"Sorry," said Rebecca. She took a sip of her drink. "It's just that it's not the same without you during swimming lessons. Who else am I going to tease?"
"I'm sure there must be someone," said Faye.
Rebecca looked up as she thought to herself. "How come you're not allowed to go swimming with us, anyway? Just because you haven't started puberty yet? I mean, Jenny's way behind everyone else too and she still goes swimming."
"I'd rather not talk about it." Faye didn't dare to look up from her food. She could already feel herself getting the kind of headache that meant she'd start crying soon if she wasn't careful. She tried to change the subject. "Have you done the new Fryer episode?"
"What, this?" Rebecca pulled a silver disc out of her blazer pocket, holding it up for Faye to see. "You want to try it?"
"I think I could be persuaded." Faye looked up long enough for her eyes to meet Rebecca's. Big mistake. She tried not to think about how they seemed to radiate a sense of playful mischief, or about the curly trusses of auburn hair partially hiding them.
Rebecca handed the disc to Faye, and for an instant, their hands touched as she took it from her.
"Thanks." Faye slid the disc into her pocket and tried to concentrate on finishing her meal.
Faye stared up at a bright blue sky that wasn't there and listened to a dozen conversations about nothing in particular. She breathed in deeply, savouring the scent of the freshly cut grass she wasn't really lying on. Although she was actually lying on her bed, her senses were all being hijacked by the Digitac player lying next to her as it replayed the sensory input of Helen Fryer, one of the country's most popular actresses. She saw and heard everything that Helen did, but she was helpless to try and direct her where she wanted to go. She was just an observer, albeit a very intimate one.
Faye felt someone squeeze her hand, and turned to face him. Naturally, it was James. He had the kind of rugged good looks that were currently considered attractive by most of the girls in her class. His bleached blonde hair was just long enough to get in the way of his hazel eyes, and whenever she kissed him, his stubble felt like sandpaper. She wasn't quite sure if she had a type yet, but if she did, James definitely wasn't it.