Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
I snort, nearly choking on my laugh at the image of Claire walking around with a spring roll up her nostril.
“No need to escalate things. But yes, it’s about the article. They twisted everything, Laura. They made me sound like some entitled, bratty girlfriend who’s only important because of Santi. And they named my school after swearing blind that they wouldn’t.”
Her expression shifts, her humor fading as her brow furrows.
“They named your school? As in, your actual workplace? That’s... disgusting. What the hell were they thinking?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice cracking. “I feel like I’ve dragged everyone into this mess. My colleagues, my students, their parents… God, it’s just so unprofessional, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Laura’s face hardens in a way I’ve rarely seen.
“You didn’t drag anyone into anything, Liv. That reporter made a choice. And let me just say, karma is going to catch up with them eventually. I hope they step on a piece of Lego every morning for the rest of their life.”
Despite myself, I laugh again, wiping at my eyes. “I wish it were that simple.”
Laura leans forward, her tone softening.
“Hey, seriously though - you’re not the bad guy here. You know that, right? You’re just trying to live your life, and some nosey strangers have decided to make that as difficult as possible. That’s on them, not you.”
“I didn’t even tell Santi I was leaving,” I confess. It feels like such a terrible thing to have done, and I’m embarrassed to admit it. “I just sent him a vague message and turned off my phone. I couldn’t face him, Laura. Like I was saying to my mum, he’s just so good at handling all this. It all comes naturally for him. But for me, I just... I’m not good at it. I can’t handle it.”
Laura raises an eyebrow. “Okay, first of all, you’re Olivia Bennett. You’re badass in your own way. And second, I get why you’re scared, but have you considered that maybe Santi isn’t expecting you to handle this perfectly? Maybe he just wants to be there for you.”
My stomach twists, her words hitting a little too close to home.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to him yet.”
“Alright, then don’t,” she says with a shrug, as if it’s the easiest, most simplest thing in the world. “Not until you’re ready. But you do have to figure out what you want, Liv. Because, let’s be real - running away is not a long-term plan. Trust me, I tried it once in uni when I couldn’t handle my exams. Spoiler alert: the exams were still there when I came back.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “What did you do?”
“I cried into a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, obviously,” she says, deadpan. “And then I pulled myself together, passed my exams, and became the chaos-ridden adult you see before you today.”
“You’re such an inspiration,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes.
“I know,” she replies, tossing a prawn cracker at me.
The rest of the evening feels lighter, like a weight has been temporarily lifted from my chest. It’s easy to forget about everything else when I’m with Laura, and I’m truly so grateful to have a best friend like her.
Our conversation shifts away from recent dramas to old memories of our school days, back when we’d pull all-nighters fueled by instant noodles and questionable amounts of caffeine, or that time we took a spontaneous weekend trip to Edinburgh and got hopelessly lost because neither of us bothered to bring a map.
Laura has a way of bringing out the best kind of nostalgia, the kind that reminds me of who I was before life became so complicated. She’s a master of storytelling, complete with exaggerated impressions and dramatic hand gestures that have me laughing so hard I almost spill my wine.
“Do you remember,” she says through a mouthful of spring roll, “that time you fell asleep in Mr Green’s lecture and woke up shouting, ‘I didn’t mean to!’?”
I shake my head, visibly cringing at the memory.
“Why do you always bring that up? It was so bad!”
“Wrong. It was iconic,” she laughs, wiping tears from her eyes. “Honestly, the look on his face? I thought he was going to combust on the spot.”
“Well, you weren’t any better,” I counter, pointing a chopstick at her. “You were the one who dared me to eat that massive slice of chocolate cake just before his class in the first place. The sugar crash was entirely your fault.”
“Details, details,” she says with a dismissive wave, reaching for the bottle of wine.
The hours slip by, and for a little while, it’s like nothing has changed. Just two friends sitting on a worn sofa, eating Chinese food and laughing about things that don’t really matter.
It’s comforting. Safe.
But as the evening winds down and I finally head home, the weight of reality starts to creep back in. The streets are quiet, and the cool night air feels sharp against my skin as I walk, my thoughts drifting to Laura’s words.