is.
Whenever Tom makes sarky remarks about me being late, it’s always on the tip of my tongue to say it doesn’t seem to be affecting my grades, but I hate drawing attention to myself, so I never do.
I’m in such a hurry, I don’t see someone else bowling in the opposite direction towards me till it’s too late. We collide, I go flying and so does he. I look up groggily to see Will staring into my face.
***
I hadn’t seen Melanie till the last minute. I’d been late leaving because Izzy, my sixteen-year-old sister was being stroppy. She didn’t want to go to school again, so I’d physically had to make her, shouting at her all the way.
It’s partly Izzy’s fault that I’m here, resitting Year 13. Most of last year was spent chasing her up, making sure she was in school, and driving round Shrewsbury late at night to keep her out of trouble. I don’t blame her. She’s found Mum and Dad splitting up even harder than I have. She’s such a Daddy’s girl, and Daddy, quite frankly, has behaved like a shit.
In fact, both our parents have. They’ve always been spectacularly selfish, but once the divorce came through it felt like they couldn’t wait to get shot of us. Mum moved straight in with her new partner and got pregnant pretty much straight away, while Dad stayed for a little bit. But you could tell he was furious with Mum for jumping ship first. As soon as he could, he was off with his new partner and her adorable little kids who are much easier to deal with than a difficult teenage daughter and grumpy son. It feels like we don’t exist anymore.
Sure, they give us money, and we get to stay in the house and be totally independent. I know lots of kids who envy me for that. But it’s not great, not really. Not when you have a shitty day at school, and you want some advice and your parents aren’t there to give it to you. Or you get home from college and discover the washing machine is on the blink and you have no clean clothes, and you’ve forgotten to go shopping so you have get takeaway pizza again.
They’re very generous, I’ll give them that. We never want for anything material. But what kind of parents abandon their children in the middle of exam year? It’s rubbish and Izzy isn’t dealing with it too well.
Anyway, that’s why I’m so late and preoccupied and I don’t see Melanie till the last minute, so we end up in a rather embarrassed, tangled mess on the floor. Oh god, it would be her. She must think I’m a complete twat.
“I am so sorry,” I say, helping her up. “I don’t know how that happened.”
“Me neither,” she says, giving me a quick shy and completely endearing smile, and gathering up her books and pens. “It’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”
As we sort ourselves out, we register that we are now fifteen minutes late, the magic number after which the college will ring our parents if we’re late too often. Not that my parents would give a damn about that. And I’m eighteen anyway, so as far as I’m concerned so long as I show up and do the work it doesn’t matter what time I roll up. After such a disrupted year last year, studying and getting it right is all I care about.
We slink into class to the inevitable sardonic phrase, “Nice of you to join us, Miss Carpenter, Mr Harris,” from Tom, our tutor, and knowing grins from the rest of the class. I’m cringing so much I daren’t look at Melanie. After two weeks here I’ve taken an instant dislike to Tom. It seems I’m not alone. He’s not very popular, judging by the brief chats I’ve had with people in the coffee bar.
My dislike of Tom has intensified by the end of the lesson, as he spends the whole of it trying to catch Melanie out. He seems to have a real grudge against her, I don’t know why, as she’s so clearly star pupil material. She certainly seems to know more about The Bell Jar than anyone else in the class. I’m baffled by the way he treats her but Melanie just shrugs her shoulders when I ask her about it.
“He hates me being late,” she says, “but Monday mornings, you know what they’re like.”
I do know what they are like. But I doubt Melanie has a clue how hard it is to get yourself and your sister out of the house on time, and run a home. I don’t think anyone knows what that’s like. Least of all, Tom.
I tell myself to stay away from Will. It’s far easier and less complicated if I avoid boys. Besides, who in their right mind wants to take on an eighteen-year-old single mum? Not that I’ve even mentioned that in the short time I’ve known him. I haven’t really told him about anything that really matters.
But he’s good company, and I think he’s lonely. And I’m lonely too. I know people at college – Karen and Lizzie are always friendly – but I haven’t got any close friends, the way I had at school. And my mates in Hope Christmas have all gone to college this year. My best mate Shaz is full of tales of drunkenness and mayhem. I try not to, but I can’t help envying them.
The girls at college are nice enough, but they’re all younger than me, and though they’re focussing on their studies, outside of college they just seem to want to party. Our lives are worlds apart. I drift around the corners of their social lives, Lizzie often invites me for drinks, but I don’t join in very often. Mum and Dad are great about babysitting if I want them to, and even my brother James will step in if they can’t do it, but I don’t think it’s fair to impose on them, so I turn down most of the invitations I get. And they don’t come round so frequently anymore.
So it’s nice that Will comes and seeks me out at the coffee bar, and asks my opinions about essays. I tell myself he’s just being friendly and we’re mates, so I can still feel in control. I’ve not even given him my mobile number, and we never meet away from college. We’re friends, that’s all. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.
***
After we bumped into each other the day we were late, it’s suddenly become easier. Melanie is often on her own in the coffee bar at break time when most people go to Shrewsbury. I go sometimes with a couple of the lads, but I’ve got so much work to catch up on, I don’t want to get distracted. So most of the time I stay in the coffee bar too. If Melanie’s not there, she’s in the library studying. I swear that girl always has her head in a book. She studies with a sort of manic intensity, as if she daren’t ever stop. I ask her about it one day, and she mutters something about being under pressure to do well, so I assume her parents are always on her case.
She doesn’t talk about her family much, and I know very little about them. She has two sisters and a brother. I have no idea what her parents do, or where she even lives. It must be a way from here, as she drives in every day. I’d push her on it, but I get the feeling she’d just clam up on me if I ask her. She seems happy to talk about anything except the personal.
I also get the feeling that someone hurt her pretty badly; she’s so wary and shy of me, like a damaged fawn. I’ve not even held hands with her yet, though we do now give each other an awkward hug on meeting. And a peck on the cheek when we say goodbye. I’d like to move things on a bit further, but I’m wary of pushing her away. And I really don’t want to do that.
Because somewhere between our meeting at the college gates and now, Melanie’s become very necessary to my existence. In fact, I think I’m falling for her hard. Which wasn’t part of the game plan. Not at all.
