Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Ten

2011.

"What colour are you wearing? Because I don't want us all to pick the same colour, that would be, like, super embarrassing."

Cara, a girl who I suppose I would class as my "best friend" - at least not in private - was flicking through a rail of satin embroidered gowns, chewing noisily on gum, in a little boutique in the town centre.

Prom is coming up, and despite being close to two months away, she'd insisted on dragging me around the shops to get ideas for our dresses already.

All of our group had been so excited ever since the posters had gone up on the school walls announcing the end of year celebration. The last hurrah before we all went our separate ways for university. I was excited too, but for a different reason.

Because it meant no more school. It meant freedom.

I'd been keeping a secret from both my friends and family - one of many really. Whilst I'd been accepted into the local university for a law degree per my fathers insistence, I'd also applied and gotten a place at a cooking school at the centre of London. And I'd accepted it.

I hadn't worked out the fine details how exactly I was going to break the news to my parents, but I had no intention of informing Cara or any of the others. And definitely not Jason.

It was my chance to break free from them all, and the idea of non of them knowing where I was going had filled me with preemptive relief.

I was going to follow my passion, be surrounded with like minded people. New people. Non of whom had any sort of preconceived perception of me, no expectations.

I wouldn't be Riley Smith the bitch. Riley Smith the slag. Riley Smith, Jason's girlfriend.

I'd just be Riley.

A fresh start to become whoever I wanted to be.

Maybe I'd make a group of friends who would want to do more than talk shit about other people and get high in their boyfriends cars. Maybe we could walk around art galleries and museums and have meaningful conversations. Maybe we could explore the vast city we lived in, discovering each exciting nook and cranny, go see live music and dance like idiots without worrying how we looked.

The only person who knew about any of this was Harry.

He'd let me have the letter be redirected to his address to avoid my parents finding out, and he'd snook it into my hand in the art classroom the day it had come in.

He'd been biting his lip and bouncing his knee in anticipation when I opened it, his brow furrowed whilst I waited to see what my future held.

And he'd practically jumped out of his seat when I told him I'd gotten in.

For one of many times, I'd thought he was going to hug me, his body positively vibrating with elation and excitement on my behalf. But then he realised that we in a classroom full of other students that had already turned to watch in curiosity at our excited squeals. So he instead sat in his seat, subtly leaning into my ear and whispering how proud of me he was.

Harry had already been accepted into the London College of Music; it'd been his dream and I had no doubts that he'd secure a place.