Authors note

8-The party

The end of my third year was filled with several well-deserved celebrations, the first of which was probably the wildest, and rightly so.

On results day, the tension in the air could have strangled us all. The longest two weeks of most of our lives was about to slide to an abrupt end as we were handed those ominous brown envelopes that could make or break the next year, and countless years after that.

A pin could have been heard dropping in the beat of silence that was followed by a collectively heaved sighs of relief and joy.

I was so proud of myself in that moment, the three red As marked upon my paper threw the doors of future possibility wide open to me, and beckoned my new life as an author one step closer. It seemed so long since the prospect had loomed far off on the distant horizon. I was proud of everyone, all of us had achieved so much. Vicky had successfully completed the hair and make up module of her beautician course, Jamie had been given an internship in graphic design at the local comic publication on account of his high grades in History of Sci-Fi and Art, and of course, we had al, sailed through the Shakespearian module of our literature course with personal best grades, thanks to Jessica's genius and shed-load of teamwork.

The second celebration came at a party Vicky hosted to mark the end of term, this one was at first a subdued, private kind of celebration, and then my my elation was gradually shared by the rest of the group. I was pondering to myself in one corner of the dining room, clutching my polystyrene beer cup as if someone might steal it, when suddenly I was lifted from my thoughts the way you come up for air after swimming in deep water by the sight of Jessica's beautiful sky blue eyes, shinning wildly with excitement and floating an inch or two from my dull green ones.

She greeted me with "Hey! Hey, Emma! Let's go upstairs!" She grabbed hold of my arm with such a clawing hand that I almost pitched forward with the force. I was certain that she was either drunk or that I was hallucinating the entire scenario, but still I followed her, because I loved her so much that I found it damn near impossible to decline any request she made of me.

She took me up to Vicky's room, (A simple wood framed bed, surrounded by simian furniture and covered with the comfiest Hot Pink duvet known to mankind, on which I had spent many a night painting nails and gossiping about boys). I could see from the way Jessica curled up the right side of her lip and moved her eyes to look me up and down, that she was highly impatient with me. At the same time, that over-excited spark was still present in those ever bright eyes, this I recognised as passion.

Making myself wary to the damage I could cause us both by letting her give in to this urge, I pushed up my arms in front of my face, in a generic symbol of defence. She took this as I'd hoped she would, and instead of proceeding with such a hands-on approach, she gently placed a hand on one of my arms and spoke, in the shyest, kindest way that I had ever heard anyone speak, "I know how you feel and I want you to know that the feeling is...mutual."