Cover

Dedication

For Steph,

Never gonna dance again.

1.

I don’t believe in love at first sight or soul mates or any of that guff you see in the movies. You know, where you meet someone in an impossibly coincidental way and you lock eyes and true, everlasting love ensues. I’ve read a bunch of think pieces about how the romantic comedy is making a comeback, but I think it’s just a nineties hangover trying to crawl its way back into relevance. Like plastic chokers, glittery eyeshadow, and TV reboots.

I do believe in wanting to get the shift. You know, maul, snog, lob the gob, feek, meet, wear . . . or as the French say, kiss. That doesn’t get its due as the beautiful phenomenon it is.

Wanting to shift the life out of someone was about as much as I could hope for if I went to the post-exam party, but it wasn’t enough to get me out of my fluffy socks and sweatpants. I was exhausted. I’d spent two grueling weeks sitting in a hall with no air-conditioning and the mandatory exam period heat wave making me so sweaty my thighs squelched every time I stood up. True to form, however, Dad found a way to make putting on clothes and running away to a party an appealing prospect.

“Saoirse,” his voice rang out.

That’s Seer-sha, by the way. I know Saoirse Ronan’s been on an international tour of duty telling everyone it’s Sur-sha and God knows she’s a national treasure but it’s Seer-sha. It’s really messing things up for all of the other Seer-shas in the country. I don’t know why the poor girl won’t pronounce her own name the way I want.

I could hear the excitement in Dad’s voice, but I needed another minute. My brain was so numb it wasn’t sending any signals to the rest of my body. Everything I’d been storing in my head until a few hours ago was gone. This could be how it started. Or maybe this happened to everyone. What was the Franco-Prussian War about? Did I care anymore? Could I remember how to spell Württemberg? Unlikely.

“Saoirse, come on,” Dad called again, the foot-stomping tone evident.

I pasted a smile on my face and reminded myself that he was trying to be thoughtful for a change. I’d seen him put a bottle of champagne in the fridge when he got home from work a couple of hours ago.

In October, assuming I got the bundle of As I needed, I’d be moving across the pond to go to Oxford. Mum had studied there too. Dad was obsessed. He told everyone he met. Some people feigned interest; others, like the mailman, stopped ringing our doorbell. Thanks to Dad, whenever we got a package we always had to go down to the depot.