A Quiet Kind of Thunder(26)

Ana?s nods. ‘I know. I read the forms when I first registered Toulouse.’

‘Here you go, then,’ I say brightly, sliding the form across the desk.

‘Thank you,’ she says delicately, taking a pen from her bag.

What are you doing here? I ask Rhys.

I don’t get an answer until I get rid of Ana?s, who manages to take her time over the form she apparently already knew all about.

Hi, I say again to Rhys, unable to keep the smile off my face. Not that I’m supposed to notice these things, but he looks extra adorable when holding a Labrador puppy.

‘Hi,’ he says out loud. ‘I made a friend!’

I can see that! Shall I take her?

He nods and I lift Sally out of his arms, cuddling her warm body close. I came by to ask you something, and when I got here the bald guy – I assume he means Ivan here – said that you’d probably come through here soon, and in the meantime I should look after the puppy.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Ivan did this on purpose. That man misses nothing.

‘Thanks for holding her,’ I say. Sally wriggles in my arms and tries to lick my face.

No problem. She’s cute.

‘What did you want to ask me?’ My mind has already spun through the options. Will you help me with my Maths homework? Will you eat this cake I brought? Will you go on a date with me? Will you marry me?

It’s my birthday on Friday.

‘Oh!’

Yeah. He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. I know. I wanted to keep it quiet, but my parents want to take me out for a birthday dinner on Saturday. And . . . Do you want to come?

I stare at him over Sally’s fuzzy yellow head. What does this mean? Is this a Maths-homework-buddy invite, or a go-on-a-date invite?

My parents suggested it, he says.

Oh. Well that’s my answer, isn’t it?

I want you there too! he adds, looking mortified. But it’s too late.

‘Sure, I’ll come,’ I say. ‘Are you seeing your friends as well?’

Yeah, on Friday night. None of them are eighteen yet, so we can’t go out drinking or anything. He smiles. Maybe next year. But on Saturday, Meg is coming. My friend Meg. You can meet her – I think you’ll get along.

Friend Meg? Did he actually sign girlfriend but I saw friend because it’s what I wanted to see? The signs aren’t similar. I didn’t just hallucinate that, did I? Should I ask? No. No, Steffi.

‘Sure,’ I say again.

Great! He looks relieved. They’re booking a table tonight so I’ll let you know what time and where and stuff.

I give him a thumbs up. ‘I should get back to my shift.’

He nods quickly. Of course. Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow?

‘Yeah.’

Rhys gives me a little wave before he leaves. I wait until he’s gone before I groan into Sally’s soft fur.

‘Come on,’ I whisper to her. ‘Let’s get you back to your mum.’

Sally yawns, stretches her head against my arm and wees all down my overalls.

Things I worried about on the bus: a snapshot of an anxious brain . . .

Is that car slowing down? Is someone going to get out and kidnap me? It is slowing down. What if someone asks for directions? What if – Oh. They’re just dropping someone off. The bus is late. What if it doesn’t arrive? What if I’m late getting to school? Did I turn my straighteners off? What if the bus isn’t running today and no one told me? Where’s the – oh. There’s the bus. Oh crap is that Rowan from Biology? What if he sees me? What if he wants to chat? Hide. OK, he hasn’t seen me. He hasn’t seen me. What if he did see me and now he thinks I’m weird for not saying hi? Did I remember to clean out Rita’s bowl properly? What if she gets sick? One day Rita will die. One day I’ll die. One day everyone will die. What if I die today and everyone sees that my bra has a hole in it? What if the bus crashes? Where are the exits? Why is there an exit on the ceiling? What if that headache Dad has is a brain tumour? Would I live with Mum all the time if Dad died? Why am I thinking about my living arrangements instead of how horrible it would be if Dad died? What’s wrong with me? What if Rhys doesn’t like me? What if he does? What if we get together and we split up? What if we get together and don’t split up and then we’re together forever until we die? One day I’ll die. Did I remember to turn my straighteners off? Yes. Yes. Did I? OK my stop’s coming up. I need to get off in about two minutes. Should I get up now? Will the guy next to me get that I have to get off or will I have to ask him to move? But what if he’s getting off too and I look like a twat? What if worrying kills brain cells? What if I never get to go to uni? What if I do and it’s awful? Should I say thank you to the driver on the way off? OK, get up, move towards the front of the bus. Go, step. Don’t trip over that old man’s stick. Watch out for the stick. Watch out for the – shit. Did anyone notice that? No, no one’s looking at me. But what if they are? OK, doors are opening, GO! I didn’t say thank you to the driver. What if he’s having a bad day and that would have made it better? Am I a bad person?

Yeah but did I actually turn my straighteners off?





By Saturday, I have no idea why I said yes to something as terrifying as a birthday dinner. In a restaurant. With a family I barely know. And the possibly-girlfriend-but-maybe-probably-not of the boy I’m trying not to like.