Solitaire, Part 2 of 3 by Alice Oseman Page B

way of his, almost as if he and Michael have been friends for years. “I know, right?”
    Flocks of Truham boys soar past us, running for inexplicable reasons, while the traffic on the road is unmoving. A group of Year 10 Higgs girls cosy up to a group of Year 10 Truham boys against the gate several metres away from us. There are at least three couples within the group. God.
    I scratch my forehead, feeling agitated. “Where’s Charlie?”
    Nick raises his eyebrows and turns back towards Truham. “He’s the only guy in his class who cares about Classics, so he’s probably been dragged into a long conversation with Rogers about, like, Greek proverbs or something—”
    “Toriiiiii!”
    I twirl round. Becky is dodging traffic and skipping my way, her purple locks flailing behind her.
    When she arrives, she says, “Ben said he had to go to Truham and get something from last year, coursework or something, so I’m just going to wait with you guys. I don’t want to stand by myself like a Larry.”
    I smile. It’s starting to become really difficult to do that sometimes around Becky, but I make the effort and force it.
    Michael and Nick are both staring at her with empty expressions that I can’t read.
    “What are you all doing here?”
    “We’re waiting for Charlie,” I say.
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Shall we just go in and find him?” Nick suggests. “He’s being majorly slow.”
    But none of us move.
    “It’s like we’re in
Waiting for Godot
,” murmurs Michael. I’ve heard of the play, but I haven’t got any idea what Michael is talking about.
    And, as if things could not get any more awkward, Lucas appears out of nowhere.
    Nick raises his arms. “Lucas! Mate!” They embrace in a manly sort of hug, but Lucas just looks silly. They proceed to exchange pleasantries and each of them uses the words ‘mate’ and ‘man’ far too many times, resulting in Michael snorting “Oh my
God
” much too loudly. Fortunately, Lucas and Nick appear not to hear. I chuckle faintly.
    “What are you all doing here?” asks Lucas, deliberately pretending not to see Michael.
    “Waiting for Charlie,” says Nick.
    “Waiting for Ben,” says Becky.
    “Why don’t you just go look for them? I’ve got to go inside too, to pick up my art GCSE coursework.”
    “That’s what Ben’s doing,” says Becky.
    At the repeated mention of Ben, Nick seems to frown at Becky. But I might just be imagining it.
    “Well, let’s go then,” he says and pushes his sunglasses further up his nose.
    “We can’t,” whispers Michael, oozing sarcasm, so quiet that only I hear. “
Why not?
We’re waiting for Charlie.
Ah
.” He might be quoting, but I haven’t read or seen
Waiting for Godot
so it’s lost on me.
    Nick turns on the spot and walks into the school. Becky follows immediately. Then the rest of us.
    I remember instantly why I chose not to go to this school for sixth form. The boys that pass us are more than strangers. I feel trapped. As we enter the main building, the walls seem to creep higher and higher and the lights are dim and flashing, and I experience a brief flashback of the back of Michael’s head, leading me towards the Truham A level maths taster session last year. Every so often we pass these rusty old radiators, none of which appear to be emitting any heat. I start to shiver.
    “God, it’s like an abandoned mental asylum, isn’t it?” Michael is on my left. “I’d forgotten what it’s like here. It’s as if they built it out of misery.”
    We wind through corridors that seem to materialise in front of our feet. Michael starts whistling. Truham boys give us a lot of funny looks, particularly Michael. One group of older boys shout, “Oi – Michael Holden –
wanker
!” and Michael spins on the spot and produces a strong double thumbs-up in their direction. We pass through a set of double doors and find ourselves in a large maze of lockers, not unlike our own Higgs locker room. It seems empty at first. Until