Page 1 of Sad Girl Hours
Chapter One
Nell
Some parties you go to because you’re a Party Person™. Other parties you go to because your best friend insists that you can’t possiblyactuallywant to spend (fake) New Year’s Eve at home, surrounded by candles (I’ve curated the perfect collection: cinnamon apple, warm vanilla and a peppy new purchase called ‘Angel’s Kiss’) and writing poetry. (FYI: a smooch from an angel would apparently smell of freshly laundered cotton sheets with a subtle note of lavender.)
“Nell,” Jenna said, “I love you but if you don’t come with me tonight then I’m going to turn you in to the accommodation staff, and you’ll spend your night in the prison in the basement.”
“Since when is there a prison in the basement of the halls?”
“Since you rocked up with a criminal quantity of candles and they decided they’d better build one to put you in before you burned this place to the ground.”
“Excuse me,” I protested. “I’m always very careful with my candles. If I was going to set something on fire, then it’d be on purpose. And I’m not in a particularly arsony mood this evening.”
Apparently, this was not a convincing argument for being left home alone. Hence why I now find myself in the Student Union, dressed in my finest, witchiest dress with sleeves that Stevie Nicks herself would envy, dancing my lil butt off with Jenna at the pre-New Year’s Eve party they’re throwing so that we can all celebrate together before we head home for the holidays.
Jenna grins at me, her face changing from pink to green to blue as the lights cascade down and bathe us all in their flashing colours, as if to say,This is fun, right? I told you it’d be fun!, and I don’t even try to be obnoxious and pretend that it isn’t.
I return her grin and grab her hand, spinning myself into her and relying on her musical-theatre-student instinct not to drop me as I fall back into a dip. This initiates an elaborate improvised dance routine for the rest of the song (an upbeat pop number I’ve never heard before in my life but am notnotenjoying).
We’re giggling slightly hysterically as the song draws to a close to be replaced by the unmistakable sound of the first bars of ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ (accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of people going positivelyferalat the sound of the first bars of ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’).
“What a TUNE!” Jenna adds to the delighted furore, spinning round in a circle under my arm. Mid-spin, though, she lets out a mini screech. “Oh my god, Nell, look – it’s Saffron, the girl I was telling you about!”
I follow her gaze. Usually in a crowd like this, it would be hard to tell which of the dancing people she was talking about, but not in this instance. In the corner of the room, standing on one of the corner benches while she dances and belts out the lyrics along with Whitney Houston at the top of her lungs, is a girl wearing an outfit made of so many gold sequins that she’s functioning as a human mirrorball, her pale skin drenched in shifting technicolour.
I follow Jenna as we weave through the crowd, watching the girl as I go. Her long, slightly curly blond hair is messy – she keeps pushing it up as she dances – and she’s moving to the music like her body itself can read the sheet music, her willowy limbs responding to each note with grace but also just unabashedjoy. And she’s passing that joy on to her friendstoo, going round the group and singing and dancing with each person. She’s not just literally golden, there’s something else about her that shimmers too.
“JENNA!”
She spots us heading over and takes a running leap at Jenna, flinging her arms round her like she’s being reunited with her favourite person on the planet. Now don’t get me wrong – Jenna’s great. She’s been my best friend ever since we both formed a weird-kid trauma bond in the creative-writing group (poetry for me, playwriting for her) in our local city when we were fifteen. But I suspect that this girl makes everybody feel like they’re her favourite person when she’s around them.
Jenna and Saffron pull apart and I get to test this theory.
“Saff, this is Nell.” Jenna gestures towards me with her head. “My ride-or-die bitch. Nell, this is Saffron, my designated dance partner.”
I smile in Saffron’s direction. “Yes, I heard all about the hair-holding, water-acquiring you did in Freshers’ Week. Jenna makes a great first impression, right?”
Saffron shakes her hair back, beaming at me like I’m just the person she wanted to see, confirming my suspicions. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way. That’s how I make all my friends. I’m always on the lookout for people on the verge of vomming so I can swoop in and save the day.”
“Ah, yes, you’re like the Sir Lancelot of Upchuck,” I say, feeling my arms move to mime knighting her on each shoulder before my slightly tipsy brain has registered that’s maybe a really weird thing to do to someone you just met.
Saffron just bows her head and laughs, though, her eyes warm and glittery as they look back into mine. “I really am. It’s so nice to formally meet you, Nell. Jenna’s been saying we should hang out since October. Oh, and you should both come meet my friends!”
She grabs our hands and pulls us back into her corner. When we get there, she lets go of us so that she can gesture to the two people standing there. A stray thought flickers in me that I’m disappointed not to be touching her any more.
“GUYS.” Her voice is raised so they can hear her over the music. “This is Jenna, who you know about, and this is Nell, my new friend!”
She’s exchanged approximately fifty words with me, but apparently we’re friends now. Not that I’m complaining.
She introduces us in turn to Viviana (“Vivvie, please, darlings,” she corrects in a soft Yorkshire accent), a tall, slender Latina girl with the most striking cheekbones I’ve ever seen, who’s wearing a dress made out of triangles of emerald-green silk and woven gold rope. Saffron proudly informs us that Vivvie made it herself, saying, “Isn’t she just crazy talented?” to which Jenna and I swiftly agree.
Then she turns to the boy who’s been standing and waiting patiently. “And this is Casper, the only man I’ve ever loved.”
I smirk to myself, remembering what Jenna said about suspecting Saffron was queer, and our subsequent social-media stalk confirming that she’s a lesbian. She has a TikTok with a not inconsiderable following where she posts a fun mixture of general lifestyle stuff, sustainable fashion content, as well as videos explaining astrophysics concepts in accessible terms. (Even I could understand what she was saying almost all of the time, despite spending most of my high-school science classes staring out of the window/writing terrible angsty poetry.)
“Casp and I are in the Athletics Club together,” Saffron continues. “He’s a sweetheart.”
Casper smiles at me and then at Jenna, his cheeks round and tinged pink contrasting with his very rumpled, very blond hair. “Casper Fortescue-Thomas, at your service!”
