Page 82 of Unnecessary Drama

‘Oh god. I feel like I’ve let the entire straight community down. And we already have a terrible reputation.’

‘We can apportion some of that blame to Henry.’

‘Let’s give him a significant portion,’ I say.

‘Anyway, I guess, I just wanted you to know, ahead of time. In case.’

‘In case what?’

‘In case the idea of Jesse going on a date upsets you and you need to talk about it or stop it or something.’ She says this very quickly, and then watches my face for a reaction.

I almost say, ‘Why would it upset me?’ but I don’t want to give her the opportunity to answer that. I don’t want to know what she thinks the answer is.

‘I’m fine. Completely and totally fine with it. One hundred per cent fine. There’s no reason not to be. And there’s nothing to talk about. It’s actually a great idea. Good for Jesse, you know.’ The more words I say, the faster I say them, and I’m chopping the vegetables faster too, wiping my streaming onion eyes with the back of my hand and I can hear myself—I know I don’t sound believable. I sound like someone who shouldn’t be handling a knife right now.

‘Okay.’ Harper is staring at me, her knife held poised.

‘Don’t say, “The lady doth protest too much.”’ I turn away from the onions, eyes burning.

‘I have no idea what that means,’ she says.

‘It’s a line from Hamlet.’

‘Ugh, Shakespeare is a pig,’ Harper says.

‘Oh god, is he?’ I was in the Shakespeare society at my school, but we just read his plays, and I don’t know anything about the man.

‘I actually don’t know, I just assume he was,’ she laughs. ‘And if I say that, it distracts from the fact I never read any Shakespeare at school and I made my sister write my essay on Macbeth.’

I need to learn how to deflect like Harper. Tomorrow is my creative writing class, when we’ll be discussing my story—my rewritten story. I got home from the trip on Sunday morning, sat at my laptop, and wrote for almost twelve hours straight. I was buzzing. I think I had runner’s high, but from writing. I went to bed at 1 am, woke up at 6 am, proofread it and, shockingly I still felt okay about it, and I emailed it to PJ. She replied at 8.30 am saying she was sending it to the class and looking forward to the discussion on Thursday. Nothing else. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign or what. At least I can’t fail, surely. I wrote two stories for her. That has to count for something.

I thought nothing could distract me from the stress of the impending class discussion, but Harper has managed to prove me wrong.

‘So who is Jesse going on a date with?’ I say, trying to sound casual.

‘Amber. Remember, from the housewarming? With the nose-ring? And the fear of mice?’

‘Oh,’ I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. ‘I thought she wasn’t interested in him?’ My voice sounds way higher pitched and more desperate than I was aiming for.

‘She’s been kind of on and off with her ex, Brody, but now she’s definitely, finally over him. Which is good, because he had this weird moustache that made me feel a bit sick when I looked at him.’

‘Oh. Well, good for her, good for her. And Jesse. Good for Jesse. Sounds like perfect timing for the two of them.’ I hate myself but I keep talking anyway. ‘When is the date?’

‘Tomorrow night,’ Harper says.

Jesse walks in at that moment. ‘Whoa. I have never seen so many vegetables in my life,’ he says.

‘Brooke is teaching me about cooking. And meal prepping. And budgeting,’ Harper says proudly.

‘Sounds like a big day in life lessons for you,’ Jesse says, grinning.

Harper throws him a parsnip.

‘Can you chop that up?’ she asks.

‘Sure. What are we making?’ he says.

‘Soup,’ she says.