‘Three wildly different answers to that question.’
‘I dunno, then. I guess … I mean, I questioned whether I liked girls a bit when I was younger. When I was thirteen, I had a crush on one of my friends. A girl. But like –’ she made a shrugging gesture ‘– all girls do that, right? Like, that’s common, having little crushes on your female friends.’
‘No,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘Nope. Not all girls do that. Example A.’ I gestured to myself.
‘Well. OK, then.’ She looked to one side. ‘I guess I like girls, then.’
She said it with such nonchalance, it was as if she’d realised her sexuality and come out in the space of about ten seconds. But I knew her better than that. She’d probably been figuring it out for a while. Just like I had.
‘Does that make me bi?’ she asked. ‘Or … pan? Or what?’
‘Whatever you want. You can think about it.’
‘Yeah. I guess I will.’ She was staring at the table. ‘You know, when we kissed … I think I did that because there’s always been this part of me who’s wanted to … um, you know. Be with girls. And you were just a safe option to try it out because I knew you wouldn’t hate me forever. Which was a really shit thing to do, obviously. God, I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a shit thing to do,’ I agreed. ‘But I can relate about accidentally using people because you’re confused about your sexuality.’
We’d both fucked up in a lot of ways. And while our sexuality confusion wasn’t an excuse, it was good that we both realised our mistakes.
Maybe that meant we’d make less of them going forward.
‘I never had any gay or bi friends at school,’ Rooney said. ‘I didn’t really know anyone openly gay, actually. Maybe I would have figured it out sooner if I had.’
‘My best friend has been out since she was fifteen, and it still took me years to figure myself out,’ I said.
‘True. Wow. Shit’s tricky.’
‘Yup.’
She snorted. ‘I’m at uni for three months and suddenly I’m not straight any more.’
‘Mood,’ I said.
‘Love that for us, I guess?’ she asked.
‘Love that for us,’ I agreed.
I got us a second cocktail jug – cosmopolitan – and nachos.
We were halfway through the jug when I told Rooney my plan.
‘I’m going to get Jason and Pip to come back to the Shakespeare Soc,’ I said.
Rooney crushed a particularly cheesy nacho into her mouth. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘You’re welcome to help me.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘I mean … I haven’t got quite that far yet. There will probably be a lot of apologising involved.’
‘Terrible plan,’ said Rooney, chomping down on another nacho.
‘It’s all I have.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’
If it didn’t work?
I didn’t know what would happen then.
Maybe that would be it for me, Jason and Pip. Forever.
We finished the nachos – it didn’t take long – and the cocktail jug, before heading towards the pub door, both of us feeling a little bit fuzzy. I was ready to sleep, honestly, but Rooney had fallen into a chatty mood. I was glad. Alcohol and chips definitely weren’t the healthiest solution to her problems, but she seemed a little happier, at least. Job done.
That mood lasted the thirty seconds it took us to get to the door, and then it was gone. Because standing just outside, surrounded by friends, was Pip Quintana herself.
For a brief moment, she didn’t see us. She’d had a hair trim, her curly fringe just meeting her eyebrows, and she was dressed up for a night out – stripy shirt, tight jeans, and a brown aviator jacket that made her look like one of the guys from Top Gun. With the bottle of cider in one hand, it was a look.
I could practically feel the wave of horror spill from Rooney as Pip turned round and saw us.
‘Oh,’ said Pip.
‘Hi,’ I said, having no idea what else to say.
Pip stared at me. Then her eyes flitted to Rooney – from her messy ponytail down to her mismatched bed socks.
‘What, on a date, or something?’ said Pip.
This immediately annoyed me. ‘Clearly we’re not on a date,’ I snapped. ‘I’m wearing joggers.’
‘Whatever. I don’t want to talk to you.’
She started to turn back round but froze as Rooney spoke.