Page 12 of The Mismatch

‘Well, it’s my turn now,’ she said. ‘You’re a rugby player, so you like sports, drink lots of beer, eat a shit ton of protein, and sleep with lots of girls. Oh, and brag about it too, am I right?’

‘I’m not like that,’ he said softly. ‘I guess we’re both wrong about each other.’

Her throat was dry.

Magnus leant in closer, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. She recoiled, stood up quickly.

Words from her childhood about zina being the ultimate sin, and having to explain yourself to God once you died,rang in her head. She was a bad Muslim in every way, it seemed.

‘I need to find Oliver.’

For a split second Magnus had a wounded expression on his face. Just for an instant. Then he relaxed and flashed her a big grin.

‘OK, see you later, Soraya.’

It was only once she was outside the room that she felt like she could breathe again. She climbed the stairs to the hallway, which was now heaving with bodies and laughter. She disliked herself for not leaning in with Magnus. Why couldn’t she just kiss someone, even someone she didn’t particularly like, and get it over with? Why couldn’t she be normal?

She climbed the second set of stairs and tried three rooms until she found Oliver. He was straddling the window sill, joint in hand.

‘Help,’ she said, clambering down next to him. Outside the window was the flat roof of the ground floor, and people were sitting on it. Soraya knew without asking that Oliver had refused to sit on the roof, not because it was unsafe, but because it was dirty. He often wore extravagant outfits – not gaudy, but well thought out with attention to detail. Despite it being late summer, and warm out, he had chosen to wear navy wool trousers with a red Kenzo jumper tucked in. Underneath the jumper she could see a cream rollneck. He enjoyed layering.

‘And why do you need help?’ Oliver took an elegant swig from the bottle of red wine he’d stashed outside the window, his pinkie sticking out.

‘Magnus,’ Soraya breathed, but then she pulled herself together. It was in this moment she remembered she was drunk. Or perhaps dizzy from the interaction she’d just had. She straightened up, gave herself a light slap on the face. Oliver didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I think he was going to kiss me, you know, just now.’

‘Magnus? Why? Tell him to leave you alone.’

‘Well, no … I think I wanted him to.’ With drunkenness came candidness.

‘You want to kiss Magnus Evans?’ Priya said, poking her head in from outside the window. ‘As in, rugby lad Magnus Evans?’

‘OK, can we not shout?’ Soraya said.

Priya nudged Oliver to move away from the window ledge so she could climb in. He hopped off and stood inside the room. Soraya was suddenly self-conscious and looked around. Was she being loud? Upon inspection, it seemed no one was focused on her. But then, why would they be? She shook her head again.

They moved to sit in a corner of the room.

‘It’s not that I want to kisshimin particular,’ Soraya began. ‘I just think, you know, it might be nice to get it over with, and he seemed like he was going to kiss me.’

Priya nodded, whilst Oliver had a gleam in his eye.

Priya hadn’t known Soraya was a virgin for the first two years of their friendship; had just assumed she wasn’t because she wore short skirts and dark lipstick, and for some reason that apparently meant she was more liberal in her views on sex. It was only when they were high one time in third yearthat Soraya finally divulged her secret. Priya was surprisingly reasonable about it, but that didn’t mean she truly got it.

Like Oliver and Soraya, Priya came from a restrictive background. Her Pakistani family didn’t allow her to behave like the English people around her, but instead of rebelling at university like Soraya, she had done it in secret throughout her teens.

‘Yes!’ Priya said. ‘Use them like they always use us.’

‘I mean, you could do much worse for a first kiss,’ Oliver said. ‘At least he’s fit.’

‘Your Brummie accent was proper strong then,’ Soraya replied, laughing.

‘OK, also would not go that far, Oliver, he’s not fit at all.’ Priya shuddered. ‘But he’d be good practice. Technique-wise.’

‘I mean physically fit. You’d obviously not have deep emotional chats with him, but … oh, comeon.’ Oliver got his phone out, began typing, and fairly quickly brandished a picture online of Magnus Evans, stark naked with a cushion just about covering his genitals. The caption was the monkey covering its eyes emoji. ‘You can’t say he isn’t hot. Just look at those abs and thighs.’

Priya wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s notmytype.’ She preferred skinny indie boys who dressed in vintage clothing, and whose Tinder pictures were of them either on their skateboard or else drinking coffee. Soraya thought her taste in men mirrored Priya’s, though she refused to go on Tinder. She didn’t like the idea of judging people solely on their looks – online anyway. ‘But you should do it, Soraya. It’ll only last a few seconds, and it’ll be funny.’

‘I don’t want it to be funny,’ she began. ‘But the guys I like never seem to like me back and, at this point, I just want to get it over with. Oh, God, I don’t even knowhowto kiss!’