Page 38 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

Amy and Ro are sitting across from me in the middle of my room while the three of us get ready for the STEM social.

My plan is to say something nice to Cam or to at least give him a smile in return for all the ones he gave me on CTY.

I won’t be able to see behind his Spider-Man mask and he won’t know who I am, but I feel like it’s the least I can do.

To show him that he’s doing the right thing by starting to live life at full speed once again, with arms wide open.

His gran might not be here anymore, but that’s okay because she was never his biggest cheerleader anyway – he was.

And he can be again. We all can be that person for ourselves.

And even more than that, I want him to know that there are nice people waiting for you just outside your comfort zone. There’s no need to be scared – or rather we can be scared and do stuff anyway. Because it’s worth it.

I said very similar things to him in my last message, but I want to make sure he sees it for himself. Out in the real world.

My phone buzzes in my lap, breaking me out of my thoughts.

It’s CJ again, with another fan photo edit.

This time he’s added a tube of Anusol haemorrhoid cream into his back pocket on the photo of us, peeking out below his jacket.

I wipe my eyes, snickering to myself. This truly is the gift that keeps on giving.

It all started a few days ago when he sent a massive apology about our photo being taken at Snowdon, as if having our photo taken on a mountain is the worst thing that’s ever happened to someone.

Of course, I wish people wouldn’t invade his privacy like that, but the truth is, it’s a pretty sweet photo.

And to be honest, I wouldn’t really care if it wasn’t – the way others perceive us, just living our lives and doing our everyday things, is none of our business.

And, quite frankly, not our problem to worry about.

I phoned him straight away to tell him so and followed it up with a badly edited picture of him with split jeans from hunching over to push my chair with the caption, It could have been worse

Now, we must have about five different versions of it that we’ve altered and sent back to each other.

‘I think he’s sent another,’ Amy says to Ro, waiting for me to share my treasure with them. I flick my phone around, waiting for them to spot the new addition before they start snickering too.

‘It’s going to be game over when someone creates paparazzi-proof sunglasses,’ Ro says, howling as he notices the sticky fingerprints edited on the wheelchair handles. ‘That day can’t come soon enough,’ he adds in mock horror. ‘This is too much.’

Amy shakes her head, sitting cross-legged next to me with a jumper over her lap to cover the deep slit on her bodycon mini dress. ‘We need to hurry,’ she urges, putting Poundland’s finest leopard print ears on her head, matching her spotted boots.

‘We’re going to be right on time, don’t you worry,’ Ro says, dusting a golden highlighter over the face paint, making her look like she’s glowing from the inside out.

‘Yessss, queen,’ he says, as she tilts her head from side to side, making it shimmer. ‘I need some of that too.’ He pats the tops of his cheekbones where he wants her to put it, handing her the brush.

I look between them both, and then at myself in the mirror.

None of us have actual costumes, but we’re trying to make it work, drawing on the classic whiskers and nose, and each sporting a different set of animal ears that Ro’s skilfully matched to our eyeshadow and décolletage markings, cascading down our necks.

‘Your family lucked out when it comes to events and stuff. There’s nothing you can’t do,’ I say, ruffling my short tulle skirt and picking a bit of fluff off my zebra print bodysuit.

Most of the girls are probably going to be dressed somewhat similarly, but I doubt they’ll be sporting works of art from their collarbones to their eyes like this. ‘Your mum and sisters must love it.’

‘I wishhhhh,’ Ro says, fanning himself with an Urban Decay eyeshadow palette. ‘They’re probably sick to death of how over the top I am with it. Aside from the henna. Even Amma – my mum – can’t say no to my henna.’

We leave around nine thirty, half an hour after the social is supposed to start. A guy dressed as Batman checks our student ID cards and lets us in, giving us neon paper wristbands.

It’s a pretty big bar with dark wooden floors, exposed brick walls and a cosy, rustic vibe. But perhaps most noticeably, it’s almost empty.

‘STEM students know how it’s done!’ Ro teases, pushing my wheelchair behind the mahogany sofa and wedging it against the wall while Amy and I make ourselves comfortable.

‘Back in a sec,’ he says, pretending to wind in and out between people on his way to the bar, as if the place is packed.

‘He’s too goofy for his own good.’ Amy laughs, watching him press himself against the retro metal chairs, as if he’s pushing through an imaginary crowd.

Over the next twenty minutes, more and more people saunter in, grabbing drinks from the bar and pizza from the main table near the entrance.

There are even people dancing under the lantern-lit trees in the courtyard outside now, and a few more huddled in the smoking area with tensed shoulders against the cold.

I watch the smoke filter in through the open door and find myself wishing I could float about as easily as that too.

I mean, sure, I technically could walk out there if I wanted to, but I’d have to sit right back down again, feeling horrendous.

And I definitely couldn’t dance on my own two feet like everyone else.

‘What song do you want on?’ Ro shouts over the music, snapping me out of it. My mind goes blank. I want to choose one, but I don’t really know what songs are appropriate to play at a university bar. Or bars in general, to be honest. I try to picture Delilah’s playlist.

‘“Africa” by Toto,’ I shout back. It’s one of my favourites. I turn to Amy as Ro heads off to request it, this time actually weaving between people. ‘Is that a good one to play here?’

‘Yeah!’ She grins, dancing as the opening chords play over the speakers. ‘This is a classic!’

Ro comes swaying back over too, dancing at the edge of our table for a few moments before sitting back down.

‘You know, this song is so good they named a continent after it,’ he says, making Amy give a half-suppressed laugh and roll her eyes. ‘I picked the next song, by the way,’ he adds, as a flash of red catches my eyes.

Spider-Cam. He’s with two other guys who’re both wearing Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses.

They sit at the table across from us and, for a split second, I wonder if it’s so the two in t-shirts are furthest away from the icy gusts sweeping in from outside.

In reality, it’s probably not. I just can’t seem to see the world through the eyes of someone with a working autonomic system anymore.

The fact people can sit out in the cold and then just magically warm up again afterwards baffles me.

Cam’s costume, on the other hand, is a lot more appropriate for the bitter November weather.

He’s dressed a lot more casually than I was expecting, although looking around at everyone’s half-arsed, makeshift ensembles, I don’t know why I assumed he’d be in a full-on costume in the first place.

That sort of thing definitely wouldn’t fit in here.

Maybe a morph suit could’ve worked, but that’s not what Cam’s gone for.

He’s wearing red Nike trainers (that I don’t know the name of) and a red Spider-Man hoodie with black sleeves.

With his hood up and his back to me like this, I don’t think I’ll be able to smile at him like I’d planned, and it definitely won’t seem natural for me to go up and talk to him.

Although, now I’m here, I’m also aware of what a massive boundary that would be crossing.

So, nope. Absolutely not. I’ll be staying right here, hoping he has a healthy lashing of face paint on.

Why do these things always go so much smoother in our heads? I swear I feel like the protagonist in a coming-of-age movie when I picture stuff at home, but once I’m actually in the situation, I never do anything remotely protagonist-y.

‘This is it,’ Ro says, as ‘September’ by Earth, Wind & Fire comes on. I see the glint in Amy’s eye before she speaks. ‘This song is so good, they named a month after it,’ she says, winking at him.

‘It’s so good, that when I was at home, my neighbours used to listen to it all the time,’ I say, joining in. ‘Whether they liked it or not.’

Amy laughs, clearly tipsy, and raises her drink to me. ‘Yes, Penny!’

‘Cheers to that,’ Ro says, as we clink our glasses together.

I rub my hands on my arms, crossing them over my chest to stay warm.

Even though we’re as far away from the frosty air as we can be, I’m starting to shiver. Especially because I’m not drinking. I look out towards the courtyard to see if we can close one of the double doors when he looks right at me from underneath the red Spider-Man hoodie.

CJ.

Surely he can’t be—

I cough abruptly as my breath catches in my throat.

He’s laughing with his friends and before I can look away, he turns back to them, setting his drink down on the table.

He looked in my direction but didn’t see me.

But I definitely saw him. And there are no other Spider-Mans here.

I double-check to be sure. And then check again, reaching the same conclusion.

The only Spider-Man here is him.

My mind starts reeling, going over and over our conversations. I can feel Amy tugging at my arms to dance with her, but a million thoughts are rushing through my head.

The music is loud, but I’m louder. ‘I think I need to leave,’ I shout, feeling like all the nerves in my body are on fire, prickling me all over. My ears are ringing, and I feel physically sick.