Beauty and the Geek: a Sapphic tale (Part 2)

Here is the link to Part 1: https://budgetpixel.com/blog/beauty-and-the-geek-a-sapphic-tale * As the afternoon drew to a close and students began streaming homeward through the gates, Ellie took her usual seat on the bus. The place beside her remained empty, as it invariably did. She told herself she preferred it that way. Fewer elbows. The engine idled noisily, making the windows rattle in their frames. Through the glass, she watched Lauren approaching with Katie Lamb, a pretty, vivacious girl from their class. They were talking animatedly, and Katie was making Lauren laugh. Ellie felt a sudden and unpleasant little stab of something in her chest. Lauren climbed aboard, spotted her and smiled. "Hi, Ellie!" "Hi." But Lauren followed Katie to the back of the bus. So much for their promising new friendship, Ellie thought. It had lasted approximately three hours, which was possibly a personal record. At her stop, Ellie was surprised to find Lauren getting off behind her. "Mind if I walk with you?" Lauren asked. Ellie didn't answer the question. Instead she said, "I see that you and Katie Lamb have hit it off." She had wanted it to sound casual, but the words came out like an accusation. Lauren looked puzzled. "Yes, she was telling me about the netball trials." She paused, then grinned. "Hang on. Are you jealous?" "No!" Ellie replied, rather more loudly than she'd intended. "Course not." "Good. Because I was wondering if you'd like to come home with me. I live halfway along The Avenue." Ellie blinked. The Avenue was where the big, expensive houses were, mostly screened off behind electric gates. She hesitated, and Lauren added, "I've got a pony. She's called Biscuit. I thought maybe you might want to meet her... or do you need to go straight home?" "Mum won't be back till after six. So, yeah, that would be cool." "Perfect." They passed Ellie's modest terraced house and continued along a tree-lined road, dry leaves crackling beneath their shoes. Half a mile farther on, Lauren stopped in front of a pair of tall wooden gates and, fishing a fob from her bag, pressed its button. The gates slowly swung open, revealing an impressively large detached house. Ellie gawped. Her entire back yard would probably have fitted into the driveway, with room left over for the dustbins. Soon Lauren was leading the way around the side of the house and through the back garden, with a fenced-off paddock at the end. As they approached, a chestnut pony ambled over, apparently delighted to see them. "This is Biscuit," Lauren announced, opening the gate. "Biscuit, this is Ellie." Biscuit snorted. "She doesn't seem very impressed." "She's reserving judgement. But there are some apples in the stable block. Give her one of those and she'll be your friend for life." Biscuit's ears pricked up at the word apples , and she snorted again. Inside, the stables smelt of hay, old leather and something unmistakably equine. Ellie found it strangely comforting. Lauren cut an apple into pieces, and they returned to the paddock. "Does she bite?" Ellie asked as Lauren handed her a piece. "Only if you put your fingers in the wrong place. Hold your hand flat." Lauren gently took Ellie's wrist and turned her palm upwards. Their fingers touched. Biscuit accepted the apple with a wet, enthusiastic crunch. "See? She likes you," Lauren said with obvious pleasure. But Ellie was surprised to discover that she had been concentrating rather more on Lauren's hand than on the pony's huge teeth. Afterwards, they walked slowly across the paddock while Biscuit followed close behind, apparently convinced that further apples would materialise. "You're really fond of her, aren't you?" Ellie said. Lauren nodded. "When I was little, I used to tell her all my secrets." "Did she keep them?" "Oh yes. She's never told anyone." "That's probably because she can't talk." Lauren laughed. "I still tell her things sometimes. Especially when something's bothering me." They stood quietly for a while, watching Biscuit investigate a patch of grass with extraordinary concentration. Somewhere in the trees a blackbird was singing. "When I was small, I used to tell our cat everything when I was upset," Ellie said. "But he died." "Oh, Ellie. I'm sorry." "He was a good listener. He seemed to undersand." Lauren looked at her. "And who listens now?" Ellie shrugged, averting her gaze. How could she possibly begin to tell Lauren about the therapist she saw when everything got too much? Or the tourettes-like noises that she couldn't control, and the way people then stared or pretended she was invisible? It felt like a lot to reveal to someone she'd only just met. Instead she said, "There's nobody, really. So maybe I should start confiding in Biscuit too." "Maybe you should." They stood together for a little longer, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. "Do you want to come round again sometime?" Lauren asked. "Yes," Ellie said, rather quickly. "Biscuit would like that." "How do you know?" "She told me." Ellie looked at her. Lauren's expression was perfectly serious. Then Ellie laughed. By the time she reached home, the fading afternoon sunlight had turned the windows of the terraced houses golden. Ellie discovered several strands of hay clinging to her sleeve. She carefully removed them, though for some reason she was rather reluctant to throw them away. Later that evening, while getting ready for bed, she stopped in front of the bathroom mirror. She pushed her unruly hair away from her face and studied her reflection. Lauren's words in the changing room came back to her. You look very pretty when you smile, Ellie. You should do it more often. She attempted a smile. The result resembled someone trying to be polite while suffering from trapped wind. Ellie let her face relax and tried again. No improvement. She couldn't understand what Lauren had seen. Perhaps she needed her eyes tested. In bed, Ellie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. She thought about Biscuit and the extraordinary size of Lauren's house. But mostly she remembered Lauren's hand touching hers. And as she drifted towards sleep, a small smile crept across her face. This time, she hadn't needed to practise. To be continued.....