The movie was the best adaptation of Romeo and Juliet – Baz Luhrmann’s nineties one with Leonardo DiCaprio. We hadn’t missed much – Romeo was walking moodily along the beach – so we settled down into the beanbag to watch, not speaking.
We stayed that way, engrossed, for the next forty-five minutes.
That was roughly how long it took me to sober up a little and for my brain to start working again.
‘Where’d you go?’ was the first thing I said.
Rooney didn’t look away from the screen. ‘I’m right here?’
‘No … earlier. You left and then you were gone.’
There was a pause.
‘Just hanging out with some people. Sorry. I … yeah. Sorry about that.’ She glanced at me. ‘You were OK, though, right?’
I could barely remember how I’d spent the time between dinner and the bouncy castle battle. Wandering through the dance hall, sitting in the tea room, exploring the marquee but not having a go on any of the stalls.
‘Yeah, I was fine,’ I said.
‘Good. Did you dance with Jason?’
Oh. And there was that.
‘Nope,’ I said.
‘Oh. How come?’
I wanted to tell her everything.
I was going to tell her everything.
Was it the alcohol? The buzz of the ball? The fact that Rooney was starting to know me better than anyone, all because she slept two metres from me every night?
‘Me and Jason isn’t going to happen,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I … I guess I got that impression, but … I just assumed you were still dating.’
‘No. I ended it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because …’
The words were on the tip of my tongue. Because I am aromantic and asexual. But it sounded clunky. They still felt like fake words in my brain, secret words, whispered words that didn’t belong in the real world.
It wasn’t that I thought Rooney would react badly – she wouldn’t react with disgust or anger. She wasn’t like that.
But I thought she would react with awkwardness. With confusion. An er, OK, what the fuck is that? She would nod politely once I explained it, but in her head she would be thinking Oh my God, Georgia’s really weird.
Somehow, that felt almost as bad.
‘Because I don’t like guys,’ I said.
As soon as I said it, I realised my mistake.
‘Oh,’ said Rooney. ‘Oh my God.’ She sat up, nodding, taking this information in. ‘That’s OK. Fuck. I mean, I’m glad you realised. Congrats, I guess?’ She laughed. ‘It seems way better to not be attracted to guys. Girls are much nicer all round.’ Then she made a pained expression. ‘Oh my God. I spent so much time and energy trying to set you up with Jason. Why didn’t you say anything?’
Before I had time to respond, she interrupted herself.
‘No, sorry, that’s an idiotic thing to say. Obviously you were working shit out. That’s fine. I mean, that’s what university is for, isn’t it? Experimenting and figuring out who you actually like.’ She patted me firmly on the leg. ‘And you know what this means? Now we can focus on finding you a nice girl to date! Oh my God. I know so many cute girls who would like you. You have to come with me on a night out next week. I can introduce you to so many girls.’
All the time she was monologuing, I felt myself getting hotter and hotter. If I didn’t speak up, I was going to lose my nerve and start going along with this new lie and then I’d have to go through the whole trying-to-date thing again.
‘I don’t really want to do that,’ I said, fiddling with the now-empty toastie napkin.
‘Oh. OK, yeah. Sure. That’s fine.’
Rooney sipped on her own glass of water and spent a few moments watching the screen.
Then she continued. ‘You don’t have to get into dating right now. You’ve got so much time.’
So much time. I wanted to laugh.
‘I don’t think I will,’ I said.
‘Will what?’
‘Date. Ever. I don’t like girls either. I don’t like anyone.’
The words echoed around the room. There was a long pause.
And then Rooney laughed.
‘You are drunk,’ she said.
I was, a little, but that wasn’t the point.
And she’d laughed. That annoyed me.
That was how I’d expected her to react. That was how I expected everyone to react.
Pitying, awkward laughter.
‘I don’t like guys,’ I said. ‘And I don’t like girls. I don’t like anyone. So I’m never going to date anyone.’