Page 38 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

‘What? No. Is this about Damien? I’ll just sleep with one of the others then.’

‘Not about Damien,’ she snaps. ‘It’s about your fucking head.’

I frown, sitting down on her bed as she walks around her room, closing the curtains, turning on the lamp. ‘What about my head?’

She tuts. ‘Memory loss. Not good.’

I close my eyes, confusion warring with frustration. This is not at all what I had in mind.

I feel the bed dip as Nic sits beside me. I flinch when her hands come at me, fingertips massaging my scalp. I lean away from her. ‘Um. What are you doing?’

‘Checking.’

‘For…?’

‘A bump. Big fucking crack in your skull. Your brain leaking out.’

‘If you’re going to be pissy, I’ll just go.’

She shakes her head silently, still probing with her fingers.

‘Nic, there’s nothing there. I’ve checked.’

Her eyes are over my shoulder, glazed with concentration. Does she even know how close she’s sitting? Her lips draw my gaze. Thinner than Elly’s or Haz’s, topped with a downy swatch of hair I’ve never been close enough to notice before.

I drag my eyes up when the fingers in my hair stop. Nic’s looking at me, mouth so close to mine I can feel her gentle exhales.

‘Why are you stressing so much about this?’ I ask quietly.

She smiles thinly, untangling her hands from my hair. ‘Got head injury trauma.’

‘You do? From when?’

‘From when I knocked Tommy out cold.’

‘What? I’m assuming this…was not recently.’

She shakes her head, moving a little way from me on the bed.

‘When we were younger. I didn’t mean to.

I was high, what else is new? In the garden, tripping balls, spinning around really fast with my arms out.

Idiot just ran into me. On the ground the next instant.

He was fine, obviously. But he was out for a while, and it was a stressy trip to the hospital. ’

‘Poor Tommy.’ I smile, thinking about the next time I see him when I’m definitely bringing up that fun tale. ‘You didn’t knock me out though.’

‘Better to be safe than not. Don’t need anything else on my conscience.’

‘Why, what else have you got on your conscience?’

Her eyes dim a little, but she doesn’t look away. ‘A whole lifetime of shit. I’m sure you can relate.’

‘I’m sure you’re making me relate,’ I fire back.

After pouring my heart out to Haz on that creepy, parent-killing road, I’m hyperaware of every time anyone’s ever made me feel unlovable. Apart from Mum, who I’m practically no-contact with at this point, it’s Nic who’s maintaining the narrative.

I sigh, scrubbing my face. ‘You are so confusing.’

‘Why?’

‘Dunno. Hating me. Helping me. Pick a fucking side, Nic. I just can’t do this for the rest of my life.’

‘Then get the fuck out of mine.’

I tilt my head, giving her a look. ‘You and I both know that’s not about to happen.’

‘Oh yeah, because you’re fucking both my best friends.’

‘I love both your best friends.’ Then I pause because I haven’t said that to either of them yet. I wave a hand around as if to dissipate it. ‘Whatever. Please just let me go sleep in my room.’

‘No. I’m also going to be waking you up every couple of hours. If just to piss you off.’

‘Alright.’ I yank down her quilt and bury myself beneath it. ‘And I’m going to toss and turn all night. Might even snore. Just to piss you off.’

She doesn’t reply to that, just pulls herself up next to me, opening her book again and completely ignoring me.

‘This is weird,’ I grouse.

‘Been involved in weirder.’

‘You lot are obsessed with having me in your bed. I’m not a fucking bed warmer.’

‘Believe me, Tilda, you survive the night and I’ll happily kick you out.’

I close my eyes, snuggling further into her pillow. She must have washed her bedding recently; it smells of Elly’s washing powder. ‘You’re deranged.’

‘Right back at you.’

After a while of total silence, my cheeks burning whenever my stomach decides to grumble, she swaps her book for an e-reader, dimming the light of her lamp and tucking her legs under the quilt.

‘Do Haz and Elly know you’ve kidnapped me?’

‘Wasn’t aware I had to ask for permission.’

‘They already think we’re fucking.’

Nic eyes me coldly. ‘And why would they think that?’

‘Because you’re acting obsessed with me.’

I watch her carefully, less self-conscious now we’re back on familiar ground, taking snipes at each other.

Nic only shakes her head, not at all rattled by my accusation. ‘Jesus, you think highly of yourself. You’re not going to give me any peace tonight, are you?’ With a sigh, she tosses the e-reader onto the nightstand and turns off the lamp.

I tense as she lies down, able to feel the heat of her now. She’s in those baggy pyjamas of hers, probably sans underwear like me.

She sighs again in the dark, probably regretting this whole thing.

My body tingles having her so close, the place between my legs trying to stir awake.

I shift to banish the sensations. I’d chalk them up to the non-existent bump on my head if that had happened first. Maybe this is just part of my baby-gay-looking-at-every-girl-differently phase.

But I know it’s not. Nic isn’t just some girl.

She’s every awful and amazing thing in my life.

It gets less uncomfortable the longer I stay here. I’m wide awake now, eyes as round as the moon as I fight to see the outline of her.

This is familiar. This was our thing. I listen to her breathing, wondering if she’s remembering too, if there was any more to our sleepovers than sisterly fun.

We were babies, but kissing was definitely on my mind back then.

I’d kissed a few boys by the time I was ten, silly sloppy pecks as we hid around walls or trees. As for Nic, she only wanted to kiss me.

I feel a stab of guilt remembering my reaction to her tentative asking. I thought she was just being silly, wanting to practise for boys. Shit, no wonder she was so upset afterwards.

Could it be, after all this time, she still feels the same?

‘Nic?’ I wait for her hum of acknowledgement before barrelling on with, ‘Do you fancy me?’

I hold my breath.

Nic lets out a surprised laugh. ‘What?’

‘Pretty simple question.’

‘Oh, is it?’

‘Only two answers.’

‘Yeah, with notes and addendums and cited sources.’

I turn my face into the pillow so I don’t laugh.

‘I’m going to take your evasiveness as a yes.’

‘Do what you want, Tilda.’

She lets out a breath, the sound full of frustration and resignation.

And my heart’s galloping once more, feeling like it might burst. It’s not so bad in the dark, hidden away from each other. The night’s made for confessions. It cradles them safely, suspends them in the blackness, holding them until morning when we can either acknowledge or ignore them.

‘I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,’ I say after a moment’s silence.

‘What?’

‘I’m just saying—it’s not a bad thing.’

She doesn’t reply to that, and I leave her alone to sort through the evasiveness of that.

I put a hand to my racing heart. At least she doesn’t have to worry about me dying in my sleep tonight. Doubt I’ll be getting even a wink of it.