Solitaire

by Alice Oseman

“The real question though,” says Evelyn, “is whether there’s sexual tension between Harry and Malfoy.” I’m not sure whether Becky genuinely likes Evelyn. Sometimes I think people only pretend to like each other. “Only in fanfiction, Evelyn,” says Becky. “Please keep your fantasies between yourself and your search history.”

First, it’s Kent’s face photoshopped into Yoda’s. Then it’s Kent as Jabba the Hutt. Then it’s Princess Kent in a golden bikini. The entire sixth form bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

The fact of the matter is that Star Wars was actually a major obsession of mine when I was a kid.

She asks me how my day was, but I just shrug and say that it was fine, because I’m fairly sure that she doesn’t care what my answer is.

But in reality, Nick is actually the human embodiment of a golden retriever puppy, as well as being Truham’s rugby captain and a genuinely lovely person.

Michael lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “Rita! That is a fantastic name. Lovely Rita!” By the time I realize that he’s referring to the Beatles song, the conversation has already moved on. It’s surprising I even recognize it. I hate the Beatles.

Michael smiles. “I guess you could say I’m not too fussy about gender.” Then he grins and points a finger at Lucas. “You never know, it might be you I’m in love with.” Lucas immediately goes red.

“My boyfriend has a cat called Steve,” said Evelyn. “Isn’t that an excellent name for a cat? Steve.”

I pick up Emma. “Does this mean you actually like Jane Austen?” We’re still studying Pride and Prejudice in class. It’s soul-destroying, and not in a good way. Do not read it. He tilts his head as if it’s a deeply serious question. “You sound surprised.” “I am. Pride and Prejudice is dreadful. I can barely get past the first chapter.” “Why’s that?” “It’s the literary equivalent of a poorly cast rom-com.”

I’m in English now. Reading Pride and Prejudice. Now that I’ve reached Chapter 6, I have established that I hate this book with a profound passion. It’s boring and clichéd, and I constantly feel the urge to hold it over a lit match. The women only care about the men and the men don’t seem to care about anything at all. Except Darcy maybe. He’s not so bad.

“You just didn’t seem that bothered when I called you about him. I thought I was annoying you.” There’s a pause. I have no idea what to say. She hadn’t annoyed me when she’d called me, she’d just inadvertently reminded me that I hate myself, like many things do. I guess I was the one annoying her. Because I’d sounded like I didn’t care.

“Smile.” I slowly shake my head. “What is wrong with you? You don’t understand what just happened to me.” “If you prove to me you have the capacity to smile, I will believe that you are a human being and I will let you out.” He’s completely serious.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll look good,” he says, and then quickly adds, “because, you know, when we were little, you were really into dressing up and stuff.” I don’t remember ever dressing up as anything except a Jedi. I shrug at Lucas. “I’ll find something.”

Tonight I watch the Keira Knightley Pride & Prejudice and find it to be almost as dreadful as the book. The only tolerable character is Mr. Darcy. I don’t see why Elizabeth finds him proud at the beginning because it’s quite clearly obvious that he’s just shy. Any normal human being should be able to identify that as shyness and feel sorry for the poor guy because he’s dreadful at parties and social gatherings. It’s not really his fault. It’s just the way he is.

There’s a poster of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan on the wall. Every time I see it I want to put it through a shredder.

“I think I’m going home,” I say. “Why?” he asks. “Becky’s your friend. It’s her birthday.” “She won’t mind,” I say. She won’t notice. “What are you going to do at home?” he asks. Blog. Sleep. Blog. “Nothing.”

“I probably should have done English. I would have been good at it.” “Why didn’t you?” He looks at me and smiles. “I think it’s better to just read and not study books.”

I pace around in circles, around and around until my feet hurt. I put on some Bon Iver and then some Muse and then some Noah and the Whale—you know, really dumb, angsty stuff.

He leans back. “Time passes. I do stuff. Some of it matters. Some of it doesn’t.” “I thought you were an optimist.” He grins. “Just because something doesn’t matter doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.”

Ben fiddles with his shirt buttons. “Not closely. Just saw him around, you know. Small world, innit!” “Yeah,” I say.

“Hang on,” he says, “Becky is going out with Ben Hope?” “Yeah.” “Ben Hope who used to go to Truham?” “What, do you know him?” The question almost appears to startle him. After a short pause, he says, “Yeah, we used to be friends. Not really anymore though.”

To my dismay, Ben decides that he needs to talk to me. “Hey,” he says. “How’s Charlie doing?”

“Do not make me laugh. I bet you couldn’t wait to run and tell someone. Everyone knows you’re just an attention-seeking prick. Everyone knows you’re doing it for the attention. And you’re telling your sister lies about us so she can spread shit around? You think you’re so much better than everyone because you don’t eat, and now you’re back at school and, even though you haven’t even looked at me since you hooked up with Nick Nelson, you think you can spread shit about me that isn’t even fucking true.”

“Oh my God, it’s Tori and Michael, you guys!” She whacks Lauren repeatedly on the arm. “Lauren! Lauren! Lauren! It’s Sprolden!” Lauren frowns. “Mate! I thought we’d agreed on Mori! Or Tichael!” She sighs. “Man, your names just aren’t good enough, like, they don’t work, they don’t work like Klaine or Romione or Destiel or Merthur …” They both giggle uncontrollably.

spot Nick and Charlie through the living-room window, kissing in a corner like it’s their last day on earth, despite Charlie’s bruised face. I guess they look romantic. Like they really are in love.

She’s with a guy up against a tree and I know she’s definitely still drunk because they’re not even kissing romantically. I’m about to turn away, but then they move around a little and I see who the guy is. It’s Ben Hope.

“I am sorry, Mr. Kent,” he reads, “but I have not read Pride and Prejudice. I disagreed with the very first sentence and that was enough for me.” Kent looks up at me briefly, before skipping to my second paragraph. “Alas, Elizabeth Bennet does not love Mr. Darcy while he is ‘imperfect.’ Only once his better character is revealed does she decide that she will accept Pemberley and the hundred billion a year. Fancy that. It seems that it is impossible, for almost everyone in this novel, to look past an exterior and try to dig out the greatness within others. Yes, all right, Elizabeth is prejudiced. I get it, Jane Austen. Well done.” “Yeah,” I say. “All right.” “I’m not done,” chuckles Kent. He skips to my conclusion. “This is why Mr. Darcy is, in my eyes, a true hero. He struggles on, despite being so harshly treated and judged. Pride and Prejudice is one man’s fight to be seen by others as he sees himself. Therefore, he is not typical. A typical hero is brave, confident, and dashing. Mr. Darcy is shy, haunted by himself, and unable to fight for his own character. But he loves, and I guess that is all that matters in the world of literature.”

As I open the door, he murmurs: “Nothing’s going to change until you decide you want it to change.”