Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

she was just like: “Darling, it’s all about the performance.” She reckons our teachers are actually so shit that they don’t understand what we’re saying, either, so as long as you babble some rubbish but mention key words like: dans, sous, devant, and derrière, they’re like: Oh yes, it’s all there.

Math is easier. It’s basically the same shit but with different numbers.

But of course Miriam Patel has to make a drama out of absolutely everything.

What’s with the glasses?

Seriously, she always thinks she has to dress for whatever part she’s playing. It’s school, not a fancy dress party.

Saturday, April 28 #LukeSkywalker

It’s still really warm and sunny, so we hardly had any customers in the shop all day.

Emma and I got ice cream this afternoon. We ate it sitting in the sunshine on the hot concrete ground, just outside the back door.

Emma: I’m really glad your mum’s all right.

Me: Me too.

Emma: It’s scary when you think you’ll never see someone again.

Me: To be fair, I never see her anyway.

Emma: Phoebe.

Me:…

Emma:…

Me: Sorry, that wasn’t great.

Then Emma pulled her legs up and rested her head on her knees and looked at me.

Just looked at me, light blue eyes, thinking, licking her ice cream.

Me: What?

Emma (quietly): I want to tell you something.

Me (feeling shaky, fearing sunstroke): Okay.

Emma: But you have to promise me something first.

Me: Anything.

Emma: Promise me you won’t change.

Me: Why would I change?

Emma: Because people always do. And I hate it.

Me:…

Emma (licking her ice cream, looking at me, smiling, not smiling): I had a brother.

Me (thinking: WTF?):…

Emma: His name was Bradley.

Me (thinking: Fuck!):…

Emma: He died. On July 17 last year.

Me:…

Emma: He had leukemia, and then he died. He was seventeen. He was brilliant.

Me: Emma. Why didn’t you ever say?

Emma: Because since he died, everyone around me has been acting differently. And I was scared that if you knew, you’d treat me differently, too. And I’m sorry that everyone here knew apart from you. I asked people not to say anything, because …

Me:…

Emma: I like that you never knew me with him and that you never knew me when he was sick, and with you I can be normal, you know, just me, just Emma. Not Emma with the dead brother or Emma with the parents who lost the plot afterwards.

Me: I …

Emma: I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.

Me: I … You don’t have to apologize.

Emma:…

Me: I’m sorry.

Emma: Thanks.

Me: No, I really, really am so sorry.

Emma (smiling): I know.

Me: I wouldn’t have treated you differently.

Emma (smiling more): You’re such a natural bitch, I almost believe it.

Me: I’m not a natural bitch. I’m actually quite a people person.

The sentence kind of hummed in the afternoon heat for a moment, and then Emma and I both burst out laughing, because, really, what bullshit. I literally hate everyone.

Then she pushed her ice cream into my face and went: “Strawberry?” and I licked it.

I haven’t even ever done that with Polly, because licking someone else’s spit is normally disgusting.

Me: Is Bradley Luke Skywalker?

Emma:…

Me: Your picture on Instagram. Is that you and Bradley?

Emma: Yeah. It’s actually from a long time ago when he wasn’t sick yet.

Me: I thought he was your boyfriend.

Emma: Ew. Why would my boyfriend and I dress as brother and sister?

Me: That’s what I thought.

Emma:…

Me:…

Emma:…

Me: Have you got a boyfriend?

Emma (looking at me like I’ve lost my mind): No. You?

Me: No.

Emma: And for your information, I don’t have a girlfriend, either.

Me: Oh.

Emma: Because as you can imagine, with everything that’s been going on, dating sits pretty much on the very bottom of my pyramid of priorities.

Me: Same.

We nodded in agreement, and then she once again held her ice cream in front of my face, and I licked it.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to taste strawberry now without thinking of Emma and remembering the smell of hot concrete, the sounds of a Saturday, and the blue in Emma’s eyes forever changing with the angle of the afternoon sunshine.

Sunday, April 29 #Richard

This morning I was like: “I know about Bradley.”

Kate put down a handful of kittens and was like: “I was wondering why you were being odd last night.”

Me: I wasn’t being odd.

Kate: Yes, you were. You were being preoccupied and strange. Anyway, I hope you’re not mad at me for not saying anything.

Me: No, it’s fine, I get it.

Kate: Good.

Me: Emma said everyone’s been treating her differently since he died.

Kate: Yes, I suppose it would be very difficult to not do that.

Me: Do you treat her differently?

Kate: I only met her in October when she came in and asked to volunteer. And I think Bradley died in the summer.

Me: July 17. Two days after my birthday.

Kate (nodding then): I treated her like a young woman who just lost her brother.

Me: It’s so sad.

Kate: Yes, it’s horrible.

Me: I’m glad I’m an only child. And I’m glad I’ve never lost anyone.

Kate: You’ve lost your dad.

Me: That’s different because I never knew him, which means I can’t miss him emotionally. I only miss him intellectually.

Kate (looking at me a moment, then laughing): Oh, Phoebe, you’re such a strange creature. Come here.

And then she hugged me and kissed my head.

Kate (still hugging me): I love you, you’re wonderful.

Me: I love you, too.

Emma is coming over this afternoon, so I’m going to tidy.

9:47 P.M.

Kate just dropped Emma home in the car, because it’s absolutely raining buckets.

Kate had sexed the designer kittens earlier, and I could finally reveal to Emma that the one she resuscitated is a boy, and so we now call him Richard.

Obviously that’s only his working title, because we won’t actually get to name him, because in an ideal world, he’s going to be sold, even though I actually doubt that, because his eyes are a bit too close together, and he can’t seem to walk in a straight line.

The half-designer kittens are doing much better, but I suppose they’re two weeks older. And not inbred.

Emma loves them all, of course, but she especially loves Richard, and he loves her. I swear he