We Are Not Okay - Natália Gomes

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interesting enough? What if they’re not even talking to me and instead they’re actually talking to the person behind me?

      All these scenarios play out in my head to the point where going out is no longer an option. All I want to do is go to school, finish my homework, and spend all my free time with Steve. I have friends of course. Well, maybe just one. I hang out with Ulana a lot. Her boyfriend plays football with Steve on Thursday nights and Saturday mornings. She can’t ever watch him play though. She’s not supposed to have a boyfriend. Her parents are crazy strict.

      But I don’t freeze up so much when I’m around her, and never with Steve. I can be myself completely with him. I never have to worry if I’m funny enough or interesting enough. I never have to look over my shoulder when he talks because he’s always talking to me. Steve doesn’t care about my social skills or my ability – or inability – to work a room full of people. He does all that for me. He speaks for me when we go out so I never have to think too much about what to say. Honestly, it’s not the social expectations of dating that terrify me. It’s not even the anxiety-producing process of getting prepared to sleep with your boyfriend for the first time. It’s the simple truth – that was revealed to me only recently – that for him, this isn’t his first time. He’s done this before. Probably many times before based on what Ulana told me last week. Steve is experienced in this sort of stuff.

      And me?

      Well, I am clearly not.

      I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so lost when it comes to relationships. I’m not like the other girls at school, and definitely nothing like the girls he’s dated. I’m not social and fun like Trina Davis. She’s the life of the party. Yes, she’s usually throwing up in someone’s garden by the end of the night, but she still tops me. And Lucy McNeil?

      No one is like Lucy McNeil.

      I’ll never be as confident, or as pretty, and certainly never as popular, as Lucy McNeil.

      ‘I had an amazing summer,’ I start. Immediately all three girls lean in to give me their complete attention. I would be a little mad if they didn’t. It’s a good story. Mine usually are. ‘I went to Italy with my mum and dad in July for three weeks then Mallorca in August.’

      (The Mallorca part is true).

      ‘You look so tanned. I’m so jealous!’ cried Mollie, raising her sandwich to her pink-stained lips.

      ‘I know. I’m so scared it’s already fading though,’ I say, puckering my mouth into a sulk. I hold out my arm, still golden brown as if I only came back yesterday. No one needs to know I spent most of last week on the sunbed. It has to look like I spent most of July in Italy. It has to look like I’m telling the truth. Otherwise, they’ll know.

      ‘You should use Boots’ Extender Tan. I slathered that on after I went to Florida last summer and it really worked,’ Cara said, stretching out her arm to meet mine.

      ‘Have you seen Rhys since you got back?’ Lily suddenly asks.

      Cara nudges her in the side of her stomach.

      ‘I didn’t mean to bring him up. I was just wondering if you were getting back together?’

      I take a deep breath and look back over my shoulder to make sure he’s not nearby. ‘Well, we did see each other a bit over the summer—’

      ‘Really? Because I heard he saw Trina Davis quite a bit over the summer too?’

      I give Mollie a stare so hard that her eyes water slightly. She swallows hard and I can tell by her expression that a piece of bread went down a little too rough. But she can’t reach for her SmartWater yet. Not until I’m finished with my staredown.

      OK, now I’m done.

      ‘I don’t even want to hear her name,’ I say. ‘Whatever happened over the summer was clearly because Rhys was heartbroken over me. That girl is walking around like they were dating or something.’

      ‘But they are, aren’t they? That’s what Rhys told Steve.’

      My insides start to burn. ‘Steve’s a liar. Besides, if they were they’re not now. And he was probably not the only boy she was seeing—’

      ‘Wait, so they were dating? Like, dating dating?’ Mollie edges in closer. Her lip gloss is a shade too light for her skin tone. And she has an ugly pimple on her forehead. But I don’t tell her that.

      ‘No, Mollie. But she clearly thinks they were. What she doesn’t know is that Rhys has been texting me.’

      ‘I knew it! Tell us more,’ urges Lily.

      ‘Well, it’s not official yet but we’re talking again and that’s a good sign.’ I push the cucumber around in my salad bowl, wondering whether I should tell them about the other guy in July. But when I look up I see their little eager faces desperate for more information, more gossip, so I bite my lip. They wouldn’t understand. They might judge me. They might not even believe me. ‘I was the one who broke up with him, remember?’ That’s another lie. ‘But he’s enjoying playing a little hard to get, which is fine for now.’

      ‘Boys,’ Cara shrugs. Apparently her only contribution to the conversation.

      ‘Boys,’ Lily seconds.

      Mollie is too busy fishing for the piece of arugula in her molar.

      I glance around the lunchroom at Birchwood High School. It seems different this year. We all seem different this year. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s only me that’s changed.

       This is going to be a good year.

       This is going to be a good year.

      If I keep saying it, it will make it true. Isn’t that how it works? Positive thinking, blah, blah.

      Then I see her.

      Throwing her head back, laughing, mouth wide. She’s walking with another girl in our year, whose name I either always forget or never knew to begin with.

      ‘Did you see who just walked in?’ Mollie asks.

      ‘She’s walking our way, Luce,’ Cara adds.

      She edges closer to our table.

      ‘Do something,’ Lily urges me.

      ‘Slut,’ I cough out, throwing my hand up to my mouth. The word feels funny on my tongue, tastes bitter. But the girls giggle and I smile with them.

      Trina stops and turns around, her limp mousy blonde hair sliding greasily over a shoulder. ‘What did you say?’

      ‘Nothing. I just had a tickle in my throat,’ I say.

      She steps closer to the table and looks down at me. Eyes too big for her small face, her slim frame squeezed uncomfortably into a too-short skirt and a too-low top. If it weren’t for her clothes and that ugly silver stud through her bottom lip, she could be pretty. But all I see in front of me is the girl who’s dating my boyfriend, the ‘distraction’ who’s stopping him from getting back together with me.

      I was lying to everyone when I said I didn’t care. Of course I care. Rhys was the only good thing in my life and now that’s gone. He didn’t care about the small petty things that I used to torture myself about – how much I had to eat that day, how dull my skin looked, that stain on my favourite pink skirt. He didn’t even care if I had make-up on. He said he liked me better without ‘that gunk’ on my face. He liked me for me, and that wasn’t something that I was used to.

      We got together purely out of convenience at first. We shared the same friends, went to the same parties, we were even in the same house at school. We participated in the same sports, of course Keith House always won at the school games. We were a team. And it was a team that I grew to love, and to need.

      I

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