Page 25 of Diving In
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I lost track of you for a bit. I think Bobbie was giving you drinks.”
Kath hums, rolling onto her side to face me, brushing her hair back from her face. “Were you with Molly?”
I pause, surprised. I didn’t even know Kath knew Molly that well. “No.” Then, after a beat, “Well, maybe at the beginning of the night. But mostly, I was talking to Josh and Ben.”
She nods like she’s filing that information away. “She has a huge crush on you, you know.”
“Oh.” That catches me off guard. “Well, I didn’t know that.” I peer at her through the darkness. A few moments pass before I finally ask the question that’s been weighing on my mind since earlier.
“Does Bobbie ever make you unhappy?”
She blinks sleepily at me. “What?” she murmurs around a yawn.
I hesitate, then clarify, “Well… you mentioned he can be a bit pressurising.”
“Huh. Did I?”
“Yeah you did.”
She frowns slightly, like she’s trying to remember our conversation. “Everything’s fine. Really, Sam.”
My stomach sinks. It’s not a complete answer.
Before I can say anything else, she shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Anyway, I’m tired. We should sleep.”
I don’t push. Not now. Still, I hesitate before whispering, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
She turns just enough to look at me. “Of course. Pinky promise.”
It’s a little reassuring. But then she yawns again, rolling back over, and within minutes, I hear the soft sound of her breathing evening out.
She’s already asleep.
Chapter 10
Seventeen years old
Kath
My head’s pounding.Why am I so hot?
I groan, shifting under the covers. My mouth is dry, my throat feels like sandpaper and my eyes are crusty as I crack them open. Cream walls. A shelf covered in medals. Old swimming posters that feel oddly soothing. I let my gaze drift over them, my foggy brain latching onto the familiarity.
I groan again, pressing my face into the pillow. The party filters back in flashes. The music, the drinks, Bobbie—ugh, Bobbie. Did Sam carry me home? I think so. Maybe.
Slowly, I push myself up, wincing as a dull ache pulses through my skull. My hair’s tangled around my face, but when I glance at the mirror by the door I see that there aren’t black streaks of mascara smudged under my eyes. Did I clean my make-up off before bed? That seems suspiciously responsible. Or maybe Sam made me. Probably the latter.
I glance around. My gaze shifts to the bedside table, where a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol sit next to a note in Sam’s messy scrawl:
Thought you might need these.
God, he’s annoying. And such a good friend. Dammit. I scrabble for my phone and see that the battery’s dead. Probably for the best—I assume there will be a long string of angry texts from Bobbie.
I reach for my bag, rummaging for a pair of shorts before carefully standing. Every movement feels precarious.How much did I drink?I haven’t felt like this before.
Thisisn’tme. When did I start caving to peer pressure? When did I become this person? Why do I let Bobbie pull this bullshit?
But helikesme. I know he does.
