The Truth About Keeping Secrets(44)

‘Whoa. What are you doing?’

‘The roof. There’s a spot out here to sit.’ Her other leg disappeared, and then all of her was gone, until she poked her head back in. ‘Bring the blanket. It’s fucking nippy.’

I wasn’t really excited about the prospect of sitting unsecured one storey above the ground, but I had to keep up with her, so I grabbed the blanket and squirmed through the open window like she had, on to the roof, slippery with frost. I sat, but it was precarious at best; the portion we were sitting on was at a fifteen-degree angle, maybe, so it was flat enough to sit on, but not flat enough to ensure an especially strong breeze wouldn’t send me hurtling to my death. Pushing my reservations aside, I handed the blanket to June, and she draped it round both of our shoulders, which delighted me.

‘These parties are only fun for a little bit,’ she said, looking out on to the tops of the trees ahead. ‘And then I just want to lock myself in a closet and curl into a ball. It’s like, I’m only having any fun when I’m too drunk to realize that I shouldn’t be. Sorry for dragging you along. It was kind of selfish. I mostly wanted someone I could tolerate to hang out with.’

‘Oh, glad I’m tolerable.’

‘Not what I meant. You’re more than tolerable. You’re exceptional!’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I mean, I’m not a party animal, or anything, but, yeah, I don’t know. It was OK.’

June nudged me playfully, which I would have enjoyed more were I not one unstable moment away from becoming paralysed from the neck down. ‘Was it OK when you were puking?’

‘Actually, yeah.’ She laughed. ‘I feel a lot better. Are you, are you OK?’

‘Yeah. Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Thanks for putting up with my misguided attempt at a surprise. I’m sorry again …’

That’s when she rested her head on my shoulder, and a bit of frizz from her hair grazed across my lips and stayed there and I didn’t brush it away. I craned my neck over the edge of the roof. It wasn’t that high up. Three storeys was normally the upper limit of survivability, so I wouldn’t die; if I fell the right way I probably could have made it maybe with just a cracked rib. Knees tucked, forward roll. If I fell on my head, though, I was a goner.

And from somewhere behind and below us, the countdown began.

Disorganized chanting at first, because no one really cares about counting down from twenty, but then it was fifteen, ten, five, four, three, two, one.

Happy New Year! Everyone shouted.

‘Shit.’ June looked back inside, debating, I was sure, how quickly she could scramble off the rooftop so as to start the new year with people who actually mattered. ‘Heath’s gonna kill me. Shit.’ She patted down her pockets. ‘The time just went. I don’t even have my phone.’

‘He’s not gonna kill you. Were you guys – were you supposed to –’

‘Smooch, yeah. It’s OK.’ She sighed. ‘It’s OK. It’ll be fine.’

I could feel my sobriety leaking back into my vision, and in ten seconds, maybe, the question would become completely unaskable, completely untouchable, so I had to ask it now, now, or else I might never get the chance to ask it ever again. Was I misreading the room? The words were right there. Something I simultaneously needed to know but didn’t want to, ask, don’t ask, back of my throat, up, up, tongue, tip, lips: ‘June, are you straight?’

But Heath arrived before the words could.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, first, followed by the creak of said door opening and then a sharp intake of breath. ‘June!’ he said, sticking his head through the open window to meet us. ‘It’s not safe to sit up here. I told you.’

‘I know, I know. We’re coming in,’ she said. I was the closest to the window, so she gestured with her eyes for me to go back in, which I did, like a newborn giraffe with no legs or brain. June followed close behind; I was conscious of my butt in her face.

‘There’s ice on there in the winter, June. You could slip. And you’re drunk.’

‘We’re fine. Look. In one piece.’

‘That’s not the point.’ He looked us both up and down, and I hoped I wasn’t blushing. ‘What were you guys even doing?’ he asked. My mental capabilities weren’t currently sharp enough to discern whether or not he was asking because he suspected something.

‘I just wanted some air, babe.’ And June made a beeline to him like she forgot I was there, or maybe because I was there, and wrapped her arms round his shoulders. His hands slithered on to her hips. She kissed him, long and hard, not just one kiss, but that thing where you think the kiss is done but then there’s more contorting and squishing. That kind of kiss. I watched. ‘Sorry I missed you at midnight,’ June said when their faces lost suction.

And then I remembered: the countdown. It was past midnight. Olivia.

Shit.

I clicked my phone on for the first time since I’d arrived: five texts and three missed calls.

9:02 hey!! hope you’re having fuuuuun. what time do you think you’ll be here?

9:50 pizza here!!! avec lil peps as requested. you can just heat it up when you come :-)

10:55 uh so, miles’ curfew is 11 (i know. on friggin new years) uh, so, he’s leaving … lol. lonelyyyy