Lobsters by Lucy Ivison Read Free Book Online

she said to the Toilet Boy.
    â€˜Hello,’ replied the Toilet Boy.
    â€˜Sorry, I … thought it was locked. I didn’t realize there was … anyone else in here.’ She said that to me rather than him.‘It’s just that … someone ’s downstairs waiting for you, that’s all.’ Her eyes were boggling like a crazed lunatic.
    â€˜OK,’ I said, slowly. ‘Cool.’ I turned to the Toilet Boy. ‘Sorry, I’m supposed to … I said I’d …’ No proper sentences were forming, so I left it at, ‘I’d better go.’
    He nodded and put his hands back in his pockets. ‘Cool. See you.’
    As we marched down the corridor, leaving Toilet Boy in the toilet behind us, Grace reached down and held my hand. ‘Oh my god. I am so sorry,’ she hissed. ‘Who is he ?’
    â€˜I’ll tell you later,’ I said. I’d just caught sight of Freddie at the bottom of the stairs.
    Sam

    Freddie. Of course there was a Freddie. There’s always a fucking Freddie.
    In films and books you’re allowed to meet pretty girls in bathrooms without any Freddies popping up to ruin it, but in real life, you always get Freddied. Or, at least, I do.
    She – the Ribena Girl – just muttered something about having to go, and then walked straight out the door. I didn’t even get the chance to introduce myself – Samuel or otherwise.
    I listened to her friend whisper excitedly at her as they disappeared down the hallway. I just stood there, staring at that stupid fucking stag painting on the wall, and wondering what had just happened.
    Nothing had happened, really. Not in a tangible, something-I-could-brag-about-to-Robin-and-Chris kind of way. All their stories with girls involved proper, physical activities – kisses, bra removals, handjobs, or threesomes that were technically not threesomes. They certainly didn’t involve high tens and discussions about hot Ribena.
    All that had happened was that I’d had a conversation with a girl in a bathroom. Why did that feel like a big thing when, in Robin’s eyes, it wouldn’t even have warranted a text message?
    Maybe because it was all so … easy . Talking to girls is usually a nightmare – trying to find the perfect balance between saying things they want to hear, and saying things that don’t make you come across as an utter knobhead. There was none of that with the Ribena Girl. It just … flowed.
    But it was more than that. She was, undoubtedly, really pretty. That was what made the whole easy, funny, flowing conversation thing so weird. She had blue – really blue – eyes and soft, straw-coloured blonde hair, strands of which she would occasionally, absent-mindedly unfurl from her ponytail and chew on. It sounds odd, but it was actually really sweet.
    Her smile seemed to cover her whole face, and she smiled a lot. I only got a brief glance, but I was pretty sure she had a really good bum, too.
    Basically, she was hot. And in my (admittedly limited) experience, hot girls do not do easy, funny, flowing conversation. They only do standing around sulkily, pouting, and waiting for someone like Toby McCourt to come and talk to them. Toby McCourt. He was a Freddie, too. He was probably a biggerFreddie than Freddie.
    My not-particularly-productive train of thought was finally interrupted by the door being thumped open by a bloke in a grey hoodie swaying drunkenly on the threshold.
    â€˜Oh, sorry, man,’ he mumbled, looking slightly confused to find me standing in the middle of the bathroom and staring intently at the wall. ‘Are you finished in here? Because we’re not allowed to piss in the rose bushes any more, apparently.’
    I nodded, not entirely sure why he’d felt the need to impart the rose bushes information, and stepped out into the hallway. I slunk along it feeling glum. Somewhere downstairs Ribena Girl was with Freddie.