You now have one choice.
You ... I'm fifteen and I've been smoking for two months and I think I'm addicted already. I'm addicted to Coke as well, and those rolls from the village shop. My biggest dream is to be so addicted to everything that people have to whisper about me. I want my stupid fringe to grow out and I want to sit on Hampstead Heath with Heather and Jo and the Highgate lot and talk about how out of control we all are but I'm not sure about this because they all smoke weed and I don't want to. I'm going to have sex at the next ball. I have to do it now or all my credibility is going to be, like, out of the window. I've lied about it so far, but now people want details. Jules asked me to draw a picture of a penis in maths the other day!
I take another drag off my cigarette.
"Do you feel addicted yet?" I ask Nikki.
"Yeah," she says. "Totally. And it's fucked my voice."
Nikki's in the choir. But really she wants to be a singer in an indie band. You need to fuck your voice to do that. It's why she started smoking up here with me and the others. Where are the others? Soph's doing drama, but what about Hannah and Jules? I haven't seen Jules since this morning when she gave me a dirty look over breakfast. I don't know what I've done. Oh, please, Jules, don't stop liking me.
Think about something else.
"Do you think Jim'll manage not to, like, tell everyone in the whole village that we used the fag machine?" I say.
"Soph's working on Jim. Don't stress, babes. She's got him in hand"
"She didn't, though...? Like, not actually..."
"You'll have to ask her. But..." She giggles. "Oh God. I'm not supposed to say."
"Basically yes, though, right?"
"Yeah. Totally."
"Oh, yuck."
Soph really is out of control.
The name Molly comes into my head from nowhere. Ugh. Why would I want to think about Molly Davies now? OK. That girl is way out of control. Soph might have messed around with Jim a little bit for cigarettes but Molly's reputation is, like, legendary. I can't go anywhere near her; she freaks me out. It's not just that she isn't a virgin. I mean, well, no one here is a virgin (well, apart from me—but we're keeping that one quiet) but Molly is about the least virginal person you could ever meet. Last year, when they had our common room and we had the lame one in the basement, she actually SUCKED OFF a VB on the sofa. VB = Village Boy. They're all chavs. The idea that there's chavvy spunk on the sofa ... None of us can bear to think about it.
"Hey, you've gone quiet. You all right, babes?"
"Yeah. I was thinking about Molly and that lot."
"Don't get stressed thinking about the lower sixth. They're not worth it."
"Yeah, I guess."
"You got that deo?"
"Yeah."
We spray ourselves with deo and, eating sugar-free mints, walk back towards the school buildings. Soph won't have these; she says they give you cancer. One day Jules was like, "They give cancer to rats, idiot." Jules is hilarious, like all the time.
There's Helene, the slutty French girl, on her way up to their dorms. Don't look at her; don't look. Oh piss. Why am I looking ... She'll think I'm a lesbian, which won't be good as everyone says she actually is a lesbian, when she's not being a slut.
A large doll's-house frontage flickers over Helene. But I don't try to jump. I remember what has happened before, when I've ended up right back in the Troposphere. I need to do this a different way.
Console!
The thing comes up. The screen swims with images. I can't make them all out. I can see a little image of a desk; another of what appears to be a gym. I can see a white cracked ceiling in another.... But there are about ten altogether and I can't pick one out. The French girl has gone. I continue down the corridor with Tabitha Young, aka Tabs, the girl who wants to be addicted to everything. As she walks along next to Nikki, her brain doesn't stop chattering about people walking past, her socks (which are too short), her skirt (which is too long), her breath (which may or may not smell of fags), and a constant undercurrent of fear of saying or doing the wrong thing. At the same time as this she's able to say "Mmm," and "I so agree" every time Nikki says anything to her.
I leave the console on. I wonder if these images relate to what Tabs's ancestors are seeing. Again I notice that there's not much actual ancestry here. There's nothing showing on the screen that I don't recognize. No cavemen; no Roman graffiti. But I thought Mr. Y used Pedesis to travel through time. Or maybe I just misread that part of the book. I wish I understood this. I picked up some information just from being in Martin's mind, but it isn't enough.
Another girl walks past, and Tabs recognizes her as a lower-sixth girl called Maxine and tries to think of something cool and witty to say in case the girl says anything to her. This time, when the door opens over the image of the girl, a new display appears on the console screen as well. I recognize this by now: It's an image of me/Tabs and it means—or it must mean—that I can jump from here to there, just like I did with the mouse and the cat. OK. I'm going to try this. Cross my fingers: Go, go. Come on. And—yes—I'm blurring, but hopefully not back into the Troposphere....
You now have one choice.
You ... I smell. I smell so bad. Those year eleven girls must have smelled me as I walked past just now. I can feel the dampness under my arms and between my thighs—my large, oversized, supermassive, chunky thunder-thighs. Wearing tights means that my legs don't rub together so bad, and my skin doesn't go red, but they make me hot and when I'm hot I sweat like an animal. But at least animals are meant to smell. No one minds if animals smell. No one else will ever understand this. I don't know how I can go on through life with this problem. If I died, would anyone notice? No one is going to want to go to bed with me, ever. I even revolt myself when I get undressed, and I know that Claire, Molly, and Esther notice but don't say anything. Well, they don't say anything to me, but I think they talk about it when I'm not there. I so hope they're not planning one of those stupid "interventions." They did it last term with Nicky Martin. They all swooped on her just after she'd got into bed and told her that her breath stank. Obviously they were supernice about it. Everyone's supernice about everything here. "We just thought you'd want to know..." Smile, smile, privileged teeth. "We'd want you to tell us if, like, we had any problems." If they tried an intervention on me I'd kill myself. I don't know how yet. I don't like blood and I can't tie a noose. Oh damn. There's Esther. I have to go and change but I can't if Esther's on her way to the dorm. Great.
You now have one choice.
You ... I'm so much thinner than Maxine now. That diet is fantastic.
"Hey, Maxine."
I like saying "Hey" rather than "Hi." It's kind of American.
"Oh, hi, Esther."
But she doesn't stop and talk; she practically runs in the other direction. What did I ever do to her? Stuck-up bitch. Anyway, so what am I going to do if Miss Goodbody ("Call me Isobel") does make a move on me? I've had this crush for so long that it never occurred to me that she might feel the same way about me. But she was the one who suggested extra drama lessons, and she was the one who walked in while I was getting changed for the dress rehearsal the other day, and she was the one who commented on my tits. Seriously. I am certain I didn't imagine it. There was the "Whoops" after she pulled back the wrong curtain. Then the too-long pause. Then the little smile. Then—and I am ninety-nine percent sure this really happened—then she said, "Nice tits" before walking away. So that must mean something. She's not just trying to be cool and young, etc. She must be trying to tell me something. But it was so much under her breath that I can't be sure she said it at all.