We Are Not Okay. Natália Gomes
moment made me see that by just talking to him, I was crossing a line that I wouldn’t be able to return to. That I was stepping away from my religion and my beliefs, and possibly abusing the trust of my parents. And that I was leading on a boy that I really, really liked. I knew we could never even be friends, not with how I was feeling towards him, let alone anything more. So I said no. I tried to explain to him why I was saying no, and he understood. And then we didn’t talk for weeks after that. Those were the longest weeks of my life. The worst weeks. Week after week of regret, envy, anger, frustration, and something else, something much bigger.
Desire.
I still feel that now when I see him standing here.
I rush the next couple of steps and stagger into his arms. I hug him like I haven’t seen him for weeks, even though we stood in this spot only two days ago.
‘You’re late. I thought you weren’t coming?’
‘Sorry, I got held up.’ We sit, hands and fingers locked together as we usually do, and face the school.
‘How was UCAS prep?’
‘Very funny. Even just fifteen minutes of that is torture,’ I laugh.
‘Learning anything in yours? In mine, I learned how to bullet-point my skill set.’ He smiles. ‘But I think that’s more for people who actually have a set of skills as opposed to me.’
I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow then lean my head on his shoulder.
Maybe no one will see us. Maybe we can keep on pretending as if this bubble that surrounds us now will stay just that and nothing can pop it. But I feel eyes on me all the time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep all this up. I search for my father every second of the day, for my mother, for my neighbours, for my teachers, for those who’d use this information against me. People like Lucy McNeil, maybe even Steve who seems to hate me. He thinks I put ‘rubbish’ in Sophia’s ear. I only tell her the truth. One day I hope she’ll listen to me. I hope she’ll trust what I tell her about him. But I also fear him too, and what he might say if I upset him too much. All those people wait for me to screw up, yet I’ve done my best to avoid them so far. But how much longer can I? When will I see them, or them me?
‘Are you OK?’ he finally asks, wrapping his arm around me.
I snuggle in closer, the wind breaking through my thin jacket.
‘I don’t know how much longer we can do this,’ I say quietly.
‘I know. It’s getting colder. We have to find somewhere a little warmer to meet.’
That wasn’t what I meant but I don’t bring it up again. Maybe I’m enjoying living in this bubble too much. I turn to him and find warmth in his lips, in his arms.
Then I lean my head on his chest. I can’t feel his heart through his navy jumper, but I know it’s beating under there. He wriggles underneath me.
‘Are you uncomfortable?’ I shift my weight to one hip, away from him to give him a little space.
‘No, it’s not that. I’m just getting…’ He pulls a small wrapped gift from inside his pocket. It’s box-shaped but the corners are squashed, caving in slightly. He tries to pop out the edges then gives up and drops the box into my hand. ‘Happy six-month anniversary.’
I quickly sit up. ‘Six months? It’s really been that long?’
‘You forgot?’
‘No, I didn’t forget…I just didn’t exactly remember.’ I smile, kissing him on the cheek.
He laughs and gestures towards my flat palm. ‘Open it.’
My fingers clumsily unfold the gold tissue paper away from the sellotape. Inside is a small black cardboard box. Tugging the top away, the lid pops open. I gently pull out a thin braided turquoise band with a small silver heart looped through. ‘Aiden…’ The heart dangles down, shimmering a little as the light trickles in through the birch trees and strikes the silver.
He takes the bracelet and loops it over my wrist, struggling to fasten it. ‘I think my fingers are too big for this,’ he laughs. ‘There, got it.’
My finger grazes my wrist, the braided ribbon soft under my touch, the heart pendant cold on my fingertip. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
It is beautiful. But that wasn’t my first thought. I won’t tell him that I worry what my parents will say when they find this bracelet in my room, in my bag, or on my wrist. It’s just one more secret to hide, one more lie to tell.
After we say goodbye, it’s the same routine as usual. I travel through the school, by the drama department, past the library. ‘Sophia?’
She turns towards my direction and then a huge smile stretches up to her cheeks. ‘Oh, hey.’ She balances a pink-rimmed water bottle on top of a small stack of books, each with faded barcode labels facing out.
‘Need a hand?’ I say, reaching up and sliding off her glass water bottle.
‘Thanks. That’s my third one this year. I always seem to lose one in Steve’s car and he never gives them back,’ she giggles.
‘What’s all this for?’ I nod towards the books. Anatomy of the Human Body sits at the top, a very graphic image of the female reproductive system staring at me intensely. ‘Some light reading for biology?’
She clears her throat and squints her eyes. ‘Oh, I just wanted to get a better understanding of…of, um…the human circulatory system.’ Her eyes skim the floor by the feet and I can’t help but smile. Her cheeks start to flush red and I put a hand to my mouth to stop myself laughing.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I grin. ‘Come on, do you want to get a coffee on the walk home?’
She takes a deep breath and wrinkles up her nose like she’s in pain. I’ve embarrassed her, I think. She nods and turns with me.
‘What else are you working on?’
‘I have a history paper due next week and then my French practice exam the week after.’
‘I can help you with your French exam if you want?’
‘You’re so lucky. I wish I spoke it fluently.’
‘You’re good, really. You’ll be fluent in no time.’
‘Steve wants to take me to Paris after graduation.’ She beams, pushing the door open with her hip. A coolness washes over us. The fabrics of my hijab billow out around me in the wind, while strands of Sophia’s hair dance in the air, like she’s floating in water.
‘Jo’s?’
‘Hmm?’ I say, my eyes still fixed on her shimmering long hair that’s bobbing up and down on her back now.
‘Jo’s for coffee?’
I nod and follow her down the path through the courtyard. At the end is Birchwood Road, the street that connects the high school to the primary school and to the main town centre. There’s not much to the centre itself: some shops, three hairdressers (why does a small town need more than one?), two florists, two bakeries, seven pubs (again, why does this town need that many?). But stationed in the middle of the town’s library car park is a large red double-decker bus. Inside, the seats have been lifted and replaced with wooden benches, with feet that curl up like the letter S. At the front, where the driver should be, is a large white counter with a chalkboard sign that lists every kind of coffee and dairy-free alternative that, I truly believe, has ever been created. Jo’s BusStop is our usual place, everyone’s really. It’s the only place to get ‘vegan coffee’ in town. I didn’t know that was a thing until this year. Apparently milk just isn’t ‘in’ anymore. Dairy-free, gluten-free, meat-free…basically any diet that’s free of one major food group is a trend over here.
Sophia bounds up the stairs of the bus. ‘Hi Jo! A medium sugar-free extra-hot vanilla latte with