a flyer and pushing her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose, and a definitely hungover Jason Farley-Shaw, who had bags under his eyes and looked like he was trying to burrow and make a nest inside his teddy-bear jacket.
‘GEORGIA!’ Pip shrieked, running up to me and bundling me into a hug.
I hugged her back until she stepped away. She was smiling wide. So little had changed; she was still Pip, dark hair fluffed up in all different directions and drowning in an oversized sweatshirt. But, of course, we’d only been in Durham for five days. It already felt like a lifetime. Like I was already a different person.
‘Hey,’ said Jason. His voice sounded gravelly.
‘You OK?’ I asked him.
He made a grunting noise and pulled his jacket round him. ‘Hungover. And we couldn’t find you. Check your phone.’
I quickly glanced at the screen. There were several unread messages in the group chat asking where I was.
Pip folded her arms and gave me a discerning look. ‘I assume you haven’t been checking your phone because you’ve been really busy putting yourself out there and joining loads of societies?
‘Um …’ I tried not to look too guilty. ‘I joined English Soc?’
I didn’t confess to Pip that I’d signed up to Pride Soc’s mailing list. Probably because I didn’t feel like I actually belonged there.
Pip made a face. ‘Georgia. That’s one society.’
I shrugged. ‘I could join some later.’
‘Georgia.’
‘What have you joined?’
She counted them on her fingers. ‘I’ve joined Durham Student Theatre, obviously, and also Science Soc, Latin American Soc, Pride Soc, Chess, Ultimate Frisbee and I think I signed up for, like, Quidditch?’
Of course Pip had joined Pride Soc too. I wondered what she’d say if I randomly showed up to a Pride Soc event.
‘Quidditch?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, and if the brooms don’t actually fly, we’re going to be really fucking disappointed.’
‘We?’ I looked at Jason. ‘You also joined Quidditch? You don’t even like Harry Potter.’
Jason nodded. ‘The Quidditch president was incredibly persuasive.’
‘What else did you join?’
‘DST, History Soc, Film Soc and Rowing.’
I frowned. ‘Rowing?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Loads of people are doing it, so. Thought I’d give it a go –’ He stopped speaking abruptly, peering past my shoulder. ‘What is Rooney doing?’
I turned. Rooney seemed to be having a heated conversation with the girl behind the stall.
‘I don’t understand,’ Rooney was saying. ‘What d’you mean it closed?’
The girl behind the stall looked a little desperate. ‘I-I think they didn’t have any members in second or first year, so when the third years left, it just – it just disappeared.’
‘And I can’t start it up again?’
‘Um … I don’t know … I don’t really know how it works …’
‘Are you the president? Can I talk to the president?’
‘Um, no, she’s not here …’
‘Oh, never mind. I’ll sort this out another time.’
Rooney stormed towards us, eyes filled with fire. Out of sheer instinct, I cowered backwards.
‘Can you believe,’ she said, ‘the Shakespeare Society is just … fucking … gone? Like, that was the one society I really wanted to join, and now it’s just …’ She stopped, realising that Pip and Jason were standing next to me, staring at Rooney with what could only be described as fascination. ‘Oh. Hello.’
‘All right,’ said Pip.
‘Hi,’ said Jason.
‘How’s Roderick?’ said Pip.
Rooney’s mouth twitched with amusement. ‘I like that your mind immediately went to my house plant rather than asking how I am.’
‘I care about plant welfare,’ Pip replied.
I noticed the cooler tone to her voice immediately. Gone was the flustered way she’d babbled around Rooney back in our bedroom. She wasn’t blushing and adjusting her hair any more.
After what she’d seen in our kitchen, Pip was on the defensive now.
It made me feel sad. But this was what Pip did when she got a crush on someone who couldn’t like her back: she shut down the feelings with sheer willpower.
It protected her.
‘Are you going to call plant social services on me?’ asked Rooney, smiling cheekily. She seemed to be immensely enjoying having someone to banter with, like it was a welcome break from having to be peppy and polite.
Pip tilted her head. ‘Maybe I am plant social services and I’m just in disguise.’
‘It’s not a very good disguise. You look exactly like the sort of person who’s got at least six cactuses on your bookcase.’
This seemed to be the last straw for Pip, because she snapped back, ‘I only have three, actually, and it’s cacti not cactuses –’
‘Uh …’ The two girls were interrupted by Jason, who, if he’d not had a headache before, definitely had one now. ‘So, are you actually gonna sign up to DST, or …?’
‘Yes,’ I said immediately, if only to end whatever weirdly aggressive verbal sparring was occurring between Pip and Rooney.
‘I don’t even know what the point is any more,’ said Rooney with a dramatic sigh. ‘Shakespeare Soc doesn’t even exist. Something about it running out of members.’
‘Can’t you just join something else?’ said Pip, but Rooney looked at her like she’d suggested something infinitely idiotic.
Jason hadn’t even bothered to stay involved in this conversation and had walked over to the DST mailing list. I followed him and he handed me the pen.
‘I didn’t think you’d want to join DST,’ he said, ‘after all the throwing-up during Les Mis.’
‘I still love theatre,’ I said. ‘And I need to join more than just the English Soc.’
‘But you could pick something that didn’t make you throw up.’
‘I’d
