PopCo by Scarlett Thomas

be scuttling across the path under fake bushes and dustbins, we’re that obvious. ‘Look more natural,’ I hiss, but Esther is in a semi-crouch position, looking furtively to the left and the right and – I do believe – holding her hand in the shape of a gun, as if she were about to pull it from a holster low on her hip. The last people pass and walk off towards the barns.
    ‘All clear,’ Esther says to me.
    ‘Esther!’ I whisper, but she’s already made it over to the door. Of course, we’ve now completely mistimed this and she runs straight into Georges.
    ‘Hello, Esther,’ he says. ‘Games before dinner?’
    Her hand’s still in the shape of a gun; two fingers pointing down.
    ‘Nice speech,’ she says.
    He looks almost small in his black suit, his hair shining, lookingnewly cut. I am waiting for him to look over and see me but he doesn’t. ‘Thanks,’ he says in an odd way. Then he’s gone.
    ‘Cunt,’ says Esther when I join her by the door.
    There’s no one in the room in the barn when I get back but the smell of perfume tells me that someone has been here recently. I actually wish someone was here so I could ask them the time. It must be almost seven, and I probably should be walking over to the cafeteria for dinner but I just don’t know. I left Esther about fifteen minutes ago and then went looking for Dan. He wasn’t in the Great Hall, or up the hill, or around by the Sports Hall. I am not familiar enough with this place to know where to look for him. He was probably in his room, although I don’t know where that is.
    My Hide It! pack is still safe under the cabinet. It feels lumpy in my fingers as I pull it off and dump the contents on the bed. Somewhere in here is a small watch face that doesn’t have a strap any more. Ah, yes: five to seven. The watch is five minutes fast, so I’ve got roughly ten minutes to get to dinner. Do I need to change? No. I’m not changing more than twice in one day, even if I do have to see Mac. I try thinking about seeing Esther again, as a sort of experiment. I don’t feel sick. That’s a good sign. Sometimes when you make a new friend it can feel a bit muddled and stupid afterwards; worse, even, than bad sex.
    New friendships can also be like a children’s birthday party; a big table laden with cakes, sweets, crisps and multi-pack chocolate bars wrapped in foil. It’s as if there’s just too much sugar there, all at once, piled on the table. You stuff yourself but it’s too much and you just can’t think about sweets again for a long time. Or sometimes new friendships – the ones destined to be focus-grouped but never launched – can be like playing an out-of-tune string instrument; when you find yourself carefully fingering the chords for your favourite song but hearing the sound coming out all wrong. Your input is the same as always but the thing responds erroneously, playing you back an unfamiliar non-tune which gives you a headache. Your favourite (and only) amusing story is batted back with a ‘what happened next, then?’, or a discordant, polite nod. So far, this isn’t like either of those situations. Well, it isn’t for me, anyway. But perhaps it is one of them for her. Making friends never gets anyeasier. Even if everything’s right: you’re having fun at the party and the music sounds OK, you might find you are a discordant sugar-overload for the other person. This happens all the time.
    I yawn and wonder how quickly I can get to bed after seeing Mac. Will there be more activities? I heard someone saying something about after-dinner games before. Maybe I will wake up: I do like games. Maybe we are going to be fired, though, and we’ll just have to leave after seeing Mac. Time to get up off this bed, Alice. Don’t fall asleep . I’ll count to five. I’ll count to five and then I’ll get up. Then I realise that something about my belongings, laid out on the bed, is not right. Nothing’s missing – on the contrary, there are