The Worst of Me by Kate Le Vann

friends’ criticism of creationist teaching – which I’d think of as a Christian thing – seemed to blame Muslims for forcing school curriculums to be altered to suit them. Even more worryingly, there were sexist comments about girls at school who covered their hair. By Steve, the dodgiest of the group, but that didn’t mean the others thought differently. I felt for Nashriq, my friend’s brother, whoI’d known for years, and who slotted sincerely and persistently into the increasingly intense discussion. I felt sorry for my boyfriend, who had managed to walk into a fight. I needed someone to tell me what I thought. I needed to talk to everyone. Starting with Jonah.

Chapter 7
    Saturdays were Jonah’s nights with the boys. I’d been given access to the last one, but I didn’t assume there was a standing invitation and I’d heard nothing from him yet about his plans. It might have been a good idea to talk to all of them together. As usual, I’d already imagined the conversation Jonah and I would have about this on my own, supplying all of his answers, remembering his shrugs and smiles and moves. In fairness to him, he was only Imaginary Jonah, but I wasn’t all that happy with what he’d said.
    I decided to let him come and find me. I’d always found that when the other person had to work out that you were sulking before you could even start arguing, it gave you the upper hand in an argument. But that was with Ian. Things were very different with Jonah. It was scary to admit it – maybe stupidly, with a relationshipthis new – but there was a lot about Jonah I didn’t know. Not this stuff at school – his
boundaries
. What made him angry. How far his sense of humour would hold. How much he trusted me not to judge him. How much he liked me. All of these doubts made me think it was going to be horrible asking him. The best thing to do right now was wait.
    Right now, I couldn’t face anyone else. I sat upstairs in my room, not watching telly or listening to music or reading. I could hear my mum and Paul talking in the kitchen together.
    Sam texted with a joke about the day’s shopping. I could tell he was trying hard to avoid talking about what Dee had said. Then a text from Jonah.
    Blokes have insisted on proper blokes’ night. Say I’m turning girly. Missing you badly: must see you tomorrow to make up for it.
    He’s nice,
I thought.
He’s nice, and I would be able to tell if he weren’t nice. This is going to be easy.
    Paul was making his way through a TV chef’s recipe book, so everything he cooked was complicated and he worked hard to get compliments for it. He sat there saying things like, ‘I was a bit worried about this at one stage, but I think it’s turned out okay?’ and ‘Is it a bit too garlicky/spicy/creamy?’ when the garlickyness or creaminess was what was nicest about it. It was usually nice, but I would have happily found my own dinner,even if it was instant noodles or a Mars bar, rather than sit and say, ‘No, this is delicious! Thank you so much for making it!’ When I didn’t say that, my mum would always say: ‘Paul, this is delicious, thank you so much for making it.
Isn’t it, Cassidy?
’ And a compliment that consists of ‘yeah’ is not, in my opinion, worth making, and sounds forced, to say the least.
    Although both of them had a problem with me going out too much, it was obvious that me being home was a bigger problem. It was impossible for me to forget my mum reassuring Paul that I’d move out one day, and I didn’t doubt that both of them would start to find life easier when that happened. Conversations were awkward and always played over a background of unspoken anger.
    ‘How’s school going this year, Cassie?’ Paul said. I didn’t like him calling me Cassie. It sounded like a little girl’s name in his mouth, and he hadn’t earned the right to trim me down. ‘Do you feel as if the pressure is really on now?’
    I thought there was probably a lecture