Nick and Charlie. Alice Oseman

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Nick went for basketballer.

      To top it all off, on a non-HSM-related note, they’ve built a fort out of cardboard boxes on the tennis courts and are having a barbeque inside it.

      ‘I just want them to put the barbeque out,’ says Shannon, obviously detecting how reluctant I am to walk into a box fort of one hundred and fifty people older than me and tell them to stop having fun. ‘You know. Health and safety stuff. If someone gets burnt, I’ll be the one dealing with angry parents.’

      He chuckles. Mr Shannon has come to trust me completely over the several months I have been Head Boy. This is hilarious because I rarely do anything he tells me to do.

      Keep the teachers on your side and the students on your side. Don’t make enemies or too many friends. That’s my advice for getting through school.

      ‘Yeah, sure, no problem,’ I say.

      ‘You’re an absolute life saver.’ He points a finger at me as he walks away. ‘Don’t revise too hard!’

      Tao looks at me, still shoving chocolate into his mouth. ‘You’re not actually gonna go confront the Year 13s, are you?’

      I laugh. ‘Nah. I’ll just go see what they’re up to and tell them to watch out for Shannon.’

      My other friend, Aled Last, looks up at me from the opposite side of the table. He’s been colour-coding his maths revision notes for the past hour. ‘Can you bring me back a burger?’

      I stand up from my chair and put my blazer on. ‘If there’s any left.’

      The Year 12s have already left for study leave and the only reason I’m here is because I revise better at school than at home. Tao and Aled thought the same. None of us really want to be here though. It’s the hottest day we’ve had this year and I just sort of want to lie down somewhere with an ice pack on my head.

      Nick and I have plans for this weekend. He’s finally free from school, I’m taking a weekend off revision. It’s Thursday today; I’m staying over his tonight. Tomorrow night we’re going to Harry’s party for everyone in sixth form. Saturday we’re going to the beach. Sunday we’re going to London.

      Not that we don’t spend every weekend together anyway.

      Not that we don’t see each other every single day.

      If you’d told me three years ago I’d be in a two-year-long relationship by the time I was seventeen, I would have laughed in your face.

      ‘CHARLIE SPRING!’

      As I walk through the box-fort entrance underneath a banner that says ‘WILDCATS!’ Harry Greene approaches me, arms outstretched. He is wearing a twelve-year-old’s High School Musical cheerleader costume and is exposing a lot more thigh than is probably appropriate for school.

      The fort is huge – they’ve taken over two tennis courts. Along with the hilarious amount of cardboard, they’ve also stolen at least ten tables from various classrooms and have a fully functioning barbeque set up in between the two courts. A couple of people are handing out burgers and buns. Vampire Weekend is playing from a wireless speaker in a corner.

      Most, if not all, of Year 13 are here. It’s a huge year group compared to the rest of the school – a lot of the Higgs girls from that year group moved to Truham after there was a big fire at Higgs and a few buildings burned down. Long story.

      Harry puts his hands on his hips and grins up at me. ‘Thoughts?’

      Harry Greene, a fairly short guy with very tall hair, is probably the most notorious individual in the entire school, partly due to how many parties he throws and partly due to the fact that he never, ever shuts up.

      I raise my eyebrows. ‘About the fort or about your thighs?’

      ‘Both, mate.’

      ‘Both are great,’ I say, deadpan. ‘Good job. Keep it up.’

      Harry steps to one side and lunges. ‘I knew the skirt was a good decision. I should do this more often.’

      ‘Definitely.’

      Harry used to be a pretty nasty person – just one of the many older boys who gave me shit when I was younger and the only out kid in school. But over the years, thankfully, he’s gotten over himself and realised that being homophobic isn’t cool. Not that I’ve forgiven him, though. Nick and I still think he’s a massive knob.

      Still in a lunging position, he asks, ‘Did Shannon send you? Have you come to shut down our fun?’

      ‘Technically, yes.’

      ‘Are you going to?’

      ‘Obviously not.’

      Harry nods. ‘You’re gonna go far, mate. You’re gonna go far.’

      Nick is usually very easy to spot in a crowd, but today almost everyone is wearing red. There are a few people who clearly couldn’t be bothered, one being my sister Tori, who’s in her black Truham uniform, sitting on the blue asphalt in a corner talking to her friend Rita. But apart from her and a couple of others, everyone blurs into one giant mass of red.

      ‘Nick’s over there.’

      I look back at Harry and he’s pointing towards the far left corner, grinning at me. Then he starts walking towards the corner, humming ‘We’re All in This Together’, and I follow him.

      ‘NICK, MATE!’ Harry shouts over the crowds of Year 13s, all holding food and red plastic cups and taking photos of each other.

      And there he is.

      He turns round from a small group of people, a slightly dazed expression on his face as if he’s not quite sure whether he’s imagining Harry’s voice.

      I have been going out with Nick Nelson since I was fourteen. He likes rugby and Formula 1, animals (especially dogs), the Marvel universe, the sound felt-tips make on paper, rain, drawing on shoes, Disneyland and minimalism. He also likes me.

      His hair is dark blond and his eyes are brown and he is two inches taller than me, if you care about that sort of thing. I think he’s pretty hot, but that might just be my opinion.

      When he spots us, he waves enthusiastically, and when we finally reach him, he looks at me and says, ‘All right?’

      Nick’s High School Musical costume consists of a pair of bright red gym shorts and a red tank top. He’s pinned a piece of paper to the front with a very badly drawn wildcat on it. If I’m honest, he’s had worse outfits.

      ‘You didn’t text me back,’ I say.

      He sips his drink. ‘I was way too busy getting my head in the game.’

      Then he holds up a disposable camera and, before I have the chance to smile or make sure I look in any way presentable, takes a photo of me.

      A second too late I hold up my hand СКАЧАТЬ