Eight
And they ride their bikes
In the middle of the night
Down country lanes
Under starry lights
And she knows – that’s how the story goes
‘How The Story Goes’ from The Brink of Teenage Freedom
My first class of the year is English Literature.
My safe zone. I’m also taking History and French, but I’m most happy when I’m reading and writing about stories.
I know this probably means I should be looking at English Literature for uni, but there are so many options: English Literature, English Literature and English Language, English Language, English Literature and French.
Then the English tangential courses: Journalism, Creative Writing, Linguistics, Publishing.
The choice is overwhelming. And I guess I don’t feel strongly enough about any of them right now to commit for the next three years. But I’m hoping as I get closer to the deadline, I’ll have a revelation.
I head to class and sit in my preferred spot: second row. Close enough to see what’s going on, but not look too keen.
Tori Corner sits in front of me. Tori is a lot like Kira, if Kira was annoying.
She is the top student of every class I’m in (we share English and History); she answers every question first, leaving no one else a chance to give an opinion; and she has a general sense of superiority, which makes it impossible to argue with her.
Granted, I’m not a fan, but at least she and Kira are in separate classes for everything now, because during our GCSE years they were almost ripping each other’s throats out with how competitive they were.
Today, she smacks down a ringbinder with about a hundred different coloured tabs poking out. Who even uses ringbinders any more?
‘What’s that?’ says Farah from the desk over, which I know is exactly what Tori wants to be asked, considering she’s made such a display of it.
‘Oh, it’s all my plans for The Common Room,’ says Tori, flicking back her hair. ‘I’m the editor this year.’
I shake my head. As soon as Tori found out she was the editor of our school newspaper, at the end of last year, she wouldn’t stop going on about it. Clearly this hasn’t changed over the summer. If the ringbinder’s anything to go by, she’s got more obsessive.
‘I’m still on the fence over whether to apply for Journalism or straight-up English,’ says Tori. ‘Although my mum’s friend is an editor at The Chronicle, so he’s going to give me some advice next week.’
Tori’s mum is some kind of well-connected exec in London who, according to Tori, seems to know just about any person you name. I’m sure if I wanted to meet the King, Tori’s mum could arrange it.
‘I thought I was dead set on Journalism, but Mum is concerned it’s not prestigious enough,’ says Tori, very seriously. ‘But all I want is to be an on-the-ground reporter breaking big stories. With a Pulitzer Prize someday. And whatever will get me there is what I will do.’
While I’m googling what the Pulitzer Prize is (it’s a Journalism award apparently), Ms Harkness walks in.
Ms Harkness is also one of the reasons I love English. She’s younger than the average teacher and always dresses boldly: today she’s wearing a flowy black dress and a leather jacket.
‘The Great Gatsby,’ says Ms Harkness, walking around the room. ‘Is the book we’re studying this term. I hope you’ve all read it.’
I finished it a couple of days ago. It has a depressing ending, which is what I took away from it.
We start discussing the novel, going through themes and other devices. I enjoy the discussion, but mostly it’s Tori’s strong views that come through, and I’m too afraid of being wrong to argue with her when I disagree.
At the end of class, Ms Harkness asks for our attention as we pack up.
‘As you know, the student newspaper, The Common Room, is starting up again this year—’
‘Miss, I can do the announcement,’ says Tori, her hand flying up.
‘Okay, Tori,’ says Ms Harkness. She’s the teacher sponsor of the newspaper.
‘So we’re looking for contributors,’ says Tori, animatedly.
‘I am the editor. I want this to be the best year ever of The Common Room, so please email us any ideas, articles, pitches you have. I’m so excited to read them.
Also if you don’t have any ideas but want to write or put it down on your UCAS form, I have a tonne of ideas. ’ She gestures at her ringbinder.
‘Thanks, Tori,’ says Ms Harkness. ‘But I hope everyone who submits does have original ideas. Journalism is a great way to express yourself and your point of view, not just write about what is going on in the world. Feel free to speak to me if you have any questions.’
As we pack up, Ms Harkness calls me over.
‘How was your summer, Selena?’ she says warmly.
‘Good thanks, Miss,’ I say.
‘I wanted to talk to you about your university application. You’re thinking about applying for English, right?’
‘Yeah, Miss, I think so. I just don’t know what course. Or where . . .’
‘You know the deadline is in January? And you should apply earlier if possible.’
‘I know, Miss.’
She squints at me. ‘Is there something else going on?’
Yes! I want to say. I am deeply afraid of the future and losing my friends and family, and completing my UCAS form cements the deal.
I don’t particularly want to leave home because my mum has a chronic condition and I want to be there for her.
Selecting a course is a huge commitment to the future that I’m not ready to make, and I don’t know where to start!
But I don’t say any of this. Instead I say, ‘No.’
‘You can talk to me if you want,’ she says, and she looks like she means it.
And instead of denying any more, I say, ‘I’ll think about it, thanks.’
Selena Says: Ringbinders belong in a museum. Get in the 21st century and put everything on the Cloud. There’s no need to carry a kilo of paper around any more. Think about the trees!