Page 94 of Almost Ours

No, no, no.

I don’t want her to see me like this.

Ruby comes closer, but she doesn’t touch me. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” I bark, trying to wrangle in every emotion and every impossible feeling.

“I don’t remember asking.”

I release the railing and straighten, rubbing my hands together before turning towards her. She’s got her coat on, zipped halfway up, and the wind is blowing strands of hair across her face. She pushes them behind her ear and studies me with enough concern that I already know I’m not going to be able to convince her there’s nothing wrong.

“I heard a crazy rumour today,” Ruby offers.

Am I entering psychosis? “What?”

“Apparently there’s a girl on my course who had sex with someone in the toilets down the hall. Only they didn’t have a condom, so they used a crisp packet.”

I can’t be hearing right. “Did you just say a crisp packet?”

“Yep. Cheese and onion if you want to be specific.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You must be.”

“Everyone is talking about it. You could ask the people on my course. Some of them are inside.”

She means Tom the Tosser. “I’m not going back inside to talk to Tom.”

“Why not?” She shrugs. “Tom is nice enough.”

Jealousy engulfs every inch of me, and I have to shove it all back down before I scream things I can’t take back. “I’m sure he is.”

Ruby sighs, hazel eyes watching me calmly. “What’s wrong, Josh?”

I turn away from her and rest my forearms against the railing, staring across the road at the dark row of buildings opposite.

She comes to stand beside me, facing the buildings too, her shoulder almost touching mine. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

I bow my head, an odd sense of shame taking place as the frustration slowly drains away. “What would I say?”

She shrugs. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about a crisp packet being used as a condom?”

“I think it’s not possible.”

“You’re probably right.” Without warning, she reaches out and entwines her fingers with mine, a sharp jolt running straight through me. She gives my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I’m not sure if you know this, but you can trust me. Like, if you want to talk I’m here.”

I let myself picture what trusting her would mean.

It would mean telling her things I avoid saying out loud. Letting her see me on the days where I’m angry for no reason, where I disappear, where I don’t answer anyone, where James is in my head so much I can barely think around him. She likes me now because I can keep most of that out of sight, and I have no idea what happens when I can’t.

She rests her head against my shoulder and nearly finishes me off with the smell of whatever flowery shampoo she uses.

I want this girl in ways I don’t know what to do with.

I want her turning up at football. I want her jumper left in my room. I want the messages at midnight, breakfast, stupid arguments, her taking the piss out of me and barging into whatever plans I had until they become ours instead.