Page 17 of Tricky Girls

Nic doesn’t even dignify us with a look. ‘For assholes like you to understand that no means no.’

‘Whatever.’ Haz looks at me and shrugs. ‘Guess we’ll see.’

A slow smile curves her lips then, one that says she’s about to suggest something she shouldn’t. Raising her hand, she wiggles her pinkie finger at me. ‘We should bet on it.’

‘On what?’ I say warily.

‘Who can shag her first. Or marry her, in your fucking case.’ She thumps her chest as a burp escapes her. ‘It’ll be me, obviously.’

Fucking Haz. She knows I can’t let her win, or I have to at least go down trying. I release a breath as I consider, recalling Tilda’s face, sweet even amongst all her grungy clothing and makeup; her tearful eyes the morning after Halloween; how grateful she seemed from just being offered some bloody churros. Shit, I can’t let Haz ruin that. I need to be a light in all of that dark.

‘So what of it?’ Leaning in, Haz levels me with a look. ‘You in?’

I hold her gaze for only a second before breaking it with a sigh. ‘Yeah. Alright, I’m in. So, what—by summer or something?’

‘By the end of the group project,’ she agrees with a nod. ‘But she’ll be bouncing on my dick way before then.’

With an air of determination, she rescues the large piece of paper still hanging around from Monday, turning it over so our work isn’t showing. Presented with the blank side, she begins drawing rash lines until they resemble a table.

‘Too far,’ I protest, immediately knowing where she’s going with this.

‘All of life’s a game,’ she quips.

‘That’s literally not the saying.’

‘Look, I’m on a roll already.’ She quickly pens something I can’t see from here, filling in one box in the table.

Annoyingly intrigued, I get up and join her. She’s written about stroking Tilda’s leg. I let out a huff. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’She tosses me the pen with a goading smile.

Flirted with me sober,I add in the column that bears my name, underlining the last word twice.

I chuck the pen at Haz’s forehead, returning to the sofa where I watch her add dates to our two pathetic entries. The only two to no doubt grace the table from now until eternity. Tilda can do so much fucking better.

‘If you’re done being a couple of absolute bellends,’ Nic’s voice floats over to us, ‘I’ve got a hockey social to get to.’

‘You’re not even on the team yet,’ Haz points out, making me want to kick her.

‘Of course I’m on the team.’ Dropping her book to her lap, Nic runs her hands through her hair, making it spike up. ‘I’ll get on it,’ she mutters more quietly.

She’d been on it last year—first team, I think, too—but after too many missed games due to full fault of her own, they’d kicked her off. And, god, was she a demon to deal with after that. She’s always kinda moody but we only just about survived that storm. But props to her, she’d sorted herself out, picked herself up. I’ve no doubt she’ll make the team again. For all our sakes, she better.

It starts raining just as we’re about to set off, so I bomb it upstairs to grab a jacket. My hair reeks of hairspray, the usually fluffy strands solid stiff. Two seconds in the rain and all that work would come undone. Can’t be fucked with the ginger halo I’d be left with.

The screen of my phone lights up just as I toss it on the bed. Jacket retrieved, I pick it back up, seeing I have two texts and a missed call from Grandad.

This late, it’ll either be something bad or something entirely innocuous. Either way, my stomach twists.

Hi Elly, just Grandad here,the first one reads.Nan took a fall tonight. In hospital just to be safe. Those people want to lock your mum up again. Told them she’s better at home but they won’t listen. Taylor got the stomach thing going round at her school. The ambulance people for your nan had to give her one of those sick bowls. How are you, Elly? I was wondering if you’re due a visit to us soon?

Shit.I quickly scroll to the second message, all thoughts of Vipers and rain and Tilda vanished.

Hi Elly. Grandad again. Forgive my silly whining. All fine here. You stay where you are. Love you. Grandad.

I sit heavily on the bed, tapping on my phone to keep Grandad’s message up. Usually a one-line texter, this is basically a desperate cry for help. With both Mum and Nan out of action, no wonder. Not like he’s a spring chicken himself. And me, the only one who can offer any kind of help, ensconced on this island doing fuck all.

I pull up his name, about to return his call when I catch the time. He might still be up with Taylor, I guess. Or one of the other kids. No doubt the stomach bug will spread to them too.

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