Free Crossing the Line by Gillian Philip Page B

laughter.
    â€˜Shugs, I swear –’
    â€˜Frequently. Look, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done or haven’t done. Orla’s hard as nine-inch nails. You think anybody ever told her they’re sorry about … um … you know? Nobody would dare bring up … you know. Nobody would mention it. She needs somebody to saysorry. She needs to talk about it. And if it’s
you
, well … she’ll be so shocked and grateful, she’ll forget to think you’re a dick.’
    I clenched my loose jaw in case I started dribbling. What he said made a certain insane sense. Or maybe that was me clutching at straws. ‘Is the atmosphere thin?’
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜Up there on Planet Shuggie.’
    He sighed and hitched his bag on to his shoulder. ‘No one can help a man who doesn’t want to be helped.’
    â€˜You’re mad,’ I said.
    â€˜Whatever you say.’
    â€˜Mad,’ I said again.
    â€˜I have Physics now.’ Dignified, he marched away.
    â€˜Heidcase!’ I shouted after him. ‘Feckin’ heidcase! Think I’m stupit enough to take advice like that?’

6
    Orla was in exactly the same position the following day at lunchtime. There were three things about this that bugged me. How did she get away with it, climbing over the fence in full view of McCluskey’s office and sitting by the burn all lunchtime? And how come she’d shed her gang like a snakeskin in the last few days? And how was that a different book already? She’d obviously finished Albert Whatsisface because she was on to Ian McEwan, and as far as I knew this one wasn’t a set book either.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I mumbled to the back of her head.
    Her right hand rested on Ian McEwan’s pages. Gracefully, she lifted it and made it into a casual fist. Her middle finger uncurled, lingering in mid-air. I watched, fascinated by its gleaming black fingernail, as it lowered unhurriedly to turn another page.
    Shuggie, I thought, you pointless wee waste of space,thought and time.
    But I was here now. Turning and walking away would be my ultimate loss of dignity and I would never recover from it. So I sat down at her side.
    She didn’t spare me a glance. At least I don’t think she did, though it was hard to tell behind that gleaming, thick dark hair and the silver-blonde forelock that curved down across her face. I was sitting there as stiff and aggressive as a deep-frozen Dobermann, so I leaned casually back on one elbow and made all my muscles slouch. This position was incredibly uncomfortable, but I couldn’t recover; I’d just have to let my spine sag and endure it. My jaw moved round some imaginary gum; then I stopped that, realising how stupid it looked.
    â€˜For God’s sake,’ sighed Orla. ‘Sit up before you get cramp.’
    I paused a moment, for dignity, then did as she said. I put my arms round my knees to stop myself putting them round her.
    â€˜I’m sorry about Allie,’ I blurted. ‘That’s all. The way she’s going on about Aidan and all. That’s all I was going to say and I’d better go and –’
    â€˜Shut up,’ said Orla, and turned another page.
    â€˜OK,’ I said, swallowing. Never, I thought, never, never, never take Shuggie’s ridiculous ideas seriously. Ever again.
    â€˜I don’t want your stupid apology.’
    â€˜Right,’ I said. ‘Right. OK. I realise that. Sor … OK.’
    I was waiting for her to tell me to eff off. I knew she would, eventually, and that I ought to leave before that final indignity, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand up and walk away. Sitting there watching her half-hidden profile, I wasn’t sure I actually liked Orla Mahon. Maybe it was because I felt guilty about her brother. Guilt, what a weird thing it is. I felt bad for her, so I disliked her.
    I still wanted to sit next to her till it