Solitaire. Alice Oseman

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      “Wait, wait, wait,” he says. I turn back round. “Can I ask you something?”

      I cannot resist a sarcastic comment. “You just did, but please continue.”

      “Can we really not be friends?”

      He sounds like an eight-year-old girl trying to win back her best friend after she accidentally insulted her new school shoes and got herself disinvited from her birthday party.

      He’s wearing only a T-shirt and jeans too.

      “How are you not freezing?” I say.

      “Please, Tori. Why don’t you want to be friends with me?” It’s like he’s desperate.

      “Why do you want to be friends with me?” I shake my head. “We’re not in the same year. We’re not similar in any way whatsoever. I literally do not understand why you even care about—” I stop then, because I was about to say “me”, but I realised midway through that that would be a truly horrific sentence.

      He looks down. “I don’t think that … I understand … either …”

      I’m just standing there, staring.

      “You know, it’s said that extreme communism and extreme capitalism are actually very similar,” he says.

      “Are you high?” I say.

      He shakes his head and laughs. “I remember what I was going to tell you, you know,” he says.

      “You do?”

      “I remembered it the whole time. I just didn’t want everyone to hear it because it’s not their business.”

      “Then why did you come and find me at a busy restaurant? Why not just find me at school?”

      For a second, he genuinely seems to be offended. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” He laughs. “You’re like a ghost!”

      It takes a lot of willpower not to just turn round and leave.

      “I just wanted to tell you that I’d seen you before.”

      Jesus Christ. He already told me that.

      “You told me that yesterd—”

      “No, not at Higgs. I saw you when you came to look round Truham. Last year. It was me who took you round the school.”

      The revelation blossoms. I remember exactly now. Michael Holden had shown me attentively round Truham when I was deciding whether to go there for sixth form. He’d asked me what A levels I wanted to do, and whether I liked Higgs very much, and whether I had any hobbies, and whether I cared much about sports. In fact, everything he’d said had been utterly unremarkable.

      “But …” It’s impossible. “But you were so … normal.”

      He shrugs and smiles and the raindrops on his face almost make him seem as if he’s crying. “There’s a time and a place for being normal. For most people, normal is their default setting. But for some, like you and me, normal is something we have to bring out, like putting on a suit for a posh dinner.”

      What, now he’s being profound?

      “Why did you need to tell me this? Why did you need to track me down? Why was it that important?”

      He shrugs again. “It wasn’t, I guess. But I wanted you to know. And when I want to do something I usually do it.”

      I stare at him. Nick and Charlie were right. He’s absolutely insane.

      He holds up a hand and sends me a slight wave.

      “See you soon, Tori Spring.”

      And then he wanders away. I’m left standing under the broken lamp post in my black jumper and the rain, wondering whether I’m feeling anything yet and realising that it’s all very funny because it’s all very true.

       SIX

      I HEAD INSIDE, go into the dining room and say hello to my family. They’re still at dinner, as usual. Well, except Oliver. Since dinner’s kind of a two to three-hour job in our house, Oliver’s always allowed to leave the table once he’s done and I can hear him playing Mario Kart in the living room. I decide to join him. If I could swap bodies with someone for a day, I would choose Oliver.

      “Toriiii!” As soon as I enter, he rolls over on the futon and stretches his arm towards me like a zombie rising out of the grave. He must have got yoghurt all down his school jumper today. And he has paint on his face. “I can’t win on Rainbow Road! Help me!”

      I sigh, sit down on the futon next to him and pick up the spare Wii remote. “This track is impossible, bro.”

      “No!” he whines. “Nothing’s impossible. I think the game’s cheating.”

      “The game can’t cheat.”

      “It is. It’s cheating on purpose.”

      “It’s not cheating you, Ollie.”

      “Charlie can win. It just doesn’t like me.”

      I produce a large and exaggerated gasp, springing up from the futon. “Are you suggesting that Charlie is better at Mario Kart than moi?” I start to shake my head. “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m the Mario Kart Empress.”

      Oliver laughs, his fluffy hair waving around atop his head. I fall back on to the futon, lift him up and sit him on my lap.

      “All right,” I say. “Rainbow Road is going down.”

      I don’t keep track of how long we’re playing for, but it must be quite a while because, when Mum comes in, she’s pretty irritated. And that’s extreme, for her. She’s a very emotionless person.

      “Tori,” says Mum. “Oliver should have been in bed an hour ago.”

      Oliver doesn’t seem to hear her. I glance up from the race.

      “That’s not really my job,” I say.

      Mum looks at me, expressionless.

      “Oliver, it’s bedtime,” she says, still looking at me.

      Oliver quits the game and trots off, high-fiving me on the way. Even when he’s gone, Mum doesn’t stop looking at me.

      “Do you have something to say?” I ask.

      Apparently, she doesn’t. She turns round and leaves. I get in a quick round of Luigi Circuit before heading to my own room. I don’t think my mum likes me very much. That doesn’t really matter, because I don’t really like her either.

      I put the radio on СКАЧАТЬ