My Favourite Part

49: where is he?

The rest of half-term drags like a log in a stream. Not having a phone makes me realise just how much time I spend on it, and in the digital void, a pattern forms:

11:00AM – Wake up. Stare at ceiling. Send Eric Facebook message from laptop. Wait for answer from Eric. No message comes.

12:00PM – Give up. Get breakfast and try to avoid Mum, but inevitably bump into Mum on the stairs and receive cold comment about waking up at midday and iced coffee for breakfast again.

12:30PM – Binge-watch a Netflix series I've seen at least twice.

4:30PM – More iced coffee. Try and read teen romance novel, get depressed and read Nietzsche instead.

6:00PM – Finally give in to grumbling stomach and down a litre of apple juice and 3 bowls of Rice Krispies. Coco Pops if feeling adventurous.

7:00PM – Go for a run up and down the hill and pretend not to see Mum watching me from her window to make sure I don't try and see you-know-who.

9:00PM – Listen to music and try to study but end up spacing out wondering if Eric's tried reaching me, too. Re-organise entire room trying not to think about Eric.

12:00PM – Avocado face mask and shower with old school Hilary Duff blaring, then fall down YouTube conspiracy videos rabbit hole. 

04:00AM – Wonder if Mum will hate me forever. Wonder when I'll see Eric again. Stare at ceiling again until asleep.

Okay, maybe that's slightly dramatic. Mum always brings me dinner in the evening (accompanied with the limited verbal exchange: 'You've hardly eaten.' 'Yeah...' 'I made pasta.' 'Thanks, Mum.').

Aug pops in every couple of hours to play Scrabble, or catch up on Celebrity Juice, or babysit me when Mum goes out to the shops (even though she won't admit that's what she's doing).

Once they were both back in London, Babe and Caz even stopped by a few times. Mum didn't let them up to see me, but we'd make it work – they'd come round the back and sneak me Oreo ice cream sandwiches, and let me scroll through their Instagram feeds to keep up to date with the year group gossip.

Yet still, between the runs and Rice Krispies and turning my room upside down every other day, my mind refused to move from one place – one person. Can you blame me?

I miss him.

Today's the first day back at school, and the butterflies in my stomach are flitting about so madly I feel light-headed. But it's a good feeling, I think. I'll finally get to see him again.

There are a thousand other things to consider, of course. He hasn't responded to any of my messages, but given that I'm currently phoneless and the last time we were together, he left with a bloody nose, it's understandable, I guess.

Realistically, it'd be way too risky to spend even a moment together today. And then there's the worst-case scenario: he sees me, but pretends he doesn't, and totally ignores me.

... But even just a smile, or a brush in the hall, or a silent, mimed 'Thursday'. I'd be restored.

As I pass the foyer mirror, I stop and tuck a stray loose curl behind my ear, clipping it in place with one of the two butterfly clips in my hair. I tug on the sleeves of my peach sweater for good measure.

It's the same sweater I wore the night Eric and I saw Romeo and Juliet in Covent Garden last winter. The night he'd asked me to be 'his', and I became the luckiest girl alive. I hope there's some luck left-over in it.