Page 34 of Hired Help

As I’ve done since returning from winter break, I pretended not to care. In reality, part of me shrivelled further. The same part of me that reads through her texts to get myself to sleep. The bit that can’t stop scrolling through old photos.

I want to go inside. My date’s already there; Lissie, a girl from the year below us who jumped at the chance. It made me feel better for all of three seconds then the booster rocket to my ego fell away and my mood plunged back to earth.

Brooke will be in there dancing with someone else. Kissing someone else. Enjoying someone else.

Getting from someone else all the things she couldn’t get from me.

“Yo, Harry,” a gleeful voice calls out. “Wrong entrance, bro. You need to do a circuit and find the one where the doors actually let you inside.”

I stare at Magnus with no expression. We’ve hung around together for close on two years and right now the only thing I can remember about him is that he’s the first person to sell me drugs.

“Got any weed on you?”

He pats the pockets of his dark maroon suit, pulling out a roach that’s so tiny it barely deserves a name. “Got a lighter? Mine quit.”

“Nah, you’re good. Keep it.” I get to my feet, shaking my legs out. My butt’s gone numb from the cold of the concrete step.

I should have gone inside the moment I arrived. By now, I’d be settled in at a table, surrounded by people who know better than to mention Brooke. I might even have my hand down my date’s top, fondling her lovely breasts.

A prospect that arouses me about as much as the cold dregs in a coffee cup but would be a boost to my reputation. Since I barely know who I am anymore, my rep’s about all I have left.

“Your new girl’s nice,” Magnus says, eyeing me cautiously.

For three years, I’ve been the class clown, never taking anything seriously. These days, I’m as likely to explode in a temper as in laughter. A trait that’s driving people away but which I can’t seem to help.

“If you like her, you’re welcome to her.” I wince, hearing the words aloud. It’s the kind of sexist nonsense I used to call out regularly. It doesn’t sound right coming from my mouth. I try again. “Lissie and I are just here as friends.”

“Right.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t putting a move on her. I meant it was nice to see you with someone new instead of…”

He trails off and I clap his shoulder as I move past him. “Sorry,” I say, sick of hauling friends into my misery. I need to get inside and act like the boy I used to be until I can fit into his skin again. “Just having an off night. See you inside, yeah?”

At the door, my mood brightens. I wave to some friends at a table just inside the door, not bothering to check the seating plan because the first kids to arrive always upset it, anyway. I take hold of the first seat without someone’s bag or jacket on it and haul it over to join them.

“Looking good, my man,” Louis calls out, high fiving me and missing as he drunkenly leans too far to one side.

“I take it you’ve had a great time, then,” I say pushing out a grin that used to come naturally but now takes effort.

“Your girl’s partying hard,” Everett tells me.

“Lissie’s not my girl,” I tell him, scouring the room for the bar, and calculating how long it would take to reach the counter if I headed there now. “She can dance with whoever she wants.”

There’s a catcall from near the DJ and I glance in that direction but can’t see a lot. Someone must be showing off their moves or making a dick of themselves because there’s a wall of people surrounding the dance floor in a semicircle, clapping in time.

“Not Lissie,” he adds. “You want to head out somewhere else? I’m nearly done with this and Darla’s fine staying with her friends.”

Darla’s his on-again off-again girlfriend. Every time I think they’ve run the course, I’ll spy him slipping out of her room in the wee hours of the night.

I want to accept his offer, I really do. The caution in his glance decides me. There’s more sympathy there than there was this morning. It means there’s a lot of stuff about Brooke that I simultaneously do and don’t want to know.

“Where is she?” I ask in a low voice, and he stares me full in the eyes for a couple of seconds, before jerking his chin towards the clapping crowd. “She’s dancing.”

I appreciate his sympathy, his kindness, even as I resent he needs to use them. With a massive effort, I get to my feet and head off, clapping his shoulder when he tries to stand, so he retakes his seat.

“I’ll grab a drink,” I tell him. “You want anything?”

“Another beer’ll go down nicely.”

“You got it.”

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