Alarmed, I started to step back as he raised his fist. He reached out towards me and bumped his fist against my right hand, which was hanging limp by my side. Had he just fist-bumped me goodbye? All thoughts of a goodbye kiss slowly evaporated.
“Um, okay,” I said slowly. “I’m going to go now, so bye then.” I looked at him expectantly, giving him one last chance to kiss me or, at the very least, hug me.
He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, before turning away and walking towards Eric and Hannah, who were now snogging on another sofa. I looked down at my right hand and sighed. So much for my romantic goodbye.
Four days later, I was at home with my mum, living in a state of limbo. Jack still hadn’t texted me. I was trying not to think too much about it but every time my phone beeped I jumped and had to restrain the wild feelings of hope when I read the message and it wasn’t from Jack.
I was starting to wonder if I was untextable. On Day One, I had fully expected a message but there was nothing. Then I thought, Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to come across as too keen, so on Day Two I figured he would get in touch to hang out that Saturday night. On Day Three, I remembered all the dating books said to wait three days, so I expected a message, assuming he was just following the three-day rule.
But . . . nothing. And now it was Day Four and I had never heard of a four-day rule. Getting a message from him was starting to look highly unlikely.
Despondently, I put on Dirty Dancing and curled up in my dressing gown. Two hours later, I was nearing the end when my mum walked in with a worried expression on her face.
“Elena, what is wrong with you? You look like you are having a fit.”
I froze with my arms stretched out and one leg pointed as I wobbled in the middle of the living room trying to imitate Baby’s dancing. I turned to look at my mum, who was standing with her arms crossed.
“What? Why are you staring at me, Mum? I’m just watching Dirty Dancing.”
“Elena, you are standing in the middle of the room dancing to a film and I can tell you have been crying. You have spent all weekend alone. It is the Easter holidays—why aren’t you out with your friends?”
“Uh, because when I go out you tell me I’m out too much, and now that I’m home, apparently I’m home too much?”
“You need a balance. All you have done these holidays is watch movies and cry. Can’t you go out with Nikki Pitsillides? She’s such a nice girl.”
“She has a boyfriend, she’s busy and FYI, she’s not such a nice girl. Her boyfriend’s a total druggie.”
My mum looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Elena, my darling, you need a boyfriend.” She turned around, sighing and shaking her head as she walked out of the living room, muttering in Greek.
I froze, totally gobsmacked. Then I ran into the hallway and yelled out to her, “Mum, I just told you that Nikki’s boyfriend is a total drug addict, and all you can say is I should get a boyfriend too? Can’t you just be glad I’m not taking Ecstasy in my room with my twenty-five-year-old unemployed boyfriend? What kind of mum are you, telling me I need a boyfriend? I’m at university and I don’t inject heroin. YOU SHOULD BE PROUD OF ME. I’M A DREAM DAUGHTER AND ANY NORMAL PARENT WOULD BE GLAD TO HAVE ME.”
There was silence from upstairs. I kicked away in frustration at the inflatable Pilates ball I’d ordered off the Internet and never used.
When your mum told you that you needed a boyfriend, and wouldn’t even mind if he was a drug addict, you had to accept things had gotten pretty bad. I trudged down to the kitchen and opened up the freezer. I took out a spoon and a tub of peanut butter ice cream. I sat in the living room with the ice cream, gorging.
Why had Jack bothered to ask for my number if he wasn’t going to text me? Would anyone ever want me like Patrick Swayze wanted Jennifer Grey?
I wanted to call Lara but we still weren’t speaking. The fight had been more than a week ago. This was the longest we had ever gone without speaking, and every time I thought about it, I felt a black hole inside me that ached. I couldn’t deal with the fact that she hadn’t bothered to text, call or even tweet me. Okay, theoretically I could get in contact with her just as easily as she could message me, but I was scared that she was still furious. Besides, she was probably all loved up with Angus and didn’t have time to chat.
I was halfway through the tub of ice cream when my phone beeped. I rushed to grab it and my stomach sank when I saw it was an email. It was from UCL’s student magazine. I scanned it disinterestedly but sat up straight when I read the next line.
We are looking for a new columnist for Pi magazine and would love for you to try out. Our last columnist, Will, has had to unexpectedly drop out so we want to find someone new ASAP.