‘Against my will,’ Pip said, rolling her eyes while leaning against a pillar that I had spent a whole morning crafting out of cardboard and papier mâché, ‘I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.’

Rooney was lounging on a chair, centre-stage. ‘Fair Beatrice,’ she said, standing up with a flirty expression. ‘I thank you for your pains.’

We had ten days until the play.

This was definitely not enough time to finish staging all of the scenes, learn all of our lines, and prepare costumes and set. But we were trying anyway.

Pip’s expression remained unbothered. ‘I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.’

Rooney stepped closer, slotting her hands into her pockets and smirking down at Pip. ‘You take pleasure thenin the message?’

Before today’s rehearsal, Rooney had spent a solid twenty minutes changing outfits and doing her hair before I straight-up asked, ‘Is this about Pip?’

She denied it loudly and at length, before saying, ‘Yes. Fine. What do I do?’

It had taken me a moment to realise that she was asking for my help. With romance.

Just as I had done all those months ago in Freshers’ Week.

‘Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point and choke a daw withal,’ Pip scoffed back, folding her arms. ‘You have no stomach, signor: fare you well.’ And then she turned and whisked off stage.

Me, Jason and Sunil clapped.

‘That was good!’ Pip said, a smile on her face. ‘That was good, right? And I didn’t forget the choke a daw bit.’

‘You were OK,’ said Rooney, eyebrows raised.

I had given Rooney all the advice I could think to give. Be yourself. Talk to her. Maybe try saying nice things sometimes.

Well, she was trying, at least.

‘That means a lot coming from you,’ said Pip, and Rooney turned away so we couldn’t see her expression.

Five days before the play, we ran through the entire thing. We messed up several cues, Jason smacked his head on the top of the paper-mâché pillar, and I completely blanked my final speech from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but eventually we made it to the end, and it wasn’t a complete disaster.

‘We actually did it,’ said Pip, her eyes wide as we all finished clapping each other. ‘Like, we might possibly pull this off.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ Rooney scoffed. ‘I am actually a good director.’

‘Excuse me, we are co-directors. I get some of the credit.’

‘No. Incorrect. I removed your directorship when you decided to abandon us for two months.’

Pip’s mouth dropped open, and she whipped her head round to me to see my reaction. ‘Is she allowed to joke about that yet? Surely we’re not at the point where we can joke about our feud yet.’

‘I can joke about what I want,’ said Rooney.

I was busy stacking chairs. ‘I’m not getting involved,’ I said.

‘No,’ said Pip, turning back to Rooney. ‘I refute this. I want my co-directorship back.’

‘You’re not having it!’ said Rooney, who had started pushing the pillar to one side of the room.

Pip walked right up to Rooney and poked her on the arm. ‘Too bad! I’m taking it back!’

She went to poke her again, but Rooney ducked round the pillar and said, ‘You’ll have to fight for it, then!’

Pip followed her, increasing the speed of her pokes so that she was basically tickling Rooney. ‘Maybe I will!’

Rooney tried to bat her away, but Pip was too fast, and soon Pip was basically chasing her around the room, both of them shrieking and swatting at each other.

They were smiling and laughing so much that it made me smile.

Even though I still wasn’t sure whether Rooney was really OK.

We hadn’t spoken again about what she’d told me that night we moved the beds. About Beth and her ex-boyfriend and her teenage life.

But we kept the beds together.

We rehearsed our play and we ate in the cafeteria, and Rooney stopped going out at night. We sat together in lectures and walked to and from the library in the cold and we watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine one Saturday morning until noon, buried in the covers. I waited for her to break again. For her to run away from me.

But she didn’t, and, still, we kept the beds together.

She took down the photo of Beth. She didn’t throw it away – she just put it inside one of her notebooks where it could stay safe. We should take more photos, I thought. Then she’d have something else to stick on the wall.

I felt that there was something we weren’t saying. Something we hadn’t addressed. I had figured out who I was, and she had told me who she’d been, but I could feel that there was something more, and I didn’t know whether it was her keeping things inside or whether it was me. Perhaps both. I didn’t even know whether it was something we needed to talk about.

Sometimes I woke up in the night and couldn’t go back to sleep because I started thinking about the future, terrified, having no idea what it would look like for me now. Sometimes Rooney would wake up too, but she wouldn’t say anything. She would just lie there, shuffling a little under the duvet.

It was comforting when she did wake up, though. When she was just there, awake with me.

It all came to a head the night before the play.

Me, Pip and Rooney gathered together for one final rehearsal in Pip’s bedroom. Sunil, who was an expert at speeches, had memorised everything weeks ago, and Jason had always been quick to learn his lines, but the three of us felt like we wanted one last chance to go through everything.

Pip’s bedroom was not any tidier than the last time I’d been here. In fact, it was actually a lot worse. But she had managed to clear a small patch of carpet for her and Rooney to act in and had created a comfy area on the floor near her bed, piled with cushions and snacks for us to chill out on. I sprawled on the cushions while they went over their scenes.

‘You’re saying that line wrong,’ said Rooney to Pip, and it was like we were back in the first week we all met. ‘I say do you not love me and you say why, no, no more than reason, like – like you’re trying to conceal your feelings.’

Pip raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s exactly how I’m saying it.’

‘No, you’re being like ‘no more than reason?’ like it’s a question.’

‘I’m definitely not.’

Rooney gestured at her with her copy of Much Ado About Nothing. ‘You are. Look, just trust me, I know this play –’

‘Excuse me, I also know this play and I’m allowed my own interpretation –’

‘I know, and that’s fine, but like –’

Pip raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’re just scared of me outshining you on stage.’

There was a pause while Rooney realised that Pip was joking.

‘Why would I be scared of that when I’m clearly the superior actor?’ Rooney shot back, snapping the book shut.

‘Wow. Presumptuous, much.’

‘Just stating the facts, pipsqueak.’

‘Roo,’ said Pip, ‘come on. You know I’m a better actor.’

Rooney opened her mouth to shoot back a retort, but the sudden use of a nickname seemed to take her so off-guard that she couldn’t even think of a comeback. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so genuinely flustered until that moment.

‘How about we take a break?’ I said. ‘We could watch a movie.’

‘Um, yeah,’ said Rooney, not looking at Pip as she joined me on the stack of cushions. ‘OK.’

We put on Easy A because Rooney had never seen it, and – though not quite up there with Moulin Rouge – it was one of my and Pip’s favourite sleepover movies.

I hadn’t seen it for a while. Not since before coming to Durham.

‘I’d forgotten this movie is about a girl who lies about not being a virgin for social clout,’ I said, once we were about half an hour in. I was sitting between Pip and Rooney.

‘AKA, the plot of at least eighty per cent of teen movies,’ said Rooney. ‘So unrealistic.’

Pip snorted. ‘You mean you didn’t lie about sleeping with a guy and then walk around with the letter A embroidered on your corset when you were seventeen?’

‘Didn’t have to lie,’ said Rooney, ‘and I can’t sew.’

‘I don’t get why so many teen movies are about teenagers who are obsessed with losing their virginity,’ I said. ‘Like … who actually cares?’

Pip and Rooney said nothing for a moment.

‘Well, I think quite a lot of teenagers do care about it,’ said Rooney. ‘Take Pip, for example.’

‘Excuse me!’ Pip exclaimed. ‘I don’t – I’m not obsessed with losing my virginity!’

‘Sure you’re not.’

‘I just think having sex would be fun, that’s all.’ Pip faced the screen again, going a little red. ‘I don’t care about being a virgin, I just – sex seems fun, so I’d like to start having it sooner rather than later.’

Rooney looked over at her. ‘I mean, I was joking, but that’s good to know too.’

Pip went even redder and stammered, ‘Shut up.’

‘But why are, like, most teen movies focused around the fact that teenagers feel like they’re going to die if they don’t lose their virginity?’ I asked, then almost immediately figured out what the answer was. ‘Oh. This is an asexual thing.’ I laughed at myself. ‘I forgot other people are obsessed with having sex. Wow. That’s really funny.’

I suddenly realised both Rooney and Pip were gazing at me with small smiles on their faces. Not pitying or patronising. Just kind of like they were happy for me.

I guess it was a development that I could laugh about my sexuality. That had to be progress, right?

‘It’s a good movie, but I think it’d be better if the main romance was gay,’ said Pip.

‘Agreed,’ said Rooney, and we looked at her.

‘I thought you’d be into this sort of adorable post-John-Hughes hetero romance,’ said Pip. ‘The straights eat this shit up.’

‘They do,’ Rooney agreed, ‘but fortunately I’m not straight, so, yeah.’

There was a long, long silence.

‘O-oh,’ Pip choked. ‘Well – well, that’s good then.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’

We finished the rest of the movie in extremely awkward silence. And when it was done, I knew it was time for me to go. To step away and let this happen.

They tried to get me to stay, but I insisted. I needed to sleep, I told them. They could go through their last scene on their own.

I guess I felt a little lonely as I walked out of Castle. I walked down the corridors, out of Pip’s block, across the green and back towards St John’s. It was dark and cold at nearly 1 a.m. I was alone.

I was alone now.

When I got back to my room, I put Universe City on YouTube while I changed into my PJs, took my contacts out, brushed my teeth, and checked on Roderick, who really did seem to be doing better these days. And then I snuggled into my half of the bed, wrapping the covers round me.

I fell asleep for half an hour but woke up in a sweat, my mind filled with flashes of nightmares about apocalyptic futures and all my friends dying, and rolled my head automatically to check for Rooney, but she wasn’t there.

It was harder to fall back to sleep when she wasn’t there.

I woke up with my head feeling like TV static and a stomach full of bees, which was a given for show day. But none of that compared to the feeling of dread that washed over me as I checked my phone to find I had a huge stream of messages from Pip.

The first ones read:

Felipa Quintana

GEORGIA

EMERGENCY

I’VE FUCKED UP

ROONEY HAS GONE