Not My Problem

by Ciara Smyth

“Wow, gossiping about me with the English teacher. I would have thought you were above that kind of thing.” Ms Devlin turned red, ready to explode. “I am your English teacher, you ninny.”

We didn’t have glue. I’d had to search the junk drawers for the end of a roll of tape and had been so relieved when I found it because I knew there was no way Mam was going to go out and get a new roll just for this.

Aideen wel iz it sprained enuf 4 U 2 stay off d team untl aftr d election? Meabh Genuinely cannot continue this conversation if you’re going to type like that.

Let’s discuss the exploitation of farmers in the global south so that white girls can get mass-produced quinoa in Tesco.” “You mean like you do?” Holly said with exasperated disbelief. “NOBODY’S PERFECT,” Meabh roared.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant...” I didn’t know how to end that. What else could I have meant?

It’s no fun watching a film when the person you’re with is on their phone. You might as well be watching it on your own.

“Aideen cannot take part in PE today because she is suffering from hysteria.” Ms Devlin sighed. “Aideen, tell me, what is hysteria?” “Um, you know, when bitches be crazy?” I said. “This is your most offensive illness yet.”

And let me tell you, our ‘Baby One More Time’ routine is so tight right now.”

“Aideen, that’s ten per cent done.” “Miss, no,” I croaked. “The Geneva convention prohibits this kind of torture.”

“I can’t. I literally cannot move. I live here now. The birds will take me eventually. Try to move on with your life. Don’t blame yourself.”

Was I so worthless that nothing she did to me mattered? That she could keep hurting me over and over and over and still tell me she loved me and cared about me more than life itself?

I got up and splashed my face with cold water to try and look less like a puffy mess. It didn’t do anything. I was just a puffy mess with a wet face.

Why was I mesmerised by the way the muscles in her arms tensed as she clutched the bags, though? There were only two explanations. One was that I was a cannibal. The other didn’t bear thinking about.

I didn’t want to feel like a pest, like people didn’t want me around. Which was stupid because I didn’t need anyone to be my friend either. There was something safe about not needing anyone to like me. As long as they didn’t have any reason to dislike me. I realise that’s a low bar but I like to keep my expectations reasonable.

Mr Smith practically ate the face off the class trying to figure out whose text tone was an audio clip of Kristen Stewart saying, “I am, like, so gay, dude.”

Right, because I couldn’t possibly make other plans. I’d just be waiting around for you to maybe be free.

Would it have been wrong to burn her house down to get out? I’d kill Daniel and the Elder Somethings in the process, of course, but you know, collateral damage...

I was really little I didn’t know we were poor. And then I figured it out and I avoided saying certain things that I knew marked me as “the poor kid”. But sometimes there were little things that I hadn’t thought about and they popped up and embarrassed me. Like not assuming that someone has a tumble dryer, when other people would assume that of course they do.

She liked Jill in a way that she didn’t like me any more. Maybe some part of her still loved me, but it was a memory, an old version of us that no longer existed.

I wondered if Holly had texted me while I’d been off. I hadn’t charged my phone yet. I think I was afraid to see that she hadn’t.

“Am I getting one of those awards they give out at the end of the year? Did you call me back because you want to ask about my trophy preferences? Gold is fine.”

Could someone treat you badly and still love you? Someone could treat you badly and you could still love them, so maybe the reverse was true too.