging?’

  ‘He is still with the messaging.’ He sighed. ‘This is one of the many reasons it sucks to be gay. Because as well as not working out if someone likes you, you have to work out if they’re the right orientation. And my gaydar is obviously all wrong, judging by Tariq.’

  I had told Kiyoshi earlier about Tariq; all he had said was, ‘I still think he’s hiding something.’

  ‘I was just thinking,’ he continued. ‘Have you noticed that it’s always the people whose parents are divorced who have the best love lives? Hunter’s parents are divorced … And so are Tyger’s … They’re always in relationships.’

  ‘What’s your parents’ marriage like?’

  ‘Made in heaven.’

  We both laughed.

  ‘I don’t think it’s your parents,’ I said. ‘Honestly, maybe you just need to take a risk with Marco.’ I paused. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way. But do you actually want things to happen with Marco? Or is there maybe a part of you that feels safer having it all just be messages?’

  ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘You know … I think you may be right.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked.

  ‘Really. But I do want to try,’ he continued.

  ‘Maybe, instead of making a move in real life, you could send him a flirty message,’ I suggested. ‘Like … say you can’t wait to see him in his outfit at the ball.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he said.

  ‘Do it! I mean, why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely and talented …’

  Kiyoshi seemed to cheer up. ‘You think so? Hey, maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  Our food arrived just then to distract us from our love-in. I started wolfing down my vegetarian set. How had I ever found chopsticks hard? They were easy now.

  Kiyoshi pushed some of his sushi towards me. ‘Have a tiny bit of this salmon one. Just to try.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘Come on Lola. You have to try some sushi! If I can send a flirty message to a boy I like, you can try sushi.’

  I felt duty-bound not to be wimp, so I grabbed it awkwardly with my chopsticks.

  ‘Just forget that it’s fish. Think of it as a new thing. It actually doesn’t taste of fish at all.’

  I obeyed him, cautiously sinking my teeth into the piece of sushi. To my amazement, he was total
ly right. It tasted bland and cool and refreshing, especially with the salty soy and the spicy wasabi.

  ‘This is actually really delicious!’ I said. ‘Can I have another one?’ I tried a tuna roll, a prawn sushi roll, and a delicious one with mackerel. I ate so much, in fact, that I had to order more. And with every bite, I was getting more and more adept with my chopsticks.

  ‘I can’t believe it. I like sushi!’ I said.

  I took a photo of my sushi and sent it to Dad quickly. Within minutes, I got a thumbs-up emoji back. I smiled. Why had this never occurred to me before? Dad was terrible on the phone, but he gave great text.

  ‘You’ve transformed me into a sushi lover! I feel so sophisticated. Next, I’m going to start liking jazz, and modern art. And whisky!’

  Kiyoshi shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. It was all you. It’s like they say: you can’t change people, but people can change.’

  ‘I really like that! Who said that?’

  He looked pleased with himself. ‘I did.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It was still early when I got back – not quite eight. Fletcher’s door was open; she was lying on her bed reading a magazine.

  ‘Lola!’ she said, when she saw me. ‘Can I ask you something?’ She rolled over and held up her magazine. ‘Am I a Basic Becky?’

  ‘What?’

  She read aloud: ‘The BB carries a Michael Kors bag in one hand and a skinny latte in the other. She drinks white wine, vodka and soda, and goes crazy for Pumpkin Spice Latte. She wears fit-flops in summer and Uggs in winter. She’s not a natural blonde, but she would die rather than let her roots show. She is really into either soul cycle, glow yoga or Pilates, and she will never, ever do anything that will surprise you.’

  I leaned against her door frame, not sure what to say.

  ‘No of course not! For a start, your name’s Fletcher, not Becky.’