Page 23 of Try Hard

Fia

A pparently, Eve knew something was bothering me the instant I messaged her back. I wasn’t entirely sure how she was doing that, but I couldn’t deny that it made me feel tender inside.

Do you want me to call? she asked as my thumb hovered over my screen, debating how much to tell her.

You don’t need to do that, I replied.

I want to. And then, I’ll call in 30 seconds. You can decide whether you want to answer or not. No pressure, no judgement, entirely your call.

I almost cried, which was a ridiculous response. I guess I’d just gotten so used to not wanting to discuss things with anyone—or not having someone to discuss them with—that finding someone who felt reliable and like I wanted to talk to her was unfamiliar.

Maybe my mum had a point about human connection. I might have cut that off a little.

I didn’t reply, just waited. Thirty seconds wasn’t a long time, but, when you were waiting for something, it really could draw itself out. Eventually, though, the screen before me flashed with Eve’s call and I didn’t need to think for another second.

“Hey,” I said, pulling my feet up onto the armchair with me—a deep, comfy, cream thing that was perfect for reading or writing in.

“Hello,” she said. The smile so, so clear in her voice felt like a balm to grazed skin I hadn’t realised I’d cut.

“Thank you for calling.” My voice was low, quiet, almost scared or guilty.

A therapist I’d had years ago once told me, in the aftermath of a relationship that hadn’t been as supportive as I’d needed, that people required safety in the form of love and support.

That was human and natural and didn’t make me a terrible partner.

I hadn’t really understood or bought it back then. I was pretty sure I got it now.

“No place else I’d rather be, Pendrick.”

I couldn’t help smiling. That was Eve’s magic—always had been.

When we’d been sixteen, the most irritating guy in our science class had been holding the bunsen burners hostage just to be annoying.

I’d glowered at him, feeling like the whole thing was my fault, that I was supposed to be sweeter, nicer, boost his ego so he’d like me enough to hand one over.

Of course, that ridiculous messaging had come from external sources and it butted up against the part of me that didn’t want to participate, didn’t want to be beholden to some annoying guy and his own inflated sense of self.

So, I’d silently fumed, holding out a hand for the equipment he’d taken hostage.

Eve had arrived at my side, taken one look at him, and said, “Just because you’re thinking with your dick, doesn’t mean you get to be one.

Give Ophelia her bunsen burner so we can all see how much better at science she is than you.

” And she’d smiled at me. She’d turned the situation from something that was my fault into something that was powered by his insecurity, his need to take something from me.

I’d wished, in the moment, that I could have defended myself, but she’d always been more outgoing than I was.

She’d been less afraid of getting in trouble, so she’d tossed out a swear word in class—luckily outside of the teacher’s hearing—but, in doing so, she’d given me something I’d carried ever since.

She’d been unafraid to stick up for someone she hadn’t needed to.

She hadn’t shrunk herself for someone annoying.

I was pretty sure I’d been convinced she didn’t know my name, that she heard it and repeatedly threw it out of her mind as inconsequential. But she’d known my name. She’d known I was good at science. She’d known I needed help—and she’d just given it, expecting nothing in return.

“Do you remember me in school?” I asked without thinking. I did next to nothing without thinking it through, but, apparently, around her, I just said whatever came to mind.

She laughed softly. “Of course. Firstly, our school wasn’t that big. But, more importantly, you were kind of impressive. I imagine a lot of people remember you.”

“What?” I scoffed.

“Ah,” she sighed. “If only you saw yourself the way I do—the way the rest of us do.”

I blew out a breath, considering how the rest of the world saw me. “Rude? Kind of mean?”

“Who have you ever been mean to?”

“Erm. Well, nobody on purpose, but I’m not exactly warm and fuzzy, am I? I imagine people find that mean.”

“I think you’re warm. And the level of fuzziness you prefer is entirely your choice, Ophelia.”

The wave of emotion hit me again. I had to be premenstrual for how sentimental I was feeling.

But… the way she said my name, like she’d never cared about anything more in her life, just did something to my heart.

Did she say everyone’s name like that? Perhaps it was no wonder the whole world was in love with her.

She so effortlessly made you feel precious and important.

I tried to shake it off but my voice wavered as I laughed. “I haven’t hit the athletic heights you have, Archer, but it’s pretty standard practice among swimmers to shave or wax.”

“Understood. Dolphin smooth. Gotta reduce that drag.”

“Absolutely,” I snorted.

She hummed and sounded like she was adjusting her position. “I don’t remember you being a swimmer in school.”

“I wasn’t.”

The comment hung in the air, Eve testing whether I was going to say more, before she said, “Thank goodness I didn’t just miss it.”

I laughed. “Our school might not have been thousands of pupils big, but I’m sure there are plenty of things you weren’t paying attention to. You can’t have been tracking every detail of the lives of each one of us.”

“That’s very true,” she said seriously. “I did not have the time to monitor the private and academic lives of every student. And doing so would probably have been a bit creepy.”

“When would you have played rugby?”

She was quiet for a moment, the silence loaded as if she was waiting for me to read between the lines, to pick up something I’d missed.

“I remember,” she said eventually, “that you won at least two awards at Prize Giving Evening every single year. I remember that you got some of the best exam results in our year.”

I groaned but was a little amused and embarrassed. “Yes, thank you. I’m sure my mum and dad still have all those certificates.”

“As they should.”

“They’re not exactly gold medals,” I joked, recalling our conversation about her Olympic success.

“They’re the academic equivalent when you’re at school, and you never missed that podium finish.”

I burned with embarrassment. “You didn’t either. You only know I was at those evenings because you were there too.”

She breathed a laugh. “I think, unless you were at some specialist sports school, if you’re a good enough athlete to make it to an Olympic team, you probably did dominate sports awards at your secondary school…”

“You’re just saying that to minimise your own excellence.”

“This whole conversation is about you minimising your excellence,” she shot back, laughing, before letting out another pensive hum. “I also remember how much you hated the corridors between classes.”

“Well, yes, they were far too small for all of us, and people were wild in them,” I said before I fully realised what she’d said.

She’d paid attention. My friends knew I detested feeling like a battered sardine in the corridor, but I’d never said anything to Eve about it.

She’d simply… observed me in the corridors and known?

“Mm. You could have walked behind me, you know? I kind of… cleared a path.”

“I did once. Right behind you. Close enough to reach out and touch you. It was a completely different experience, you know? Everybody looking at you, getting out of the way, saying hello. It was like following a celebrity to class.”

She laughed. “I’ll take you to a professional rugby match sometime and we can recreate it in the crowds.”

“You better not lose me.”

“You can reach out and touch me this time.”

I sighed. I’d wanted to that day, too. I never would have, but she’d been so close and I’d been so very into her. All I’d been able to think about was what it would be like if she reached back and took my hand, kept me safe in the sea of people.

“I remember,” she continued, “that every one of our teachers looked delighted when you walked into their class at the beginning of the year.”

“They did not.”

“They absolutely did.”

“I remember that, for the last couple of years, you wouldn’t eat lunch in the canteen on Mondays or Wednesdays.”

“Peer Mentor meetings on Mondays. Music on Wednesdays.”

“Right. That you’d get a mint hot chocolate every morning, that you brought a packed lunch but Tanika would still have you queue up with her while she got her hot meal, that you practically ran from class to uni prep sessions on Tuesdays when we were in year twelve.”

“Oh, god.” I buried my face in my arm. “I wanted my application to be good! And my class was all the way on the other side of campus.”

“I know. You used to bolt past my French class to get there.”

I knew I was bright red and dying of embarrassment, but, inexplicably, it felt okay with Eve. Perhaps because she sounded so very happy that she got to see me doing that each week.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, shaking my head.

“You had rugby every single morning. You ate lunch with Kim’s husband-to-be and about a million other people who sprawled over two of those long tables in the canteen.

You had rugby practice on Thursdays after school too.

You wrote an amazing persuasive essay in year ten that got put on display in the classroom—”

“—as did you—”

“—and one of your art pieces got put up outside the head teacher’s office.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Well, that’s not embarrassing that I remembered and you didn’t.”

She laughed. “Did you remember running past my French class?”

“No. I guess not.”

“So, we’re even.” She chuckled again. “Any reason for the question? Because I could keep going with things I remember, if you’d like?”