Year Twelve, I acted in a Swiss play.” Imo’s hands are clenched by her sides and she sounds nervous. “About an old woman seeking revenge on the man who got her in trouble when they were teenagers. Is that the sort of thing?”
For a moment Amber hesitates, a flicker of something behind her eyes. Then she shrieks, “That’s it. What was the set like?” In her eagerness to talk drama with Imo, she steps in front of Tegan.
“What are you studying, Phoenix?” Tegan asks in a voice loud enough to make Amber move aside.
“Mechanical Engineering.”
“Interesting,” replies Tegan, sounding like she thinks it’s anything but.
Amber runs with the conversation again. “We’ll try to keep the drama talk to a minimum, won’t we, Imo?” She links arms with the girl she’s known for all of five minutes.
Tegan puts her Polish mug on the kitchen top. “I’m into the arts if they make money. Business is my thing.”
“So are you studying Business like me?” Imo asks.
“For the moment,” Tegan replies. “I left school a year ago and I’ve been building my product range since then.” She bends down to the handbag at her feet and takes out a pouch. In a deft movement, she reconfigures it as a bomber jacket and puts it over her shoulders. Her dark hair is stunning against the ice pink. “Ideal to keep the rain off on a night out and it fits in your bag or …” she lays it on the kitchen top, folds in the sleeves and draws the sides together in previously unseen zips “… have it as the handbag itself.”
“You’re selling these?” Amber takes hold of the newly formed holdall.
“Fourteen ninety-nine, because of the craftsmanship. But I’m offering them on campus for ten pounds, two for eighteen.”
Amber pauses for a moment, turns the bag over in her hands. “I’ll get my purse.”
Imo follows her out. Tegan looks at Phoenix expectantly.
Phoenix makes her best poker face. What craftsmanship? These plastic macs are most likely churned out in a Third-World sweatshop. She weighs up her options. Choose your battles. She’s going to be sharing a flat with this girl. Why make it awkward? She pulls a tenner from her jeans pocket.
“Thank you so much,” Tegan says. But the brightness is false. Phoenix knows conceit when she hears it. Tegan’s used to getting what she wants. Phoenix’s dad, Sonny, thinks university is a holding pen between bouts of real life. Tegan the businesswoman might be the kind of student he’d admire.
“What made you choose the Abbey?” Phoenix asks.
“This was as far away from home as possible on a tank of petrol.” Tegan snorts. “What about you?”
The truth? Her head’s full of designs for show equipment innovations, some worth patenting. Mech Eng is the way she’s going to stay in the world she knows, doing what she’s good at but without the risks. She shrugs. “Same as you, I suppose.”
The other girls come back with their money. Amber’s still holding Imo’s arm. Firm friends already.
“What do you all think of this flat?” Amber asks. “I could do with more wardrobe space.”
Imo and Tegan agree. Again Phoenix stays silent. Until she moved in with Carla and Antonio, her desk converted to her bed.
“So do you think it’s just the four of us in this flat?” Amber points at each of them. “Let’s see if I can remember: Imo doing German and Business, Tegan Business, Phoenix Engineering. And me Theatre Studies.”
“There are five rooms.” Tegan unfolds her demonstration holdall and restores it as a pouch to her handbag. “There must be one more person.”
“I wonder if they’ll get here in time for pre-s,” Amber says.
Phoenix gives her a puzzled frown. If Preez is part of the university registration process, she’s never heard of it.
“Preez?” Imo asks, beating her to the question.
“Don’t you know? Everyone knows that.” Amber laughs, clutching her chest theatrically as if it’s the funniest thing she’s heard. She straightens up when she sees their blank expressions. “Pre-s means pre-drinks. You go to someone’s flat to get tanked before you go out. There are some amazing clubs around here, but drinks in clubs are so expensive. Pre-s are at Ivor’s tonight, downstairs in Flat 7.”
“Which clubs?” Tegan jumps in. She pauses to admire the confusion on Amber’s face. “If it’s pre-drinks in Flat 7, where are you going afterwards?”
“Umm … Not tonight,” Amber bites her lip. “I’m staying here.”
“Well aren’t you the raver. Off the rails already,” Tegan jokes.
But Amber looks away, a flash of anxiety crossing her face.
Amber
As the others continue to chat about themselves, Amber moves to the kitchen window to conceal the heat in her face. She gnaws her thumbnail. Despite putting on what she thought was a full-on performance, one of her new flatmates has found her out, seen through her. Why did posh-girl Tegan embarrass her, even after she bought one of her stupid jackets?
What about the others? Phoenix is a bit of an unknown – could go either way. Hopefully she won’t throw her lot in with Tegan. Two mean girls. It’d be a long year and she might not be able to keep up the pretence. Imo seems nice. Reminds Amber of Verity, kind but dopey. In Vee’s case, it was the weed, in Imo’s it looks natural. She’s not that dumb, though. Amber nearly lost it when she talked about the play, but thinks she hid it well.
Amber thinks about the other girl she met when they were queuing for keys at reception – Lauren – and wishes she was sharing with her. That could be a real friendship. Amber swallows, blinks away a dangerous thought and concentrates on safer ground. They’re both doing Theatre Studies – even though Lauren is joint honours with another subject – and, like Amber, she has a unique sense of style. She hopes they’ll be put in the same drama workshop group.
Behind her, Tegan’s voice is strident as she recounts her five-year business plan. What to do about her? Try harder to fit in? After everything that happened at home – the way Mum and Jade ended up despising her – Amber must become a different version of herself. A better one. Still a liar, but lies are her only currency. They’ll just be better lies.
Her belly clamps as her thoughts stray again. She grips the side of the sink and feels the heat drain from her face. Whenever she thinks of that time too much, her belly relives it. People might call it her mind playing tricks, but if they’d done what she had, they’d feel it too. Guilt and punishment, all in her gut.
Using her hand as a scoop, she takes a drink from the cold tap. When the ache subsides, she gazes out of the window, giving herself time to look calm before turning to her flatmates. By craning her neck she can see the end of the main campus road and watches a few vehicles cruise by. A black car turns into their avenue and crawls past, the driver peering up at the hall of residence.
