Good Girls Don't Read Online Free Page A

account.”
    “I think there’s a spark there.”
    “You think there’s a spark everywhere, Roisín.”
    “Yes, but this is a serious spark.”
    “There’s no spark. He’s like a brother to me. He watches how much I drink and asks me if I’m getting enough sleep and if I’m getting all my homework done. You can’t turn that into something romantic.”
    “But he cares so much about you,” she sighs.
    “As a friend! I care about you, but that doesn’t mean I want to do unspeakably naughty things to you, now, does it?”
    “You don’t want to do unspeakably naughty things to me?” She pretends to be offended.
    “Oh, sweetie, you know I do,” I play along.
    “Get a room,” Wendy mutters as she passes by. Wendy is in our year. She’s not terribly pleasant. I would probably hate her if it wasn’t such a waste of my energy and if she wasn’t such a pathetic person.
    “What a great idea,” I say sweetly to Roisín, who’s rolling her eyes. “What a thoughtful suggestion, you know?”
    “Very,” she says, then lowers her voice. “Em – I don’t know how you put up with this crap, I really don’t.”
    I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”
    “Yeah, right,” she says sceptically. “Still – I’m just amazed at the way you can deal with it.”
    “You’re the sweetest person ever, you know that?”
    “I try hard, I really do.”
    “Come on, let’s go to English.”
     
     

Chapter Ten
     
    English. I like it when we watch movies, and read plays, and that sort of thing. I dislike the writing essays aspect of it. I mean, it can be impossible to express how much you like something sometimes, or explain why, when it’s just a gut feeling that you can’t elaborate on. Instinctive reactions are hard to discuss.
    It’s usually a fairly relaxing class, though, which makes a nice change. I’m really not that great with the whole work ethic thing, in that I don’t think I have one. I just sort of drift by. Homework gets done, mostly, sometimes with time and care put into it, sometimes not.
    Roisín is a good student. She wants to go into teaching, which will suit her perfectly. She’s great at explaining things, particularly to those of us who are less academically inclined. (Me.) She’s interested, you see, which I suppose makes a difference. She seems to like this business of learning pointless information, while I resent it.
    Sometimes it feels like I’m the only person in the world who still dislikes school, while everyone else seems to have dealt with that and moved on and studied hard. Like Lucy, and Andrew, and Roisín, and Sarah. I suppose I’ve still got Barry for company in that area, although even he’s starting to accept school as a necessary evil. But no, he understands. I still have him.
    Unless of course I bring up last night and we start arguing again and then we never speak to one another and we end up old and decrepit and alone in nursing homes looking back at this time in our lives and wishing that we’d stayed friends instead of letting this come between us. And I don’t want that to happen. The thought of not being friends with him physically hurts.
    I’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him what exactly is going on, and then we’ll talk about it, and we’ll sort it out. Sounds like a plan.
     
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    I see Lucy at lunch. “You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” she asks.
    “Of course.” I smile. Tomorrow’s her eighteenth, and in the time-honoured tradition of birthdays and the Irish nation, we’re going to get very very drunk.
    “We’re meeting outside the bar at around half eight,” she continues, “but if you want a lift, come down to my house, okay? Andrew’s going to drive a few of us into town.”
    “Does that mean he’s not drinking?” I say, and as soon as I say it I wish I hadn’t. Of course he isn’t going to be drinking. Not much, anyway.
    She nods. “Yeah, but you know how he is about alcohol anyway. Everything in moderation,