I’m in my bedroom. I’m under my covers, in my cave of light. I know when this is! I can tell by the feeling in my tummy that it’s December. Not the Christmas feeling; I’m tingling because I’ve just got the main part in Little Red and I know that because I’m texting Ollie to tell him. I’m so stoked. I haven’t told anyone else about it yet except you. And Auntie Bridge, obvs. Not even Naomi.

So. Me and Ollie, sittin’ in a tree, t-e-x-t-i-n-g. ROFL!

Texting! Not even on social media, literally just directly on our private numbers. Afterwards, I always delete, even if it’s not phone-check night.

That’s amazing, he’s written. Congratulations. He has added a party-popper emoji.

My stomach flips. Thanks. Where do you live BTW? House emoji.

London.

Duh. I want him to know I’m joking so I put a crying-with-laughter-face emoji.

Near Kingston. He’s put a winking face with a tongue!

Cool. He lives near Kingston! That makes sense, if we have loads of mutuals. I want to ask where exactly, but I don’t want to be weird and stalkerish. I want to ask if he has a girlfriend, but hello? Psycho alert. Another message:

Guessing you live near Richmond if you’re in the Cherry Orchard. This time he’s really gone for it on the emojis – there are two cherries and two theatre masks.

Twickenham. Near the rugby ground. I find a rugby-ball emoji! I had no clue that was there, literally.

Do you play rugby? Rugby-ball emoji.

No. LOL. Three crying-with-laughter faces.

You don’t look like a rugby player. Winking face.

Don’t I? Shit! No emoji fits. I just press send.

No way. You’re too pretty. Smiley blushing face.

I feel myself go bright red even though there is no one in my room and no one can see me. I’m so gassed that he said I’m pretty, even though that’s, like, anti-feminist and wrong and I know it’s not about looks, it’s about what a person is like underneath. He sends another text without me even replying!

You’re supposed to say I look nice too. Winking-with-tongue-out face.

Oh no. How embarrassing.

Soz. You do. I like your hair. (And your eyes and your chest, I so don’t say, LOL.)

I like your eyes. Are they green or blue??? Mad-eyes emoji.

Blue. Bright-red-face emoji.

Have you gone red for real? Send me a picture. Grinning face.

My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat. I push the phone to my chest and take two deep breaths. Auntie Bridge always says that’s the best way to cope with stress, because it gives you oxygen and oxygen makes you feel energised, so I always do that and my do re mi fa so la ti do, except I’m in that moment again now, here in my soup, and I’m looking at myself as if from the outside, except with the feeling from the inside, and I’m not stressed. Stressed is not what I am. Not exactly.

Send me a picture…

I push back the covers and sit up. I still have the phone against my chest. This is mad. It isn’t like he can see me through the phone or anything, but I’m literally hiding myself all the same. I run to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. My eyelashes go darker and clump together a bit. They look longer, as if I have, like, mascara on or something. That makes my eyes look bigger, so I dry my face without drying my eyelashes and lean into the mirror and say what big eyes you have and laugh. I am still laughing as I leave the bathroom. That’s when you shout through – our flat is so small we hear everything.

You OK, love?

Ye-es. Just needed the loo.

OK. Night then, baby.

I jump back into the bathroom. Make the landing silent by bending my knees loads. I flush the chain and call out:

Night, Mummy. Love you.

Back in my room, I put on some of that strawberry lip salve you got me for Christmas and scratch my lips with my teeth to make them look bigger and redder. I smile and take a selfie. It’s horrible, so I take another. I look gross. My nose looks big and white and… urgh – blackhead alert. I feel so ridiculous. How do my friends even do those selfies? The ones that if I did, you would kill me. How do they know how to do that face… like they’ve been caught by surprise in their underwear or they’ve been embarrassed but they’re actually pretty confident all at the same time? And most of them have loads of make-up on even though they’re just chilling at home, even when they’re in their PJs and sometimes their pants. Do they, like, sleep in their make-up or do they put it on just to take the picture? Do they spend hours alone at home doing make-up just to take one selfie? I would ask but Naomi doesn’t do those pictures either – she’s like, no way – and I’m too embarrassed to ask the ones who do. I can’t do a pretty filter or puppy ears or anything because I haven’t got Snapchat either, or an iPhone6.

I can’t change my face so it looks right.

I try taking another picture. It’s still crap, but I’m so stressed now I actually have gone a bit red for real. I PM the picture to Ollie and dive back into bed. I pull the covers over my head and do a little scream into the pillow and then I stare into the phone.

Nothing.

The screen fades.

I tap it back into life.

It fades again.

I tap back, scroll through Instagram, but there’s no new posts. Then the message icon goes red. OMG. It’s Ollie.

Beautiful. Blowing-kiss emoji.

Beautiful.