Stereotype by Claire Hennessy

don’t know, rugby player or something.”
    Fiona and I smile. Sarah has nothing but contempt for rugby players.
    “But Wendy’s crowd know who he is because she’s madly in love with him, so when they heard that –”
    “They assumed that he fancied her?” I guess.
    “Well, of course, yes,” Fiona says. “Because she’s so his type, you know?”
    “But it gets better,” Sarah says gleefully. Funny how gossiping about someone who’s been obnoxious to you cheers you up, I think. “Apparently – and I think it’s all a load of crap in the first place, by the way – but apparently this is someone who was at the party on Saturday. Because he was talking to her then.”
    It could be me, it could be me. Maybe it’s just a silly rumour but oh, oh , it could be me.
    “And she thinks it’s you?” I ask.
    “Yep. Because she knows someone who was there, who said he saw Shane talking to me. And being the complete idiot that she is, she assumes that I must be the only girl that he was talking to. Which is why she’s decided to be completely obnoxious towards me.” She sighs, back in depressed mode. “Wait, there was something good about this story. What was it?”
    “Abi,” Fiona says.
    “What?” I say, just as Sarah goes, “Oh, of course.”
    “Of course what?” I ask.
    “Well, if it’s true . . . I mean, you spent the entire night talking to Shane.”
    “Not – the entire night,” I say.
    She laughs. “Come on, Abi. I know you like him.”
    “I don’t!” I protest.
    Fiona rolls her eyes. “Where have I heard this before?”
    “You do,” Sarah says.
    “What about you?” I ask.
    “What about me?” she says innocently.
    “You like him.”
    She shrugs it off. “Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. I’m not the one he likes.”
    “You might be,” I point out.
    “Look, we don’t even know if what Wendy thinks is true or not,” Fiona points out. “Knowing her, it’s complete crap. So how about we just forget about Shane and have a nice, peaceful lunch-time?”
    And it starts to rain.
     
     

Chapter Forty-One
     
    After purchasing a considerable quantity of chocolate, we go back to school, somewhat reluctantly. There’s nowhere to go when it rains, apart from someone’s house, and we’re all too lazy to make that much effort.
    “Want to go and talk to Caroline?” Sarah asks when we get back, obviously not wanting to return to her own classroom.
    “Sure, OK,” I shrug.
    We actually run into Caroline as she’s coming out the door, and end up sitting out in the corridor, legs stretched out while First Years trotting towards the tuck-shop step tentatively over them.
    Sarah fills in her in the Wendy situation before asking, “Shane didn’t happen to mention to you whether he likes anyone, did he?” She tries to be casual about it but it comes off as very, very obvious that she really wants to know.
    Caroline shakes her head. “I haven’t been talking to him since the party. But I get the impression he likes you.”
    “Oh,” Sarah says. Tries not to smile. Fails.
    “You like him,” Caroline declares with a grin.
    “Maybe a little,” she admits.
    I bite my nails.
    Of course it couldn’t have been me.
    It shouldn’t matter. I barely know him.
    I should be happy for Sarah.
    I shouldn’t feel like this. I have no right to feel this bad.
    I should be used to it by now. Knowing that it’s impossible for anyone to actually be interested in me. It’s never going to happen. While my friends participate into the teenage-romance experience, I’m sitting on the sidelines. Ugly. Unwanted. Alone.
    And it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have to be like this, that I can’t be pretty and thin and interesting and talented and confident and lovable. It’s not fair that Sarah gets to be all of those things.
    And why don’t I bring razorblades into school?
     
     

Chapter Forty-Two
     
    Careers again. I think: future. I think: escape.
    I think about being a crazy reclusive