But there were little things. People giving me odd looks. Priya rushing away when I came over, though she might just have been late for chemistry. In the breaks between classes, people seemed to melt away when I approached. I saw Kiyoshi in the distance once, but he was deep in conversation with Marco Agnelli. He gave me an awkward wave, then looked away. I tried not to mind.
At lunch time, I went out to a café off campus, where I ate a sad and solitary crepe. I was crossing the courtyard, on my way to class, when I ran into Vee.
I was tempted to slink away but she stood her ground. Well, if she could do that so could I.
‘Why did you do it?’ I asked, once she got close enough to hear me.
‘Me? Why did you do it? You told me you changed your name because you got death threats for being a feminist. And I believed you. Like a retard.’
Now wasn’t the time to call Vee out for her un-PC language.
‘I shouldn’t have done that. But I was scared. I didn’t think you would understand, if I told you the truth.’
‘Understand what – that you got kicked out of your last school for being racist?’
‘But I wasn’t,’ I protested. ‘I was trying to make a joke - a stupid joke.’
‘That’s what all racists say.’
‘But it’s true!’
Vee shook her head. ‘I thought we were friends,’ she said. ‘I told you things about myself – real things – but you just lied to me.’
Of all the things she’d said, that one hit home the most.
‘God knows what else you’ve done. This is probably just the tip of the iceberg!’ she continued.
‘Fine. If you want to know, I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be judgemental and nutty about it – like you are about everything.’
The next thing I knew, Vee had lashed out at me. When I lifted my face from my covered hands, I saw that someone had grabbed her – Tariq. There were no teachers around, so it was lucky he had.
‘Vee!’ Kiyoshi rushed forward. ‘Come on. This isn’t helping.’ He put an arm around her and led her away, shooting a reproachful look – not at her, but at me. In ordinary circumstances that would have really upset me but I didn’t have time to worry about Kiyoshi; I was too busy getting up the courage to face Tariq.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. I looked up and saw an expression on his face that I had never seen before. He looked as though he didn’t know me.
Tariq glanced around at all the people watching us. ‘OK, guys, this isn’t street theatre – please get to class,’ he said loudly, and they walked away.
He released my shoulders gently – only then did I realise that he’d been holding them.
‘Tariq,’ I said. ‘You believe me, don’t you? I mean – you know I didn’t mean it … I mean I meant it as a joke …’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said.
My words tumbling over each other, I tried to explain as best I could. But he didn’t seem to be listening.
‘It’s time for class. Will you be OK?’ he asked, distantly.
‘Yes. Sure. I’ll be fine.’
‘Good,’ he said.
‘Tariq—’ I said, but he was gone.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The day went downhill from there. Now I definitely wasn’t imagining it; everyone was talking about me. They were way too civilised to say anything – this was Jean Monnet, after all. But I could feel the stares directed at my back.
Only six more hours, I thought. Only six more hours and Mum will book my train home.
Obviously, I skipped dinner in the cafeteria and ate Pringles in my room instead. I was getting really sick of Pringles. Nobody came round. Not even Tariq. Especially not Tariq.
I shut my eyes and replayed his kiss and his words. I want more. That was what he said. It was the perfect thing, until it wasn’t.
Of course he was angry. Not just because of what I did, but the fact that I lied about it. I had had months and months to tell him, and I didn’t. Now I couldn’t blame him for hating me. Some things you just couldn’t explain.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I was lying in bed the next morning, after another sleepless night, when there was the hammer of a fist at my door. It was Fletcher, back from her geography trip and dressed in her running gear.
‘Where were you?’ she said, bouncing impatiently on her toes. ‘We were supposed to be meeting downstairs – for our run.’
Our run? I looked at her blankly. It was as if we were on the Titanic and she was asking me what dress I was going to wear on the lifeboat.
‘I can’t run,’ I explained. ‘I’m having a catastrophe.’
‘That’s exactly why you should run!’
‘But if I’m leaving anyway what does it matter?’
‘Look. Once you’re home, you can do whatever you want. But as long as you’re here, we should stick to the programme.’
‘Um …’ I wanted to say no, but there was a steely look in her eyes that I knew all too well.
‘I tell you what. Just come out for a walk,’ she wheedled. ‘Just a ten-minute walk. If, after that, you still don’t want to jog – we’ll come home.’
‘I don’t know where all my stuff is,’ I said, pathetically.
‘Not a problem! Let’s make that our next step. All you have to do is put your gear on. Nothing else for now.’
And somehow, I was off the bed and looking for my gear. I rootled in my drawer, and realised my leggings were all in the wash and I’d have to wear the shiny pair that showed my VPL and made my legs look like a pair of black sausages.
‘I can’t,’ I whined. ‘These are obscene.’
‘Here,’ she said, handing me a long T-shirt. ‘This covers your booty.’
‘Have you ever considered being some kind of military officer, Fletch? You’d be really good at it.’
‘No,’ she said, stretching her calves. ‘I’ve decided I want to be a doctor.’
‘Really?’ I said, playing for time. ‘That’s so interesting! When did you decide that?’ With any luck, she’d start chatting and forget what she had come for.
‘Well, I—’ She paused suddenly. ‘I’m on to you. You’re not getting me out of a run by chatting. Not this time.’
So we ran. It was a beautiful May morning and it was hard not to feel spirits lift as we jogged – down to Odéon, with its dozens of cinemas and outdoor cafés, down the rue de Seine and past the rue de Buci where the market was in full swing, selling everything from giant peonies to oysters on ice. We passed a string of exquisite art galleries, before we reached the golden dome of the Académie Française, and the Seine.
Once again, Paris struck me in all its ridiculous, impossible beauty. Especially today, in the blinding sunshine that sparkled on the river. All of the chestnut trees were in full bloom. The whole city was blossoming into summer. My heart ached at the thought of leaving all this behind.
‘Good going!’ Fletcher said. ‘Now let’s follow the river!’
As we ran along the quays, my stride loosened. I began to dig my heels in further, pump my arms more, work my legs. The famous endorphins were kicking in, almost as if they were massaging my broken heart. With every step, I felt better. More alive, more myself. It was the first time since the Ball that I’d actually been able to breathe properly.
‘Hey!’ said Fletcher breathlessly, beside me. ‘Nice pace!’
I slowed down reluctantly as we went down the steps onto the banks of the Seine. The tourists were going by on their tour boats with the loudspeaker commentary. They were just visiting, but I lived here. For now, anyway.
‘Do you want to go home now?’ Fletcher asked. I looked at her startled, but then she continued, ‘Or can you make it to the next bridge?’
‘Oh. Sure. I thought you meant home-home.’
‘No … I know you’ve made up your mind on that,’ she said.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, uncomfortably. ‘I know it leaves you in a bad position.’
Poor Fletcher! If I was in her position – one of my few good friends at Jean Monnet about to leave – I’d have locked her in her room long before now.
‘I’m serious,’ she said, looking sideways at me. ‘I’ve moved schools so often. I’ve been here before. And I always just say to myself: I may not have friends at the moment – but I will have them again in the future.’
We ran on in silence for a minute. I knew Fletcher meant all that in a positive, optimistic way – but it seemed like the saddest thing I’d ever heard.
I didn’t know what to say, so I focused on soaking up the sights. The bridges ahead, the river, the winding, never-ending silhouette of the Louvre … Soon they’d just be a memory to me, an Instagram feed or a postcard.
‘What will you do about the race?’ I asked uncertainly.
‘Just do it alone. This way you won’t hold me back,’ she teased.
‘Who’s holding who back now?’ I said, and sprinted ahead. Fletcher laughed, and sprinted with me. Now we were both racing towards the Pont des Invalides, hearts pumping, feet slamming the ground. I felt like I couldn’t go on another step, but I did: another and another and another, until I reached it just a few strides ahead of her.
‘Nice!’ said Fletcher, high-fiving me. ‘I totally didn’t let you win, by the way. You’re faster than me now!’
I was gasping too much to reply. Maybe I’d overdone it. Maybe we needed an ambulance?
‘So, we just did,’ she looked at her Garmin watch, ‘Lola! Did you see what we did? Eight miles! That’s two miles further than we need to run at the race!’
‘Wow,’ I panted. ‘Really?’ This was actually quite thrilling. We started walking up the steps towards the bridge. I felt terrible; I felt fantastic.
‘It’s great when it stops, isn’t it?’ Fletcher grinned.
I nodded, still incapable of speech.
‘You know what else?’ she said slyly. ‘I bet, if you did stay and do the race … We could make it a half marathon.’
‘A half marathon? That’s thirteen miles!’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But you just did eight with very little effort. We’ve got two more weeks, so you could get up to ten. And on the day of the race – I know you could do more. We could still change our registration. Come on! Wouldn’t that be a trip?’
Laughing, I said, ‘You’re crazy!’ But I thought how much I was going to miss her. And Paris. And running.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I came to Paris because I was running away. Now I was running away from Paris. Would I be on the run for the rest of my life? Where would it end? No matter where I went or what I was called, I could never get away from myself.
Now that we’d stopped running, I was exhausted. My legs were suddenly aching, my face was red … but I felt great. And I knew what I had to do.
‘I’m going to stay,’ I told her.
Fletcher stopped short, almost knocking over man walking a poodle.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
‘I’ve got to stop running eventually,’ I said. ‘If you catch my drift.’
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You’re not just staying to be nice to me, are you? That would be too nice. And you’re always lecturing me about being too nice …’
‘No!’ I said. ‘And you know what else?’
‘What?’
I glanced back at the route we’d already travelled and then further up the river. If I could suffer through this week, I could suffer through an extra five miles.
‘We’re doing the half marathon.’
Fletcher’s cheers and shrieks attracted the stares of a boatful of tourists, while I hoped I hadn’t said goodbye to what remained of my sanity.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The promise of the race was one of a few bright spots in a truly horrible week. Not only did I have exams looming; my life felt as if it was hanging by a very, very thin thread.
Kiyoshi and I had an awkward conversation or two. He was confused, more than angry. He was also wrapped up with Marco Agnelli. I would see them drifting around the courtyard together, sharing an earbud each and listening to music on one of their phones. I would have been really happy for him if I hadn’t been so lonely.
‘It was supposed to be ironic,’ I told him, for the millionth time.
‘I know,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘I guess, if you’d said that at the start, we would have got it maybe. It’s just the fact that you made up a new name for yourself. And lied to us all. People feel a bit freaked out.’
I hung my head. ‘I understand.’
And at least Kiyoshi would speak to me. Vee ignored me totally. She literally looked right through me, walked past me, even pushed past me once – her icy face in contrast with the very huge, OTT hat that she was wearing. I couldn’t help but think, though, that it could have been worse. If Vee had been around in the days when they threw things at people in stocks, I betted she would have been first in line with her eggs.
I made a discovery, though. The worst thing – the thing I’d been dreading – had happened, and I survived. I had been unmasked in front of the whole school; now I had nothing more to fear.
My other discovery was: you only really needed one friend. As long as you had one person who was totally on your side – like I had Fletcher – you would basically be fine. I knew that no matter what happened, she and I would be friends for a long time. Which made me feel happy, but also deeply sad, because that was what I had once thought about Tariq.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
My Skype calls home had become a nightly ritual by now. They helped a bit – except that Mum was actually driving me crazy. She was obsessed with finding silver linings in the black storm cloud of my life. So far she had come up with the following:
1. At least it was out in the open now.
2. At least I still had one friend.
3. At least I’d learned some French.
Honestly. What was next? ‘At least you’ve had some pretty tasty Nutella crepes.’ ‘At least you haven’t been arrested.’
‘Well,’ Mum was saying. ‘One good thing is the timing. It’s nearly the end of term – it’ll probably all be forgotten over the summer.’
‘Mum,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Can you please stop pointing out all the good things in this situation? Because from where I’m sitting, there aren’t any.’
‘There are always good things,’ Mum said, upset. ‘In any situation.’
‘No! Actually, sometimes there aren’t!’ I said. ‘Or if there are, let me decide that! You’re not in my situation! Stop telling me how great it is and just listen to me for once when I tell you that it’s not! STOP TELLING ME HOW I FEEL!’
Mum said nothing. The screen paused on her startled face.
‘Mum?’ I said.
The screen stayed frozen. Now I was alarmed. Had I actually broken Skype with my rage?
Then it flickered back. She was still there, albeit a bit shell-shocked.
‘Did you get all of that?’ I said, feeling stupid.
‘Yes, love, I did.’ She looked remorseful. ‘I really did. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise quite how I was coming across. I was just trying to help.’
‘Yes, but the more you tell me that everything’s great, the worse it makes it!’ I could feel myself getting wound up again. ‘Why can’t you just agree with me that things are bad sometimes? Then I would feel better!’
‘Because I can’t stand it. I can’t stand things to go wrong for you.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to,’ I said. ‘Because they will. That’s just life.’
Mum laughed. ‘You sound like your Gran. You know, she always used to wind me up because she was such a negative person. Everything was terrible, everything was doom and gloom. That’s probably why I wanted to work in PR – just to hear some good news for a change.’
‘She sounds like
a smart woman,’ I said snippily. ‘I’m sorry I never knew her. Oh, God, Mum, don’t cry.’
‘I’m fine! It’s fine,’ Mum said, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s just been a long week. Look, I am sorry if you feel I’m not listening. I probably do overdo it sometimes, with the positivity. I’ll try and listen to you more.’
‘Thanks,’ I muttered.
‘By the way, I bumped into your friend Ellie the other day. In a shoe shop. She was with her mum.’
‘Oh?’ I said nervously.
‘She was asking after you,’ Mum said, to my surprise. ‘She said she’d love to hear from you.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, dubious. ‘Mum, this isn’t you being positive again, is it?’
‘No, Delilah, it isn’t. She said to tell you hello and that you should get in touch. Lenny – shush. Sorry, love. I think he wants to talk to you. Yes, you do! Well why were you hanging around then? Here she is.’
Lenny didn’t appear for ages, and then his face loomed at one corner. The image lurched around then, and I could see he was taking me to ‘his’ room.
‘That wall still looks awful,’ I told him, as he settled onto his bed.
‘Well, if you’d stayed, I wouldn’t have painted it, would I?’
‘Painted is a strong word,’ I said. ‘It looks more like you dipped your tail in paint.’
Lenny immediately sat up, turned round, and shoved his rear end towards the camera.
‘Noo!’ I yelled. ‘Stop! Pervert.’ Without me to keep an eye on him, his behaviour was just out of control.
He turned round, grinning, and sat down. ‘Don’t worry, Delinquent. I wasn’t going to moon you.’
I sighed. ‘Look, Len. I am sorry about everything that’s happened. Honestly. I never really thought that it’s been horrible for you too.’
He lifted his shoulders to his ears.
‘S’OK,’ he said, after a pause. His mouth twitched at the corner. ‘I did get a Segway out of it.’
Lola Offline Page 17
