Getting over Gabe

C H A P T E R 20

C H A P T E R     20

‘Where’re you going?’ I knew I sounded like a whiny girlfriend when we were barley friends, but I couldn’t help myself.

He scowled at me. ‘Why d’you care?’

‘Because you’re meant to be getting ready. I’ve accepted that you’re doing this now,’ I hissed. ‘But you need to have at least prepared properly.’

He didn’t answer, and I sighed. ‘Have you told Jordan and that other one, who’s name I can’t remember?’

‘Ash?’ I shook my head. ‘Brad?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one. Whatever. It doesn’t matter, what I mean is-’

‘You’re asking me whether I’ve told them what I’m doing.’ He stated.

‘Right.’

‘I’ve told Jordan and Ash, but Brad’s too much of a loud mouth.’

‘Right.’

‘So…’ There was a pause, and I just looked at him, until I realized he just wanted to get past me, because I was standing in the middle of the hall.

‘Okay… Um…’ I blinked and moved aside. ‘Bye then.’

He didn’t look back, walked out the door, and I saw him take his  second hand stunt bike from the front of the house through the window, and cycle off down the road standing on the pedals.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later I realized I had just let him leave. I knew I should have put up more of a fight, made him get ready or something, but I’d been distracted.

Yeah. Just distracted.

A few minutes later, I was sitting at my desk doing catch up work for my next year at school, but my mind wandered away from the work, and the numbers blurred in front of me. I didn’t care about x or n, or anything else for that matter. When, in real life, was I really going to need this?

I sighed and put my head in my hands.

In real life, I thought, In real life, Cam is going to be in Dublin. On his own. In real life, I’ll be stuck here, on my own, wondering what on earth has happened to him. How is x going to help me out of this predicament?

It won’t. It won’t get me out of it. So I need to do it for myself  instead.

What would Gran say?

What would she do?

If Gran were here, I bet she’d thud up the stairs, bringing a cup full of orange squash with her, two if Clara was round ours. Then she’d lean over the desk where I was working, and she’d say, Katy, I don’t know how you do this stuff, you’re so clever!

And I’d say, No I’m not, I don’t understand it at all.

And she’d reply, In my day, we didn’t do a thing like this, I never got so advanced as you. I didn’t understand a thing. No, love, you’re clever. Now, what don’t you understand?

And she’d proceed to explain exactly what she had claimed she didn’t understand either,  in great detail, until I knew it so well I didn’t understand why I hadn’t understood at first.

And after a while she’d pause, and look at me, right into me, through my eyes, to the bare, raw parts of me, those corners that aren’t sanded and smooth, those places most people never see. She saw the girl who lost everything, the one that always came last, and she saw all my insecurities, all the blemishes, on my personality, and on my person. And though this look was strangely familiar, it was also unnerving.