We Are Not Okay - Natália Gomes

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It’s kinda late?’

      He fixes his laces then turns to me. ‘I’ll text you.’

      He tries to move but I grab his torso and pull him into me. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again. When I pull away, his eyes are already open. ‘Don’t forget to text me.’

      He smiles, playfully nuzzles against my nose then walks out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. A cold draught seeps in from the hallway and snakes up to my bed, to my bare shoulders and exposed arms. I fling my body back onto the quilt and listen to his footsteps. His feet get quieter as he moves through to the back of the house and out the rear door.

      And then he’s gone.

      The cold air lingers in the room, encasing me, squeezing me. My fingers scroll through my iPhone until our last conversation.

       Can’t wait to see you tonight x

      He’d sent that to me only an hour before he’d arrived. It was enough to send warmth to my cheeks and whole body. I’d waited for him.

      Steve and I have been together for a year now, although I can’t believe it’s been a whole year. I guess time really does fly by when you’re this happy. I still remember when I first noticed him. It feels like it was last night. I didn’t even like him at first. He was overconfident, brash, even a little rude at times. We didn’t fall into the same social circle, not that I run in a particular ‘social circle’. I’ve always struggled in social situations. I get nervous when people talk to me, wondering what they’re expecting me to say back and what happens if my response doesn’t meet their expectations. What if I’m not funny enough? Or not 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,

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