‘Mile twelve!’ gasped Fletch. ‘We’ll be at mile thirteen in ten minutes, Lola!’
I nodded, too exhausted to say anything. I just had to keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving. I plastered a smile onto my face, which was another Fletcher tactic, and it helped. I repeated to myself, ‘It’s not pain … it’s a sensation. A sensation.’ It worked. Either I was hallucinating, or else I could see mile thirteen now.
‘So close!’ Fletch panted, beside me. ‘So close!’ I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me or to herself.
My foot was agony now with every step; I was positive my back was bleeding from my bra. But I kept on, pace after pace after pace. I could see the finish line. I could hear the crowd, roaring louder and louder. We could have been running for two hours; it could have been six. I could only think of putting one foot in front of the other.
‘We’re almost there!’ screamed Fletcher, above the noise of the spectators. The finish line was maybe forty paces away. Forty paces more than I had in me, but I ran them anyway. There was a lump in my throat. Twenty. Ten. Five more paces, and I could stop.
‘We did it!’ Fletcher shrieked. As we crossed the finish line, I started to cry.
‘Oh, Lola, come on! We did it!’ Fletch said. ‘Merci!’ she added to a race assistant, who was putting a medal around both our necks. I couldn’t open my mouth to thank him. I could barely stay upright.
‘Oh my God, look,’ I heard Fletcher say.
A familiar face, but smiling – the way I hadn’t seen him smile all week.
‘Lola!’ Tariq said. ‘Well done! Hey – don’t cry!’
He reached out for me. Sobbing harder now, I folded into his arms.
Chapter Sixty-Three
We didn’t kiss. We couldn’t, with Fletcher standing there, not to mention with me in such a revolting state. But he hugged us both, and kissed my cheek. I felt his lips graze the edge of my mouth, and it sent shocks of electricity through me that powered me, briefly, out of my bone-weary state.
‘How did you – what are you doing here?’ I managed to say. The voting went on all day; surely he should be there?
‘Supporting you at the finish line.’ He turned to Fletcher, who was grinning broadly at us both. ‘Nice job!’
Being Tariq, he had thought to bring two bottles of ice-cold sports drinks, which we gulped down.
‘Let’s see those medals,’ he said.
They were engraved with the date, and the name of the race, and a picture of a little runner. I looked at it in wonder.
‘We did it,’ I said to Fletcher. She grinned at me, and we both wrapped each other in a huge hug.
‘You are a rock star,’ she said.
‘You too,’ I muttered in her ear. She hugged me back, harder, and when she drew back we were both tearful.
‘Come on,’ Fletcher said, wiping her eyes. ‘Let’s check out all the free stuff!’
The finish had a carnival atmosphere. Stalls were giving away healthy freebies – nutrition balls, bars and shakes – but since this was Paris, there were also crepes, ice creams and even a little cheese stall. We all wanted ice creams, but the queues were daunting.
‘Let me get these,’ Tariq said. ‘You two go and sit down.’
‘Can I have a pistachio one?’ I said. ‘No, make it mint and pistachio.’
‘Let me give you some money,’ Fetcher said.
‘Fletcher,’ he said warningly, and we all laughed.
We went and collapsed under a tree. I was still feeling exhausted, but also exhilarated. The pleasure of not having to run any more felt like a drug.
‘Well. You two seemed pleased to see each other.’
‘Yes.’ I bit my lip to stop myself smiling.
‘Is there something you want to tell me, Lola?’
I shook my head, too tired to explain. But my stupid grin probably said it all.
‘Should I leave you to it?’ she said, suddenly sounding uncertain.
‘No!’ I was dying to talk to Tariq alone, but there was no way I was abandoning Fletcher now.
Tariq was coming back now with our ice-creams. Seeing him approach us, in his white T-shirt and jeans, took my breath away all over again. Not just because he looked so beautiful – but because he was here, for me.
‘Let me take a picture of you two Olympians,’ Tariq said, once the ice-creams had reduced me and Fletcher to speechlessness.
He snapped us both with his phone. Then he leaned in beside us, for a selfie.
‘I might post this on the school Facebook page. If that’s OK with you two?’
I stared at him. If he posted a picture with me …
‘Tariq,’ I said. ‘What about the election? People won’t have finished voting yet.’
‘I don’t care about the election,’ he said. And posted it.
Chapter Sixty-Four
We spent another half-hour at the finish, before we dragged ourselves home on the metro.
‘What now?’ Tariq said, when we were back at Jean Monnet.
‘A shower,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe they let me on the metro like this.’
‘Me too,’ said Fletcher. ‘And then I have some study to do. A lot of study.’ She turned to me, raising her eyebrows. ‘But you should probably keep walking around, Lola. You don’t want to get stiff.’
I turned to go too, but Tariq pulled me back by the hand.
‘I’ll wait for you down here,’ he said.
I was torn between taking ages to get cute, and impatience to be with him. Impatience won, and soon I was back downstairs, with no make-up except mascara, and damp hair in a bun. He was still waiting for me in reception.
We started walking towards the Jardin du Luxembourg. As we crossed the rue Vaugirard he took my hand. Once we were inside the park – where I’d jogged with Fletch all those weeks ago – he turned to me and kissed me again, properly. As we strolled through the park, under the chestnut trees with their white candles, I had to pinch myself.
‘Come on – let’s go to the Medici fountain,’ he said.
I’d never been here before. It was a lovely, shady spot. A long, mossy basin overflowed with water, watched over by a huge statue of an angry figure bearing down on an unfortunate couple.
‘Who are these guys?’ I asked. ‘It looks like M. Mougel walking in on a couple making out.’
‘I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Come here.’ He pulled me close. If I thought our first kiss was the one to end all kisses, I was wrong.
‘I’m sorry, Lola,’ he said eventually. For a horrible second I thought he meant he wanted to stop, but then I realised what he meant.
‘Why did you react like that?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be honest. I was worried about what people would think. But I was also offended. I really try not to let stuff like that get to me. I try not to play the race card. But I was angry.’
‘I know.’
‘Do you?’ he said drily. ‘It’s just that feeling that someone sees you for you … and then you realise, oh. That’s how they see me. As one of a group or a category. One of them.’
I nodded sadly.
‘But then I read up on the whole thing … and I realised you were just trying to be witty. You dork.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. I was trying to be sarcastic, but there was a lump in my throat.
‘Lola, please don’t cry!’ He hugged me, and then we started kissing again. No matter how often we did this … I would never, ever get tired of it.
‘Tariq,’ I said eventually. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Yes. As long as it’s not going to be about some guy you have a crush on, who keeps sending you messages.’
‘What? Oh.’ Of course; my question on behalf of Kiyoshi. ‘I told you that was for a friend …’
‘Asking for a friend. Sure. Well, I wasn’t sure at the time. Which was probably why I didn’t ask you to the ball. That, and feeling bad for Fletcher.’ He sighed. ‘I am a bit of a coward. I don’t like entering competition
s unless I’m sure I can win. Not that you’re a competition, but you know what I mean.’
I shook my head, thinking how illogical people were. ‘What were you going to ask me?’
I said shyly, ‘Just … are you sure you’re not on the rebound from Priscilla?’
‘From Priscilla? No.’ I felt a bit better as I saw how confidently he shook his head. ‘Look, Priscilla was great, and I’m not going to start criticising her now that we’ve broken up.’
I nodded, thinking that a little bit of criticism wouldn’t hurt right now.
‘But you said you only broke up with her because of the distance …’
‘That wasn’t completely true,’ he admitted. ‘The thing is, we’d been together for so long – we really were more like brother and sister towards the end. Or good friends, anyway. Maybe we’re too similar.’ He smiled, brushing the hair away from my face. ‘Whereas you … I don’t know anyone else who would get drunk by themselves at lunchtime. Or make up their own language. Or hang out with me on the rooftop on a week night. Or invent a whole new identity for themselves and go on the run …’
‘Oh, no,’ I said, dismayed. ‘Is that how you see me? A Manic Dream Pixie Girl?’
‘A what? No! Look, compared to me, you’re on the – dreamier spectrum. Compared to someone like Vee, you’re straight-edge. It’s all relative. You’re just yourself. And I like that.’ He leaned in again, and kissed me.
After a while, he said, ‘Deja ta windeth …’
I stared in astonishment. He remembered Delilish!
He paused, and then clicked his fingers. ‘That’s “Do you want to go”, isn’t it? I don’t know “out with me tonight”.
‘Tariq, everybody in this school is going to hate you for dating me,’ I said, once we’d stopped kissing again.
‘No, they won’t. And if they do, I don’t care.’
I looked at him sceptically. Surely everyone cared what people thought – especially him?
‘I’m serious. I’ve realised that it’s no way to live – worrying about your image all the time. If they don’t like it, they can do one. As you English say.’
He was grinning at me. God, how I had missed that grin.
‘You know what I want to suggest, don’t you?’
‘What?’ I said warily.
‘Community meeting.’
‘What? No! Public humiliation, you mean.’
‘No! A chance to put across your side of the story.’ He took my hand. ‘I’d be there. And Fletcher.’
‘And Vee, and Priya, and everyone else who hates me …’ I felt suddenly doubtful. Was this his way of making me acceptable again? Would he still want to be with me, if I didn’t go through the ritual humiliation?
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Fine. You don’t have to. I just—’ Was that a blush on the unflappable Tariq’s face? ‘I just want you to be happy.’
I realised he meant it. Which meant I would think about it.
But meanwhile, we had a serious amount of kissing to catch up on.
Chapter Sixty-Five
I thought about it all night.
On a logical level, I supposed it was probably the right thing to do. It would allow me to put across my side of the story. And it was true that when I had told the full story – to Fletcher, or to Tariq, over dinner last night – they understood.
But that was when I was talking to friends. I wasn’t sure how it would work in a big, formal setting like the school hall. What if I messed it up, or made myself sound worse than ever?
And it wasn’t just that. Even if everyone got it and was supportive, that wouldn’t be my happy ever after. I would still always have to explain this thing. It would always come up when I was googled. It would follow me around for the rest of my life.
Then I remembered something Tariq had said last night. He said, ‘If you don’t tell your own story, other people will tell it for you.’ I knew what he meant. But I was not at all sure that I could actually do it.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The Student Council elections results were announced the next day, Sunday. I wanted to lie low, but Tariq insisted on sitting with me and Fletcher at lunch and then keeping me superglued to him, practically, during the ‘count’ – the big election party that took place out in the courtyard. But there was one person I did want to talk to.
I waited until Vee was on her own, and then walked right up to her.
‘Before you say anything – just listen. I’m sorry that I lied to you. You were my friend and you deserved better.’
Vee nodded. She didn’t say anything, so I continued, ‘How did you find out?’
She just shook her head. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s all over the internet. Google “racist teenager” and you’re on the first page. Second page, maybe.’
‘Right.’ Of course. That was exactly the kind of thing Vee would google.
‘Look. I should apologise too.’
‘Really?’ This was a surprise.
Looking furiously into the distance, Vee said, ‘I was jealous, I suppose. You suddenly had all these new friends, and you were obsessed with your running … We used to hang out so much but then you disappeared.’
‘I didn’t disappear! I just made other friends.’ What was I supposed to do? Not speak to anyone but her, and live in her pocket all the time? It reminded me of being fourteen, and it made me tired.
I wanted to say all this to her, but there was no point. I hadn’t realised, up until now, how deeply insecure she was.
‘I’m sorry you felt that way,’ I said. And I was. But all the same, I was relieved to see her go and join Kiyoshi and Priya.
‘Everything OK?’ Tariq said, coming up to me.
‘It’s complicated.’
Tariq looked at me sympathetically. Then he said, ‘I’ve spoken to Ms Curtis. They can make a slot for you at the next community meeting. But no pressure.’
My heart sank again. Looking around at everyone else laughing and chatting, being normal, I couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to hear my story.
But then I remembered little Felipe, on my first week here – going up to the podium with his too-high trousers, knees shaking together. If he could do it, I could do it.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Count me in.’
Chapter Sixty-Seven
It was Monday morning. The final week of school; there were no more classes and a lot of sunbathing, packing and discussing of holiday plans. But there was still quite a crowd gathered in the assembly hall as I took my place at the podium. I saw Vee and Kiyoshi with Marco Agnelli. I couldn’t see Tariq, but that was because he was on the platform beside me, as the Student President elect.
It was, quite frankly, the stuff of nightmares.
‘Hi. You all know me as Lola, but that’s not my real name. My name is Delilah Hoover …’
I couldn’t even focus on the words I was saying. I kept on having lucid-dream moments where I realised that yes, I really was speaking in front of the entire school. And yes, there were hundreds of pairs of eyes all fixed on me.
‘It started when I was on Twitter. I saw something horrible that someone had written, about these students …’
More stares. I caught Vee’s eye for a split second before she stared away.
‘I really wanted to defend them all, but I also wanted to say something witty.’
I swallowed. This was the first time I’d admitted that out loud.
‘So I wrote … the tweet that you’ve all seen.’ I had to stop then, to catch my breath. ‘I was trying to be witty, and ironic. I was going to hashtag it “stuff stupid white people say” but I didn’t. I thought it would be cooler not to.’
As I described what had happened in the days and weeks after Twittergate, the audience became very still. I could see that none of them had imagined it was that bad.
‘So, after talking to my parents, I decided I couldn’t go back to school …’ I started to speed up more nervously. But a little
smile from Kiyoshi in the audience made me feel calmer.
‘… So I ended up here.’ I found myself running out of words, and looked over to Ms Curtis for guidance. She nodded, which I decided was my cue to stop. Everyone was still gazing at me as I walked away from the podium. There was some polite applause, which seemed to be led by the teachers, but it didn’t sound very heartfelt.
It hadn’t worked. They didn’t believe me. Without looking back, I hurried out of the room through the side door, as quickly as I could.
What a fool I was. I had thought that I’d get up there, give a big speech and feel like a weight had been lifted off me … but it had made no difference. Except maybe to make things worse.
‘Lola!’ It was Fletcher. She came crashing through the door of the ladies’ to find me bent over the sink. ‘What’s wrong? Everyone’s clapping! You were great!’
‘They’re still clapping?’
‘Yes! Didn’t you hear them? It took a while to start but that’s because we didn’t know if you were finished or not. But everyone thinks you did awesome!’
I came out with her into the corridor. A young girl with a long ponytail, who I vaguely recognised, was waiting there.
‘I just have to tell you … The same thing happened to me,’ she said. ‘I mean not exactly the same thing, but I made a stupid joke about a plane accident, and I got trolled. It was so horrible. I know exactly how you feel.’
Another girl, equally young, materialised beside her. ‘My little sister was in a changing room and someone took a picture of her and put it on Snapchat. She was twelve. I know how you feel.’
‘No, but – she didn’t do anything wrong. I did.’
‘I don’t think you did,’ said Fletcher.
‘It wasn’t that bad. It was just, like, not great judgement,’ said Ponytail Girl, who had to be all of fourteen.
‘Come on,’ said the other girl, in a motherly way.
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