I hung back a little as we walked towards college. In the darkness, walking just behind them, I tapped every remaining lamp post six times.
I would have to wash my hands before the music started.
Thirty-one
It was weird, being in college at night. It felt unreal, or forbidden or something. All the same old faces were there but everyone seemed stranger in the darkness.
“Yikes, it’s packed,” I said, as we turned into the college car park and spotted the crowd.
“Tell me, Jane,” Lottie said. “You’ve known Evie a long time. Has she always used ye-olde Milly Molly Mandy words like ‘yikes’ or is this just a recent issue in her literary development?”
“Hey,” I said as Jane spoke over me, the teeth from her smile shining in the moonlight.
“Always, her favourite used to be ‘crikey’.”
“Crikey is a vastly underrated expression,” I argued. “Anyway, it’s not my fault. I watch a lot of old romantic movies. They talked properly back then…with class.”
Jane’s phone buzzed and she wrestled with her coat to retrieve it. “It’s Joel,” she told us, though none of us had asked. “He says they’re second-to-last on. They’re backstage but he may be able to come out and meet us.”
“Backstage?” I could see Amber raise an eyebrow, even in the dark.
“Well, in the photography block. That’s what they’re using as a Green Room.”
“Green Room?” Amber’s eyebrows went into overdrive.
I linked arms with both of them, holding one on each side like squabbling siblings. “Let’s go get our tickets.”
We queued, paid our fiver entrance fee that was going to a local charity, and got our hands stamped. The cafeteria looked so much bigger with all the tables pushed to one side. I was pretty impressed – there was a proper stage and lights and speakers everywhere that the music tech students had set up.
“Oooh, look, there’s a bar,” Lottie said, pointing to where pizza and chips were usually on sale.
“It’s only for Upper Sixth,” Jane said. “The ones who’ve turned eighteen already.”
Lottie screwed up her face. “Stuff that.” She peered over the queue. “I think I know the guy who’s working on it. He’s in my philosophy class. He’s in the year above but is taking philosophy as an extra AS level. His name’s Teddy.”
“Teddy?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“Deadly. His mum is obsessed with Little Women. He’s quite cute, isn’t he? If you all give me a fiver, I’ll try and get us served.”
We all obligingly handed her money and Lottie steered through the crowd. Teddy was instantly smitten when she got to the bar, trying desperately not to look at her exposed midriff. Five minutes later she handed us all plastic cups filled with vodka and lime.
“I think I like him,” she announced. “Just the name Teddy makes me want to bury myself into him for the world’s largest cuddle.”
I took a sip of my drink.
BAD THOUGHT
How do you know the plastic cup is clean?
BAD THOUGHT
You’ve still not washed your hands.
My sip turned into a gulp and I winced at the acidy nothingy taste. “Do you think he has a hairy chest?” I asked, hoping to distract myself.
“Only one way to find out.” She grinned and chinked her plastic cup with mine, contaminating my cup further with her lip juice. Reckoning on alcohol that strong being self-sanitizing, I drained the rest of my drink, swilling it around the insides of my mouth. Like mouthwash, I guess.
Jane opened a programme and squealed at Joel’s photo. “Look,” she said, pointing. “They’ve been given more space than anyone else.” I followed her finger and saw Guy’s face staring back at me, from the grainy depths of the bad photocopy.
“I just need the loo,” I told them and I worked my way through to the bathroom. I didn’t need to go but a clump of girls took up all the basins, redoing their make-up in the mirror. It would look odd if I just stood waiting for a sink, so I went into a cubicle and stood there, waiting the amount of time it usually takes to wee. Then, knowing I’d be instantly washing my hands afterwards, I pulled the chain and watched the clean bowl flush itself.
The music started just as I pushed past someone to wash my hands. A warbling, the sort that can only come from a middle class white person with dreadlocks strumming an acoustic guitar, echoed off the white tiles. I pumped the soap dispenser six times.
How to wash your hands – the Evie way
Pump the soap six times. One, two, three, four, five, six.
Rub your palms together to create a rich lather.
Concentrate first on scrubbing the thumbs, and then individually around each finger.
Interlace your fingers and rub your palms together roughly – wincing at where the soap seeps into the few open sores on your skin.
Rub the backs of your hands together thoroughly.
Finish on your wrists, creating an “o” with your clean fingers to whoosh the soap around like a bracelet.
Then rinse. First with hot. Then with cold. Then with as hot as you can stand. Turn the tap off with your elbow.
Use the elbow to start the hand dryer and leave them under it until your hands are bone dry.
I picked up a programme on the way back and flicked to the page with Guy’s photo. There he was. His stupid no-message-replying face all tortured and shaded and sexy. I noticed my hands shaking. I found the girls in the crowd near the front. Lottie was covering her ears dramatically while Amber laughed at her.
“This girl,” Lottie called over the music, “needs to be told that listening to music should be a pleasurable experience.”
We all winced as the girl onstage failed to hit a particularly high note. I looked over at the source of the noise. My guess was correct, the girl’s blonde hair was matted into dreads and she wore an actual real-life shawl. Her guitar was painted with sixties flowers.
Amber looked over too. “I think she suffers from OCD,” she said, and my blood stopped in its veins. She paused before delivering the punchline. “Obsessive Cliché Disorder…”
I pretended to laugh while considering going back to the loos to cry.
The song finished, followed by half-hearted applause. “Thank you,” dread-girl said, beaming. She tried to bow but was pushed offstage by the next band. They were a group of guys, all wearing smart suits with skinny ties.
“Wait,” I said to the others. “It’s Ethan.”
Amber and Lottie’s faces both whipped round to the stage. “I didn’t know he played the drums,” Amber said as Ethan settled down behind his electric blue drum kit.
I shrugged, watching him play about with leads and twizzling his drumsticks. “Yeah, he does. And violin too. I wonder where he finds time amongst his sex rehab.”
“Is that the guy you brought to Anna’s party?” Jane asked, her phone still surgically attached to her hand.
“Yep.”
“He is cute, isn’t he?”
“Yep.”
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was seeing Ethan’s annoyingly-sexy ferret face up on a stage – but I went a bit hot and woozy. The lead singer came up to the mike and said, “Hey everyone, we’re The Imposters.” And they launched into a rip-roaring cover of “Back in Black”.
“AMAZING,” Lottie yelled, her face swelling with excitement. “Music we can dance to.” Before any of us had time to think of valid excuses, she’d pulled us towards the front and began dancing crazily.
It’s hard not to dance to a decent AC/DC cover and everyone around us had the same problem. It’s also hard not to dance to AC/DC like a pissed old person at a wedding and everyone else had the same problem. We dipped and twirled and formed a girly shrieky circle where we all flicked our hair about to the “hey hey hey hey” bits. Mid-flick, I looked at the stage and met Ethan’s eyes. I grinned and he winked at me. I stuck my tongue out and returned to my hair flicking. It was then I noticed Amber. She wasn’t joining in. She had her arms clutched around herself as she awkwardly nodded her head. I joined my hands with hers and waved them about, grinning madly to get her to smile back – but the moment I dropped them, her hands fell back to her chest. Which meant, to be honest, that I’d dirtied my hands for no reason.