The Truth About Love

chapter seventeen

Autumn has always been my favourite season. There is something deeply satisfying about watching the maroon-coloured leaves fall to the ground, knowing that their demise heralds the rising of a new generation full of life in due course. While the heat and excitement of summer begin to fade and temperatures start to drop, the warmth and comfort of autumn remain. It's a transitional phase that prepares us for the colder and harsher conditions that await us.

Inundated with revision, the BMAT, and preparation for an interview at Oxford, I have just about managed to reach the end of November in one piece. It frightens me that I have just narrowly survived my own 'transitional phase' and that the snowstorm is yet to come.

"Isn't life wonderful!" Mason smiles, bobbing his head as he chews his tuna sandwich opposite me in the sixth-form dining room. Having received his interview invite from Oxford earlier today, he is beyond ecstatic.

I was en route to dozing off during biology this morning when I saw a head poking up and down in the glass pane of the door. As I narrowed my eyes trying to get a more focused view, I saw a familiar set of hazel eyes crinkling with utter glee. He held his phone up and pointed at what looked like an email, mouthing the words 'INTERVIEW' to which I let out an accidental squeal in front of the whole class.

"Hey," he says while still chewing, "can you at least pretend to be happy for me?"

Scowling, I say "Finish chewing, you absolute heathen." Then quickly softening my expression, I add "I'm very happy for you. Of course, I am."

He raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't seem like it," he pauses to take another unnecessarily large bite, "you're acting as if you didn't also get an interview invite at the same college a week ago."

I sigh, prodding my chicken caesar salad with the fork. "Facts. At a glance, it looks like everything's working out for us," I shove a forkful of the salad into my mouth and then spit it out immediately, "god there's a lot of vinegar in that dressing."

Lifting the plate, I bring it close to my face to analyse it. Immediately, the potent acidity of the vinegar is like a punch to my olfactory receptors, triggering an imminent sneeze in an attempt to expel the odour. I quickly put the plate down and release an earth-shattering sneeze to the side.

"You were saying..." Mason grimaces as he hastily reaches across the table to hand me a napkin.

"Yeah, so it looks like things are going perfectly for us," I take the napkin from his hand and continue, "both of us applying to the same uni, same college, both of us getting interviews. Things look like they're on track." I pause, staring at the table bleakly. "But we both know that I couldn't be more off-road."

He presses his lips in response. "Look this probably isn't what you want to hear," he pauses briefly, "but you need to speak to your parents. Or you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life."

This time the acidity stems from his words; the punch collides hard and with no hesitation against the wall I've built up inside my head, cooping any thoughts remotely related to difficult conversations with my adamant and unflinching parents.

We sit there in silence for a while, in our little soundproof bubble amidst the lunchtime buzz.

"You're right," I finally say. "If I never tell my parents about how much I want to become a writer then I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if. What if I had taken that chance."

Mason gives me a small smile, resting his hand on my forearm. The warmth of his fingers leaves me with a sense of reassurance; it makes me believe that everything will work out.

A chihuahua-like screech slices through our heartwarming moment like the sound of a record scratch disrupting a melodious musical interlude.

Rani is stood up leaping up and down in the middle of the sixth form dining room. Her squeals resonate through the room like seismic waves, her blindingly over-glossed lips the very focus of this earthquake. "I GOT AN INTERVIEW!" She flaps her hands up and down so much to the point where it wouldn't even be that aerodynamically implausible if she began to take flight.