going so well; I always ended up wiping it off after ten minutes because I was so paranoid about it smudging or ending up on my teeth. So I just went with the eyeliner, and tousled up my hair in an attempt at beachy waves, whatever the hell they were.
Laura was waiting for me in the kitchen, and she smiled and said, ‘You look nice.’
‘Thank you,’ I said warily, then said, ‘I like your dress. And how do you manage to get your eyeliner so perfect?’
She laughed as we headed downstairs. ‘Practise, just loads and loads of practise. And sticky tape.’
‘Tape?’
‘Yes. Haven’t you heard of that before? You take a bit of sellotape and kind of align it with your eye, and then you draw your liner along the edge. Then you peel the tape off, and you’re left with a really neat line.’
‘Wow. That sounds really weird.’
‘I know, I thought so too, but it really works!’
‘I’ll have to try it. I normally just smudge it all out, so it doesn’t matter if I’ve made any mistakes.’
‘But there’s an art to that as well.’ Laura pushed open the door, and we came out onto the path. It was getting dark, the sky swirled with pink and orange like raspberry ripple ice cream. It was cold as well, with a harsh breeze that cut through my leather jacket and nipped at my bare neck.
I shivered. ‘Where’s this place?’
Laura gestured towards the campus circle. ‘Near to the pizza place. You’ve never been?’
‘No…’ I’ve been hiding in my room because people scare me now. ‘I haven’t really explored much.’
She nodded sympathetically. We started walking. ‘I’ve found that. It’s so different from Sixth Form, isn’t it?’
‘I went to a college,’ I said. ‘It was very lax there. But it was good. I kind of miss it.’
‘God, yes. Now it all feels so much more real. There’s no safety net now.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ I said. ‘It feels like everything’s meant to make sense now. Like, you know how in films the character goes off to university, and that’s kind of it for them, they go there and it’s this wonderful period of enlightenment and knowledge and…’
‘And instead it’s about trying to cook spaghetti so you don’t starve, and trying to understand Modernism so you don’t fail.’
‘I didn’t think you were doing English?’
‘Oh, I’m not really, I’m majoring in Creative Writing. But one of my tutors is obsessed with Modernism. It’s all very confusing. Not quite what I expected, really.’
The knowledge that someone else was also finding their course different to expectations was overwhelming cheering. I felt a rush of companionship towards Laura. ‘What are the people in your creative writing classes like?’
‘Well…’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but so many of them are just pretentious wankers.’
I exploded into laughter. I’d never have expected her to use a phrase like that. There was evidently much more to Laura than Peter Pan collars and neat Mary Janes.
‘I don’t mean that in a mean way,’ Laura said, half laughing along with me. ‘Some of them are really nice. But they all think they’re the next Hemmingway or Ginsberg, and…’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘They all smoke Cuban cigars and are desperately trying to develop a whiskey habit.’
‘Oh my god, how did you know?’
We giggled together, and I felt a lot more confident as we approached the campus buildings. The club was a small, silver-ish building decked out with tasteful bright blue neon signs. A sign above the door declared that it was called ‘The Fish Tank’.
Inside, it was pretty much as I had expected—dark, full of flashing lights, bouncing bodies, and deafeningly loud music. It was so loud that for a moment I couldn’t even tell what the tune the DJ was playing was. Then I laughed.
‘Oh god!’ Laura yelled. ‘Not
Laura was waiting for me in the kitchen, and she smiled and said, ‘You look nice.’
‘Thank you,’ I said warily, then said, ‘I like your dress. And how do you manage to get your eyeliner so perfect?’
She laughed as we headed downstairs. ‘Practise, just loads and loads of practise. And sticky tape.’
‘Tape?’
‘Yes. Haven’t you heard of that before? You take a bit of sellotape and kind of align it with your eye, and then you draw your liner along the edge. Then you peel the tape off, and you’re left with a really neat line.’
‘Wow. That sounds really weird.’
‘I know, I thought so too, but it really works!’
‘I’ll have to try it. I normally just smudge it all out, so it doesn’t matter if I’ve made any mistakes.’
‘But there’s an art to that as well.’ Laura pushed open the door, and we came out onto the path. It was getting dark, the sky swirled with pink and orange like raspberry ripple ice cream. It was cold as well, with a harsh breeze that cut through my leather jacket and nipped at my bare neck.
I shivered. ‘Where’s this place?’
Laura gestured towards the campus circle. ‘Near to the pizza place. You’ve never been?’
‘No…’ I’ve been hiding in my room because people scare me now. ‘I haven’t really explored much.’
She nodded sympathetically. We started walking. ‘I’ve found that. It’s so different from Sixth Form, isn’t it?’
‘I went to a college,’ I said. ‘It was very lax there. But it was good. I kind of miss it.’
‘God, yes. Now it all feels so much more real. There’s no safety net now.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ I said. ‘It feels like everything’s meant to make sense now. Like, you know how in films the character goes off to university, and that’s kind of it for them, they go there and it’s this wonderful period of enlightenment and knowledge and…’
‘And instead it’s about trying to cook spaghetti so you don’t starve, and trying to understand Modernism so you don’t fail.’
‘I didn’t think you were doing English?’
‘Oh, I’m not really, I’m majoring in Creative Writing. But one of my tutors is obsessed with Modernism. It’s all very confusing. Not quite what I expected, really.’
The knowledge that someone else was also finding their course different to expectations was overwhelming cheering. I felt a rush of companionship towards Laura. ‘What are the people in your creative writing classes like?’
‘Well…’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but so many of them are just pretentious wankers.’
I exploded into laughter. I’d never have expected her to use a phrase like that. There was evidently much more to Laura than Peter Pan collars and neat Mary Janes.
‘I don’t mean that in a mean way,’ Laura said, half laughing along with me. ‘Some of them are really nice. But they all think they’re the next Hemmingway or Ginsberg, and…’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘They all smoke Cuban cigars and are desperately trying to develop a whiskey habit.’
‘Oh my god, how did you know?’
We giggled together, and I felt a lot more confident as we approached the campus buildings. The club was a small, silver-ish building decked out with tasteful bright blue neon signs. A sign above the door declared that it was called ‘The Fish Tank’.
Inside, it was pretty much as I had expected—dark, full of flashing lights, bouncing bodies, and deafeningly loud music. It was so loud that for a moment I couldn’t even tell what the tune the DJ was playing was. Then I laughed.
‘Oh god!’ Laura yelled. ‘Not
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