Love Is for Losers Wibke Brueggemann (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

got so hot that James simply had to take his shirt off.

They were proper laughing and high-fiving and everything, and when Kate and I were taking stuff back to the kitchen, I was like: “Do you think James fancies Emma?” But Kate was just like: “What makes you say that?” Like she hadn’t noticed they’d arrived together, sat next to each other on the grass when we were eating, and been playing badminton together with James literally in the nude. If I fancied him, and I know Kate fancies him, I would have been bilious.

Anyway, luckily James had to go to work at five, and Pat decided to leave as well, and then Bill and Melanie said they were going, too, and so it was just Kate, Emma, and me.

Emma was sunbathing and followed the little patch of sun across the garden until it disappeared over the fence. Kate was like: “Just knock next door, pet. They’ve got sun for another five minutes at least.”

Kate went inside at, like, seven, then came back outside and threw a big blanket at us, telling me to walk Emma home no later than nine.

I’d completely forgotten we’re back at school tomorrow, and I’m not going to lie, all the GCSE studying that didn’t happen is making me feel nauseous.

Emma and I sat on the towel on the grass under the big blanket, and you know that feeling you get when the sky turns orange and purple, and it’s Sunday night in London, and everything seems to just stop?

We watched the planes coming into Heathrow, and we didn’t actually talk very much, which was so nice, because you don’t have to be constantly talking in order to have a nice time with someone. I also wondered if Emma and James could be silent together like that.

Suddenly it was nine, and we were still sitting there.

Me: I better walk you home.

Emma: You don’t have to come with me.

Me: I said I would.

Emma: Okay.

And then she smiled at me and winked.

We didn’t talk much on the way home, either, and when we did, we whispered, which was odd, but maybe that’s what people do in the dark.

When we got to hers, all the lights were on.

Me (blinking): Wow.

Emma (exasperating): My parents stress so much when I’m out. I’m surprised they haven’t called.

Me: But you were at Kate’s. It’s not like you’re out clubbing and drinking.

Emma: We were drinking.

Me: Half a glass of Champagne.

Emma (all reluctant): I’ve never had a drink.

Me: Are you actually being serious?

Emma (shrugs):…

Me: There’s no way Kate would have allowed us to get pissed or anything.

Emma: I know.

Me: You’ve seriously never had alcohol? Not even at Christmas?

Emma: My parents don’t drink.

Me: What about when you’re out with your friends?

Emma: I don’t really go out.

Me: Not even to house parties?

Emma (shrugs):…

Me: Wow.

Emma: Wow what?

Me: It’s just that people like you usually have busy social lives.

Emma: People like me?

Me: Hockey-playing people.

Emma (looking at me like: WTF?):…

Me: Pretty people.

And I swear that came out before I’d finished thinking it, which shouldn’t be possible but happened, and suddenly I was literally dying on the inside.

Emma (not socially inept like me, and making light of my hasty comment): You need glasses.

Then we laughed, and I leaned right into her face, pretending to try to look at her, and then I could feel her breath on me and her laughter moving my hair, and she smelled of SPF 30, and I honestly don’t know why that smell made me feel all funny, but my stomach was fluttering like crazy.

Me: Bye.

Emma: Bye.

Me: See you Thursday? We need another donation of the week.

Emma (nodding then): Thursday. And I had fun this holiday.

Me: Me too.

Emma: Okay.

Me: Okay.

Emma: Bye.

Me: Bye.

10:30 P.M.

I don’t want to go back to school tomorrow.

I don’t want to do GCSEs.

I don’t want to do anything.

Monday, April 16 #GCSEHell

I will never be a friend of early mornings, and I will never be a friend of having to take the bus, and I will never be a friend of people making out outside the school gates.

Blech!

Judging by Instagram, Polly and Tristan can’t have spent a single moment apart during the Easter break, and yet there they were, at it again, pretending the sex is so great that they literally can’t stop having it.

Polly has become the victim of the lies she tells herself.

I seriously need to talk to her about the vaginal orgasm, but I don’t want to open with it.

Also, Polly and I are really not okay, but we’ve established some weird state of “we used to be friends but now we’re not” relationship.

I wonder if that’s what it’s like when people get divorced.

That sense of a person being both familiar but also awkwardly unknown at the same time.

Miriam Patel showed everyone her study timetable. It’s literally a nightmare. Every day is broken up into hourly slots that are color coded: math is red, English language is dark green, English literature is lime green, etc., etc. She’s even scheduled in sleep (baby blue). I hope for her sake she feels tired between 11:55 P.M. and 6:15 A.M., because that’s literally the only chance she gets.

Everyone loved the timetable, of course, and I bet they’re all sitting at home right now making one.

I can’t be bothered.

I really wanted to text Emma today to ask if her parents were mad about Sunday night, but then I don’t want her to think I’m a weird stalker who needs to know every detail of her life. Even though I clearly am, and I clearly do.

I’ve just spent an hour on her Instagram again, looking for that boy.

I also checked Snapchat, but she doesn’t seem to be on it (and who can blame her?). The last time I was on it, Steve O’Reilly had posted a picture of his erect penis. And I know that posts delete themselves, but there are things you can’t unsee.

PS: I totally thought for all those days that Emma may be an alcoholic and that her secret meetings