What's a Girl Gotta Do? (17 page)

He shook his head slowly. “You're crazy.”

“You're an arrogant prick.”

“You're a man-hating bitch.”

We stood facing each other – his face orange under the car park's lights. I hated him so much. Everything about his smug…superior…passive…
nonsense
… I hated him, hated him…

Will kissed me.

One second we were glaring each other down, the next he'd grabbed my face, pulled me to him and kissed me – the force of it sending his glasses askew.

And, bollocks, it was a good kiss. A great kiss. All hungry and clutchy and everything I really annoyingly wanted because my hormones apparently didn't give a flying fuck about the patriarchy…but this guy had just called me a bitch!

I pushed him off. Yes, after maybe two minutes of solid tonguing. But I eventually pushed him off, so hard he flew backwards.

“You do NOT call me a bitch and then think you can kiss me!” I wiped my mouth, knowing I was just on the brink of crying.

“You called me an arrogant prick!” He stumbled backwards, not missing a beat. He'd managed to go from fighting, to kissing, and cruise-controlled right back into fighting again.

“Because you are one!” I yelled.

“Yes well…” And I dared him to say it…to say I was a bitch again. I waited. He clenched his fists – to withhold his anger, or sexual tension or whatever…but when he opened his mouth, he said, “I'm out… This whole thing…it's ridiculous… I'm out.”

Will walked away – all his bags jiggling. I stood and watched him turn black then orange, black then orange, as he strode in and out of the lighting.

Did I call after him? He'd called me a bitch…

I touched my lips – where he'd so recently been.

I didn't call after him.

I cried on a bench at the bus stop, then rang Mum and asked her to pick me up.

twenty-eight

She came in her old beat-up Volvo, bundled in about ten thousand shawls for the cold. I was sitting on the low wall outside the supermarket – the worst of the tears passed now. But somehow just seeing Mum sent me over the edge again.

She pulled up, her worried face peering at me through the windscreen. I waved feebly and clambered into the passenger seat.

The warmth of the car radiator hit me, making me realize how cold I'd got. Sitting there. Crying. Watching my breath crystallize and float off into the dark.

“Oh, Lottie, honey. What's wrong? You never cry!”

I snuffled and held out my hands to thaw them.

“Thanks for picking me up. I know it's not far to walk, but it's cold, and dark.”

“It's fine, sweetie.” She patted my shoulder, then shifted the car into gear. I leaned my head against the window, watching the stars blur by. I was so confused by everything that had happened in the last hour. Why did doing the right thing feel so wrong? And the wrong thing feel so right?

“I'm okay…” I said, into the window. “It's just…this project…” I regretted saying it the moment I did. My parents were looking for any reason to stop me. They still hadn't recovered from that B, and, to be fair, their worries seemed valid. Look at tonight for example. Usually on a Monday I'd be doing coursework until nine and then reading extra books until bed. Instead I'd charmed a journalist, charmed Will, pissed off Will, done a runner at Pizza Express, kissed Will, had a fight with Will and cried in a car park.

Shit like that does not get you into university, especially a university like Cambridge.

Mum surprised me by not jumping down my throat – she must've just had a reiki or something. “Aww, poppet, I'm sorry. It must be really hard. What happened?”

“It's just…like…really exhausting. And Amber's mad at me for some reason…”

“Really? That's not like you two.”

“I know. But she is. And then there's this boy…”

“Uh-oh…” Mum said, laughing. “There's always a boy with you.”

“Hey, that's not true.” Was it? I didn't always have “a boy”…did I? Oh God…maybe I did… “It's not like that,” I protested. Well it hadn't been like that…maybe it was now. “It's that boy Will who was over, the one who's doing all the filming.” I paused, not wanting to relive it. “We got into a fight. He's quit the project.”

Mum's eyes widened as she indicated left. “That seems a bit dramatic of him. What happened?”

I let myself smile. “I called him an arrogant prick.”

Mum's eyes got wider, not in a good way. “Is this the boy you've been complaining about? The one who won't use the word feminist?”

I nodded, my head bashing into the window.

“Well do you really think screaming at him is going to help him come round?”

My mouth dropped open. “But he shouldn't need help coming round!”

“Maybe not… But has anyone ever changed your mind by yelling angrily into your face?”

I sulked for the rest of the short journey home. I wasn't the type of person to yell angrily in people's faces. I wasn't. I was funny and charming and threw cream pies! That is totally cute! And also, what's wrong with being angry anyway? If something is WRONG – isn't angry the only appropriate response? The only normal one? I mean, YES, I'd agreed to make this project funny rather than angry – but I couldn't not be angry. Why should I have to hide my anger to make people like Will feel more comfortable?

I wanted to call the girls. To let it out. To have them reassure me. That I'm right. That it's fine. That I'm charming. But I didn't even know how to approach Amber. She'd NEVER frozen me out before.

When we got in, I thought that because Mum had been nice in the car, I'd be let off the hook.

I was wrong.

Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He lowered it when I came in to drink some water to counteract the two glasses of wine.

“Charlotte,” he said, rather than hello. “Your mum and I are very worried. Your interview is coming up and you've hardly seemed to do any work.”

Mum entered behind me, removing her several shawls and coming to my rescue. “She's upset, Ben. She's had a fight with a friend.”

“With the girls?” Dad put his paper down.

“With this guy,” I said. “He's not my friend.”

“Oh. Another guy…”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” I demanded, just as Mum kicked in.

“Come on, you two, let's all get on. It's getting late.”

“THIS IS STUPID.” I stormed up to my room – which is quite hard when you get tangled in beaded curtains. I slammed the door behind me for added impact, flung myself onto my bed, and tried to cry again.

Why was EVERYONE against me at the moment? I was trying to do a good thing! And yet people were acting like I was wandering round literally peeing on them. Maybe I should do that? It would make a point. I'm not sure what the point would be though.

Reasonable Lottie, who was dwelling somewhere very hidden in me, tried to throw up some things to think about. Like, yes, I had called Will an arrogant prick…and that wasn't very nice. Maybe screaming into people's faces wasn't the best tactic… But I was too emotional to let myself think about that. Mum thudded on the door, calling through the wood, telling me Dad wanted me to come down for a peppermint tea and a “reasonable chat about everything”.

I called back that if he was so worried he could come and say so himself – rather than sending his wife as his slave.

She went away after that.

I pulled out my phone. Wanting so much to call the girls, to have them make things better. But somehow, without realizing it, I'd done something wrong with them too. Well, with Amber. And I didn't want Evie to feel stuck in the middle.

Will was out of the project…

I'd kissed him…

What were we going to do without a cameraman?

I stared out of the window for a long time, making those weird half-noises you make when you're on the verge of crying but haven't quite got the gusto to really go for it.

Then, I did the only thing I could do.

I pulled out my phone again, flipped it onto camera mode and told the lens everything that had happened that day.

Because if I didn't continue with this freaking project, what was all this for?

twenty-nine

Dad's words must've got through to me somehow. I woke in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat and panicking about university and exams. I'd done no work over the weekend, none that evening, spending every spare moment on the project instead.

The blob that was Cambridge seemed even further away on the horizon and I needed to run after it and catch up. I couldn't throw this opportunity away. Even though I was shattered and burned-out, I had to try and not let myself down. I had to dedicate some time to thinking about the future rather than getting lost in the now. Try to play the long game
and
the short game at the same time.

The next day I buried myself in the library. I didn't want to see any sexism. I didn't want to see Will. I didn't want to honk a damn horn and have everyone look at me like I was a freak. I didn't want to face Amber.

Plus, I had so much work to do. So much, so much work.

I was so behind I even skipped my philosophy lesson to catch up on my essay. I fired off a message to Jane, asking her to take notes, and holed up in the silent area. They had these little cubbyhole desks with segregated wood partitions on each side. I draped my multiple scarves over them, making it into my own den, and got to work.

After a solid hour and a half of writing, I stretched my legs and amused myself by changing the label over the “History” section to “Herstory”. I took a photo and uploaded it to our Instagram account, using #Vagilante. Then I returned to work.

More time passed. I missed English too – but the tide of work was ebbing, and I thought maybe – just maybe – I'd be able to make my art class that afternoon.

Where I'd have to see Amber…

I pummelled through lunch, ignoring my grumbling stomach. I couldn't face the cafeteria anyway. I couldn't face the jukebox, and Teddy baiting me, and everyone always looking at me, and Teddy always glaring at me and, and… Oww, I was really hungry when…a sharp tapping on my shoulder broke me out of my trance.

I jerked up. It was Evie.

It must've started raining outside because she was wearing her cute yellow mac I'm always jealous of – it was dripping with water.

“I have come to rescue you from yourself,” she whispered wisely. “And I've brought cheesy crackers to tempt you away.”

She rustled a pack of Mini Cheddars under my nose and my stomach lurched.

“Thanks, but I've got so much to do.” I went to take the Cheddars, but she pulled them away. I turned and followed them, like a donkey following a carrot.

“Nah ahh,” Evie cooed, in an annoying voice. “In order to get these Cheddars, you have to join me and Amber for a three pound all-day breakfast at the cafe.”

“Amber wants to meet me at the cafe?” I tried to keep my voice from sounding too hopeful, but I failed spectacularly. Evie's face flashed with something…a slight twitch of her eyebrow – enough to let me know that Amber
didn't
want to meet me at the cafe. My stomach twisted with pain and hunger.

“She's coming.” Evie paused… “I tempted her with Wotsits.”

I nodded sadly. “There isn't much Amber wouldn't do for a Wotsit. Evie,” I asked, “why is she mad at me?”

Evie pulled down my scarves, dismantling my little hide-from-the-world cubbyhole. She even started putting my folders into my bag for me.

“God knows,” she said. “But us not hanging out together isn't normal. Plus, because you've effectively gone into hiding, I've had to deal with the Vagilante fallout all alone this morning. And let's just say there's more supportive people to have around than Jane and bloody Joel when Teddy and the whole rugby team are on Operation Gentleman.”

I helped pick my stuff up and wrinkled my nose.

“What's Operation Gentleman?”

“Their new idea to piss you off. The gist of it, I think, is to act like proper old-fashioned gentlemen, to make some half-baked point about how all feminists are evil. And how it will be the death of chivalry or whatever. I'm not sure. Anyway, I tried explaining to them that I'm not the one doing the project, I am just a friend and helpful hornblower. But that didn't stop them stalking me around college all morning – opening every door for me, and taking out every chair for me. Saying ‘after you' ten million times and then guffawing like a sty full of pigs. Teddy's even wearing a top hat, for God's sake.”

I swung my now-packed bag over my shoulder. “So, they're like, killing us with good manners?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“God – what pricks.”

“I know. They followed me here. They're waiting outside the library doors.”

I shook my head. The severity of Teddy's hatred… But I didn't feel like worrying about that right now. Not with everything going down with Amber.

I could see Teddy and his scrum of mates through the glass of the library doors, and sighed. I went to push through the doors, but Teddy grabbed one and flung it open for me. He bent down and gestured with a flourish of his hand, like we were in the olden days.

“After you, madam,” he said, with hysterical laughter behind him. Though, because it was the rugby ladz, it was more grunty huh-huh-huh than high-pitched giggles.

I rolled my eyes. “What's going on, Teddy?”

“Nothing. I'm just being a GENTLEMAN. You know? Why? Is that sexist? You going to honk your horn at just good old-fashioned manners now?”

I chewed my lip – weighing up what to do. Was this sexist? He was doing it to bait me, for my feminist project, which was definitely sexist… But you could argue it was just good manners – which is what he was counting on.

I didn't have the strength for this. I took a breath and walked past him, but very deliberately stepped on his toe as I did.

“Oi, you little…”

I sped off – Evie at my side.

“Amber's meeting us at the cafe,” she puffed.

“Cool,” I answered, my stomach lurching.

We skidded through the slippery corridor and squealed when we stepped out into the rain.

Amber sat stirring sugar into a blue mug of tea. The mugs here always looked dirty. Grease always seemed to cling to them no matter how much they were washed.

Evie and I had unsuccessfully shared her umbrella on the walk over. She was so short that rain had kept flying sideways into her, and she'd grumbled and complained the whole way. “Lower, Lottie! It's my umbrella.”

“Sorry, I can't hear you down there.”

But the laughing stopped the instant I shook my hair out and spotted my ginger friend. She smiled shyly, waving hello. All awkward.

I hated that it was awkward.

Evie and I dripped onto the welcome mat for a moment, letting the worst of it seep out. I examined Amber in that time. Her hair had doubled in size from the rain, but she still looked so cool, as usual. Her art book was propped open, one shoulder of her dungarees hung loose. She was getting a lot of glances from all the cafe's usual suspects but, as always, she didn't notice. Amber always thought people stared at her because she was so tall – but it was more than that. The way she held herself, especially since the summer and meeting Kyle, she was the very definition of striking.

I felt a sudden swell of love for her, and hoped that whatever I'd done, I could undo it.

We sploshed over, leaving wet footprints behind us. I sat furthest away, hardly looking up. Evie took over being the one in charge, which was quite a rare opportunity for her.

“Have you ordered?” Evie asked, looking at Amber's mug.

She shook her head, her lips on the rim of the cup to stay warm. “Just tea. I was waiting for you.”

I made my voice more enthusiastic than normal. “I wonder what we'll order?”

Both of them giggled – Evie more so than Amber. We always ordered the same thing – the three pound all-day breakfast. It was one of the first things we'd done when we all met last year and the habit just stuck. Yes, the cutlery was as plastic as the eggs – but the portions were huge and they did add mustard to the rubbery eggs which made them taste amazing.

The waitress, an old lady with greying hair and a grease-splodged pink T-shirt, came over, smiling hello. We were regulars.

“What can I get you, girls?” she asked, notebook poised. “It's really coming down out there.”

Evie and I both ordered tea, and we all requested the breakfast deal.

“Always the same, always the same,” she laughed, writing it down.

None of us spoke while we waited for the tea.

None of us spoke when the mugs arrived.

We all blew on our drinks and sipped. Blew and sipped. Blew and sipped. I really did think I was going to cry again.

Then Evie said, “Okay then, girls, before we get distracted by the meat – what the HECK is going on between you two?”

Amber and I looked at each other. I widened my eyes, in what I hoped was an innocent, open way.

“I honestly don't know,” I said. Honestly.

Amber met my gaze. “You don't?”

“Well, no. Otherwise I would have apologized, obviously.”

I took a big gulp of my tea that was far too hot. My tongue protested, but I stayed quiet and waited for her to let it out.

Amber picked up her mug, didn't sip from it, put it down again. “Ahh, okay then,” she eventually said, pushing her bushy hair off her face. “I'm angry with you about how you handled Saturday.”

“What about Saturday?” I played dumb, but I reckoned I knew what she meant now. Everything had been fine until we got to the pub.

“The Megan thing. You were…well…you came on way too strong in the toilets, Lottie.”

“I did?” I didn't think I had.

“You really did. I was practically wincing.”

What had I said? I tried to remember. I wanted her to tell someone – that was all. But that was a totally normal and appropriate thing to want.

“I was just trying to help.”

Amber crossed her arms. “Yeah, I get that. But you come on a bit much sometimes, you know?”

“Obviously I don't.”

Even though I wanted us to be friends, I still felt all prickly. There's something about people decimating your character – even if it's just the tiniest bit – that puts you on edge.

“Don't be pissy with me.”

“You're the one being pissy with me. You've not spoken to me in days!” I said.

“I needed to cool down.”

“From what?” My voice was louder. I didn't mean it to be – but it was definitely louder.

“From you.”

I found myself standing up, and Evie was suddenly up too – waving her hands and saying, “Hey hey hey hey.”

The food arrived then and we sat back down. Three plates of grease, sausages, beans, grease, eggs, bacon, grease, and some dubious looking tomatoes were shoved unceremoniously in front of us, along with a silver holder of white toast triangles. I grabbed a slice and took a bite. I really was hungry…

Nobody said anything until Evie did. She'd separated out all the food on her plate, so none of it touched. And she'd asked for hers without beans. I wasn't sure whether to bring it up. I probably should, as she didn't usually do this and you had to keep an eye out for new bad habits of hers, but I couldn't face starting a row with her too.

“Amber?” she said, her voice all soothing. “What are you hoping to get out of this conversation?”

Amber's face was all red, blending into her hair. I suddenly didn't like her – just a flash, but a big one. And it made me scared and sad. Why was she being like this? She was staring at me too – neither of us really eating, half my toast in crumbs down my jumper. I widened my eyes again.

Then the spell broke and she threw her head back. “Argh, Lottie. Stop puppy-dog-eyeing me! You're so hard to stay mad at!”

When her head came back, she was smiling.

“I'm not puppy-dog-eyeing. Okay, maybe I am a bit. But I still don't get what I did!”

Evie took both our hands, like she was marrying us.

“Why don't you take it in turns to speak? Lottie, really try and listen to what Amber's saying. And then, Amber, you need to hear Lottie's side too.”

We all giggled at the awkwardness. “You sound like frickin' Kevin,” Amber complained. Kevin was Amber's stepdad who lived in an American summer camp with Amber's mum. He was a very cheesy American counsellor type. “The next thing you're going to do is get out a Speaking Rock.”

Evie speared her sausage with a fork. “We can have a speaking sausage? You're only allowed to talk when you're holding the sausage?”

“But you won't eat it after that,” I protested, not if we'd touched it.

“Oh yeah, screw that.” Evie took a bite of her sausage. “Just – go on – be adults. Take it in turns to speak.”

I looked over at Amber, bracing myself for the personality assassination. I honestly didn't think I had the strength to hear it. I felt so droopy and crumbled.

“This is weird,” Amber started, not looking at me. Then she looked up, blushing still. “Okay, Lottie. I'm sorry I've been avoiding you but…well…the Megan thing really got to me. I think sometimes you only see the world in terms of what
you
would do in a given situation…”

I opened my mouth to object, but Evie took my hand and squeezed it to stop me.

“And you forget how strong you are. Not everyone is as strong as you, Lotts. And your way isn't always the right way. It's only the right way for you – does that make sense?”

I didn't nod or shake my head. A million comebacks flashed right up in my brain – but if I said them, I'd only start another row.

I didn't have the energy to row.

“I know you think Megan should tell someone, even just us, properly about whatever has happened. But it's her choice what she does. And actually, I feel like it's quite anti-feminist that you're pushing her into a certain ‘way' of behaving.”