Eighteen
This pen is a weapon
Ink for bullets
Bleeds deception
Don’t mess with me
Or you’ll end up stained
With my treachery
‘Stained’ from Roses
I arrive at English and Tori is already there with Farah and Mia. I take a spot at the desk behind her. Not because I’m a creature of habit, but because I can hear they’re talking about the Secret Sender and I want to eavesdrop.
‘She’s so good,’ says Farah. ‘I found Hometown Glory so inspirational, and the friendship one so funny but true.’
‘“Call me Ms Chances” is such a line,’ says Mia, clicking her fingers. ‘She can write for sure.’
I feel a swell of pride at the girls’ comments.
They think I’m funny.
‘That line is like a Rose Conrad lyric,’ says Farah. ‘It’s so witty.’
I could kiss Farah. My writing, compared to Rose Conrad’s? My ego is inflating so much it might pop out of the classroom.
‘Do you know who the Secret Sender is?’ Mia asks Tori. ‘You’re the editor. She must contact you.’
Tori nods, and then to my complete shock says, ‘I know who it is.’
I feel my body tense. How? How can she know? She keeps asking questions every time I submit something, but I never reply. Can she track my IP address or something? Is Tori part-time student newspaper editor, part-time hacker?
‘Who is it?’ says Farah, leaning forwards. I’m also leaning so far forwards I’m basically hanging off the front of the desk.
‘Oh I can’t tell you,’ says Tori, looking at her fingernails. ‘Source confidentiality and all that.’
‘Is she in our English class?’ says Mia.
‘No,’ says Tori. ‘And that’s the only question I’ll answer on it.’ She looks smug. ‘But the Secret Sender and I have a good relationship. You know, editor-journalist brainstorming and so on.’
That’s when I know: Tori does not know I am the Secret Sender, and she is bullshitting her friends, probably to look more important than she is. Classic.
Ms Harkness arrives in the classroom. Still in a leather jacket. I’m starting to think it’s welded to her.
‘How’s it going, girls?’ she says.
‘We were talking about the Secret Sender,’ says Farah. ‘Tori says—’
‘Her latest article is very thought-provoking and she’s a great contributor to The Common Room,’ says Tori, smoothly interrupting Farah.
Farah glances at Tori but says nothing.
Ms Harkness shakes her head. ‘Well you know my opinion on anonymous contributors, Tori. But as you’re the editor, I think it’s good for you to take responsibility.’
‘What’s your opinion, Ms?’ says Mia.
‘I think,’ says Ms Harkness, taking out some papers and laying them out on her desk, ‘that if you’re going to write personal and sometimes controversial opinions, you should be held accountable to them by putting your name on it.
’ She looks up, and for a second catches my eye.
I look away in a hurry. ‘I don’t think anonymity is a good thing in this day and age.
It can create cowards who hide behind it.
’ She starts handing out the papers. ‘But then again, the Secret Sender hasn’t written anything against school policy or horrible or defaming, so I can let it slide for now. ’
‘True,’ says Farah. ‘I think that it was a bit much to call out the people who sent her disagreements. It sounded like she was making fun of them.’
I feel myself sweat as Ms Harkness passes me. What would she think if she found out the Secret Sender was me? What would everyone else think?
One thing is certain: no one can find out it’s me writing the articles.
‘Oh Selena, I want to talk to you later,’ says Ms Harkness.
My mouth goes dry, my heart is hammering.
‘No need to look so afraid.’ She laughs. ‘I want to talk to you about your UCAS.’
Any relief I had about not being unmasked as the Secret Sender is replaced by annoyance. Can I not catch a break?
***
I’m in a foul mood when I get home. Between Kira and Ms Harkness, my UCAS form seems to be everyone else’s business. I want to talk to Ollie, but he says he’s busy and he’ll call me soon.
‘I don’t get it,’ I say to Mum. ‘You don’t even care as much as Kira does.’
I’m helping her make dinner. She’s sat down at the counter, chopping vegetables, I’m starting to fry them.
Our kitchen is open plan, joining onto our dining room, which faces out to the garden.
Throughout all of our time here, our routine has remained the same: Mum making dinner, me watching her and asking her advice.
Recently, I’ve started helping out more and more.
What has remained constant over the years is the art hung up on the walls – paintings from Thailand, India and more that she collected in the years before she had me.
‘You don’t think I care,’ says Mum, raising an eyebrow.
‘Well, you never really say anything about it,’ I say.
‘I ask you all the time about what you want to do!’ says Mum, aggressively chopping a carrot.
‘But conceptually, not concretely.’ I start to temper the spices in the pan, like Mum taught me.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Like “What do you want to do in the future” is a bit vague compared to “What do you want to study at uni? Shouldn’t you be prepping your UCAS by now? You needed to have chosen three days ago”.’ My voice turns more and more into Kira’s as I say it.
‘Just because I don’t ask you specifics doesn’t mean I don’t care,’ says Mum, her voice level.
I turn off the heat and turn around to look at her.
‘I know you care, Mum. You’re constantly showing me you care. But it’s low pressure, you know. You get that it doesn’t matter that much.’
‘No, Selena,’ says Mum, looking up from chopping onions.
She puts down the knife. ‘It does matter, but I wanted to give you the space to figure it out yourself, rather than have you looking to me for advice. But don’t you think Kira has a point?
Time is starting to run out. You don’t want to rush making these decisions. ’
I take a step back. ‘You agree . . . with Kira?’
‘Selena, my whole life I’ve had direction,’ says Mum urgently.
‘I didn’t go to university, and I decided to study later.
I chose a career I wanted. I hope you’d follow the example.
Not making any choice and running out of time .
. . that’s not courageous. It feels like you want someone to tell you what to do, so you don’t have to make a choice.
I don’t know why you’re avoiding choosing options for your future, but whatever the reason it’s not right to avoid it like this. ’
I’m shocked. Mum has always gone along with what I thought. And I was hoping she would have my back with this against Kira. And now she says she thinks I’m being a coward by not making a rash decision? If it’s my choice to make, I deserve the time to make it.
‘I thought you were on my side,’ I say as I walk out to the garden.