Page 5 of Nobody in Particular

Molly glares at me, apparently objecting to my teasing tone. Danni, however, appears to take it as I mean it, because she breaks into a deeply dimpled grin. Suddenly, all traces of nervousness have vanished. She’s blossomed into a different person. “It’s something,” she agrees. “Now, I already know your name, but maybe you could introduce yourself anyway?”

“Rosemary.”

“Rosemary or Rose?”

“That depends how much we end up liking each other,” I say.

“I’ll monitor it. You didn’t give me your surname,” she points out.

“I don’t have one.”

“Do you just like to stand out? Or are you not important enough for one?”

I rest my cheek on my balled fist, surprised at her gall. “Both, actually.”

Molly jumps in before we start having too much fun. “I ran into Danni when I got my senior cape,” she says. “She’s from America.”

My annoyance with Molly is at the forefront of my mind again, and it seeps into my tone as I grip the wet flute of champagne with the tips of my fingers and sit up straighter. “Oh, you’re from theAmericanBlythes,” I say, feigning recognition. “Why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

“Rose, don’t be a shit,” Molly says blankly. “She can’t tell when you’re joking yet.”

“Do you get to pass off digs as a sense of humor when you don’t have a last name?” Danni asks.

If I was surprised at her gall before, it’s nothing compared to how shocked I am right now. I’m rather used to strangers and acquaintances politely pretending to find my jibes hilarious. “It’s one of the many perks,” I say finally.

Molly turns to Danni. “Well, we’d better finish getting everyone to tell you their surnames,” she says in a tone that tells me she thinks I’m being unfathomably rude. I would argue Danni seems perfectly capable of dishing out just as much as she’s served, but I keep that argument to myself. I am, it’s rather apparent, on considerably thin ice with Molly as it is.

I raise my eyebrows in place of a goodbye. Danni moves to follow Molly, but then she pauses and glances at me. “Nice to meet you, Rose,” she says, before turning her back to me. I stare after her for several seconds.

Eleanor flips around on the couch again and follows my gaze. She gives a knowing “hmm,” and I jump, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“What?”

“She’s definitely acting odd,” she says. It takes me quite a bit longer than it should to realize she’s referring to Molly.

“I told you,” I say. “I think she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Eleanor says, but it’s far from convincing. “She’s just grieving.”

Yes, that’s how I’d justified it, too.She’s just grieving,I told myself when she avoided me at the funeral.She needs space,I reasoned when she kept to herself throughout the end of the school term.She’s distracting herself,I rationalized when she started posting on social media again while ignoring my messages over the summer holidays.

There does come a point, I think, where denial starts to feel an awful lot like lying.

“You should just ask her what’s going on,” Eleanor says when I don’t reply, and I give a curt nod.

“I will,” I say. Unlike Eleanor, I’m well-practiced in the art of sounding just as convincing as I mean to. “Just not here. There’s no reason to ruin her party.”

Of course, I know deep down what the matter is, even if I don’t want to know. She blames me for what happened in Amsterdam in June, and so she should. I would hate me too if I were her.

By the window, Harriet Tomas grabs onto Danni’s arm as she and Molly pass, tugging them into the group conversation. Harriet was there that night, but Molly seems perfectly amiable when she says hello to her.

Something acidic and dark bubbles in my core, and I shove it back down before the emotion fully announces itself.

Alfie, who’d been watching us from afar with a measure of curiosity, saunters over to join Eleanor and me once more.

“Who’s that, then?” he asks, without any other indications. It’s obvious enough who he means.

“Her name’s Danni,” Eleanor says.

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