Page 74 of Tricky Girls

‘What did you choose then?’

‘Life Drawing.’ She drops her hand with a shrug. ‘Was hoping to catch some free tits but I’m getting my fair share of peens instead.’

‘Making you jealous?’ I tease.

‘No.’ She pushes her glasses further up her nose. ‘Can buy a bigger one whenever I want.’

‘Do you…?’ I blow out a breath as I form the question I’ve had on my mind for a while. These girls are a key to a world I’ve never been privy to before, but there’s still so much I don’t know. ‘I mean, when you use…it…can you actually feel anything?’

A slow smile curves Elly’s lips. ‘You asking if I can get off using a strap?’

I nod.

‘Yeah, I can. If I stick a vibe down there with it.’ She studies me closer, almost a leer under the shade of the cloister. ‘Don’t think I’d need one with you, though. Reckon I’d get off on you alone.’

‘Is that something you think about?’

She lets out a breath through her nose, eyes never leaving mine. ‘Oh Tilda, you have no idea.’

I don’t, but I’m beginning to want to. Can’t blame a girl for being curious.

I’m still thinking about it when I’m twiddling my pen in Margot Savage’s lecture.

I glance up briefly as a blonde girl takes one of the only available seats next to me. It’s a packed class, not that I was expecting anything less.

Margot herself isn’t what I expected, given the rumours. I know she’s in cahoots with the university’s current chancellor, a direct descendent of the original founder. Mafia, the rumourssay, though those rumours around here are pretty much law. Who knows what the truth is; it’s just more fun to think our university’s got dark beginnings. Why the Mafia would bother with this place, I’ve no idea.

Margot herself doesn’t look the type. She’s severe, that much is true, but she doesn’t pose an overbearing figure. I find myself wondering if she’s gay. Lately, every girl I look at I’m wondering the same. She does have short hair, styled nicely with blonde highlights, and she’s wearing a suit. Tiny clues that could mean fuck all.

That Skylar girl from the other day, I wouldn’t have pegged her as being into girls.

I wonder if they’ve made up or if Nic’s got herself yet another enemy.

She’s such a piece of work. I’m getting tired of her being the only bleak spot at hockey, like a rain cloud that just won’t piss off.

And what of that comment about her stalking me? That was just plain weird.

We’re encouraged to make notes in this class. I swap my notepad for my tablet, able to type quicker than I write.

The girl next to me does neither, sitting there with her arms crossed. She doesn’t seem insolent about it, just someone who wants to be somewhere other than here. Which is odd. Application numbers are through the roof for this woman’s course. I was thrilled to bits when I got onto this module.

‘Can’t take notes without using your hands, Aurelie,’ Margot says as she passes our desk, tapping it twice with a finger.

‘Forgot my notebook,’ the girl—Aurelie? How pretty—responds in an odd tone. Quiet, but not shy.

I regard her from the corner of my eye. She’s super pretty, all long white-blonde hair and dreamy faced. She reminds me of a fairy, of this world but not entirely part of it.

Girls like her make me feel dirty. I peek down at my black-painted nails, chipped even on day of applying. My skin is mottled with tattoos, dragging with the weight of multiple piercings. My hair’s naturally dark, my clothes chosen that way.

This girl… I get a glance of her ear when she tucks a long strand behind it. They’re not even pierced. Her white jumper is expensive looking. Cashmere. Definitely not scholarship.

She’s so poised and graceful even in that casual pose.

Not her fault but I’m bristling.

I hate this feeling, self-aware enough to know it’s all me. My insecurities. It makes me want to scratch away my makeup, yank off my piercings. Maybe then I can be as clean as this girl.

Which is dumb. I don’t know who she is. Her heart might be blacker than mine. Appearances mean nothing.

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