Barnaby Rudge: Nasty. I feel for ya, I really do. Did she say why?

Joey: She met someone else, apparently.

Barnaby Rudge: While you were away?? You were only gone a few days!!

Joey: Nah, it'd been going on for a while I think. Someone down at her gym, apparently. Just me being away gave her the time to think about stuff, I guess, and decide who she wanted to be with. It obviously wasn't me.

Barnaby Rudge: I'm sorry, really I am.

Joey: She's bisexual, right? So you'd kinda think she might go off with a guy but noooooo! She met another woman. Ain't that the ultimate insult? LMAO.

Barnaby Rudge: Yikes. Are you all right?

Joey: Not really, but I guess I'll get over it. I always do, sooner or later. Aaaand, there's plenty more trout in the river, as my old gran used to say.

There was a pause as I sat and looked at her last message, not sure what to write next.

Joey: Anyway, kiddo, enough about me! How're you??

Barnaby Rudge: I'm very good, yeah!

Joey: You still stressing over that Fickle girl from the message board?

Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, stressing a bit, but for a different reason now! Things have, uh, how can I put it? Things have moved on a bit since we last spoke!

Joey: Ooooh do tell! I got your text about finishing with your boyfriend. That was very brave. Soz I didn't text you back more about it all, but I was probably up to my armpits in green water.

Barnaby Rudge: No worries. It was tough to do but I felt relieved after doing it. Does that make me sound like a bitch?

Joey: No, LOL! It just means you did what you had to do. I'm sure he'll live!

Barnaby Rudge: I saw him at college today and he seemed normal.

Joey: Well then, there you go! See? Aren't I always right?!

Barnaby Rudge: And things have changed with me and Fickle.

Joey: Go on...

Barnaby Rudge: She told me she liked me the other night.

Joey: Reeeeesult!!! And you told her you liked her??

Barnaby Rudge: Yup!

Joey: All that stressing over whether she fancied you, and here you are now, telling me you've both told each other how you feel. It's too cute, it really is! Are you happy?

Barnaby Rudge: Very. I feel like things are starting to slot into place, you know?

Joey: I'm pleased for ya!

Barnaby Rudge: We're meeting up next Saturday.

Joey: Blimey! You don't let the grass grow, do you?!

Barnaby Rudge: You think it's too soon??

Joey: Not if it's what you both want.

Barnaby Rudge: We do. Fickle suggested it. I suppose I'd have been happy just to take things slowly, let it sink in, but she seems dead keen. And I figured the only way I'll know if she's the one for me is if I actually go meet her. I might not get on with her, you never know.

Joey: True. Where are you meeting?

Barnaby Rudge: Birmingham.

Joey: Well, if you can get on with each other in Birmingham you can get on anywhere!

Barnaby Rudge: But I'm real scared.

Joey: Understandable. I was nervous the first time I met Claire, 'cos it's kinda like going on a blind date, isn't it?

Barnaby Rudge: I booked a mid-afternoon train just in case we don't get on. At least that way I can make an early escape!

Joey: Good idea. Well, I'll be texting you throughout the day, wanting updates. You do realise that, don't you?!

Barnaby Rudge: I'll give you a running commentary! Do you think I'm doing the right thing? The other night I was lying in bed at night worrying that I'm having a mid-life crisis or something, and I'm only eighteen!

Joey: I guess only you know whether what you're doing is the right thing, but if you want my opinion then I say just go for it. Why waste your life wondering what if? You only get one shot at life. You gotta grab it by the balls, kiddo!

Barnaby Rudge: It's just, this isn't me, you know? I'm a sensible, smart, rational girl! None of this seems rational at the moment. It's like my life's been tipped upside down.

Joey: So what would you rather? That you just carried on being what everyone expects you to be? That you carry on pretending everything's okay when all you wanna do is follow your heart? Don't wake up in, like, a year's time or two years' time, Imms, and wish to God you'd done this while you had the chance. Life's not about having regrets; it's about living and being who you want to be.

Barnaby Rudge: Thanks, Joe. I mean it.

Joey: I like it when you call me Joe!

Barnaby Rudge: I like it when you call me Imms!

Joey: Nice isn't it?

Barnaby Rudge: We're all so anonymous on here, aren't we? It's nice sometimes to have a bit of reality, I guess.

I looked at the yellow clock on my bedroom wall. It was gone six.

Barnaby Rudge: Listen Joe, I better go. I can hear my parents downstairs so I guess I better go show my face, let them know I'm still alive.

Joey: K, kiddo.

Barnaby Rudge: I'm real sorry about you and Claire.

Joey: Pff, I'll live! And it means I'll have more time now to concentrate on college work. There's some slimy, green samples awaiting my attention in the labs at college. Every cloud, huh? LMAO.

Barnaby Rudge: LMAO! K, speak to you later maybe.

Joey: Sure. Mind how you go.

I quickly checked my e-mails, trying to ignore the brief, fleeting sense of disappointment that Fickle had neither logged on nor e-mailed me.

Chapter Fourteen.

The time leading up to the Saturday when I'd see Fickle was hellish. All I could think about was meeting her and how it would be, playing scenarios over and over again in my head of the moment when I would see her. Where would she be exactly? What would she be wearing? Would she be there at all? I just kept turning things over and over in my head, unable to concentrate on college work, unable to even take in properly what my parents were saying to me, let alone the teachers at college.

Finally, I awoke on that Saturday with a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and dread all rolled into one. I lay in bed, awake before my alarm clock had even had its chance to wake me, all manner of negative thoughts running through my head at about 100 miles per hour. I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing in meeting Fickle, bearing in mind I hadn't really known her that long and couldn't absolutely say that I really knew her at all. A voice in my head, though, constantly counteracted the negative thoughts with just the one, important thought: This was meant to be.

I rolled over in bed and switched my mobile on, listening to the familiar beep of an incoming text and knew, instinctively, that it was from Fickle.

Soooooooo can't w8 2 c u l8r, it said, followed by her usual winking sign. Be gentle with me, yeah?!

Grinning, I sent her a message back, saying I couldn't wait to meet her and that I'd be gentle with her, of course I would.

After making up some total lie to my parents about being out for the whole day with Beth to look for something for her sister's wedding, I finally found myself on the train taking me ever closer to what I hoped would be the next stage of my life.

The train journey up to Birmingham seemed to stretch on forever. I sat watching the English countryside roll past me out of the window, taking me ever closer to Fickle. This was it; too late to back out. Any reservations I might have had about meeting her, wondering if it was the right thing to do, were immaterial now. This was happening, and I was determined to make a good impression.

I'd chosen my clothes carefully, not wanting to look too dressed up, but not wanting to look like some scruff-pot (like I sometimes do) either. I was careful not to wear the one low-cut top I owned either, for whatever weird reason. I supposed a part of me didn't want Fickle to think I was wearing something revealing for her, didn't want to embarrass either her or me. I plumped instead for my favourite pair of faded boyfriend jeans, black tee, oversized black cardigan, and the only pair of Airwalks I had that weren't scuffed beyond recognition. I'd piled my hair up on my head and slapped a bit of mascara onto my already dark eyes, hoping that Fickle would like it. I was kitted out, in short, in just the kind of gear I wore every day and, yeah, not the most exciting thing to wear on a first date, but it was what I felt safe and comfortable in, and I reckoned that counted for a lot.

A text from Fickle about an hour into my journey told me that she was about forty-five minutes into her journey and that she Can't w8 2 c me. I read her message and looked down at my own hands, holding my phone tightly, realising that they were trembling. I sent her a quick text telling her I couldn't wait to see her either, but that I was shaking with nerves, and she sent me one back about ten minutes later asking why I was so nervous. You dope! There's nothing to b scared of!! xxx, she wrote. I wished I could have believed her...

I looked at my watch and figured that if Fickle wasn't due in for another forty minutes or so, then I would arrive at Birmingham around ten minutes before she did. I felt this ridiculous overwhelming feeling of relief that I would be the first to arrive and wouldn't have to get off the train knowing she was waiting for me. I dunno why.

My train finally pulled into the station around twenty-five minutes after Fickle had texted me, and as I stepped from it into the hubbub of New Street with what seemed like a million people milling around or running for their trains, my heartbeat quickened. I wandered aimlessly around the concourse, ambling past the various shop windows, trying desperately to quell the panic that threatened to rise up and propel me onto the next train home, Fickle or no Fickle. To take my mind off the waves of nausea, I peered into one of the book shops' windows, surreptitiously looked at my reflection in the glass, checking that my hair was passable, that I hadn't any dirty smudges on my face, spinach in my teeth, stupid things like that.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Fickle texted me to tell me she'd arrived too and was waiting for me under the neon sign for platform 12. I looked over and counted down the platforms, standing as I was close to platform 8, and finally caught sight of her waiting, just as she'd said, under the sign for platform 12. I held back a while and took in the sight of her, standing there with a rucksack slung over one shoulder, her hands in her jeans pockets, leaning idly against a post, gazing round the station.

She looked, well, just like her pictures had. I don't know what I was expecting-that she'd be somehow different in the flesh? She wasn't, and I felt that familiar mushiness in my stomach. Bracing myself with a strong inhale, I tucked my chin and strode towards her, heart pumping ten to the dozen, making the blood rush in my ears until it almost deafened me.

"You planning on running away, then?" I stopped just in front of her and grinned, nodding at the rucksack on her shoulder.

"What?" Fickle jerked her head up and looked cross for a second before realising it was me. A broad grin spread across her face. "Heyyyyyyyy!" She flung her arms around me, and I jumped, stiffening.

She pulled away and stood back, looking me up and down and whistling softly.

"Niiiiiiice," she said with approval, one eyebrow arched.

My face flamed. I stood stock still, unsure what to say next. What an idiot. "You been waiting long?" I finally managed to blurt out.

"Just arrived. You?" Fickle countered.

"'Bout ten minutes ago." I tried to relax some but failed miserably.

"Wanna coffee?" Fickle jerked her head over towards a Costa Coffee across the concourse.

"Sure." I was stiff with nerves and hoped a coffee might calm me down.

We walked to the coffee place, with me being careful not to edge too close for fear of touching her. It was nuts, I thought to myself, that I could be telling her how crazy I was about her just twenty-four hours earlier, and yet here I was, totally terrified in case-horror of horrors-I should do something as terrible as actually touch her.

We sat in Costa Coffee, me slurping on a cappuccino, Fickle on a mocha that smelt fabulous, and kinda just stared at each other shyly to begin with.

"How was your journey?" I asked, licking cappuccino froth from my top lip with my tongue.

"You look cute when you do that." Fickle winked at me.

"Do what?" I frowned.

"Lick your lips. I like it." She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh." I ducked my chin and hastily wiped my lips. Fickle laughed.

"My journey was uneventful," Fickle went on. "But let's talk about you, yeah?"

"What do you wanna know?" I self-consciously tucked a stray bit of hair behind my ear.

"Everything." Fickle leaned across the table. "I wanna know everything about you, Immy."

"Gemma, we've been talking for ages! You know everything you possibly could about me!" I laughed.

"Humour me." Fickle flicked an empty sugar packet across the table towards me.

"Well," I began, "Okay, uh, I have size five feet, my favourite takeaway is Chinese, and I cried when they showed the final episode of season three of Skins on Channel 4. How's that?"

"It's a start." Fickle dipped her spoon into her mocha, then licked it slowly.

"What about you?"

"Did I cry when season three of Skins finished? Nah!" Fickle poked her tongue out.

"Nooo." I rolled my eyes. "What can you tell me about yourself?"

"Other than what you already know? Hmm, only that I'm allergic to peanuts and that I have a dog called Sid, and that I fancy the arse off you, but then you already know that last bit." She looked at me mischievously, making me dart my gaze round at the other tables, worried that other customers might have heard what she'd said.