Non Pratt - Trouble

“Just because you went there with Hannah doesn’t mean Katie’s the same…” I should remind him that Katie gave one of his friends a hand job behind the toilets in the park, but he’s still talking. “Besides, you’ve seen how Tyrone is about Hannah — can’t stand her.”

There’s no arguing with that. I could count on one hand the words he’s spoken to me since the Hannah incident.

“You can’t let Tyrone tell you who to fancy,” I hear myself saying.

“I know, but he’s my best mate and Hannah’s Katie’s best mate… I don’t want it to be difficult if I start seeing her.”

He wants to go out with her? I thought we were just talking about tonight.

I’d like to say that Tyrone’s big enough to let his friends do whatever — whoever — they want, but that’s a lie. Tyrone is someone who likes to control everyone — especially his friends.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. The last thing I want to do is go to a party, but if I bail on Katie she will literally kill me.

I guess that would solve my problem.

I’m late getting to hers and she’s already fully made-up and wearing a bra that’s two sizes too small in order to give her extra lift.

“You look like shit!” is the greeting I get and I swallow, my throat too dry to function.

Katie Im pregnant.

But one of her little brothers has come running into the hallway with a water pistol and she’s too busy screaming at him not to ruin her skirt for me to get a word in. Silently, I go upstairs and empty the contents of my bag onto her bed. I packed in a hurry and I’ve forgotten to bring a pair of going-out pants. I’ll just have to wear the ones I’ve got, even if they aren’t all that sexy.

My heart stops beating — a second for every boy I can remember who’s taken my pants off.

Then it starts up again and I go through the motions of getting ready, my brain on pause as I brush mascara deep into the roots of my lashes and dab gloss onto my lips, before I wriggle into the dress I brought. Katie’s still downstairs and I can hear shouting. The walls are thin in her house and there isn’t enough room for all the people that live here. Turning her iPod up, I stand side on to the mirror and pull my dress straight, staring at my reflected tummy as if I’ll somehow see something there that I didn’t notice before. It looks the same as ever to me. The door swings open and I jump back guiltily.

“You bring anything?” She means alcohol and I shake my head. “Why not? We can’t turn up empty-handed.”

“Why don’t you sort it out for a change?” I snap and she looks at me, shocked for a second as she balances on the brink of being hurt before she teeters over into anger.

“What is wrong with you? You haven’t been the same since you shagged that stuck-up Satan spawn.” She’s talking about Aaron Tyler. They aren’t getting on too well after he told her to stop calling him Emo Boy during English today. Katie doesn’t like being told what to do.

“Sorry.” Tell her now, Hannah.

But I can’t.

“Whatevs. You should stop stressing over him. He’s not even that good-looking.” Katie then launches into a full-blown character assassination, as she adds some last-minute touches to her make-up. I get bored after the millionth time she slags off his clothes.

“I like the way he dresses,” I say. I don’t especially, but I can’t stand hearing this any more. It’s too much noise when all I want is quiet.

“You would,” she says, tracing another line of black across her eyelid. “He dresses like Jay and his mates.”

She’s right — he does.

“It’s probably because he came from that posh school,” she carries on, switching to the other eye. “He’s got more money than the rest of us.”

“What posh school?” No one knows much about where Aaron came from. Still. Katie shrugs and I decide she’s making it up. Besides, his family can’t be that rich. I mean, Mr Tyler’s only a teacher, so he can’t earn much. Not like Robert, who shits Rolexes. Besides, although our school’s not posh, it’s hardly as if the people that go there are poor — you only need to clock how many of them wear new trainers each term.

Katie gets annoyed with me on the way to the party because I won’t have a smoke or go halves on the gallon of vodka she wants to buy. I don’t know what I’m doing about… It… but I can’t help totting up all the drinks and cigarettes I’ve had in the last month and the thought makes me feel panicky. Turns out me refusing to chip in doesn’t matter since every offy we enter tells us to leave before we even get to the shelves. I’m kind of relieved, TBH, since there’s no way they’d’ve fallen for Katie’s blatantly fake ID anyway.

I apologize for forgetting to bring anything and Katie forgives me enough to link her arm in mine, although she slips it out the second we get to Rex’s front door. It’s Mark Grey that answers and he’s so drunk he doesn’t bother talking to our faces, just our tits.

“Rex is here,” Katie whispers, as we walk in.

I stare at her. “Yes. Rex is here. It’s his house. Where did you think he’d be?”

Katie scowls. “What is it with you? Did you down some bitch pills with your tea? You don’t have to take the piss all the time, you know.”

“Katie, I—” But she’s already huffed off and I think better of shouting, “I’m pregnant!” across a crowded room. All I can see are people I don’t want to talk to and boys I’ve either shagged or who’ve turned me down. I see Tyrone in the other room, surrounded by girls like he’s the star in his own rap video and I see Aaron Tyler standing in a doorway talking to Anj. Although I sit with her and Gideon in French I don’t see as much of Anj as I used to — we go way back — and for the first time in a while I wish things were different. Anj was always easier to talk to than Katie.

Oh God. I can’t do this — any of this. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to escape, but there’s someone else at the front door and I hurry upstairs instead. Maybe there’s somewhere I can be alone, get my head around things, work out what to do next. Why the fuck did I come here? I listen at a couple of the doors, hear the grunts, groans and arguments you’d expect and walk in on Fletch, sprawled, T-shirt rucked up and baring his belly as he snores on the floor. I can’t believe I let him have sex with me.

It can’t be his.

The thought floods through me turning my blood to ice and I feel faint with fear.

The next room I try is a connecting wardrobe you can get into from either the hall or what must be Rex’s parents’ room, proving my point that the kids at Kingsway aren’t exactly poor. There’s someone in the bedroom, on the phone by the sound of it, but I feel safe as I slide my back down the far wall until I’m sitting on the floor.

Maybe I can just sit in here for a bit. No one will notice.

Gideon comes back from the kitchen carrying three plastic cups filled with something pink.

“Really? Punch? I’m never sending you for drinks again, gay boy,” Anj says.

“It was this or very vintage Martini Rosso. Take your pick, straight girl.” Gideon hands over the drinks as I watch Hannah Sheppard jog up the stairs. The contents of my cup smells like paint stripper. No way am I drinking that.

“So how come you moved schools?” Anj thinks she’s making small talk, but the reason I moved schools is far from small. I say something about needing a change of scenery and ignore the glance she exchanges with Gideon. There’s a bit of a pause.

“Not acting as your bestie’s wingman now he’s flying solo tonight?” Gideon asks.

It takes a second for me to catch up. “Rex and I aren’t best mates.”

“I was talking about God’s Gift.” Gideon nods towards the crowd of girls that have accumulated around Tyrone’s spot on the sofa.

I laugh. “I am definitely not Tyrone’s mate. Best or otherwise.”

They look surprised — Tyrone’s friendship is something I’m supposed to want.

“I pulled Tyrone once,” Anj says, wistfully, and Gideon and I stare at her. “Don’t look so shocked — I’m a good catch for a boy who likes a bit of cream in his coffee.”

“Of course you are,” Gideon says, grinning. “I just would have expected to know you pulled such a hottie. When did that happen?”

“Ages ago. The Easter you abandoned me to go to South America.” Gideon rolls his eyes and I get the impression this is an old argument. “It was before Marcy made him cool.”

“What?” I say. I thought it was the other way around.

“It’s all because of his girlfriend that Tyrone became King of Kingsway. Before then he was just some guy who was quite good at basketball.”

“Not even that good. Rex is way better.” Gideon takes up the story. “But Tyrone got taller and toned-er last term and fooled everyone into thinking he was better than he really is. Rex is happy to go along with it. Those two have been mates for ever, so little old Rex is just pleased that he’s not been left behind.”

“It’s Marcy that rules the school.” Anj nods, dark eyes wide and earnest. “Her and that coven of bitches she surrounds herself with. Don’t get on the wrong side of her, or you’ll get cut from everything. You may as well stop existing.”

They must have seen my face. Sceptical is an understatement.

“Seriously! There was a girl who left our school last year because Marcy teased her every single second until it became too much.”