Inside Starbucks, hands wrapped round a pumpkin spice latte, Elliot is a torrent of emotion. Tears flood his cheeks, and the poor barista who serves us gives him a free extra shot of syrup to help cheer him up.
“I just can’t take it anymore, Pen. They’ve been fighting from Friday night, all yesterday and they’ve started up again this morning. And do you know what they started fighting about?”
I don’t even want to ask, but he goes ahead and tells me anyway.
“The colour of Dad’s tie. Apparently he went to work wearing one tie and came back wearing another. Mum wanted to know why. Dad gave some lame excuse about spilling soup down it at lunch or something.”
“Well . . . that could’ve happened.”
“It could have. But it doesn’t matter because Mum doesn’t believe him. So they just shout and shout until I make the mistake of coming downstairs to make myself avocado on toast before I starve to death. Mum corners me and asks me what I think.” He takes an extra-large gulp of his coffee.
“Oh man, what did you say?” I ask.
“I didn’t have to say anything! Dad screamed something about ‘Why ask him for relationship advice when his relationship is not welcome in this house?’ and then Mum screamed at him not to be so homophobic, then she switched tactics and asked me what colour his tie was on Friday morning and I said I didn’t know because I was at Alex’s. Then Mum burst into tears and said I cared more about Alex than about them and I wasn’t allowed to spend anymore nights there. At which point, I stormed out and—here we are.”
“Oh, Elliot. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just so frustrating. It went from, like, my parents being the ultimate stoic, silent, bottle-your-feelings-up-until-you-explode couple to them constantly letting rip in these epic fighting matches. It’s like twenty years of pent-up anger blowing its top. I can’t handle it. The tension in the air is so thick, I feel like I need to shower every time I walk inside.” He shivers. “Alex is my only escape, so there’s no way I’m giving up nights there—even if I can’t go back home ever again.”
“You don’t mean that,” I say.
His blue eyes glisten with tears behind his bottle-green glasses. “Maybe not. Maybe I do. My Great Escape Card is getting topped up every time Mum feels guilty and gives me money for fighting all the time. You don’t understand what it’s like there anymore. It’s hell on earth.”
I know it must be serious if he’s talking about his Great Escape Card. Elliot’s always full of wild plans, often starting with “Let’s run away to . . .” and ending with some glamorous place like “Paris!” or “L.A.!” or once even “the circus!” (“but not any old circus—it’d have to be Cirque du Soleil”). Even me pointing out that I couldn’t do so much as a cartwheel didn’t deter him. At some point he realized he’d need money if he was ever going to make any of those plans a reality, hence the card—a debit card for his “just in case” savings. Something I’ve always been wildly jealous of, but never quite been sensible enough with my own money to create. I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back, giving me a small smile.
“So, distract me,” he says. “Tell me about your day with Mega-Nasty.”
“Aw, she’s not that bad, Wiki. Her school is really cool. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it . . . it’s like something out of a TV show. Still . . .” Elliot leans forward, sensing the juicy gossip. I don’t want to break my promise to Megan and tell him how bad she’s found it, but I also need Elliot’s advice on Posey. I take a deep breath and continue. “I had a little panic attack and had to go outside, where I met this girl who’s also in Megan’s class. She’s this amazing singer, but she has really terrible stage fright and she’s just been cast in the lead role of West Side Story.”
“Wait, but I thought Megan had the lead role?”
I shake my head. “She’s the understudy.”
“What? So she’s lying on Facebook?”
“Well . . . if this girl can’t perform, then Megan does get the lead role. So now I feel torn—I really want to help this girl, but if Megan finds out, she’s going to kill me.”
“Well, well, well,” says Elliot, rocking back in his chair. “The Mega-star is a Mega-fake.”
“Elliot . . .”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
“There is something else too, that might change your mind about her. It’s something you guys actually agree on.”
“I doubt it, but do tell.”
“Well, in the common room there was this guy and she gave him my number.”
Now Elliot leans forward again, his palms flat on the table. “STOP! I need details. How tall? Eye colour? Hot? Name? Occupation? Spill everything, Penny Porter.”
I laugh. “His name’s Callum and he’s Scottish.”
“I love him already,” says Elliot, faking a swoon.
“He’s a photography student at Madame Laplage and he’s super tall with these amazing green eyes and short, wavy blond hair . . . I guess he’s a little bit gorgeous!”
“A smoking-hot photography geek? Are you sure you didn’t just dream this guy up?”
I feel a blush rising in my cheeks as I talk about Callum. “No, but it was weird meeting someone I had so much in common with. At least, on the surface anyway.”