He put his hands on the tits he said he loved and went at it. Victorious.
17
Emily
Wednesday 1st May
Bloody fecking hell, this is the worst. I can’t believe the Heathcotes and Pearsons are trying to screw us over like this.
It’s all my fault.
Because I blabbed to Rids and Megan, they all had time to rehearse their stories and come up with some crap that is halfway convincing. I hate Ridley and Megan now. I do. I do! Mum looks really grim. Dad is trying to keep the shit together. He says everything is going to be fine and that the investigation will undo the Heathcotes and Pearsons. I hope so! They need to be exposed as the cheating lying shits that they are. Dad says we can tell whoever we like about the lottery win at school now, that we should take ownership of the win. Even without press coverage, I reckon people will believe me because of Dad picking me up last week in a Ferrari but, for the avoidance of doubt, Dad went out and bought ten Michael Kors Gemma tri-colour pebbled leather totes yesterday. TEN!
‘They are big enough to get A4 books in,’ he points out helpfully, as though that was the thing that excites me about them.
‘Yeah, they are gorge!’ The leather is soft and smells amazing. Expensive. Everyone in my year talks about Michael Kors all the time but only Evie Clarke has one and I’m not even sure if it’s genuine. ‘But why did you get ten?’ I ask.
‘You can give them to your friends. You want them to feel part of the celebration.’
As if I have ten friends. I had two. Ridley and Megan and we kept ourselves to ourselves at school. We arrived at Glenwood Grammar a ready-made gang, so we didn’t bother with anyone else. Thinking about it now, I’m not sure how wise that was, but it wasn’t a conscious decision at the time. We were glued by our parents and none of us thought to spread ourselves about. We were just grateful that we weren’t the ones desperately dashing about begging people to sit next to us or scanning the playground hopefully for someone to talk to during break.
Plus, you know, we liked each other.
Loved each other.
I could never have imagined a time when that would change, a time when I’d need someone else. Rids did make some other friends, through his rugby mostly, and also because he’s pretty musical and plays in the orchestra (which he pretends to think of as lame but actually loves) and a band (which is just all-out cool). But even when we are playing hockey, Megan and I have each other and don’t need anyone else. We always partner up for the exercises, we chose each other for teams etc.
At least we used to.
I don’t suppose that will be happening anymore. Jesus, I better make friends quickly or I’ll end up passing the ball backwards and forwards with Miss Granger, the PE teacher who needs to wear a better sports bra. Social death.
Way back, there was a brief time when I did sometimes try to mix. It was when we were about thirteen and people started having parties. I thought it would be cool to be part of that, you know have a bigger group to arrive with and dance with and stuff, but Megan didn’t like it if I spoke to other girls. She said we didn’t need their dumb-arse mixer socials and then when Rids and I got together I really never again questioned wanting to spend a moment with anyone other than the two of them.
Rids.
Ridley. Is he even my Rids anymore? I don’t think so. I have sent him like a thousand messages and he hasn’t answered one of them. I know I should be acting cooler and I should be the one ignoring him, but I can’t!! He, apparently, can ignore me though, which suggests he’s not my Rids. In any way shape or form. I have to get used to that, I suppose. Yet. When I think of him, I sort of swell and sweat inside. I know that sounds so gross but it’s actually awesome. Or at least it was. Now my physical reaction is more like feeling someone is holding me under freezing water. I’m panicked. Flaying. Drowning.
I guess that’s Dad’s point. He knows Mum won’t let me be off school for ever so he’s sending me to school with ten totes so I can find