Solitaire, Part 3 of 3 Read Online Free

says.
    It takes me a minute to get what he’s saying.
    It’s ridiculous. Solitaire would have no way of knowing that I always skip that lesson and sit on the field. Teachers hardly notice most of the time. It’s
ridiculous.
But I start thinking about what Michael said before. About
Star Wars
. ‘Material Girl’. The cats. The violin. And the Ben Hope attack – that was about
my
brother. But it’s impossible. I’m not special. It’s entirely impossible. But—
    There have been
a lot
of coincidences.
    “Yes,” I say. “Just a coincidence.”
    We both stand up and start to walk along the gradually whitening path, Michael pushing his bike along beside him. It leaves a long grey line behind us. Little white dots of snow rest in Michael’s hair.
    “What now?” I ask. I’m not quite sure which ‘now’ I’m talking about. This minute? Today? The rest of our lives?
    “Now?” Michael considers my question. “Now we celebrate and rejoice in our youth. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
    I find myself grinning. “Yes. Yes, that is what we’re supposed to do.”
    We walk a little further. The snow grows from a light sprinkling to flakes as large as five-pence pieces.
    “I heard about what you said to Becky,” he says.
    “Who told you?”
    “Charlie.”
    “Who told
Charlie
?”
    He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
    “When did you talk to Charlie?”
    He avoids my eye. “The other day. I just wanted to make sure you were all right—”
    “What, do you think I’m
depressed
or something?”
    I say this much too angrily.
    I don’t want people to be worried about me. There’s nothing
to
worry about. I don’t want people to try and understand why I’m the way I am, because
I
should be the first person to understand that. And I
don’t
understand yet. I don’t want people to interfere. I don’t want people in my head, picking out this and that, permanently picking up the broken pieces of me.
    If that’s what friends do, then I don’t want any.
    He smiles. A proper smile. Then he laughs. “You really cannot accept that people care!”
    I don’t say anything. He’s right. But I don’t say anything.
    He stops laughing. Several minutes pass in silence.
    I start to think about four weeks ago, when I didn’t know Michael. When Solitaire hadn’t happened. I am aware that I feel sadder about things now. A lot of things around me have been very sad, and I seem to be the only one who can see it. Becky, for example. Lucas. Ben Hope. Solitaire. Everyone is okay with hurting people. Or maybe they cannot see that they’re hurting people. But I can.
    The problem is that people don’t act.
    The problem is that
I
don’t act.
    I just sit here, doing nothing, assuming that someone else is going to make things better.
    Eventually, Michael and I end up at the edge of town. It’s getting dark now, and more than one street lamp flickers on as we pass, casting a yellow glow across the ground. We walk down a wide alley between two large houses and break out into the fields, slick with snow, which stretch between the town and the river. Whites, greys, blues; everything is a blurry mist, rain on the windscreen, a painting.
    I stand there. It all kind of stops, like I’ve left earth. Like I’ve left the universe.
    “It’s beautiful,” I say. “Don’t you think the snow is beautiful?”
    I expect Michael to agree with me, but he doesn’t.
    “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s just cold. It’s romantic, I guess, but it just makes things cold.”

THIRTY-THREE
    “SO, TORI.” KENT scans his eyes over my next essay. “What was your opinion this time?”
    It’s Friday lunchtime. I didn’t really have anything to do so I came to give in my next English essay early: ‘To what extent is marriage the central concern of
Pride and Prejudice
?’ It appears that Kent is talkative today – my least favourite character trait.
    “I wrote a normal essay.”
    “I thought you might.” He nods. “I still