She frowns. “You didn’t like it?”
“It wasn’t just that I didn’t like it. I couldn’tdoit. I—” My mouth is suddenly dry. I take another sip of beer, my palms sweating around the can. “I have dyslexia.”
I don’t know why it’s so hard to say. I know Beth won’t care. She’s probably looked after tons of kids with learning disabilities.
Which I guess is the issue. I’m not a bloodykid.
She nods, her face sympathetic. “The university didn’t give you any support?”
“I didn’t tell them. I was embarrassed. I know, it was stupid.” I rub the back of my neck, my cheeks heating. I hate talking about this. “It’s just—I was so used to it being this shameful thing. My parentshatedthat their child had ‘special needs’. We were part of this big ex-pat Bengali community, and all of their friends’ kids were getting top grades, becoming lawyers and doctors and pharmacists. And their kid couldn’t even spell the wordthrough.” I can feel her eyes on me, warm and kind, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. “I was diagnosed when I was ten, but they wouldn’t believe it. They dragged me around all of these different specialists and doctors, trying to work out why I was so bad in school. They gave me eye tests. Hearing tests. Blood tests. I had MRI scans. They’d rather I had a goddamnbrain tumourthan a learning disability. And obviously, everything came up clear.” I lower my voice.“Sorry, Mr and Mrs Rhaman. I’m sad to say that your son is perfectly healthy, he’s just stupid.”
“Oh, Cy.” She scratches her nails lightly over my forearm. It feels surprisingly comforting.
I take a deep breath. “I hated school, but there was no question of me not going to uni. Everyone in my family did. I picked Com Sci, because I figured it would be mostly numbers. No one would need to know how shitty I was at writing.” I snort. “I could only ever scrape a pass. It was just—fucking impossible. There were like, ten textbooks for each class, and they were all five inches thick, and the text was really tiny and dry. They didn’t have audiobooks or ebooks, so I couldn’t listen to them. I’d look around, and Jack and Seb were justreadingthe chapters like normal people, and I’d spend an hour trying to work out one page. It was like being told,hey, you’re an idiotevery day for four straight years.” I look out at the river, but I don’t see anything. “The first couple years weren’t too bad, but by the third year, I just got depressed. Like, sofuckingdepressed. I’d never felt like that before. It was the worst time of my life. By the time we were studying for our final exams, I knew I wasn’t going to pass. I knew there was no point even trying. And I couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed and study, anyway. So I dropped out.”
She takes my hand. “Cy. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” I say. “I might be kinda drunk.”
Her lip curls up. “Please. You’re notdrunk,” she says smugly. “You’re telling me because youfancyme.”
“That is true,” I admit, and she beams, hooking her arm through mine and tugging me down the street. “So, you left uni. What then?”
“I moved out with Jack and Seb. While they finished up their masters’, I spent a year bartending, looking for jobs. My dad got more and more pissed off at me. Kept insisting that I go back to university. When I told him I didn’t want to work in Com Sci anymore, he said I should just grit my teeth and deal with it. Said that everyone works jobs that they hate.” I frown. “And, yeah, lots of people do, but I don’t really think it’s something I should beaspiringto, right? It’s still shitty. IhatedCom Sci. Even now, just thinking about it stresses me out.”
She nods, her eyes wide. “Especially if it was messing with your mental health. That’s way more important than a higher paycheck.”
“Right.” I kick a stone across the curb. “One night I picked up a bar shift for a friend at the Magic Nights Show. I sawoneshow, and it was like,” I click my fingers. “That’sthe job made for me. Entertainment. Sex. Dancing. Nightclubs. Women.That’smy element. I auditioned and got hired on the spot. Once I started, I became one of the most popular dancers. It was so odd, to be the best at something.” She smiles, fiddling with one of the bracelets on my wrist. I sigh. “I’d worked there a year, and then the show decided to advertise their new cast. My mum called me and asked me why there was a picture of her son in his boxers on a billboard in her local tube station.”
She stops walking. “Shit.”
I nod. “There was a very long shouting match. I tried to tell them that this is what made me happy. And they told me to never contact them again. Haven’t spoken to them since.”
She looks heartbroken. “Cy, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.” She hugs my arm like a teddy bear.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m an adult. I moved out a long time ago. It’s not like I need them anymore.” I nod up at the sky. “It’s just days like these that get to me. When I know my whole family is getting together and celebrating, but I’ve been... Erased from the picture.”
“Getting rejected by your family hurts, Cy. It’s one of the deepest rejections there is. You’re allowed to be upset about it.” She gives me a little smile. “Trust me. I’m an expert.”
My chest aches. I thread my fingers through her red hair, watching it catch the colours of the lights over the water.
She turns her cheek into my hand. “Is all of your family unsupportive? ”
“No. My sisters think it’s hilarious. Lucy keeps trying to get me to take her backstage to meet the guys. She’s in love with Harrison.”
“Good.” She comes to stand in front of me. “That’s the way it should be. Your family should be happy that you’re happy. I am.”
I look down at her, emotion running through me.
She tilts up her face and kisses me. It’s an unbelievably gentle kiss; slow and soft and tender. It’s nothing more than a chaste peck, but when she pulls back, my head is swimming and my balls are thumping with blood.
I think for a moment, then take the empty chip paper and ball it up, tossing it into a nearby bin. “Come with me.” I reach for her hand. “I want to show you something.”
Bemused, she lets me lead her through the streets, away from the bright lights and the Thames. We come to an Underground station, and I lead her around it until we reach the billboard advertisements.
Her mouth falls open. “Oh. My. God.” She takes a step back to take in the full picture.
I suppose it’s a lot to process. Plastered on the billboard, fifteen feet high, is a photograph of me in my boxers, hands on my hips, smirking at the camera. Four of the other guys are behind me: Harry, Aaron, Samuel and Lei, all posing in cop costumes. Purple spotlights stream down over us.Magic Nights: Book Tickets Now!is printed over our abs in gold lettering.