Dylan Rhodes is finishing her last year of high school at St. Mary's, a notorious, private Christian school in the middle of nowhere. Previously having been expelled from her last 3 schools for misbehaviour, vandalism and misconduct, Dylan is prepar...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A WEEK HAS PASSED and it feels like time has regressed. I'm, once again, in the bleachers near St. Mary's football-field, half listening to Harriet babble about her new pastel, ruffle dress. Uninterested, I pick at the loose yarn of my uniform sweater. Ellis had been off sick with the flu, and Tristan had, reasonably, kept his distance since the incident.
"Rumour has it, he's seeing a girl from Fairfield," Imogen suddenly says. Beside me, Pippa's posture becomes stiff, almost panicked. I follow their gaze on the field, out of curiosity, and my eyes land on a familiar figure with floppy brown curls. It's Tristan.
"What's Fairfield?" I ask.
"It's a university down the coast," Sophie chimes in.
"I heard she's a business major," Imogen says, and Pippa whines accordingly.
"Don't slouch Pippa," Harriet insists, "remember he told you he had a good time on your date?" Pippa seems to loosen up at this reassurance, as she bobs her head up and down in agreement.
"Did you kiss?" I turn to Pippa. Her eyes almost pop out of their sockets at my question.
"On the first date?" she gasps, horrified. I sigh and lean back. I clearly cannot participate in small-talk without somehow starting a riot. Tristan then looks to the bleachers. Pippa squeaks inwardly. He brushes his hair out of his face, and grins.
"Oh my god, Pippa," Imogen wheezes, "he so checked you out."
Harriet then turns to me, "See Dylan, some girls don't need to kiss guys on first dates to keep them interested." I smile, stiffly and look back out onto the field. Tristan laughs at something his friend James says. I can't help but think, he's an 18-year-old boy who is completely intimidating and makes you feel entirely unbecoming. We haven't spoken in two weeks. I haven't been to his gigs. He hasn't shown up at the cafe. And in those 14 days, I became painfully aware of the fact that the moments of content sourced mostly from spending time with Tristan. Even Ellis noticed my change in attitude.
I feel sick in the stomach thinking about it. After also spending my free period listening to Pippa talk about how she ran into Tristan in town and happened to invite her to a party, I slump to my locker. I dump my bag on the floor and pick at the lock. Upon opening it, I pause. A big, square thing occupies the space in my locker. I look behind me. It's not mine. Only when I take it out, I realize who it's from. The mystical album cover of Fleetwood Mac's 1987 album Tango in the Night brings a smile to my lips. I look around the corridor, across the sea of students, to find Tristan's mop of dark curls. He's nowhere to be seen. Harriet, Imogen and Pippa, on the other hand, are steadily making their way towards me. I put the record back in my locker to avoid an interrogation.
"Hey guys," I say as the three girls stand before me, in fits of giggles.
"We were wondering if you wanted to come see a movie with us tonight?" the almost-amiable words rolling of Imogen's tongue sound foreign and misplaced. I frown. "They're playing Dirty Dancing in the old cinema on the other side of town." As Imogen proposes this, I glance at Harriet, feeling there's an ulterior motive to this invite. She smiles, sheepishly. I blink and choose to ignore my gut feeling. Maybe this is my invite into the group, my chance to be included.
