Alice Oseman - Loveless

‘Did you go out much back in Kent?’ Rooney asked from where she was sitting on her bed, applying some final touches to her make-up in front of her pedestal mirror.

I wanted to lie and say I was super experienced at clubbing, but there was really no use. Rooney was already becoming acutely aware that I was a shy person and much, much worse at socialising than she was.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I … I dunno. I didn’t really think it was my sort of thing.’

‘You don’t have to go out if you don’t want to!’ She patted highlighter over her cheekbones before shooting me a smile. ‘It’s not everyone’s scene.’

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I mean … I want to at least try it.’

She smiled some more. ‘Good! Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’

‘Have you been out clubbing lots, then?’

‘Oh, God, yeah.’ She laughed, going back to her make-up.

OK. She sounded confident. Was she a party girl, like so many people I knew back at home? Was she the sort of person who would go out to clubs all the time and hook up with random people?

‘Have you got Find My Friends on your phone?’ she asked.

‘Oh, um, I think so.’

I got my phone out and, sure enough, I did have the app downloaded. The only people I had on there were Pip and Jason.

Rooney held out her hand. ‘Let me add myself. Then if we lose each other, you can find me again.’

She did so, and soon there was a little dot with Rooney’s face on the map of Durham.

She suggested we took a selfie together in our bedroom mirror. She knew exactly how to pose, chin hidden behind a raised shoulder, eyes looking up enticingly beneath her lashes. I put one hand on my hip and hoped for the best.

If I was fully honest with myself, I just wanted to be Rooney Bach.

Sunil met us in the reception area, and it looked like most, if not all of the John’s freshers had shown up to get their first taste of university nightlife. Despite the fact that he’d told us we didn’t have to get dressed up, Sunil was wearing a tight-fit shirt in a bright paisley pattern with skinny trousers. I did notice, however, that he was wearing shoes that looked like they’d been trampled on and dragged through a muddy field, which probably should have prepared me for what I was about to face at the club.

We were shepherded to the club through the cold streets of Durham by Sunil and some other third years. Rooney had already attracted a small crowd of ‘friends’, if you could call them that yet, and I hovered towards the back of her group, apprehensive.

Everyone seemed so excited.

Nobody else seemed nervous.

Most people my age had been to clubs by now. Most people I’d known in Year 13 had frequented the club in our nearest town, which from what I’d heard was a sticky, terrifying hellhole of regrets. But I was the one regretting not having gone with them, now. This was just another example of something I had utterly failed to experience during my teenage life.

The entrance was down an alleyway, and it was free to get in before 11 p.m. They didn’t need IDs as we were all wearing freshers’ wristbands. Inside, it was as if someone had designed me my own personal hell – a tight-packed crowd, sticky floors and music so loud it took Rooney repeating herself three times before I realised she was asking me if I wanted to go to the bar.

I listened to what she ordered so I’d know what to ask for – vodka and lemonade. Then there was chatting, and more chatting, and more chatting. Well, shouting, actually. Mostly people wanted to talk about what are you studying , and where are you from , and how are you finding it all . I started repeating sentences word for word to multiple people. Like a robot. God. I just wanted to make a friend.

And then there was dancing. I started to notice just how many of the songs were about romance or sex. How had I never noticed that before? Like, almost all songs ever written are about romance or sex. And it felt like they were taunting me.

Rooney tried to get me to dance with her, just in a casual, fun way, and I tried, I swear I tried, but she gave up quickly and found someone else. I bobbed along the side of various people I’d had conversations with. I was having fun.

I was having fun.

I was not having fun.

It was nearing eleven o’clock when I messaged Pip, mostly because I wanted someone to talk to without having to shout.

Georgia Warr

HEY how are you this evening

Felipa Quintana

Everything is absolutely fine why do you ask

I may have smashed a wine glass

Georgia Warr

pip . . . . . . . . .

Felipa Quintana

Let me live

Georgia Warr

how come you’re drinking

Felipa Quintana

Because I am the master of my own fate and I live for chaos

Jk our corridor is having a pizza and alcohol night

Btw I think I left my jacket in your room last night?

Georgia Warr

oh no!!! i’ll bring it when i visit you, don’t worry

‘Who you texting?’ Rooney shouted in my ear.

‘Pip!’ I shouted back.

‘What’s she saying?’

I showed Rooney the message about Pip’s smashed glass. Rooney grinned at it, and then laughed.

‘I like her!’ she shouted. ‘She’s so funny!’ And then she went back to dancing.

Georgia Warr

anyway guess where I am

Felipa Quintana

Omg where

Georgia Warr

A CLUB

Felipa Quintana

ARE YOU JOKING

I never thought I would see this day

Baby’s first club!!!

Wait was this Rooney’s idea? Is she peer pressuring you???

Georgia Warr

no i wanted to go haha!!

Felipa Quintana

Okay well be safe!!!!! Don’t do drugs!!!!! Watch out for nasty men!!!!!!!

I hung in there, bobbing, until Rooney wanted to get some fresh air. Well, as much fresh air as you could get in the smoking area out the back of the club.

We leant against the brick wall of the building. I shivered, but Rooney seemed fine.

‘So?’ she asked. ‘What’s your official clubbing verdict?’

I made a face. I couldn’t help it.

She threw her head back against the wall and laughed.

‘At least you’re honest about it,’ she said. ‘A lot of people hate it and still go anyway.’

‘I guess.’ I sipped my drink. ‘I just wanted to try it. I wanted to be a part of the uni experience. You know.’

She nodded. ‘Gross clubs are an important staple of university life, yes.’

I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic.

I was a little drunk, to be fair.

‘I just want … I want to meet people , and … do normal things,’ I said, throwing back the last of my drink. I didn’t even like it that much, but everyone was drinking, and I’d look weird if I wasn’t, wouldn’t I? ‘I don’t have a great track record of doing that very well.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Nope. I have hardly any friends. I’ve always had hardly any friends.’

Rooney’s smile dropped. ‘Oh.’

‘I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Or even kissed anyone.’

The words just came on out before I could stop them.

I immediately cringed at myself. Shit. That was the thing I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone any more. That was the thing people had made fun of me for.

Rooney’s eyebrows raised. ‘Wow, really ?’

She wasn’t being sarcastic. That was pure, genuine shock. I don’t know why I was surprised – people’s reactions during truth or dare on prom night must have been how everyone felt. But it really got to me in that moment. The weird looks. The people who’d suddenly see me as a child, as immature. The movies where the main characters freaked out about being virgins at the age of sixteen.