boys don't cry. [h.s]

twelve

April

Replaying saved voice message from: March 30th at 02:47

"– fuck it, I don't know how to work this fucking – oh shit, Isabel hey, it's Harry! Harry Styles, in case you know more than one, I'm the – 'm the one who's a total bellend, yeah? I'm in Manchester and it's cold and I was wondering if London's cold for you? I've on-only been once really so I think about what it's like when you're there. I'm just – just thinking about you because I'm out and it's late and I feel really bad and I – fuck, sorry mate, didn't see you – I just want to say sorry cos I upset you and I know it doesn't take back what I said but I – I was going to text you a few times but I was scared you'd... and everything you said about me's true, I'm a worthless piece of shit and I just got – just got mad cos it really hurts but I ... fuck, anyway, I'm really drunk so ring me. Or don't ring me. I don't know. Have a good Easter, yeah? I'll see you."

Message deleted.

~~~

On Isabel's first week back to uni after the fortnight off for Easter, her life fell into a monotonous crawl that felt like she was dragging herself through mud. On a good day she would wake up, go to her lecture or seminar, go to the library, come home and get into bed.

On a bad day, she would do all of that with a shift at work in between, in which she and Harry didn't even look at each other. It felt like they had been in this position endless times before, she and Harry ignoring each other with every ounce of effort they had, but this time it felt final. There was no way back.

It wasn't even the weekend yet, but she knew life would be even worse once it hit. Her friends – well, Millie, Liam, Lydia and Scarlett, the only ones she had left – would go out with the same guilty expressions they'd worn before the holiday, and she knew she would be left to

sit alone in the quiet, empty house, and even the thought of it left her with a crippling sort of loneliness, emptiness, that felt like it would never get better.

And as if this wasn't enough, she had impending exams, seemingly endless essays, and her first Action in the Community session. The date of the first session, April 14th, had been written in her phone for so long that it had seemed like it was never going to come, but now it was here all of a sudden and it left Isabel sick with nerves.

It was at a local high school, set up for anyone in Years 10-13 considering taking anything English, film or media related at degree level, or studying those subjects at GCSE and A-Level. Mel and Rory had come along on Thursday afternoon to the school with her at 3:23, both of them hiding their nerves a lot better than Isabel if they had any, because she was completely terrified to the point where her hands were shaking and she kept dropping everything.

When they walked into the classroom and found no less than thirty-one students aged thirteen to eighteen staring expectantly at her, she wasn't sure whether this was a blessing or a curse. On the bus on the way there, they had thought ten students was an optimistic number.

Isabel gave what she hoped was an inspirational speech about film – the places it can take you, how much you can learn about society and politics and history, how important the entertainment industry is in each and every single person's life – and collapsed in a chair next to Rory as Mel pressed play on their first ever Action in the Community film screening: Brighton Rock.

"Hey," Rory whispered, nudging her. Isabel turned, surprised. Rory hadn't willingly spoken to her in months. "This is really cool, Isabel. You've done a great job."

"Thanks," she whispered back. "I can't believe they're actually doing it!"

"You gave a pretty great speech back there," he grinned. "It made me want to give up my Accounting degree and become Martin Scorsese."