Free Being Emily by Anne Donovan

across when the customers left.
    You don’t mind, do you, Mr Giardini? Monica would say.
    For you young ladies, no problem , he’d reply, helping us move our coffees across.
    Jemma pointed. Hey, look at you – don’t they have a uniform at Burnside?
    Monica and Jemma were wearing maroon blazers, grey skirts and white blouses. Monica’s tie was perfectly knotted, while Jemma’s top button was undone and her tie positioned a deliberately casual inch below.
    No one wears it .
    You’re lucky . Jemma sat back and crossed her legs. Mrs Diamond gied me into trouble for wearing black tights yesterday. I tellt her it was freezing and they were the warmest I had but she just goes ‘Not the regulation colours, Jemma. And remember you have to set an example to the younger girls.’ Auld bag .
    I prefer uniform . Monica spooned the foam neatly off her coffee. Then you don’t need to worry if you haven’t got designer clothes. That’s how my parents sent me to St Phil’s – it’s about the only school left round here that wears a uniform .
    There is a sweatshirt at Burnside , I said, but no one wears it. Only the wee first years .
    Sweatshirts are gross .
    Hello there – it’s the third degree .
    Mr Giardini always called us the three degrees.
    Hi, Mr Giardini .
    You’ve no been here for ages .
    I’m at a different school now .
    So where is it – the moon? No excuses. You have to come back – these two are lonely without you – two degrees is no use. Now, what can I get you?
    Hot chocolate, please .
    Jemma pushed her cup across the table. So, how’s things, Fi?
    Fine .
    Fine, she says. What about this boyfriend of yours?
    He’s fine too .
    So tell us about him. Some friend you are. We only found out cause Susie saw you with him .
    Sorry .
    I did feel bad. Monica and Jemma were my best friends, had been for years, but somehow, on leaving St Phil’s I’d swept them away with all the other things I didnae want to think about. I took a deep breath.
    His name is Jas, short for Jaswinder. He’s in sixth year at Burn¬ side, in my English and Art classes. He also does Chemistry. He loves Shelley, does photography, and is very nice .
    And nice looking, from what Susie said . Jemma grinned. Small , dark and handsome .
    Well he’s not tall, that’s true .
    What is he going to study when he leaves school?
    Mon …
    It’s important, Jemma .
    She’s obsessed just now. Everybody is. If I hear one more thing about UCAS forms or planning your future I think I’ll go daft .
    Everyone isn’t like you, though . Monica turned to her. You’ve always known what you wanted to do and stuck to it .
    Jemma was gonnae be a speech therapist. She saw a TV programme about it years ago and has never wavered. And while I’d no inclination whatsoever to be a speech therapist, wasnae even sure what they done, part of me envied her certainty. When she graduated she’d get a good steady job in the health service – a job that was useful, a job you never had tae justify. Jemma was smart, sensible, got on with folk – she’d be brilliant at it.
    So, what is it you’re gonnae dae with your life this week, Miss Wu? Brain surgery, nuclear physics or biometric technology?
    I spluttered on the hot chocolate. You made that up .
    No , Monica said, taking aff her glasses and wiping away a speck of chocolate which had travelled across. I went to an open day and got a leaflet on it .
    So what is it?
    No, no, don’t go there! Jemma waved her arms. You should see the desk in her bedroom – she has an entire file of leaflets she’s picked up at these open days – the only thing the courses have in common is they’re unpronounceable, no one’s ever heard of them before and you need a brain the size of the Clyde Tunnel to do them .
    Monica smiled. At least I don’t have a mouth the size of the Clyde Tunnel .
    In unison Jemma and I put our haunds to our cheeks – Ooooooh!
    We all fell about giggling.
    Later, at the desk in my room, I sat staring