Almost More Than Friends

Chapter One

Wednesday

Ruby:

"Rubes?" I look up to see Oscar, my twin brother, leaning against the doorway of my new dorm. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." I close the journal I'd been writing in—something mandated by my therapist. "You?" Glancing past his shoulder to the empty hallway, I frown. "Where's Emma?"

My brother rolls his eyes, coming further into my dorm. "I don't go everywhere with Emma."

I snort. "Yes, you do. But it's okay, I don't blame you. Not after everything that happened—"

"I don't want to talk about it." He cuts me off, closing the door behind him and venturing deeper inside. "I can't talk about it anymore." Oscar drops down beside me on my bed. "I want to move on from it all."

Is that possible? "Yeah. Me too."

He nudges his shoulder against mine, a show of support, and we lapse into a comfortable, familiar silence.

Today is my first official day of uni. I was supposed to start last year, along with Oscar and our childhood best friend, Cameron, but my therapist didn't think I was stable enough to leave yet.

I think he was right. I feel much stronger this year.

And who knows, maybe if I'd come here then, Oscar wouldn't have met Emma.

"Got you something." Oscar reaches into the bag he brought with him, the plastic rustling loudly in the quiet room. He pulls out a pack of Oreos and tosses it onto the bed.

I grin as I reach for it. "Do you remember when we used to sneak into the kitchen at midnight to eat these?"

He scoffs, leaning back onto his palms. "I don't think it was midnight.

I think it was probably about nine-ish. But Mum let us do it anyway.

" Oscar shifts closer, hooking a finger under the seal and tearing the packet open before holding them out to me.

"It'll help keep the crippling depression away, won't it? A bit of sugar is always a pick-me-up."

"Not so crippling anymore." I grumble, pulling out a biscuit and twisting it absently. It's a habit now. I always lick the white bit first. "It's sort of... lingering."

"Lingering's not so bad, right?"

I nod thoughtfully, chewing the Oreo, my eyes taking in my new home. "Lingering is good." The room smells of cardboard and new carpet, and the fluorescent overhead light is flickering above us, almost like it's unsure about me being here too.

"Is it?"

"Mm," I shrug, as I kick the cardboard box by my feet that Mum had packed for me. "Did you know about this?"

"Know about what?"

I lean forward and pull out a framed photo, holding it up for him to see.

It's one of the two of us on holiday a few years ago, both sunburnt despite Mum's insistence on following us around with factor fifty, Oscar's arm locked around my neck while I try to shove him away. "This. There are bloody loads of them."

He glances at the collection before shrugging. "Maybe she thought you'd forget what we look like?"

"I've moved to university, O. I haven't developed amnesia."

"Could happen."

"You only live down the road, and you won't stop bothering me. When on Earth would I get the chance to forget you?"

"You might've forgotten me between visits."

I roll my eyes and put the photograph with the others, reaching back into the box.

There are more. Loads more. Mum seems to have taken the fact I'm moving out as confirmation that I need a photographic record of every person I've ever met, despite the fact home is barely an hour away and Oscar lives close enough he is constantly popping in.

Not that I really mind.

I'm hit with a strange mix of nostalgia and sorrow as I look back at the pictures spread across my desk. There are so many versions of us there.

Oscar and me with missing front teeth. Oscar and me on the first day of secondary school. One of the four of us outside some restaurant in Spain, Dad a lot darker from the sun and Mum wearing a dress I remember thinking was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen.

We will never be those people again.

"Rubes?" Oscar prompts.

"Huh?"

"The depression?"

"Right." My moods are a revolving door. I never know where I am going to land, and today I seem to be fleeting between them all. "I don't think depression is something that ever leaves, O. But I've grown around it. Learned how to move with it."

"Is that how it works?"

"Yeah." I say and then think about it a bit more. "I think so anyway." Looking down, I brush a crumb off my leggings. "But I don't want you spending your second year worrying about me."

"Rubes," Oscar quietly tuts, his brown eyes fixed on me, searching my face.

We look alike, but even though we’re twins, nobody has ever struggled to tell us apart.

He’s taller than me by the better part of a foot and broader, but Oscar has Dad’s brown eyes while mine are hazel.

Dad is black and Mum is white, and Oscar inherited more of Dad’s complexion while I am firmly in the middle.

"I'm here for you,” Oscar continues. “You know that, right?

None of that changes because I'm in my second year.

I don't want you thinking you're a burden.

" He reaches across and rubs my knee reassuringly.

"You're not. I want you to come to me if your head starts giving you jip, okay?

" Oscar pulls back. "If it gets bad again, I don't want you dealing with it on your own. "

I blink away the sting in my eyes. "I know, O. You're a great brother."

"And you're a great sister. A bit neurotic. A lot hot-headed. But great nonetheless." He pauses, his eyes suddenly alight with amusement. "Just don't go around punching anyone."

A surprised laugh escapes me. "Harriet deserved that punch."

"She did. But still."

Holding up three fingers to my forehead, I put on a nasally voice. "Scout's honour. I'll be on my best behaviour."

"I don't think you have a best behaviour. You've always been a mischievous little thing."

This is news to me. "Have I?"

"Yeah, Rubes." He nudges my foot with his. "But it's one of the very best parts of you."

Mischievous isn't what I'd call myself. I suppose maybe I was once. I’ve always been sensitive, but I wasn’t always so bloody weighed down by everything. Then I came home early from school one day and found Dad shagging my friend in my bed, and it turns out that really fucks you up.

"Come on." He gets to his feet, wiping his hands down his jeans. "I'll help you unpack the rest of your stuff. It shouldn't be taking you days to get this room sorted."

I stay where I am, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "It's okay, I'll do it later." I pick up the Oreo packet from beside my knee and set it down on the bedside table. "I told Brooke I'd meet her for a coffee."

"Brooke?" Oscar slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he glances around the room. He never used to be so observant.

"Yeah." I nod. "She lives down the hall. Has a boyfriend called Ewan." I rest my palms on the duvet. "They seemed nice enough. She was nervous and a bit socially awkward which means I like her already.” I give a light laugh. “You know me, I love a stray."

Oscar throws me a look full of worry, as if saying things like that constitutes me being sent back to the mental health ward.

It makes me roll my eyes. "I am fine. Will you stop mothering me?"

"I won't say sorry for being worried about you. But I'm on strict instructions from Emma to not bother you or obstruct your life in any way."

Good old Emma. "She's smart," I wave a hand towards him. "That girlfriend of yours. Don't know what she's doing with a toad like you."

"Yeah." He takes the joke on the chin. "Tell me something I don't know." Oscar glances towards my door. Sometimes I think he can only last an hour before he is itching to get back to Emma. "So, where are you meeting this Brooke person?"

"The Library cafe."

"You okay if I walk you there?"

"If you want. I don't know where it is and I don't want to be late. I don't want her to think I'm flaky."

"Rubes, you are a flake." He teases, knowing full well I have time anxiety. I lift one shoe and throw it at him, not hard, but enough to make my point. He dodges easily and bends down, picking it up off the carpet, and hands it back to me. "Don't bully the people who are trying to help you."

"I'll bully whoever I want."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

I slip my Uggs on quickly. He picks up the Oreo packet from the bedside table and tucks it back into his bag. "I'm taking these before you inhale the lot."

"I wouldn't inhale the lot."

"Yes, you would. You eat like a pig in mating season."

"And you eat like you're fighting the plate."

"Whatever. Think of this as me doing you a favour. Besides, I'll bring you more." He slides both our bags over each shoulder. "But only if you text me later."

I know what he's getting at, he needs me to tell him intermittently that I'm okay. "I will."

"You better."

I follow him to the door. He opens it and pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me the way he does before he leaves any room I'm in now—just to double-check. "I'm proud of you, Rubes."

Touched by his openness, annoyed by his need to say it, and overwhelmed by how kind he's being, I hiss out, "Jesus Christ, O! Will you give it a rest? I'm fine. You're fine. Everything is fine. I am a normal student, this is my first proper day, and you will stop being so insane!"

"It's not me who ended up in a madhouse, to be fair."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't you go there."

"I'm only saying."

"You're only saying what?"

"That you're the loony out of the two of us."

"Oh, yeah?" I cross my arms to my chest. "How's your panic attacks going for you?"

Oscar isn't offended, he throws back his head and laughs. "Touché, sister of mine. To-fucking-ché."

But truthfully, there’s a lot of anxiety growing in my stomach.