Loveless. Alice Oseman

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      Rooney was right about one thing: meeting people in real life was probably the only way this was going to work for me. Fortunately, it was Freshers’ Week, and I still had many opportunities to meet people, which continued on the Friday when Rooney and I went to the Freshers’ Fair.

      ‘I’m going to join so many societies,’ Rooney said, and I didn’t take her that seriously, but when we went round all the stalls in the Student Union building, she collected so many flyers that she made me start carrying some of them for her.

      I’d arranged to meet Pip and Jason there too but wasn’t sure where to find them because the Student Union building was huge. They’d have to wait. The most important task at hand was joining university societies. Alongside clubbing, which I had epically failed at, societies were a staple of university life and supposedly one of the easiest ways to make friends with like-minded people.

      But as we walked round the stalls, I started to feel nervous. Maybe a little overwhelmed. I tentatively signed up to English Soc with Rooney, but apart from that, I could barely even remember what I was interested in. Creative Writing Soc? I didn’t really enjoy writing that much – the few occasions I’d tried writing my own fanfic were disastrous. Film Soc? I could just watch movies in bed. There were even super-niche things like Anime Soc, Quidditch Soc and Snowboarding Soc, but they all seemed like they catered for a specific group of friends who just wanted an excuse to hang out and do their favourite hobby together. I didn’t know what my hobbies were any more, except yearning for romance and reading fanfiction.

      In fact, the only other society I wanted to join was the Durham Student Theatre. I could see its giant stall at the end of the hall.

      I’d definitely meet new people if I was in a play this year.

      Rooney ended up walking on ahead, excited to chat to all the people on the stalls. I ambled along, feeling increasingly like I just didn’t really fit anywhere, until I realised I had reached the stall of Durham’s Pride Society.

      It stood out boldly with a giant rainbow flag behind it and had quite a sizeable gathering of freshers standing near it, chatting excitedly to the older students behind the table.

      I picked up one of their leaflets to have a look. Most of the front page was decorated with some of the identities it supported in arty fonts. The ones I knew well were at the top – lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender – and then, to my surprise, it moved into ones I’d only really heard on the internet – pansexual, asexual, aromantic, non-binary. And more. I didn’t even know what some of them meant.

      ‘College child?’ said a voice, and I looked up and was faced with Sunil Jha, my college parent.

      On his woolly jumper he was wearing all his pins again, and he was smiling warmly at me. He was definitely the nicest person I’d met at Durham so far, not counting Rooney. Could he be my friend? Did college parents count as friends?

      ‘Interested in signing up?’ he asked.

      ‘Um,’ I said. To be honest, I didn’t really want to join. What right did I have to join a society like this? I mean, to be fair, I didn’t really know what I was. And yes, sure, I had considered the possibility that I was not into guys. Strongly considered. Then again, I didn’t really seem to like girls either. I didn’t seem to like anyone. I hadn’t met anyone I liked yet, felt the nice stomach butterflies, and been able to proudly declare ‘Aha! Of course! This is the gender that I like!’ I didn’t even have a particular gender preference when it came to smutty fanfiction.

      Sunil held out a clipboard and pen. ‘Write down your email! It just puts you on our mailing list.’

      There wasn’t really any way to say no, so I mumbled an OK and wrote down my email address. I immediately felt like a fraud.

      ‘It’s Georgia, isn’t it?’ asked Sunil while I was writing.

      ‘Y-yeah,’ I stammered, honestly taken aback that he’d remembered my name.

      Sunil nodded approvingly. ‘Sweet. I’m the Pride Rep at John’s.’

      Another girl behind the stall leaned over to us and added, ‘And Sunil’s the president of Pride Soc. Always forgets to mention that because of modesty or something.’

      Sunil laughed gently. He definitely gave off an air of modesty, but self-confidence too. Like he was very good at his job but didn’t want to boast about it.

      ‘This is Jess, one of the vice-presidents,’ he said. ‘And this is Georgia, one of my college children.’

      I looked at the third-year girl. She had hip-length braids, a big smile, and was wearing a colourful dress that had lollipops on it. She had a little badge that said ‘she/her’ on it.

      ‘Aw!’ she said. ‘This is your college child?’

      Sunil nodded. ‘They sure are.’

      Jess clapped her hands together. ‘And you’re joining Pride Soc. This was actually meant to be.’

      I forced a smile.

      ‘Anyway,’ said Sunil, shaking his head at her with a sort of fondness, ‘we’re here for any freshers who wanna get involved in queer stuff at Durham, basically. Club nights, meet-ups, formals, film nights. Stuff like that.’

      ‘Cool!’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Maybe I should try and get involved. Maybe I’d go to the Pride Society, see a girl, have a big lesbian awakening, and finally feel some romantic feelings for another human being. I was sure I’d read a fanfic with that exact plot.

      I handed the clipboard back.

      ‘Our welcome gathering is happening in a couple of weeks,’ said Sunil with a smile. ‘Maybe we’ll see you there?’

      I nodded, feeling a little bit embarrassed, like I’d been exposed somehow, which was dumb, because there was really nothing interesting about me to expose, and I already knew that I wasn’t going to go to any of Sunil’s Pride Soc events.

      

      Our final stop of the Freshers’ Fair was Durham Student Theatre, which had the largest stall in the entire Student Union, and Pip and Jason were standing right in front of it.

      Rooney had already stormed ahead to the stall, which was decorated with a big red curtain and papier-mâchéd comedy–tragedy masks. The DST seemed to be a sort of umbrella organisation that supported and funded lots of smaller theatre groups – the Musical Theatre Soc, the Opera Soc, the Freshers’ Drama Soc, Student Comedy, and more.

      The students behind the stall, even from afar, all seemed loud and confident – it had none of the calming vibe of the Pride Soc stall. But that didn’t put me off. Theatre was something familiar. It had been a part of my life for over seven years and, despite my stage fright, I didn’t want to give it up.

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