‘Then why did she say you fancy him?’
I looked up at her. Her eyes were a deep blue, or at least they looked like they were when framed by those spidery, mascara-laden eyelashes.
‘She didn’t. Me and Izzy don’t waste our time talking about boys.’
‘Oh, come on. Who do you fancy then?’
‘Your make-up is smudged.’ I tapped a spot underneath my left eye. ‘Right here.’
She didn’t take the bait. ‘I’ll tell you who I fancy. James.’
There were three James’s in the Lower School, but if you didn’t give a surname, everyone would know you meant James Butler. As the only boy who could be considered anything but prepubescent in our year, he was the one that every girl had their eye on, including my friend Izzy, although I myself had never been interested. So, I could have easily guessed that James would be the person Tabatha liked, even if I didn’t already know he was in fact her boyfriend.
‘So, who is it?’
‘I don’t fancy anyone. Can we just do our work?’ I tried not to let my irritation come through; it would only encourage her.
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Just leave me alone.’
‘Come on, who is it?’
‘Ok, Tabatha.’ I put the lid on my pen and looked her dead in the eye. ‘I fancy you, ok? Happy now?’ I gave her my best hair flick and began writing the word, ‘mitochondria’.
‘Oh my God, really? You’re a lesbian? I had no idea!’ She turned to the girl behind her and said in a frantic whisper, ‘Did you know Ellie’s a lesbian?’
Something cracked. ‘I am not a fucking lesbian!’
At first, I assumed my sudden outburst was what had expelled all other sounds from that room. But then, following Tabatha’s wide-eyed gaze, I spotted Mr Dale standing in the doorway, looking right at me.
That is one of the moments my brain has played over and over again on sleepless nights before exams, lonely hungover mornings, and the day before my period when everything is terrible. Even now, almost twenty years on, I still think about it sometimes.
And so, when I bumped into Tabatha Brown while waiting for the Number 2 bus last week, it felt more like spotting an actress from a film I’d watched a hundred times than seeing someone from my own past. As soon as I spotted her walking by, with that same long blonde hair, those same piercing blue eyes – it turns out they really are unusually bright, it wasn’t just the make-up – I immediately looked at my shoes, letting my hair flop over my face. But she spotted me anyway.