A Girl Called Whisper

Five

When I get home I take dinner as an opportune moment to ask my mum a question that I've been thinking about since seeing Whisper's arms. "Can you be very sad and happy at the same time?"

The table goes quiet for a moment, a clatter of cutlery as my parents register my question and consider an answer. Bella munches noisily whilst watching the interaction with interest. Finally, Mum tells me, "no, you are either very sad or very happy. You can't be both at once. Why do you ask, love?" I can see she has suspended chewing, and despite the fact she has put on an easy-breezy tone, she's worried.

"There's someone at school who always seems happy and they're always smiling and joking. But they do things that I think only really sad people do." I don't want to go into too much detail, it feels like a breach of trust.

Dad raises his eyebrows and Mum clears her throat awkwardly. "Well, Cooper, sometimes the saddest people of them all are the ones who hide it the best," she tells me.

And that's that.

After dinner I go upstairs and get out the angel painting inspired by Whisper that I made when I first met her. I add on plasters up and down her arms, each inked with tiny graphic-style stories of strength and hope. I even include a tiny unicorn on one, inspired by her lighter. If I can't fix her in real life, I can fix her in my painting. Then I slip it into a clear plastic envelope, so it doesn't get wrecked, and leave it by my bag to remember to take it in for her the next day.

I think about what Mum said as I go to sleep. Prince always seems happy, is he secretly sad? I don't think he is, and I know him as well as is possible. But perhaps nobody can ever know what someone else is truly thinking. People are so difficult to work out. And why don't I function the same way as everyone else? Why is it that when I panic I can't just hide it, cover it up and pretend it isn't happening? Why are we all so different?

The next morning I don't see Whisper until I get to class for period two - history. She comes in a couple of minutes after me and comes straight for the seat next to mine, swinging her rucksack onto the desk.

"Morning, babe," she sings as she sits down, smiling.

I think about what Mum had said last night and now her smile doesn't seem quite as straightforward as it had before. If anything, it seems a little more beautiful and imperfect, as though it's hiding her secrets away for her. It makes me feel sad.

"I brought something in for you today," I hiss to her. The teacher is already calling the register.

"Weird. I brought something in for you today, too," she replies, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Quiet during the register, please!" our teacher snaps. Whisper rolls her eyes at me and sinks back into her seat, her mouth teased in a half-smile as though the teacher is the biggest imbecile she has ever met.

She brought me a gift? I wonder what it is. I wonder what it is for the entire period. I hope it isn't another spliff.

When the bell rings for break we go outside to the concrete courtyard together and sit down on a bench. I pull out my illustration and give it to her. Please don't hate it, please don't hate it, please don't laugh at me, please don't laugh at me, why didn't I think this through earlier? This was the stupidest idea ever. Please don't hate it, please don't laugh at me...
"Oh my God!" she gasps. "Is it me?" She looks happy, so I nod.

"I look so beautiful in this version," she says quietly, stroking the plasters on the painting. She smiles. "I love it. Really, thank you, it must have taken ages." She leans over and gives me a hug and it's short but she's warm and her hair smells of flowery shampoo.

Then she turns around and pulls a book from her backpack, handing it to me.

"And this is for you. Since you said you liked art, I figured you would get more use out of it than me. It's a book all about Banksy, his history from Bristol and all his paintings. I think they're really cool, not that I know anything about art," she says to me as I flick through the pages.

"Thank you very much," I tell her. And I really mean it.

The bells ring again, and we're separated, me in art (obviously) with Whisper in music for our next class. Just before she leaves, I do something erratic. I wish I hadn't as soon as it's happened, but the words fell out of my mouth. I invited her to dinner at my house.

"So you can meet Max," I tell her. It's a joke, but perhaps I haven't told it right because she just looks at me with her brows furrowed.

"My dog," I clarify.

"Oh yeah, right. Sounds good, just text me when and where and I will be there," she tells me with a casual wave as she goes into her classroom.

I don't know why I did it, but it's done now, and I can't back out. Clench, unclench.

I pull my phone out and text Prince.

I invited a girl to my house for goddamn dinner!?!?!

He texts back a few moments later.

Play it cool, my brother. A virgin you shall not remain.

I sigh and don't bother replying. My biggest worry right now is how to hold a conversation long enough to keep her entertained, not how to de-virginise myself in my parents' house while my mum is downstairs cooking chicken curry.

Sometimes I don't think Prince has any idea who I am. Or maybe he does and that's why he winds me up like this.

Eventually, I take my phone out of my pocket and text him again.

Fuck off.