Panting for breath, they slammed the door shut behind them.

”Crazy weather we’re having, right?“ I deadpanned, shuffling into the hallway, practically skating on the on the smooth linoleum in my warm, woolly socks. Seeing the pair of them, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

They were drenched from head to toe, shivering and teeth chattering. Kicking off their water filled sneakers, their socks squelched loudly as they hit the floor, tiny puddles forming around their feet, and I couldn’t help but think that, perhaps, it would have been wiser to wear wellies. Kathy’s hair hung lifelessly round her face like rats tails – water droplets dripping down her cheeks.

”Uh, I’ll just go see if we’ve got any towels.“ I laughed, as Nikki began to peel off her jacket cautiously, a disgusted look on her face.

They were soaked to the bone, bless them.
-

Later, we were sat in my room as they tried to dry themselves off. Kathy, out of her soggy clothes, had curled up by my radiator wrapped up in one of my old hoodies and was satisfying herself by flicking through my CD rack, her blow-dried hair pulled back into a pony tail.

”Crazy weather my arse, Flo! It’s like a bloody hurricane.“ grumbled Nikki who, already sat in one of my worn t-shirts, was rooting through my drawers, looking for a jumper to throw on.

I loved how they felt comfortable enough to go through all my stuff without my permission. Yup, that was always great; especially when I had to clean up afterwards.

Kathy laughed, examining the reverse of a CD case. ”Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.“

”It’s meant to get worse.“

”Is that even possible?“ I smiled, flipping on the television and settling down beside Kathy with my duvet in hand. ”I mean, we’ve already had near apocalyptic weather in your words Nik, how’s it gonna get much worse?“

Pulling a face at me, Nikki giggled. ”I don’t bloody know, I’m just telling you what the weather man says.“ Finally settling on one of my huge, tent-like cardigans, she shrugged it on and came to sit next to me, sandwiching me between the two of them. She tugged on the corner of the duvet, silently demanding that I give her some to wrap herself up in.

”Since when has the weather man been reliable?“

She shrugged. ”I don’t know but it might be like the boy who cried wolf, ever thought of that? Anyway, what are we watching?“

I swallowed, suddenly feeling guilty. ”Finding Nemo...“ but neither of them picked up on my tone so they just carried on as normal. To be honest, I felt a little relieved; I didn’t feel like answering needless questions. The boys weren’t here. It was a boy-free night.

”Should’ve known.“ Kathy giggled, throwing her hair back in desperation.

I nodded. ”In a few years, you’ll be showing your kids this and it will be a classic. You’ll all be gathering around the television at Christmas and you’ll be watching this and you’ll say, ‘thank God Flo showed us this, she’s amazing’.“

Nikki stuck her tongue out at me, jokily. ”If it’s so good though, why’ve they not made a sequel, you know? A Finding Nemo 2.“

I rolled my eyes. ”Please, seriously? Because losing your child once is bad enough but losing them twice is just neglect. Social services’d have to be involved and it would just be awful. It’d ruin the mood of the film and the franchise, I think.“

Kathy laughed. ”She’s got you there Nik, you gotta admit it.“

There was a slight smile on Nikki’s lips as she finally caved. ”Okay, okay, you win. We watch the fish film.“

Triumphantly, I pressed the button on the remote and I jigged excitedly as the opening sequence began. ”Should I do a lap of victory or...?“

They both elbowed me violently in the ribs to signal a time for silence.

And, for a while, we just sat like that, in silence, just watching a movie and listening to the howling gale that battered my window. I loved ‘just girl time’, don’t get me wrong it was really great, it was rare that we could just, I don’t know, relax, but my time alone with Sam was even rarer and, as much as I appreciated being with Nikki and Kathy, all I could think about was how it was meant to be Sam next to me under my duvet leaning against the radiator and not them. And I felt so guilty. I mean, they were sat right next to me. I mean, I’d pushed Finding Nemo upon them. I mean... I don’t even know what I mean. I just wanted Sam next to me. I wanted Sam to be next to me instead of being cooped up doing his stupid English essay. Not for the first time that night, I cursed his disorganised nature; he’d been looking forward to movie night for what seemed like weeks... I can’t believe that he’d not gotten all of his homework out of the way. Sometimes, he could be such an idiot. I just wanted a couple of hours, just me and him, was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. Annoyed that I was getting annoyed, I settled back to watch.
-

Funnily enough, despite all her protesting, Nikki was the most engrossed in the film of the three of us; we couldn’t even tear her away from the screen with the lure of popcorn, even our promise to pause the DVD wasn’t good enough for her, so Kathy and I left her snuggled up under the duvet and trudged down to the kitchen alone for a good, old-fashioned cupboard raid.

Humming to herself, Kathy got out three tumblers from the cabinet and immediately reached to the fridge for soda.

”Nope,“ I sighed, ”s’under the sink. Mum moved it before she left, apparently she thinks that I just guzzle pop in her absence.“ I moved aside so Kathy could squeeze past; stood by the microwave, I watched the popcorn spin like the ballerina in a jewellery box, waiting for it to ding.

”Speaking of, where are your mum and Dave this fine evening?“ The soda bottle opened with a satisfying fizz.

I snorted. ”When they’re away this often, who really gives a fuck?“

Kathy shot me a look. ”You don’t mean that, you know you don’t.“

”Oh, really?“ Pulling a face, I pretended to shoot myself in the forehead. ”Sometimes I wonder if they even remember they have a daughter... well, step-daughter in Dave’s case, you know what, the details don’t even matter.“ The microwave stopped and I opened the door, greeted by a chorus of tiny gunshots. I ripped open the bag viciously, pouring the popcorn into the bowl.

”They love you Flo, you know they do.“

I pulled out a tray from behind the wine rack. I loved how mum didn’t trust me with a two litre bottle of Coke but thought it was perfectly acceptable to leave me with half a dozen bottles of red, white and rose in full view. What I also loved was that I went straight to the forbidden sugar but not the alcohol on display. I don’t know, maybe it was an authority thing. I set out the bowl of popcorn, three glasses of soda and a bag of Skittles onto the tray. I sighed. ”I know they do, I suppose, but they’ve got a funny way of showing it...“
-

Walking back into my room, we found Nikki in tears.

”Oh, for God’s sake girl, it’s only a film, even I know that.“ I set the tray down on the floor and passed her a box of tissues from my bedside table. ”Idiot,“ I laughed, flopping down onto the carpet, ”which bit are we on anyway?“

”J-jellyfish.“ sniffed Nikki, dabbing at her eyes.

Kathy sat down next to me cross-legged, her mouth full of popcorn. ”Awww yeah, just in time for the turtles!“

”Turtle time.“ I nodded, sipping at my soda, the bubbles tickling the back of my throat. ”Have I mentioned that I flipping love this film?“

”A few times, yeah.“

”Hang on, you know that there’s a daddy turtle and a son?“ Kathy asked, frowning.

Nikki and I nodded, thoughtful and unsure of where she was going with this. ”Yeah.“

”Where’s the mummy turtle?“

No one said anything.
It was a pretty good question, I’ll give her that. I’d certainly never thought about it and I thought about Finding Nemo a lot. I laughed. ”Jesus Kath, I’ve not even read too much into that and I know enough about this film to write the blooming book.“
Kathy was incredibly perceptive, I thought, sitting back to watch the ending. She always thought deeper into things than she need to; she thought more about motives and emotions than anyone else. She didn’t leave things as she saw on the surface, she took it upon herself to find out more but also she’d know if it wasn’t her place to pry. She hardly spoke, especially not when we were in public, but it was by sitting and observing us, I thought, that she could tell when we were not being ourselves or if we were acting differently; I noticed that, when everyone’s talking over each other or we were trying to get something done, it was too easy for someone to get left behind or trodden on. Kathy never let that happen. She was the friend you could tell anything too, the friend that was willing to listen whenever she could, and she gave advice that made me think she’d be the best therapist in the world. She could see if there was something wrong even if you couldn’t see it yourself. It was a gift. Teamed up with Nikki, they were perfect, what one couldn’t cope with the other was prepared for. I was so thankful for them.
-
”Best. Film. Ever.“ I smiled, bobbing along to the song as the credits rolled across the screen. ”I’m telling you, I swear whoever I go out with or whatever, they’re got to love this film at least as half as much as I do or they just ain’t worth it.“
Nikki laughed. ”Spencer had better get clued up then.“
I froze, rather certain that I’d misheard her. ”I’m sorry, what?“ My heart felt like it had stopped. Surely I’d heard that wrong. I was pretty sure I’d heard that wrong. I must have heard that wrong. I hoped I heard her wrong.
Nikki slapped a hand over her mouth. ”Oh shit.“
”Nik!“ Kathy practically screamed, horrified at the slip-up. ”You promised!“
That was a pretty clear indication that I hadn’t heard her wrong. That was unfortunate. I switched off the television. ”What?“
”Oh shit, he’s gonna kill me.“
”He’s going to kill both of us. Seriously Nikki, what is wrong with you, what part of keep it a secret does not compute with your goddamn brain?“
Calmly, I stood up. ”I repeat, for a third time may I add; what?“ I pelted them both with Skittles. ”Tell me or I will make you choke and you will die tasting the rainbow and it will be the perfect murder.“
They looked at each other sheepishly. ”Uh, it’s nothing.“
”It’s clearly not nothing. It seems like the opposite of nothing. I’d say it’s something. Obviously it’s something, if it was just nothing you would have told me by now so it’s something.“ I bit my lip; I was babbling again. ”You’ve got to tell me now.“
Nikki sighed. ”Spencer’s going to ask you out.“
”Oh.“
I didn’t know what to say. I suppose I was waiting for them to laugh and say it was just a joke. I guess I wanted them to laugh and say it was just a joke. A sick joke. Everyone always told me I was gullible. I believed anything and everything people told me and, usually, even if a story was a bit far-fetched, I didn’t want to feel rude so I’d never question anything. This had to be one of those stories that was too odd to be true. Spencer. Spencer was going to ask me out. No way. Impossible. Not Spencer. It just didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d do. I’d need known him for three years and, in all that time, not one of us could actually recall him ever having a girlfriend. Or even a boyfriend, whatever. I mean, it wasn’t as though he couldn’t get a girlfriend. He was the funny, artsy guy that had to stoop to go through doorways and still spoke with a slight Polish accent that became really apparent when he got mad (which was rare). No, if anything I think, we were all slightly shocked that he’d lasted three years as a singleton with the rest of us. Why the hell would he settle for me when he could have any girl in the school? He must have low standards or something...
”He told me the other day.“ Nikki explained. ”Well, he asked if you were definitely 100% single but he knows that you’ve never had a boyfriend in your life so I suspect he was just looking for confirmation and that can only really mean one thing.“
”You’re certain that he’s going to ask me out though...? He might have just been curious.“
”Oh come on!“ Nikki rolled her eyes. ”He’s my cousin – he’s practically transparent, we can all read him like a book.“
I opened my mouth to argue but she was right; he couldn’t lie at the best of times but especially not to Nikki. They knew each other too well.
It went quiet.
I threw my head back, looking at the ceiling in despair.
”So, what are you going to do?“ Kathy asked softly.
I looked at her. ”What I have to do. I’m going to have to say no.“
”What?“ They both yelled in disbelief.
”But he’s practically perfect for you!“
”Is this because he is not a Nemo fan because he’ll come around. Honest, I promise.“
I sighed. ”I just don’t see him like that.“
Kathy looked at me, and I mean she really looked at me, like there was something I wasn’t telling her. Her eyes widened and I could feel my stomach sink as that moment of realisation hit. ”You like someone else, don’t you?“
I turned away, my cheeks already flushing. ”Just... leave it, okay? I’m not going to say yes, that’s all. I just think that we’d be better off friends.“
”Flo, please, you like someone else, just say it.“
”No.“ I crossed my arms defiantly. Bad move.
”Oh my God, it’s true!“ squealed Nikki, ”spill, spill, spill.“
I wasn’t ready yet. Not for them to know, not for anyone to know. I wasn’t even sure if I ‘liked’ him like that. I didn’t want to, I don’t know, get their hopes up. I mean, they’d wanted me to meet someone since day one and I may actually have a chance with this guy. But it’d mean turning down Spencer if, no, when, he worked up the courage to ask me. Was I really prepared to do that to him? Was I prepared to do that to myself? I really didn’t want to end up being a bitch though. Not when I’d spent so long avoiding them, scorning them and turning my nose up at the way that they treated (and toyed with) boys just like Spencer. If I were to become a bitch, I’d have to become a hypocrite first. If I turned him down I was doing the best thing by both of us; I’d rather he hate me for a while than string him along and make him hate me forever. I’d never be a hypocrite. I’d never be a bitch. Never. So, instead, I just smiled; tapping the side of my nose, I winked. ”Make me.“

I didn’t sleep that night. Not, I didn’t sleep well like people normally say but I didn’t sleep. At all. Not one wink. I watch the sun set and then welcomed it back the next morning as it rose. Not a wink of sleep. And why? Because, in the dark and the quiet, I think too much. Far too much. Far too much for it to be healthy. That night however, I thought even more than usual. And that’s saying something. About what? Spencer. Of course. It literally could not have been anything else. It’s all that was on my mind. I could not think of anything else. But I don’t know why I was over-analysing it so much. I mean, I’d already made my mind up, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to say no, there were no two ways about it. I’d just have to bite the bullet, look him in the eye and say no. Well, maybe not look him in the eye. He deserved someone who loved him in the right way. He deserved someone who loved him as a boyfriend and not just as a friend. Like I would. I only saw him as a friend. That’s all I could see him as because that all Spencer was to me; a really valuable friend. A valuable friend that I was losing sleep over. I knew this would have carried on until I knew I’d done the right thing and told him but I couldn’t do that until he told me how he felt because I wasn’t even supposed to know yet. I didn’t know whether to be grateful to Nikki and her big-mouth or not. On the plus side I got a heads up so it wasn’t a complete shock and I cocked it up but then again, poor actress that I was, I couldn’t lie so how the hell was I meant to feign surprise? Eugh, I suppose we were going to find out pretty soon, I thought. - We all sat in assembly bored shitless as someone droned on about the same ‘thought for the week’ that we’d encountered at least twice a year for the four years we’d been at the school. Reiterating the thought, I noticed, did not make us think about it anymore than we had that very first time, in fact, we thought about it less because it began to feel less like a life lesson and more like a lecture. Also, who gives a ‘thought’ out at nine in the morning? Especially to a group of teenagers that, given half a chance, would probably still be sound asleep in bed. As an especially sleep deprived teenager that day, I was genuinely fighting to keep my eyelids open. Despite the stuffy room, damp smell and awkwardly uncomfortable chairs, I was perfectly poised to drop off – and probably did. Probably. Sandwiched between Sam and, of course, Spencer, I didn’t want to give in and slouch or slump one way or another. If I ended up on Sam’s shoulder I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it at all but if I mistakenly fell asleep on Spencer’s shoulder maybe he’d enjoy it too much. So, instead, I sat bold upright, pinching my thigh every thirty seconds and reciting the alphabet. Backward. As you do. 28, 29, 30... I counted, going to pinch myself, but someone’s hand wrapped itself around mine. I looked up and half-smiled, sleepily. Reaching into his top pocket, Spencer pulled out his Sharpie and scribbled on his palm, scanning the row of chairs for teachers. ”You okay?“ it read. I nodded, shrugging. ”What’s up?“ I held out my hand for the pen and he passed it to me. ”Just tired. All-nighter.“ ”Party?“ I snorted. That one word showed just how well he knew me... unless he was being sarcastic in which case he knew me very well. ”Couldn’t sleep.“ He grimaced sympathetically. Slumping back into my chair, I pulled a ‘what’s-a-girl-to-do’ face and he smiled, popping the lid back onto his pen. Indeed, I thought, what’s a girl to do? From behind me, I could hear the soft sound of giggling and someone kicked the back of my chair. Nikki. She’d seen the whole exchange and would probably proceed to dissect it in first lesson. It was kind of weird that she was more excited about this whole Spencer thing than I was. It shouldn’t be so hard. Everything that once felt so innocent and normal felt oh so much more wrong now that I knew. It felt almost as though that I was leading him on. I had to try and act as though nothing had happened, if I did acknowledge that there was something different then he’d know that Nikki had broken her promise and I didn’t want that to happen, but my actions were already making me hate myself. I couldn’t keep this act going for long. I mean, I already felt like I was going to explode and I’d only been sat next to him for twenty minutes. Maybe it was the weird silence that made it feel unbearable. It would be better when it was all of us together, the focus wouldn’t just be on us two, it would be all of us and everything would be great; everything always is. - We all sat together for lunch, without fail, so, when Spencer set his tray down next to mine, I didn’t think anything of it (Even though it was just me sat at the table. And all the other seats were empty. Maybe I was reading too much into it, nevermind). Admittedly, the morning had passed much quicker than I’d expected. Nikki had said absolutely nothing about anything that may have occurred in assembly, which had been a pleasant surprise, but had instead settled for kicking me under the table whenever he had so much as asked me for a pencil. Unfortunately for me, Spencer had left his pencil case at home that day and I carried enough stationary to start a shop. My shins were starting to bruise and I was walking with a slight limp. Chewing, he prodded my salad with his fork suspiciously. ”I really wouldn’t even feed that to my rabbit.“ I looked at his pasta enviously. ”S’a good job you don’t own a rabbit then, isn’t it?“ My stomach growled loudly and he laughed, piling a spoonful of food onto my plate. ”Eat up and one day you might even grow.“ He pulled a sarcastic shocked face. I punched him playfully and rolled my eyes as I stuffed my face before he changed his mind. ”Just because I’m not six foot one.“ ”Well, that makes two of us then.“ ”You’ve shrunk?“ I smiled, hopefully. ”Pfft, yeah right.“He winked. ”I’m now officially six foot seven.“ I stared at him in disbelief. ”I’m five ten, how do you think that makes me feel?“ I complained, unscrewing the cap of my orange juice. ”You’re just mean, just plain mean.“ It amazed me how tall he actually was, I knew adults that were absolutely tiny in comparison to him. Finally, everyone else arrived. Sam slid into the chair to my left while the girls sat opposite us; Nikki was struggling to contain her excitement at finding Spencer and I alone so I wrapped my ankles around my chair legs, fearful of another kicking. ”What’s going on?“ Sam asked, already scowling at the sight of my salad (I don’t understand what was wrong with it; all it was was lettuce, cucumber and tomatoes). ”Well, we’re in the presence of the world’s tallest teenager.“ Pausing, I indicated Spencer with my left hand, ”Mr Spencer Jablonski everybody.“ Everyone applauded and Spencer took a mocking bow. ”Taller than your dad yet?“ He nodded. ”By two inches.“ ”Awww, your dream realised by the age of fifteen, what are you going to do with yourself now?“ Sam laughed. Winking jokily, Nikki smiled. ”Maybe we could sell him to a freak show, y’know, make a few quid.“ ”I don’t know,“ I said, thoughtfully, pushing the lettuce around my plate with my fork. ”I don’t think that I could allow that.“ Spencer’s head shot up (so did Nikki’s but I was trying my best to ignore her). ”Oh, really?“ ”Yeah, I mean, who else would change my lightbulbs for me?“ Everyone laughed, Spencer included, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes; even if his mask told a different story, I was beginning to see the cracks. The rest of lunch passed much the same. We all laughed, we talked, we moaned about homework and we joked about having a giant in our midst (he really was ridiculously tall) but then, when I got up to return my empty tray, Spencer followed and I could feel myself begin to clam up. He was going to do it. Now. F***. I busied myself looking at the menu for tomorrow, pretending to care when I knew I’d just be having a salad again (because the options for vegetarians were really, really bad. And I mean bad enough to send them back to meat). ”Florence?“ I cringed; I hated people using my full name. ”Spencer.“ ”You’ve got French today, right?“ Confused and probably failing to hide it, I nodded. ”Sixth, why?“ Nervously, he rubbed the top of his ear. ”I’ve got an assessment tomorrow and, well, I suppose I could do with a hand.“ Automatically, I agreed, the words coming before I could stop myself; when I finally realised what I was doing, it was too late to back out. ”I’ll help if that’s what you’re asking.“ I smiled. His face lit up. ”Okay, great. Mine at seven, alright?“ ”Yep, of course.“ We walked back to our table smiling but, inside, secretly, I was kicking myself. In little under five hours, I was going to (voluntarily) throw myself to the lions. Well, just lion, I suppose, singular not plural. Either way, I was definitely not making life easier for myself. In fact, I’d probably just made it ten times harder. - I knocked on his door. It was twelve minutes past twelve exactly. I hadn’t wanted to look too eager by arriving too early but also, if I’d arrived late, I’d look rude, so I figured that, by coming twelve minutes after the scheduled time, I could just blame it on the buses or something. It was the perfect plan. I’d agonised so much over this. Every little detail had been analysed multiple times. And I mean absolutely everything. I’d tried on four pairs of jeans, about a thousand t-shirts and three hoodies before settling on what I was wearing. I’d let my hair hand loose around my shoulders then tied it up again like I would for school and then repeated the exercise. I’d put some make-up on, just to take it off again and then re-apply. Anyone’d think I was nervous or something. Okay, I definitely was nervous. But not because I wanted something to happen as most people would assume but the opposite. I just wanted to look like this was a study date because that’s all it was; a study date, not a date date. I just didn’t want it to look like I was... encouraging him? I don’t know. All I wanted was to leave knowing that our friendship was still firmly in tact but with him knowing a few more perfect tense verbs. That’d be nice. There was still no answer and I could feel myself getting hopeful; maybe he’d forgotten! Or he might have even asked someone else, either way, though, I figured I wasn’t needed. Slowly, I began to back off and walk back toward the bus stop but, as if by magic, just at that moment, Spencer appeared in the doorway. ”Hey! I was just wondering where you’d gotten to, come in.“ he smiled, stepping aside. I grinned, my stomach twisting itself into a knot. Shit. ”Sorry I’m late.“ He shrugged. ”Nah, it’s fine; we just finished dinner.“ As we padded through into the kitchen, Spencer headed to the fridge. ”Drink?“ I shook my head. ”I’m good thanks.“ ”Spencer?“ A voice called from the hallway. ”Spencer?“ ”Hej niemy, Flo’s tutaj.“ he replied, slipping back into his native Polish. It fascinated me how he could switch his language with such ease. Mrs Jablonski, a very petite woman, walked into the kitchen, a bundle of papers in hand. ”Oh, powitanie Florencja. Jak sic masz, Drogi?“ I swallowed. Oh Jesus. ”Umm...powitanie.“ Spencer laughed, not even attempting to mask his amusement. ”Niemy, Florencja nie robi mowie po polsku.“ ”Oh God, of course she doesn’t.“ She glared at Spencer for not reminding her earlier, blushing. ”Sorry dear, how are you?“ ”It’s fine and I’m very well thank you, yourself?“ ”Oh good, thank you dear.“ I smiled. Spencer’s mum was amazing. Her cooking skills were legendary, she was a real feisty red-head, easily fighting her own corner in a house full of boys easily twice her height. They’d only been in England for a couple of years but, already, Mrs Jablonski was a ‘pillar of the community’; it was as though they’d never lived anywhere else. She was just so welcoming. ”We’re going upstairs to study, mama, s’that okay?“ Spencer asked, retrieving a soda from the fridge. ”Of course. Not too late though darling, it is school tomorrow after all.“ I took Spencer by the arm. ”Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he behaves.“ Laughing, his mum shooed us off and he dragged me upstairs, French books in hand. His bedroom was at the end of the corridor so, of course, we had to walk past the family portrait and, as usual, I had to stop and look; I don’t know why, but it was just really interesting to see how much they’d changed. It was from before they moved here from Poland. A young, fresh-faced Spencer stared back at me, smiling and seated between two doting parents. He looked no older than four or five, a mop of pale blonde hair on his head (it had naturally darkened over time) and no front teeth; he was cute when he was little. Behind them were his siblings; two brothers and a sister. It annoyed me that I couldn’t remember their names, I felt quite rude; it wasn’t all too surprising though as I’d never actually met any of them. The eldest brother, nearly thirteen years old than Spencer (who was the baby of the family) was married with two children of his own so he’d stayed behind in Poland. I don’t think Spencer saw him or his two little nephews very often, there was always talk of them coming over for Christmas but I think we all knew it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. We hardly ever heard anything about the middle brother; Spencer never spoke about him anymore. All we knew about him was that he was in jail. We didn’t know why or where, just that he was in prison and that Spencer never wanted to see him again. So, we didn’t press him on the subject, if he wanted us to know then he would have told us. His sister, on the other hand, was someone Spencer was incredibly proud of; he spoke highly of her at every opportunity. She was at university in Holland, majoring in psychology, and was going steady with her girlfriend of two years. By the sounds of her, she would be someone I’d like. From the way Spencer described her, she was just like him. Finally, there was Spencer’s dad, a great, towering gentleman of six foot five, who, with his booming voice and constantly stern expression, seemed rather intimidating; he wasn’t though he was just as warm and friendly as his wife. They were the kind of family I wanted. If I could have, I would swap, no doubt. The only problem there was that I wouldn’t wish my family upon anyone. I could feel him hovering behind me nervously. I smiled.”Do you miss them?“ ”What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t?“ ”Do you wish you’d never come here then?“ I sighed. ”I mean, I... that came out wrong, I’m sorry.“ He shrugged. ”Sometimes I wish I were back there, it was my home for thirteen years of my life so of course I miss it but, in a way, even if I’d stayed, it wouldn’t be any different. Adam would still have gotten married, he’d still have his family in Warsaw, Philip would still be in jail and Monika would still have gone to Amsterdam. Even if I were still at home, they wouldn’t be. Either way, I’m the only chick left in the nest so why does it matter which country the nest’s in?“ I slipped my hand into his. ”You’re lonely, aren’t you?“ Wiping his eyes, he nodded. ”It’s stupid really; how the hell can I get lonely when I’ve got you lot?“ ”We’ll look after you,“ I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, ”we’ll always be here.“ Burying his head in my shoulder, he whispered, almost to himself. ”That’s what I’m counting on.“ Taking one last look at the photo, he took my hand and steered me into his room. - ”Right so... that’s it? That’s really and genuinely all there is to it?“ he sat on the carpet in his room, surrounded by open textbooks, scrunched up paper and broken pens. We’d been going of this for a couple of hours, agonising over the simplest of things, but, finally, we’d cracked it. He’d got his paragraph sorted. ”Now, read it back to me.“ I prompted. His face fell. ”What?“ ”You heard me.“ ”I can’t do the accent though.“ He moaned. ”Read it!“ I laughed, throwing the French dictionary that I’d been thumbing through at him. ”Fine.“ he huffed, picking up his sheet and, slowly, deliberately over-exaggerating the accent, he read it out, stumbling over some of the more complex words, but reading it none the less. When he finished, I applauded. ”Not bad at all for someone who could barely say his name two hours ago.“ ”Merci.“ ”It’s true though; you done good, boy.“ He smiled. ”No, I mean, thanks for coming tonight, for helping. It means a lot.“ ”Oh, no problem! Seriously, if you’d not given me something to do, I’d just be sat at home twiddling my thumbs.“ Getting up, he came and sat next to me on his bed. ”Still, I’m pretty sure that’s better than helping me with verbs and connectives en francais.“ ”Don’t you think it’s odd though that you managed to learn English within a couple of months of moving here when you couldn’t even speak a word and yet, after two years of intense French teachings on Mr Turner’s behalf as well as the few years of lessons that you had back in Poland, you’re still struggling with French?“ He blushed. ”Yeah... but, in my defence, they are very different languages.“ ”Sure,“ I nodded, pushing my hair back from my face. ”Either that or you’re just losing your linguistic Midas touch.“ I looked at my watch absentmindedly and had to do a double take. ”Ahh shit.“ ”Whoah, what’s up?“ I’d shot up, flapping around the room trying to collect all my book and papers. ”I’m really sorry but my parents are home tonight and I told them I’d be there when they got back. And I’m not home. I’m here. They don’t know I’m here, I never told them; they think I’m home. But-“ He grabbed me by my wrists and I could feel myself freeze, a lump forming in my throat. ”Calm down Flo, please, it’ll be okay. I gettit.“ He smiled. ”D’you want a lift or something?“ ”Would that be okay? I feel bad now, I’m sorry.“ I cringed; I always felt bad asking for favours. ”Sure, don’t worry about it. The next bus back to yours’ll probably not leave for a while anyway.“ He took my hand. ”C’mon, let’s get you home; it’s school tomorrow anyway, right?“ - Ten minutes later, we were stood on my doorstep saying our goodbyes. I was balanced on my tip-toes, just so I could wrap my arms around his neck. ”Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for the lift!“ He laughed. ”Least I could do, you saved my arse so I save yours.“ ”I’m very sorry,“ I giggled, ”but, with your accent, it’s rather cute when you swear.“ ”Oh, really?“ ”Yep,“ I smiled, ”well, goodnight.“ With that, I tried to pull away to leave but he stopped me. Biting his lip nervously, he down and kissed me softly, letting his hands slid down to my waist, his thumbs light brushing against hips. It was hardly the stuff of romance epics, it was not going to win an Oscar any time soon, but he’d done it. He’d actually done it. And it took all my self-restraint to prevent myself from kneeing him in the nads. I closed my eyes, it can’t have been happening; I tried to push him away. ”Spencer, please-“ ”Florence Chaplin, I’m pretty damn sure I love you.“ he gushed, turning bright red. ”Oh.“ Oh. I’d been prepared for this for over twenty-four hours, lost sleep over it and imagined it a thousand different ways and yet, somehow, all I had to say was oh. A word that Spencer clearly hadn’t expected. But then again, neither had I. ”Tell me what you’re thinking Flo, please, I’m not psychic. Talk to me.“ I was trying to, I really was, but it wasn’t going well; I had so much to say but no words with which to say them. Running around my head at a million miles an hour galloped a million different thought. I couldn’t think straight. It was like my brain had turned to scrambled eggs or mush or something; I don’t think I was functioning properly. My mouth felt dry and my tongue kept sticking to the back of my teeth. I could feel my palms clamming up and, annoyingly, I could feel nervous beads of sweat trickle down the back of my neck. F***. Doing my best goldfish impression, I opened my mouth to speak but no words followed. Tears pricked the back of my eyes... and I could see that he was beginning to well up too now. Jesus, everything was hanging on me right now, whatever I said next could change everything. ”I’m so sorry Spencer,“ panicking, I finally managed to string together a sentence, ”but no. I love you so much but as a friend.“ I could see him visibly wince as the words left my mouth; it sounded so cliché, even I could recognise that. I reached to take his hands in mine but he backed away, almost tripping over a loose paving slab. ”Spence, please-“ ”I gotta go,“ he mumbled, pointing over his shoulder, ”my mum’s waiting. The car...“ I nodded. ”Sure.“ ”See you tomorrow.“ I watched as he scurried off down the pathway, again, almost tripping over the step onto the pavement by the gate. Once he’d disappeared, I sunk to my knees and bawled my eyes out. What the f***? I wanted to scream, I’d ruined it, I’d ruined everything, I’d ruined everything that I had with him. Why’d I do that? Why did I go and do that? I was an idiot, why’d I use such a load of cliché shit? I could have at least tried and be original. It was over. I’d f*ed up. Big time. I just sat there and cried. And cried and cried. I didn’t move, not even when it began to rain so heavily that the water began to seep into my sneakers. I just sat there, my head in my hands, and cried. And cried and cried. So that’s where my parents found me when they came home. I was pathetic and I’d ruined everything. I always did.

I took one last glance at my phone to check I’d gotten the details right. ‘Mine. Tonight. Bring pyjamas.’ the text read. It was from Nikki, sent just after school had finished. She knew about Spencer. It was the only reason she’d call such an impromptu sleepover. I wonder who’d told her... it hadn’t been me, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Kathy (I hadn’t told her but it would have only taken her a minute to figure it out), Sam might have let slip at lunch or she might have even have been able to get it out of Spencer herself if she’d kept the pressure on long enough. I was in for a grilling though, I could tell. She’d be mad at me for not telling her myself in Maths first thing. It annoyed me that she felt as though she had a right to know these things. I’d wanted to tell someone so much but, the only reason I hadn’t was, I couldn’t take all the questions. I think I’d caught a f*ing cold from sitting in the rain, my head ached from all the crying, and, to be honest, I felt as though, if I so much as opened my mouth, I could start all over again at any moment. So, for that reason, I’d hardly said a word all day. To be honest, perhaps nobody had told her after all because I’m pretty sure she probably put two and two together and got four... because Spencer hadn’t exactly been the life and soul of the party either. I’d not so much as looked at him, I didn’t want to make him mad again; I just didn’t want to make it apparent that I was in the same room as him. I knew he’d told Sam though, not because Sam had mentioned anything but because it felt as though Sam had tried to keep the peace between us all day. Why should he have to feel the need to play peacekeeper? No one had fallen out. Well, not officially... What if we had though? What if we’d actually fallen out? Shit. What if I lost Spencer because of this? What is we split the group? Oh God no. Angrily stuffing a pair of socks and a hoodie into my bag, I threw it over my shoulder. ”I’m off to Nikki’s.“ I called and, not waiting for a reply, shut the door behind me. They wouldn’t care anyway. - Nikki ‘greeted’ me before I’d even knocked on the door and ushered me upstairs to her room immediately where Kathy was already setting up camp, a sympathetic look on her face. ”Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, us.“ Nikki snapped, slamming the door shut behind her. ”Why did I have to wait until Sam let slip?“ I made a mental note of that little fact. Sam was going to get it in the neck; bastard passing on information like that, he wouldn’t last ten minutes under military interrogation. ”I told you that Spencer liked you Flo,“ Nikki continued, ”the least you could do was keep me posted on any developments!“ I bit my lip. ”Are you quite f*ing finished?“ Aghast, Nikki blinked; I hardly ever raised my voice, especially not to her. ”Sorry?“ Behind her, Kathy froze. ”I didn’t come here to get abuse Nik, I didn’t come here to give it out either, but did it ever occur to you that I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to? You’re his cousin, I thought he might have said something to you first.“ Looking at my feet, my sight was getting blurry. I’m not going to cry, I told myself. ”And I just really don’t want to talk about it.“ Nikki came over to me, slightly sheepish. ”Yeah, Spencer’s my cousin but, here’s the thing, you’re my best friend. Well, one of.“ she smiled, glancing at Kathy. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how you’d be feeling.“ ”I’m sorry too.“ Waving Kathy over from the bed, Nikki embraced the two of us warmly. ”We won’t talk about it anymore; promise.“ I knew we would though, of course we would, it was the only reason any of us were here. So that Nikki could get the gossip that she needed to survive; it was like food, water or air to her, without it, she simply couldn’t function. They did however, for a short while anyway, out of respect I suspect and for as long as Nikki could stand, change the subject and, surprisingly, I found myself starting to relax. I laughed. I know that I’d hardly suffered bereavement or anything but I was actually laughing and I hadn’t expected it at all. Only the day before I’d been laughing with Spencer of all people but it felt so long ago, how could someone who used to make you so happy make you want to curl up into a ball? I’d just wanted it to be a passing mood, like how one minute he’d be screaming bloody murder at Sam for one thing or another but the next they’d be joking as though nothing had ever happened. That’s how I’d wanted him to be with our little situation. Once he’d slept on it, I’d prayed, he’ll see that I never actually meant to hurt him. But it would appear that that never happened. However, for an hour or two, it felt like everything was back to normal. Sat in our pyjamas, not caring that it was only six o’clock and that the sun was still in the sky, we wrapped ourselves in duvets, making nests out of pillows. We watched some crappy film that Nikki had found in the cupboard, scoffed at it and re-enacted all the worst bits once it was over. We ate like there was no tomorrow; popcorn, Skittles, soda, Maltesers, anything that we could get our hands on. It was like there was a cloud hanging above is though and someone felt like they had to chase it away. It was Nikki, of course, who brought it up. ”How’d he do it?“ I sighed. She was shameless, without shame, that’s what she was, and I couldn’t decide if it was an endearing quality or just a bloody annoying one. ”Last night, I went round to his to help with his French homework, I was going to be late home so he gave me a lift, well, his mum did but y’know what I mean, and he told me as we were saying goodbye.“ They didn’t have to know about the kiss, they didn’t have to know that he kissed me at all. No one did. Ever. ”Hang on...“ Nikki started, confused. ”Why’d you go to his if you knew he was probably going to do it there and then?“ ”It’s what I’ve been asking myself all day.“ I laughed, half-heartedly. ”I don’t know, I just didn’t want to be a bad friend, I suppose. He needed help and he asked for it, I just didn’t want to let him down.“ But I had though, I thought guiltily, I’d let him down in a big way. I hadn’t reacted in the way he’d wanted, in the way he’d hoped for, and I sure as hell hadn’t handled it as well as I could have. I’d let us both down. And now I was going to pay for it. It couldn’t just go back to normal, not that easily, this was me we were talking about after all. Nothing was ever that simple. - It was getting pretty late when, finally, Nikki decided I’d ran out of things to say and so she rolled over and went to sleep (I admired her ability to just drop off like that, not bad at all). That was two hours ago. I couldn’t sleep. She’d started a conversation that my mind wasn’t ready to end; I still had a million and one things to say. But no one to say them to. I thought, well, hoped, we’d exhausted the subject of Spencer but no, I kept revisiting it over and over and over and over and over. Especially one little question; why? Well, more specifically, why me? Why couldn’t it have been someone else, anyone else? Why did he choose me? It wasn’t that the idea of someone liking me repulsed me, if anything I was rather flattered, but, I mean, he was one of my best friends and he’d just sprung it upon me. I’d reacted badly enough with Nikki’s (supposedly helpful) warning, imagine how awful it would have been if he’d caught me completely off-guard. Oh my God. Why couldn’t he have fallen for some complete stranger? Someone who felt the same way about him. And he’d kissed me. Properly kissed me. Me. My first kiss was with Spencer Jablonski and I couldn’t change that fact. Ever. Even at the time, I couldn’t have prevented it. It had seemed like a very spur of the moment thing for him too, like he’d had a rush of adrenaline or something. Florence Chaplin, I’m pretty damn sure I love you. Those words, the look in his eye... he’d meant it. Even I could tell that he really meant it. And what had I said in reply? Oh. What a dick I was. Seriously, who says ‘oh’? After all that he said to me, it was almost like he poured his heart out. It felt like he had. So ‘oh’ must have felt like a kick in the teeth. And I’d done it to him. I’d essentially kicked him in the teeth. What a great friend I was. ”Can’t sleep Flo?“ Shocked, I looked up. Kathy. I smiled and shook my head. ”Me neither, shift over.“ Doing so, I watched as she skilfully made her way across the room, side-stepping discarded wrappers and shoes like a professional; a professional what I don’t know but a professional none the less. She sat down next to me and leant against the radiator. ”Bloomin’ freezing!“ she whispered. I passed her a duvet. ”Thanking you.“ She looked at me. ”You’re really cut up about Spencer, aren’t you?“ I shrugged. ”The look on his face, Kathy... it broke my heart but then, when I tried to explain, he just blanked me. Just walked away.“ ”He’s really sorry Flo, I’ve never seen him so worried. He knows he’s hurt you but I suppose he doesn’t know how to apologise.“ Hugging my knees to my chest, I rested my head on the sadly. ”How do you know though? Because I’m certain that he’s not as easy to read as he used to be.“ It used to be so easy, just one look and he’d crumble but no, he’d been keeping one huge secret from me all along. No, it was bigger than huge; it was Earth-shatteringly large. I mean, though, how long had he felt like that? How many times had he tried to tell me, how many times had he tried to make me see? ”He told me today. In art. We had a bit of a heart-to-heart. He never meant to leave you like he did, it may have sounded like a lame-ass excuse but his mum was waiting and, apparently, he’d tried to tell you back at his, or something...?“ I paused, puzzled, but then it hit me. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Oh sweet Jesus. ”We’d just finished his work, he came and sat next to me on the bed, he looked like he had something to say so... I changed the subject.“ Hiding my face in a pillow, I screamed softly. ”Why. Am. I. Such. An. Idiot?“ ”Woah.“ Kathy comforted me. ”It’s fine, it’s just a blip. Spencer’s words, not mine. Promise.“ I looked up. ”He said that?“ She nodded. ”He just wants to move on and go back to being friends; but only if that’s what you want.“ ”More than anything.“ Suddenly, it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, no longer was I Atlas holding up the sky. Or it was like someone had chased the clouds away at last. He wanted to be friends, we could go back to being friends; we could go back to normal. Just good friends, it wasn’t going to be immediate, it would take time, of course, but we both wanted the same thing and that’s all that mattered. It felt like my whole body had breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything just seemed better. ”Florence?“ ”Yeah?“ ”Who do you like then? I know you turned down Spencer for a reason, you wouldn’t just, y’know, do that for the fun of it.“ I snorted, stifling a laugh; Kathy really was wise beyond her years. I wanted to tell her, I wanted her to help me, to tell me what to do. It was Nikki I couldn’t trust, not with a secret like this anyway. Sure, she wouldn’t mean to tell anyone, it’d just slip out when she wasn’t paying attention. Like Spencer’s little secret the other night and we all knew how well that story ended. I couldn’t afford a total communication meltdown. Not again. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her expectant gaze. ”C’mon Flo, it’s me.“ she nudged me gently with her foot. ”You can tell me anything. Please-“ ”Sam.“ I blurted, blushing before it had even left my mouth. Internally cringing, I said it again, more for my own benefit than for Kathy’s. That was the first time that I’d said it out loud. It felt weird... but good weird, like confessing you’d just eaten the last chocolate. I had nothing to hide anymore, my conscience was pretty clear. ”I like Sam.“ Then she did exactly as I’d expected. Sort of. ”Aww, that’s so cute! Everyone knows that you two are practically made for each other.“ she smiled, pausing to take it in; thoughtful, she bit the end of her tongue. ”You should ask him out.“ Nodding in agreement with herself, she patted me on the knee. ”That is exactly what you should do. Ask him out.“ I shrugged. ”Maybe.“ ”But? There’s going to be a but, isn’t there?“ Of course there was going to be a but. Sam was my best friend, sure the other meant a lot to me too but Sam had been there from the start; he’d begun it all. What if I weirded him out? What if I lost him like I’d nearly lost Spencer? That was my biggest fear; losing him. It’d be unbearable, a life without him, especially if I’d brought it upon myself. Yes, I was probably thinking worst case scenarios here but that was practically all my brain was wired up for. I was Little Miss (Ray of) Sunshine, no doubt about that. I shook my head sadly, as though that action alone would be enough to stop my seemingly never ending internal monologue. ”I don’t know if I want to yet.“ She raised an eyebrow; she was on to me. ”You’re going to have to learn to lie more convincingly, dear. Of course you want to ask him out.“ Frowning slightly, I rubbed at my temples. ”It’s too soon after Spencer though.“ ”Oh for God’s sake girl! I’m not suggesting you just go up to him tomorrow and ask him. That’d be insensitive and a little bit odd. Let the dust settle and then go for it.“ She could see the thoughtful look on my face. ”Look, if you’re really not certain, you can write a list or something.“ ”A...list? Like, what, a shopping list?“ Kathy laughed quietly. ”Not quite. Well, okay, not at all actually. I don’t know, whenever my mum needs to make a decision then she writes a list of pros and cons of that decision and it’s just a way of organising her thoughts. Makes sense, that’s all I’m saying.“ I wanted to argue and say that that was an awful idea, just to end the conversation, but I couldn’t because it wasn’t. ”I’m going to write a list then.“ - It was a couple of hours later; Kathy and I had drifted off too but I was restless and I kept waking up; the things that she had said had really struck a chord. See, I loved my conversations with her but I hated how she felt like she could only speak when Nikki wasn’t there or preoccupied. Nikki dominated most conversations, even the boys struggled to get a word in edge ways sometimes. We were awkward people, Spencer, Kathy, Sam and I, we didn’t feel the need to speak all the time but Nikki did so she filled silence for us. It was a weird system but it worked. Other times though, we just wanted her to shut up. Moments like tonight were just some examples of times when we didn’t need Nikki poking her beak in. Kathy’s ten minute conversation had helped me a lot more than the hours I’d spent with Nikki before she’d gone to sleep. But then again, they were two very different people. It kind of felt wrong to compare them. Looking at the blank piece of paper, I tapped my pen against my front tooth; was this list idea stupid? It had sounded so good at first but, in practise, it was more difficult than I’d imagined. I mean, how do you analyse your friendship with someone? Where do you even start? The beginning, a little voice told me, always start at the beginning. Fair enough. I drew a line down the middle of the page, dividing it into two. On one side of the line I simply wrote ‘good’ and, on the other, I wrote ‘bad’. Smiling to myself at the memory, under ‘good’ I put ‘he talked to me when no one else would’, and then, under that, I added ‘pretty much my first friend’ and ‘an individual, not afraid of what others think of him’. They were the most important ones for me. Sam changed my life, made it better and never left. He showed some humanity, he gave me hope every day. And I don’t think I ever thanked him for that... not seriously anyway. I mean, we’d joked about it a lot, I always thanked him whenever I was upset and he was there to comfort me, but I don’t think I’d ever sat him down and thanked him for everything that he’d ever done for me, I’d never told him how much he meant to me. I’d quite like to, some day anyway, but it was quite an odd think to want to do I suppose, thanking them for being your friend. You thank someone for holding a door open for you or for handing you something, not for being a friend. Maybe we should change that, thinking about it; we need a friend appreciation day or something, I thought, I mean, birthdays are good for a start but... No, wait, hang on, I was running away with myself. I always did. It’s what I did when I was nervous. And writing this list was making me very nervous indeed. I glanced at Nikki’s alarm clock, the numbers screaming that I should really be asleep. 4:29am. Oh Jesus. That was bloody ridiculous. Three nights on the run without sleep. Three nights. I was going to go mad, I could just tell. But I’d started that goddamn list so I was going to finish that goddamn list. Even if it took me a gallon of coffee to do so. - ”Morning darling!“ Nikki screamed down my ear, skipping away before I punched her in the face. I contented myself with sticking my middle finger up instead, rolling onto my back. ”F you.“ Kathy laughed. ”Oh come on, you’ve had nearly twelve hours sleep, right? Get up, we’ve got stuff to do.“ Pulling the duvet up over my head, I snorted. ”I’ve only had twelve hours sleep if it is now dusk so... yeah, piss off.“ Then it went silent. Suspicious, I peeked out just in time to see the pair of them hurl themselves at me. Clutching at my ribs, I had to admit defeat. ”Okay, okay, I’ll get up.“ I stretched, slipping one arm under the pillow; I found the piece of paper almost immediately and balled it up, stuffing it into the rucksack. Kathy saw me though and she flashed me a thumbs up whilst Nikki’s back was turned. Poking my tongue out at her, I pulled my clothes out of my bag and padded across the hall to the bathroom. She’d been right though, that list had made everything a little easier for my brain to handle. For once, I knew what to do. And I was going to do it.

”Sam.“ Curled up on the couch, he looked up from his book, his pen dangling from his mouth. ”Flo.“ I swallowed nervously. His eyes, those startling(ly beautiful) green eyes, were staring at me, right at me, expecting me to say something. Anything. ”Could you pass me a highlighter? Mine’s just ran out.“ Screaming internally at my cowardice, I shook my pen for emphasis, shrugging when still no ink flowed. He laughed, rooting around in his pencil case. ”Sure.“ he threw it at me, waited to see if I caught it, and then went back to his book. Oh for f’s sake. - That was a couple of months ago, not long after the sleepover. I’d genuinely thought that I could bring myself to tell him but I wimped out every time. There was something about the way he looked at me that made my mouth go dry. I couldn’t do it. That hadn’t even been my only try, it had taken so many attempts (each and every one more cringe-worthy than the last, may I just add), before I’d finally admitted defeat and given up. Well, not given up exactly, more like took a break or something. No wait that sounded pathetic... It doesn’t matter, either way, he wasn’t going to find out. Kathy had offered to tell him on my behalf and, to be honest, I was so fed up of my sorry attempts that I’d actually considered it but then I thought, if he’s going to find out at all, he should find out from me. And I wasn’t going to tell him so he’d never know. Smiles all round. Actually, everyone did seem to be, well, happier, I suppose. The bare branches and red noses of winter brought with them a very festive feeling, Spencer and I were pretty much back to normal and things were looking up. The past was the past and, if anything, what hadn’t killed us had made us stronger. We all needed each other in the last couple of weeks actually so we’d used this to our advantage and fixed up our ‘fractured friendship’. Through revision. It was getting pretty close to the Christmas holidays, there were just thirty-five school days left of the year. Yeah, sure, that meant it was mid-November but, with the holidays approaching, that the Christmas exams were just on the horizon. And, as a group of not so secret nerds, it was pretty obvious that we were all panicking already. I mean, these tests didn’t even mean anything. Proper exam season wasn’t until summer. Still, we found ourselves revising (almost) every night. Some of us were stronger in certain subjects than others and some of us even had completely different lessons altogether so we’d kind of set up a bit of a tutoring schedule. I did my best to teach a bit of French (handy, as I already had some experience in that area), Spencer was our proper little geek so we left Maths and Science to him, Sam was our English and History expert and the girls... well, they didn’t teach anything but helped out when they could. Apparently, they did us a service by providing snacks. We disagreed but not too much; if we had then they might have stopped bringing food... and we kind of needed food to function. I mean, everything alive needs food to function but we were like zombies if we didn’t snack or something. It wasn’t surprising then that lunch was out favourite time of the day. Oddly, we were like a little family at the lunch table; most of lessons were had alone so we used lunch as a time to compare notes and see what was going on. Like how I imagined most proper families did at dinner at home. If we were a family then, really, it wasn’t hard figuring out who the children were. ”So, what’s going on then guys?“ Sam sat down next to me, immediately sprawling out his legs beneath the table and kicking Spencer, who was sat opposite. In response, Spencer threw a handful of grapes but Sam was too quick for him; expertly, he caught several in his mouth. ”Suck it, Jablonski.“ I stabbed at him playfully with my fork. ”The first exam dates are up.“ Everyone paused mid-mouthful. ”And...?“ ”Biology first, everyone said it would be. 9th of Decemeber.“ Nikki pursed her lips. ”Ouch, two weeks exactly.“ I nodded. Sam turned an odd shade of green which made us all pretty sure that perhaps a grape had gotten stuck in his throat. ”Ah, what? Shit. Two weeks, that’s all?“ I nodded again. ”Oh.“ - I loved Sam’s room. So much. It was amazing. Seriously. If you could see it, you would fall in love with it too. It’s fabulous. I could remember the summer when he invited me round. He’d just moved in to his house and he hated the way that the room looked; it was pink and his mum had promised him that he could decorate any way that he wanted. We stripped off the wallpaper, painted the bare plasterboard a boring white and sat down to think what to do next. We had three months of free time, a million different ideas and, possibly the best bit, fifty pounds to spend on whatever essentials we needed. Sam wanted something different, something no one else’d have; something no one else would have even thought of. His eureka moment came when I switched on the radio and our favourite song came on; ”Oh my God, Flo! Lyrics!“ With that in mind, we took the bus to town and returned with a dozen permanent markers of different colours and spent the next twelve weeks looking up lyrics online (lyrics, words that were profound or meant something to one, or both, of us), debating their relevance and then writing them, very carefully, in our best handwriting on the walls, ceiling, skirting-boards... any surface we could lay our hands on. The result? Amazing. Unbelievable. I quite liked it, let’s put it that way. It was striking, visually, and, also, it meant something to us both too. I loved how I could remember the story behind every sentence, how we’d fought over whether a band could be referenced more than once and the feeling of satisfaction when we had finally filled every last space we could. It was amazing. Every inch dedicated to music. Well, usually. When I walked in that evening, I was greeted by something a bit different. A huge Periodic table poster covered pretty much half of a wall, a diagram of the human body hung next to it, half-heartedly, one of the corners flopping down, not enough Blu-Tack to hold it up. Brightly coloured post-it notes littered his walls and furniture and, as I walked toward his bed, I tripped over a stack of textbooks and landed on his school bag, over-flowing with notes. Sam had hit panic stations. And it was quite scary. Hardly phased by my (spectacular) entrance, Sam carried on scribbling, glancing at an open book from time to time. ”Hey, y’alright?“ He just sat on his bed, cross-legged. Writing. He just kept writing and writing. I crawled across the floor toward him. ”Practically indestructible I am.“ I peered at his notepad. ”You know, one day, your head is going to explode and it’ll be your own fault; you’ll have filled it too much.“ He didn’t even flinch, he just kept writing. I fell back onto his bed, landing with a more than satisfying bounce and causing Sam to jump up too as his mattress jiggled. Unamused, he grumbled to himself. Looking at the intense concentration on his face, I sighed. ”Why are you so worried about this; seriously Sam, it’s just a mock.“ ”I need to do well.“ ”No you don’t. You want to, we all do, but you don’t need to.“ Frustrated that he wasn’t fully listening to me, I pulled his notepad from him. ”If you carry on like this for two weeks, you’ll make yourself ill or something. I don’t want to see you like that.“ He didn’t reply, he just fiddled with his duvet, running his finger up and down the material. Sometimes, just sometimes, he was just as bad at lying as the rest of us. He may say that he’d win hands down at cards but I knew that his poker face wasn’t as good as he made out. Right now, he wanted me to believe that he was okay, that he was just fixated on getting good grades but I knew different. I knew him better than that. ”What’s wrong?“ I asked, taking his hand in mine. ”C’mon man, you can tell me.“ Uncomfortable, he shifted slightly. ”Mikey called last night.“ ”Oh.“ He nodded. No wonder Sam was so obsessed with success. His big-shot brother. His big-shot, arse of a brother. I’d met him only once, just before he went back to university, but let’s just say... he hadn’t made a great first impression. It was pretty hard to mask the fact that he was an arse. He’d looked at me with a smugly amused grin on his face, talked to me as though I were an infant and, when he’d left, he’d not even said goodbye; he was rude, just plain rude. That didn’t really faze me. People treated me like something they found on the bottom of their shoe all the time. The worst thing was that he treated Sam, his own flesh and blood, even worse than he’d treated me, a stranger. He pissed me off so much. Sam did nothing to him, he knew when to keep out of the way, he wasn’t an ‘in-your face, gonna-annoy-you-so-much-until-you-crack’ kind of guy; he was just Sam and he didn’t deserve to be treated like shit. I sighed, trying not to get myself worked up; I kind of wanted to stay reasonably calm. ”What did he want?“ ”He’s got a job with a firm; he’s a proper lawyer now. He’s got his life planned,“ Sam rubbed the back of his neck, ”and he’s just made those shoes ten times harder to fill.“ I bit my lip; I hated seeing him like this. ”You’re not your brother Sam.“ Mirroring my bad habit, he then bit his lip. ”Tell me something I don’t know.“ ”No, I mean, you’re not the golden boy.“ ”Jesus Flo, make me feel better why don’t you?“ I winced; none of this was coming out properly. Things in my head were quite hard to explain in words. ”You’re far from perfect Sam but I’d have you no other way. For all your faults and flaws, you’re still amazing and I love you. You can do a million things that dearest Michael cannot and if you’re parents can’t just accept that you are two very different kids then they can just piss off.“ I gave him a small smile. I loved Mr and Mrs Smith, of course I did, but, in all seriousness, when they did these kinds of things, things that mad Sam feel guilty that he wasn’t top of all his classes or guilty that he didn’t want to be the kind of professional that his brother was, it really made me mad. Couldn’t they see that it upset him when they didn’t see what he’d achieved? Both academically and personally? He was just as intelligent as his brother, to me, the only difference between them was that Sam had a heart. ”You’re Sam, not Michael, and I wouldn’t change that. Ever.“ He smiled back at me, the kind of cute smile that he did when he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ”Thanks Flo, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.“ I think I did but I didn’t say anything, I was just glad to see that he’d put the textbooks down. I went in for a hug, holding him close. ”Love you Sam.“ ”Love you too Flo.“ He grinned, half-biting his lower lip. ”Wanna see something I’ve been working on?“ I laughed. ”Anything to get you away from the textbooks.“ Not bothering to get up, he lent over the side of the bed and stretched to reach his rucksack. ”Here.“ Sitting up again, he passed me his school sketch pad, letting it fall open to the last page he’d been working on. Looking at it, I couldn’t help but open my mouth in amazement. Seriously, when did he get so good? It was a double page, the book had been turned so it was landscape and, on the top half, he’d stuck a picture of the five of us from last Christmas Eve, stretched so that it fit on a piece of A4. Underneath that, he’d copied it out. Perfectly. Every single little detail. The fluffy trim of Spencer’s Santa hat, the bemused glint in Kathy’s eye, Nikki’s boredom, my wonky smile and his own green eyes. He hadn’t even added colour yet but he didn’t need to; he’d got it spot on. Everything was perfect. It looked unbelievable; I could remember when he struggled to draw faces, it was the only thing we studied in art for practically a whole year and it infuriated him that he couldn’t do it so he practised and practised...he filled four sketchpads that school year; the teacher wasn’t overly impressed, you know, considering that one sketchpad should last the average student their first three years in art class. He was determined and he was talented. Really talented. How could his parents think that he wasn’t good enough? I stole a glance at his face as I inspected his work; he was proud of it, I could tell by the way he was kind of rocking from side to side, but he wanted approval; again, the look on his face gave him away. ”Sam, this is amazing; seriously, when did you get this good?“ He shrugged. ”It’s not that great.“ I raised an eyebrow, smirking. ”You know it pisses me off when you play the whole modesty thing.“ He laughed. ”Okay, I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done but, I don’t know, it can’t be perfect, can it?“ Lightly stroking my finger across our faces, I smiled. ”If this isn’t perfect then it’s the closest I’ve ever seen.“ ”Thanks Flo.“ He held out his hand for the sketchpad, thinking I was finished but I kept hold of it. Flipping back to the first page, I spun to face him, crossing my legs too. I hadn’t seen any of his artwork since he’d started a new book, it were as though he wanted to keep his work secret; if he had wanted a bit of secrecy, he’d made a mistake by handing his book to me. I turned the pages carefully, admiring everything. It was clear he was a prolific drawer and, contrary to the saying, his work was amazing. All of it. ”Flo...“ I looked up. ”Yeah?“ He had his confused face on, the face that meant he wanted to talk about something but he didn’t know how or, sometimes, why. Sensing that this might be serious, I put the sketchpad down on the bed beside me. ”What’s up?“ He frowned slightly. ”Have you ever liked me?“ I paused. ”You’re my best friend, of course I like you. Idiot.“ ”No, I mean, have you ever like me liked me?“ I think I might have twitched slightly as the words left his mouth but I think I handled it well. Internally, I was panicking; someone’s let something slip, I thought, I knew I shouldn’t have told Kathy, I thought I could trust her, what the hell? I swallowed, trying to maintain the appearance of calm. ”Uh... no, I don’t think so, why do you ask?“ Rubbing at his canine tooth with his tongue, he went quiet for a minute. ”No reason just... I read something the other day, that’s all.“ I pulled a face. ”What the hell were you reading?“ ”I don’t know,“ he shrugged, ”some article in the newspaper. It said something about it being more likely for a woman to fall in love with a close male friend than for a man to fall in love with a close female friend. Something about hormones and shit and I guess we’ve disproved that.“ I smiled. That sounded an awful lot like a lie, I probably got the same paper as him and I’m pretty sure I never read that, but I didn’t want to pick holes; I might have just over looked it or something. Then it hit me: ”I suppose we have but surely, to have disproved it, that means that you’ve liked me.“ Winking at me, he laughed. ”You’re my best friend, of course I like you. Idiot.“ I stuck my tongue out at him. ”Seriously though, have you? Liked me, that is.“ He froze and we both went quiet. Nodding, he blushed. ”Two years. I was going to ask you out and everything.“ He started tidying up his textbooks and avoiding eye-contact with me. It was as though he’d decided it would be a good idea to hit me with a ton of bricks and carry on as though he’d just tickled me with a feather... if that made sense. He’d dropped a f*ing bombshell. He’d liked me. He’d liked me. He’d liked me. I was, maybe, just a little bit, I don’t know, in shock. I was two years too late though. Buggar. Try not to act like an arse Flo, I told myself, it’s never good when you do that. ”Aww-“ ”If the end of that sentence is going to be ‘that’s so sweet’, you can shut up right now.“ I laughed, throwing one of his pillows at him. ”That’s so sweet.“ - I was so mad at myself that it was unbelievable. Well, I was mad at myself at first, but then I realised it wasn’t my fault. At all. How was I to have known how he felt? It was Sam’s fault. He should have had the guts to tell me. But then I realised that it wasn’t Sam’s fault either, I was just trying to find someone to blame. It was just coincidence or fate or whatever; we were a little bit like trains, his had left the station just as mine arrived. It was just bad timing. I was still pretty pissed off about the whole situation though. I mean, two years. I had a window of opportunity of two years. What a doughnut. Alone at the lunch table, I stabbed my salad angrily. ”What’s happened?“ Kathy sat down next to me. ”You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.“ ”Oh really,“ unscrewing her orange juice, she shot me one of her looks, ”try me.“ I sighed. ”Sam was going to ask me out.“ She gritted her teeth. ”Ouch. Was?“ ”Yeah, I don’t know. It’s a bit of a weird subject to try and talk about with him to be honest. It feels like a bit of a mess.“ ”Not really...“ From Kathy’s expression, I could tell she was plotting one of her sneaky plans. ”You know he used to have some pretty strong feelings for you, stronger than friendship anyway, I suppose all you have to do is... rekindle those feelings? I don’t know, make him fall in love with you again.“ Gazing across the cafeteria, I could see him in the lunch queue. He caught my eye and waved to me, grinning from ear to ear. I waved back, smiling. ”Make him fall in love with me, right? Easy.“ I wanted to sound confident but I don’t know who I was kidding; what had I gotten myself into?

Three weeks later and we were all sat around a table at the cafe in town, the warm comforting smell of cinnamon in the air; it looked like an episode of Friends or something probably. We were celebrating. It was the Christmas holidays, at last, we had officially survived our first term back at school and we were through with our first set of mocks. We wouldn’t get our results until the first day back but, I think, it was safe to say we were all feeling pretty confident. Revision had helped us all a lot - especially Sam. Once I’d told the others about his mad fixation with extra work, we’d all come together come together and made sure he stuck to two hours a night. Maximum. I’m pretty sure that that’s the only reason he stayed sane during the last couple of weeks; if he’d kept going the way he had been, he would have lost it. I even made him take down his revision posters so that he’d actually get some sleep and not just lie there staring at them. That was all behind us now though. We didn’t even have to so much as think about school for a glorious two and a half weeks. That was a whole seventeen days without geometry problems, second declension nouns or limp cafeteria salads. It might not sound long, seventeen days, but, after three months of the same old bullshit routine, it sounded perfect to us. We could do anything we wanted to. We had practically every day planned out, we knew exactly what we were doing and when and the only day we weren’t actually going to see anyone was, of course, Christmas Day. We were making the most of this. No homework. No teachers. No revision. No need to think. Just seventeen days of freedom, coffee and laughing. ”Fight you for the last cookie.“ I challenged Sam (who I could see was eyeing up the same biscuit as me). No hesitation, I noticed, smiling as he immediately turned to face me. ”You’re on, name the contest.“ ”No wait,“ interrupted Spencer, ”if she chooses, wouldn’t that be unfair?“ We both looked at each other and nodded. ”You choose then.“ For a minute, Spencer looked at us blankly but then Kathy tapped him lightly on the elbow and whispered something in his ear. Laughing, his eyes lit up. ”Alright, Kathy’s gottit.“ I raised an eyebrow. ”Oh really?“ It was really sweet how those two had gotten closer over the last month or so, you could really tell how happy Spencer’s company made Kathy. I suppose, now that Spencer understood that I didn’t like him like that, he was finally noticing how much he made Kathy smile. Like I said, it was sweet. ”As many high-fives as you can get in two minutes. Strangers only.“ I smiled. ”Challenge accepted.“ Sam exhaled, a little shocked. ”She is good at this.“ Slapping Sam on the back encouragingly, I jumped up, already searching out people I knew or recognised. ”C’mon, no backing out now. On your marks, get set, go!“ - ”Twenty one.“ I panted, slumping down into my chair. Sam winced. ”Nineteen.“ Raising my arms in triumph, I snatched the biscuit from in front of him, waving it in front of his nose teasingly. ”Suck it, Smith.“ Everyone laughed. ”Good game Kath, I’ll give you that.“ moaned Sam, elbowing her. ”Plenty of odd stares and scornful tutting.“ Kathy grinned, sneaking a sideways look at Spencer who was gazing at her proudly. ”That was kind of the idea.“ ”We’ve got to put you in charge of these things more often; you’ve got a gift.“ Picking up my reward, I took one last gloating glance at Sam. Big mistake. Eyes wide and lips pouting, he was trying to pull off the puppy-dog look but all he was managing to do was look ridiculous. ”Don’t. The wind’ll change and you’ll stay like that.“ I winked, breaking off a piece of cookie. I dangled the biscuit in front of him again, pulling away at the last second and then acting all innocent until he finally nipped my fingers victoriously. We sniggered together, just the two of us, like we had our own private joke. I think we almost forgot that the other three were there. We were doing a bit too much of that lately. I mean, we’d always been close and we’d always teased each other a lot about little things but this was different. Well, it certainly felt different. It felt like flirting. It felt really good. The others though, well, I don’t know, they just didn’t seem to like it. At all. They tried to mask it, really they did, they tried not to look as freaked out as they were, but you could tell from the looks on their faces that they sure as hell didn’t like what we were doing. I’ll give her her due, Kathy, at first, didn’t seem too fazed (it had been her idea after all) but, as time passed, you could see it was beginning to grate a bit. I kind of knew it would be weird for Spencer, I completely understood that he’d be a little bit creeped out by it but, then again, he had Kathy now; surely that changed things? Neither of them said anything to me though. That’s what I couldn’t understand. Neither of them tried to get us to stop or dial it down a bit; they just tried to turn a blind eye. Nikki, on the other hand, had not problem expressing herself at all. Unfortunately. ”Get a room.“ she practically snarled at us, wrapping her hands around her mug. I’d hoped they’d be okay. I’d hoped they ignore it or something if they didn’t agree with it. Instead, they made me feel guilty. I don’t know if it was the same for Sam but I certainly felt guilty. Try as I might though, I don’t think I could have stopped myself; it made me happy. Almost apologetically, I shifted my chair away from Sam’s. I shouldn’t be so hard on them, I thought, it must be pretty strange. It was something completely new; I shouldn’t have expected them to be so accepting. Sure, Spencer and Kathy were getting closer at the same time but in a totally different (more subtle) way. Maybe we were just being too obvious. Was it ridiculously cringe-worthy to watch? ”Shuttup Nikki, we’re just messing about.“ Sam shot back at her, squeezing my hand under the table, out of sight of the others. I smiled at him sheepishly, even the fact that he was standing up for me, for us I suppose, made me feel weird. And I wasn’t sure if it was good weird or bad weird. I prayed to God that it was good weird, I didn’t want it to end. It made me happy. Sam made me really happy. - We managed to get through the rest of the night without anymore drama. Well, without anymore drama than usual. No one mentioned anything about anything that happened. I think we were all a little embarrassed about it; especially Nikki, she’d gone rather quiet after her clash with Sam. It looked like he was pretty mad with her but, personally, I think he was just too stubborn to apologise. As he walked me home, I wanted to say something about it but I couldn’t. It was between him and Nikki, I shouldn’t get involved. Or maybe I should have, I mean, he had been defending me. I was just a bit angry that he’d insisted we leave on time. ”Sam, I don’t have to be home at ten, I’m pretty sure my parents wouldn’t notice if I stumbled in at one in the morning, drunk out my mind and singing at the top of my voice.“ He laughed. ”It doesn’t matter. You know what? For once, staying on their good side won’t hurt you.“ I sighed. He was right, if I kept to my curfew more often than not then maybe they wouldn’t be so mad if I was late in the future. I kind of hated it when he was right, I didn’t want his ego to inflate. Finally, we reached my gate. He turned to me. ”Nanight Flo, sleep well.“ We hugged and I turned to leave. ”See you tomor- Oh no, wait.“ Sighing, I remembered that we weren’t meeting up. ”Guess I’ll see you Monday then.“ He nodded and I shuffled up the pathway. Turning the door handle, I glanced over my shoulder one last time; I saw him stood by the fence, waiting until I was safely inside. I waved to him one last time and he raised his hand in response, walking down the street toward the bus stop. I watched as he went, biting my lip. - Feigning tiredness, I managed to make it to bed without my parents’ usually forced conversation – I hated having to sit through the small talk. Wrapped up warm against the late night chill outside my window, I sat cross-legged on my bed, reading as I often did. I loved books. I loved the crisp feeling of the pages as you read a brand new book and the excitement that a new plot brought and, indeed, the warm familiar feeling of nostalgia that reading a dog-eared book for the one millionth time gave you. The words on those pages, who knew what they could do? The people they would inspire, the hope they could give. It gave me a shiver down my spine just to think about it. I suppose there was just something wonderfully romantic about books and that was something I wanted to hold on to. Sam always said we’d been born a couple of decades too late, that we didn’t belong in an age so fixated on technology and progress. I disagreed; I said we just wanted to escape every now and again. He’d shrugged. Out of habit, I flashed a look at my phone just as the screen lit up. I smiled as I saw Sam’s name and opened the message. Somehow, we’d gotten into the habit of texting each other late into the night, making it a competition to see which of the two of us could stay awake the longest. More often than not, he would win but I’d had a lot of coffee. Let’s just say I was pretty confident. Giggling to myself childishly, I put down my book, careful not to lose my page; slowly, I could feel my grin slide off my face as I scrolled through his words. Oh... ”Hey, I know this is pretty weird but I’ve been thinking lately, a lot actually...“ I could tell something was up straight away; Sam never said ‘hey’, it was always ‘hellooo’ with three o’s because, he said, that was how he said it so that would be how he spelt it. ‘Hey’ meant he was trying to sound breezy and nonchalant; ‘hey’ meant he had something pretty serious to say. And, reading on, I could see why he was so nervous. Certain sentences really stood out as non-Samish. ”You know the other week when I said I’d liked you for two years? Yeah, that was a lie; I never stopped liking you...“ It was the final sentence that was really... well, I don’t know. I read it over and over and over and over and over until it felt like it was burnt into my retinas. ”... well, what would you do if I asked you to be my girlfriend because, I’m not going to lie, you make me really happy, you’re an amazing girl and I think I’m falling in love with you.... xx“ I felt my heart sink. I’m falling in love with you. No. Oh God, no. No. No. No. No. No. No. That was what I’d wanted, right? When he’d said he’d wanted to ask me out but he hadn’t, I mean, that had felt like a kick in the shins. That had hurt; so why did this hurt more? I’d wanted this. I’d done what Kathy said to do; I’d made him feel that way again, I’d made him ‘fall in love’ with me again, and, this time, he’d managed to tell me about it. I suppose I should be grateful but I wasn’t because, this time, I had to make a decision. Me. I had to make a decision with consequences and everything. Not a simple decision like cranberry or orange juice but a properly big decision. Oh dear God. This was going to change everything. No matter what I said, no matter what decision I made, everything was going to change. It was going to be like Spencer all over again but ten thousand times more heart-wrenching because, this time, it wasn’t Spencer I was dealing with. It was Sam. My best friend was falling in love with me. And it was, kind of, my fault. It wasn’t meant to be this hard to make a decision. It wasn’t supposed to break my heart even thinking about it. I was indecisive, everyone knew that, but this was just f*ing impossible. Annoyed at myself, annoyed at Sam, I threw my phone at my bedroom wall; it soared across the room in a perfect arch, somersaulting mid-air, before smashing with a satisfying crack. I watched as a shower of cheap plastic and circuit board rained down onto the carpet. The destruction made me feel better... but not for long. He’d be expecting a text back. I’d not thought it through. I was fighting back tears at this point. Sulking, I wrapped myself in my duvet, burying myself under my pillows, trying to hide from myself and my thoughts yet again; just sticking my head in the sand as my ostrich tendencies started to kick in. It felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. I didn’t know what to do... but I knew what he’d be doing. I knew that he’d be sat by his phone, stomach churning and chewing his lip as he ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if he’d made the right choice by telling me. He was such a worrier, he fretted over the littlest of things; any decision he made, any decision at all, he always had to go back and think ”what if...?“ That was another thing we had in common. I hated the thought of him waiting for the text that would never come. I hated that everything was hanging on me. My choices, my thoughts, my decisions; it was too much pressure. I didn’t know what to do; my phone was now, officially, dead as a dodo but, even if it hadn’t been, I don’t know what I could have said to him. What could I say so as not to sound pathetic or as though I was trying to dodge the bullet? I wanted to sound genuine and sincere but I genuinely had no idea what I felt. I suppose I felt confused, it had come as such a shock; I mean, he’d told me that he’d liked me for two years but he’d implied that he didn’t anymore. I hadn’t actually counted on Kathy’s plan working. It was just a stupid idea, I mean, who actually does that? Me, apparently. Okay, so I felt confused, I felt a little bit lost and I certainly felt a hell of a lot torn. Bloody hell, everything was in such a mess... This was properly messy. Sam was my best friend. My very best friend. It wasn’t as though I didn’t care about everyone else, I loved them, of course I did, but... how can I put this? My friendship was Sam was the relationship that I valued the most. If I so much as thought about losing him... I got scared. This whole situation scared me. What scared me the most was that I only had about twenty-four hours to make a decision I’d have to live with for the rest of my life. I was only fifteen, sure there were bigger decisions to come, of course there was, but it was the biggest decision I’d had to make so far. It felt so cataclysmic; what if I got it wrong? Oh my God, oh my God, for God’s sake. This was not a matter of life or death. It was more important than that. Just twenty-four hours. A day. The next day was Sunday and, luckily for me, one of the only days of the holidays where we hadn’t all planned to get together; I was going to my grandparents’ house, Sam was being forced to visit his arse of a brother, Nikki was wrapping Christmas presents (how that took a whole day I had no idea) and Kathy and Spencer were going Christmas shopping (”but separately, not together,“ they insisted; none of us believed them. ”They doth protest too much,“ I’d whispered in Sam’s ear. And he’d agreed). I wouldn’t see him until Monday at the earliest so that definitely gave me twenty-four hours to think at least. If he asked why I hadn’t texted I’d say that I ran out of credit (a clever plan as this was no uncommon), or that my battery was dead (again, believable)... Or I could just tell him (a heavily edited version of) the truth. He just need not know how he’d made me feel. Ever. What I needed was to think of an answer for him. And fast. Frustrated, I curled up into a ball beneath the duvet and sobbed until I had only enough energy left to sleep. The last thing on my mind was Sam. And I knew that he’d be the first thing that I thought about when I woke. Urgh.

”What the hell, Florence Chaplin?“ shrieked my mother. Loudly. Right in my face. Early in the morning. ”What?!“ I screamed back at her; I’d been awake less than a minute and yet, using her unbelievable powers of annoyance, she’d already managed to piss me off. Dangling circuit board in front of me like a hypnotist, she leant forward so that we were touching nose to nose, her sickly perfume making my eyes water. ”What the hell happened?“ I stared at the pathetic looking pile of plastic on the floor by the door. It lay there, harmlessly, goading me. None of it had been a dream. None of it at all. It had all been true. Sam had told me that he loved me, for real this time. None of it had been in my head as I had hoped; the phone proved that. F***. I genuinely hoped that maybe I’d made it up, that maybe I’d just dreamt it all... but no. Kicking myself for being so naive, I dove under the pillows and duvet, hiding, once again, from reality. Mum, though, had other ideas; she whipped the covers away from me. ”Get up.“ Frowning, I folded my arms defensively, blatantly refusing to move my arse out of bed. I was comfy. She grounded her teeth angrily. ”I said, get up.“ Again, I did not move. ”Get the f up. Now.“ She growled, saying each word slowly and deliberately. I simply rolled over. I could hear her tutting, thinking of what to do now. To her, I was just a lost cause. ”Downstairs in ten minutes, ready to go, or I’m leaving without you.“ Waiting until I could hear her footsteps on the staircase, I rolled out of bed, albeit bitterly. She may be a bitch but, unfortunately, she did not issue empty threats and, today of all days, I could do with my grandpa, I thought, searching for a clean pair of socks. - Nine minutes later, I was sat on the bottom step of the staircase, lacing my boots. Mum walked past me, smiling victoriously; to her, so much as getting me out of bed counted as a win for her. I mean, getting any teenager out of bed was difficult but I was more stubborn and insubordinate than most. Living with me, apparently, was a chore. It was clear that she couldn’t abide me. That’s why she was hardly ever home. It was as though the very sight of me repulsed her. People were very careful to mention me to her too; if they did, she’d just frown and shake her head at them sadly. I was a disappointment. Me. Her own daughter. I was a waste of time it would seem. It was for those reasons that, for both of us, Sundays came as a great struggle and a great relief. On one hand, we were thrown together from morning until night; we had to at least pretend to be slightly civil toward each other for my grandparents’ sakes (which was really difficult, especially as we locked horns on a regular basis). However, I got to see Grandpa and mum got to see her mum (and who she was going to turn into in a few years). See, when I told people that I was going to see my grandparents, I was actually going to see my Grandpa and show my Gran that I wasn’t dead. That was the routine anyway. Mum grabbed her car keys and coat. ”Ready?“ Nodding, I went to pick up my guitar case. ”No, you’re not taking that bloody thing again.“ ”I think you’ll find that I am. Sorry to disappoint.“ It was traditional for me to take my guitar with me so that, whilst Gran and Mum gossiped about meaningless shit, Grandpa could take me into his study and teach me a little bit more, surrounded by enough vinyl to open a record store. It’s what we’d been doing for little over half a decade and yet, unfortunately, it was also still traditional for Mum to protest over my insistence that we not leave the house without my guitar. In my mind though, I would continue to take it with me until the day Grandpa told me to stop; in my mind, Mum had no say in it. And she knew I wouldn’t budge on the subject. Pursing her lips, she gave me a withering look. ”Fine, just... get in the car.“ She was beginning to learn to choose her battles. Deep down, I think, she knew that the guitar would be one that she lost. By a landside. I walked to the car, a smug grin painted on my face. Was it so awful that I quite enjoyed being an awkward daughter? Was it even worse that I rarely even felt guilty? I felt guilty that I didn’t feel guilty though... if that even makes sense; very little ever did with me. - I was pretty much ready to kill myself by the time we pulled up outside my grandparents’ house. It was a ten minute drive, hardly any time at all really, if you think about it, but she made it so unbearable that it felt at least like an hour or so. I could practically hear our watch hands tick sluggishly as I sat on the very each of my seat. At certain points of the journey, I’d been more than ready to simply open the car door and throw myself out of the moving vehicle; death was but a small price to pay to escape. For the most part though, I was just pulling my hair out. Constantly. See, whilst my Mum and I were in houses or buildings, we could stay in separate rooms or find something to occupy ourselves, however, in cars, we could not. Instead, we sat in silence (horrendously awkward silence) until my Mum thought of some topic for us to talk about. She’d chosen the car journey to be an excellent time to ‘discuss my phone’. It hadn’t been. At all. And, luckily for me, the conversation continued once we had gotten inside the house. Oddly enough, somehow, I could not express my joy; because, trust me, I was f*ing over the moon about that one. Really, I was. We’d barely taken off our shoes before Gran appeared, a vision of wrinkles and blonde hair dye, ready to join in. ”Oh, what’s happened now?“ No hellos or exchanges of pleasantries, she was straight in there, prepared to tear into me. I loved how she attached the word ‘now’ to the end of her sentence as though she had been expecting something to have happened between my mother and I; she was totally justified to do that, nine times out of ten she was very accurate with her predictions, but sometimes, just sometimes, her preparedness came off as just plain rude. Carefully, I tried to sweep it under the carpet. ”Nothing Gran, nothing at all. Got those new curtains up yet?“ Simulatenously, my mother and my grandmother both turned to me and snapped viciously. ”Do not change the subject Florence-Anne!“ Their tone and facial expressions were identical and it took all my self-control not to just laugh in their faces. I mean, all I could think was ‘like mother, like daughter’. As they both looked at me, the resemblance was actually quite astounding; the eyes, the hair, the way their mouths were set in a thin line and, in a way I suppose, the wrinkles. It was hilarious. Either Gran had managed to slow the aging process and was sacrificing unicorns on a regular basis or Mum was simply aging at a faster rate than anticipated. I kind of hoped it was the latter. Just for kicks. Again, I was a horrible daughter. But, then again, she was a horrible mother so, I suppose, we were even. Shooing us into the living room, Gran sat us both down. ”Tea or coffee, dears?“ ”Tea please Mum, I’m gasping. Milk, two sugars.“ ”Coffee’d be great Gran please. Black.“ See? We were polar opposites, completely and utterly different. Sometimes (most of the time) I could not believe that we were related. ”That’s not good for you darling, have some milk at least.“ Darling? What the hell? She was putting on a show, a mask so Gran couldn’t see how bad things really were. She did it all the time, painting over cracks was her speciality. I guess that’s where I got it from then, it wasn’t exactly lying, it was more like disguising the truth. We just dressed it up so much, hid it under layers of words, that no one recognised it. It was clever. But it pissed me off so much when she did it. Seething, I nodded sweetly. ”Coffee with milk then please.“ Not that I’d drink it; if I so much as looked at a mug of coffee with milk in it, it made me feel like I was going to be sick. ”Gran,“ I called through to the kitchen, ”where’s Grandpa?“ ”Out dear, he’ll be back soon.“ She reappeared, tray in hand. My heart sank; shit, I was required to be mildly sociable. No one seemed to notice though. Gran continued to chatter away as she set everything down on the table. ”Anyway, what’s gotten your mother so riled, ey?“ I cringed. So much for getting away with it. I genuinely had hoped that I’d managed to distract them but no. ”Like I said, it’s nothing. A misunderstanding, that’s all.“ Almost choking on her tea, Mum scoffed. ”A misunderstanding my sweet Aunt Fanny, Florence Chaplin!“ she complained. I rolled my eyes. ”Oh c’mon, you’ve not even heard my side of the story.“ ”You’ve smashed your phone. What else do I need to know?“ Taken aback, Gran looked at me, ‘concerned’. ”You’ve smashed your phone? Oh dear, honey, that’s a bit irresponsible-“ ”How’d I guess you’d side with her?“ ”Don’t you dare take that tone with your grandmother!“ Shrugging, I slouched, knowing how much that annoyed both of them. ”Why not? It’s true. Admit it. Neither of you have ever asked me why I do the things you take so much joy in scolding me for. I’m not a daughter to you, Mum, I’m just someone who lives in your house. I get in your way. I get under your feet. And I’m an inconvenience.“ I picked up a magazine, ready to be ignored as I usually was after one of my little speeches. She hated how I told the truth when it came to things like that, I could tell, it really got to her how I could put into words how she felt toward me when she couldn’t. Or at least, it seemed like it, who knows? ”Why’d you do it then?“ ”What?“ Mum shrugged. ”If you’re so certain that you can justify the destruction of your phone then, enlighten me, why’d you do it?“ Gobsmacked, I put the magazine down. She’d never asked for my side of the story before. In all the years of the ridiculous things I’d been punished for, my trials had always been very one sided. Maybe it was just because Gran was there (with an expression that usually only someone sucking on a bitter lemon could pull). I hadn’t been expecting to be able to guilt trip my heartless mother into letting me defend myself, could it be that she was finally learning to have an open mind? Wow. It was genuinely quite shocking. I felt weird. This was a trick or something, right? Finally though, a chance to fight my corner and be listened to. That was something special right there. There was no guarantee that she’d actually take my story into consideration but, I suppose, in a way, it was progress. I might be able to get through to her, I thought hopefully. But then I realised something awful. I couldn’t actually tell her why I’d smashed my phone. Not the truth anyway. Oh balls. Balls, balls, balls. I mean, how do you explain that you threw your phone at a brick wall because your best friend told you that he loved you? Like she gave two shits about my ‘love life’. If I told her, even if I told her the truth, it wouldn’t have been a good enough excuse. She either wouldn’t have believed me and laughed in my face or just laughed in my face. Yeah, she was that supportive. I couldn’t lie. I literally couldn’t lie. That and I couldn’t think of anything that would make any real sense. All I could think of was watermelons. I was panicking. I’ll just have to take this one on the chin, I thought, watermelons won’t cut it. F***. I mean, who thinks of watermelons in a time of crisis? Thank God I wasn’t Prime Minister or something. I sighed. Just as things were looking up as well; why couldn’t she have chosen a day when I had a decent story to tell? For God’s sake. ”I can’t tell you.“ Smug, my darling mother sat back in her chair. ”Oh really? No excuses this time? Nothing?“ I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying something I’d regret. Instead, I shook my head. ”You’re paying for a new phone. That is your punishment,“ she started decisively, ”and, when your father gets home, I will discuss with him how long you are to be grounded for.“ I hated it when she called Dave my father, it was just another lie. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who my real dad was; I knew it wasn’t Dave, that’s what mattered. ”You know I don’t have any money at the moment.“ I also hated that she hardly knew me and yet, somehow, knew how to pull my strings, to push my buttons and really hit me hard. Ironically, I’d spent all the money I had to my name on Sam’s Christmas present. The same Sam that had dropped the proverbial bombshell. The same bombshell that had caused me to smash my phone. The same phone I now had no money to pay for. It was a vicious circle I supposed. ”Oh, I know that.“ she paused, sipping at her tea whilst my coffee still sat on the tables, untouched. ”Maybe you should learn not to waste money on stupid things.“ Stupid things meaning Sam. I balled my hands up into fists, my fingernails burning tiny crescent moons into my palms; she’d really hit a nerve now, just like she somehow always did. The worst thing about her though was that, once she’d seen my initial reaction, she literally could not stop. She had to keep pushing me, testing me. She was like a shark that had smelt blood. ”It’s ridiculous, the lengths you’ve gone to for that boy this Christmas. I didn’t think you-“ ”He’s worth it, Mum.“ I growled defensively. ”You’ve never even met him, don’t you dare judge him.“ ”I don’t need to have met him to know that he’s got you wrapped around his little finger.“ By this point, I was absolutely f*ing fuming. How dare she. How dare she say those things about Sam. She’d never even met him, she’d only seen him in pictures. She didn’t know him, she didn’t know how amazing he was, how happy he made me or how secure I felt with him; she had no idea how much he meant to me. I think she underestimated ‘the lengths that I would go to for that boy’. I’d run to the edge of the Earth for that boy, if he asked me to. In short, she had no f*ing clue about anything. At all. And I hated her, have I mentioned that already? Oh well. ”Shut up right now! I bet you can’t even tell me his name. That’s how little you pay attention to me, that’s how little you know about him.“ She shrugged again. ”I don’t need to know his name. All I need to know is that he’s got you right where he wants you. And you don’t even care.“ My blood felt like it was boiling and I could hear the grinding of my teeth. I just wanted to hit her, oh my God, she was intolerable. ”Sam’s been there for me when my family haven’t been. He means more to me than you ever will.“ Finally, I think more to keep the peace than anything, Gran decided to try and get involved. ”Sam? The boy from down the street? I don’t understand, what’s he got to do with anything?“ I opened my mouth to answer. Nothing Gran, nothing at all, I was going to say, he’s irrelevant and it’s just my mother being typically petty. But Mum got there first. ”She may be acting all sweet and innocent Mum but, trust me, I know her better than she thinks.“ she leant in toward me. ”He broke her heart so she broke her phone.“ ”You’re f*ing unreal.“ I whispered in disbelief, staring at her and her self-satisfied expression. ”You’re genuinely unreal. How dare you think that you know me well enough to that and how dare you think that you know Sam well enough to say that.“ Even Gran was beginning to look a little flustered and it took a big step to cross Gran’s metaphorical line. ”Thanks for the coffee Gran,“ I deadpanned, ”but I can’t bear to be in the same room as her right now. I’ll see you next week.“ Neither of them tried to stop me; I’m pretty sure that they both knew that they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to. I just wanted to get away, far away, anywhere away from here. I needed milk-free coffee too, that’d be a good start. In my rage, I almost ran into Grandpa. He was stood in the hallway, half-way through taking off his coat, his shoes lined up at the bottom of the stair next to mine. Looking at me with his wise, brown eyes, he knew immediately that he’d missed something important, something that I’d needed his help with. ”Sorry I’m late. Y’alright?“ In reply, I buried my head in his chest and sobbed. - Mere minutes later and the two of us were holed up in Grandpa’s study, each of us with a black coffee in hand. Grandpa understood. I settled back in my armchair – it was my armchair as well, it wasn’t just because I was sat in it, I actually owned it. It was well worn and, in places, little patches covered holes from previous owners. It may have been old but it was mine. All mine. When I was seven, Grandpa had taken me to a car boot sale and, whilst Gran and Mum went looking for some kind of table or something, I’d fallen in love with a threadbare chair that looked rather unhealthy and a little bit like Elmer the Elephant. It was just so comfortable though. I’d returned home with a wallet that was twenty pounds emptier but with a chair that was so amazing in my opinion that all other chairs paled in comparison. Mum refused to let me have it in the house though, but I suppose I should have expected that, it didn’t match the decor apparently, and she insisted that we take it to the dump immediately. We didn’t though. I’d just spent twenty pounds on that chair, twenty pounds is a lot of money to a seven year old (it’s a lot of money to a fifteen year old too). Instead, Grandpa promised to look after it until I got a place of my own. I was counting down to that day, even when I was seven years old, I was counting down to the day that I could finally leave. Since the day that Mum had turned away my armchair, eight and a half years had passed. I was eight and a half years closer to getting as far away from my mother as was humanly possible. But it still felt as though no time had passed at all. I just wanted her to leave me alone. Grandpa understood; I don’t know how, or why, but, for some reason unbeknown to me, he understood. ”I get why you’re so angry,“ he said at last (we’d been sat in silence for so long that I was beginning to wonder when he’d speak). ”At least, I hope I do anyway.“ I sniffed, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. ”You’re mad because you thought that you and your mum lived on a completely different planet and that she really couldn’t be bothered with you. You were okay with that. She had her life and you had yours. There was, as far as you were concerned, no overlap. You’re mad because she was spot on with her little statement, aren’t you?“ he asked softly, ”and it’s really thrown you. She wasn’t meant to know anything about you and yet, she knew your big secret.“ Sadly, I nodded. ”How could she know though? I mean, she didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake...“ He took my hand. ”She was a teenager too, you know.“ Confused, I shrugged. ”Yeah, so? So was everyone.“ Grandpa laughed. ”No, I meant that she was like you too. She had a boy that she thought was perfect and amazing and who she valued more than your Gran and I but... look what happened there.“ He stroked my hair absentmindedly, as though he were somehow somewhere else entirely. ”I think, in her own round-a-bout way, your mum’s just trying to look out for you.“ I smiled gently. ”I’m not my mum though Grandpa, I’m not going to make the mistakes that she did.“ I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. ”I’m making my own instead.“ Grandpa sat back in his chair. ”You like this boy?“ ”Yeah, yeah I do.“ ”You know him?“ ”Yeah, he’s my best friend.“ ”Do I know him?“ I laughed. ”Yes, it’s Sam from down the street.“ Approvingly, he nodded. ”Ahh, he’s a good lad.“ Pausing, Grandpa rubbed his tongue over his teeth as he did when he was thinking. ”Does he make you happy?“ I smiled as a memory popped into my head. ”I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, so long as I’m with him.“ ”Sounds like love to me then.“ ”Really?“ He nodded. ”So long as you’re happy, I’m happy honey. All any of us want is for you to be happy,“ he cupped my face in his hands, ”we just don’t want to see you get hurt. You do what’s best for you, make yourself happy, that’s all that we ask of you.“ Tears filling my eyes, I smiled. ”Thank you Grandpa.“ ”You know that I’m always here for you,“ he grinned, settling back into his armchair and taking a sip of his coffee. He gestured at my guitar which I had leant against the bookshelf by the door. ”Now, you gonna show me what you’ve learned or what?“ I laughed, saluting. ”Yes sir!“ See why I loved my Grandpa so much now? He was amazing, he always knew exactly what to say and when.

The train station both depressed and intrigued me in equal amounts. On one hand, it was the sort of place a dramatic romance writer would set their final farewell scene. Sitting on the bench, I could practically see the dashing hero sprinting down the platform after his lost love. I could feel the tension; would he stop her or were they doomed to an eternity apart? It was soppy and it was ridiculously stupid but that’s just how my brain worked; I made up little stories to pass the time. Now, alternatively, the train station was the most neglected and run-down place in the whole town. And that was saying something. That’s what depressed me. Beneath my bum, I was sat on uncomfortable cracked plastic, coated in an unhealthy looking layer of grease, grime, filth and discarded chewing gum. Graffiti covered every available surface, even the platform itself, and most of it was quite offensive. Everything just seemed menacing. I didn’t feel entirely safe. I needed the train to arrive so I could leave. I hated being the only one who lived ‘slightly’ out of the way of everyone and everything else. At first, it’d been great but that was before I got friends and actually wanted to see people. It was only a five minute train journey or a fifteen minute bus journey but it was still difficult. It also meant spending money to see my friends though. Money I clearly did not always have. And that was why I was sat on a train station platform in the freezing cold unable to call anyone to ask how long they’d be. Because I did not have the necessary funds to catch the train to town to meet the four of them. No. They had to come to me now instead. And they weren’t happy about that. At least I wasn’t grounded though. That was pretty good. It would appear that Dave did not share my mother’s views on the seriousness of my crime so I’d gotten away with it. Proud moment. I still had to pay for my phone though, that was a bit of a pain but, I suppose, Grandpa was, kind of, right; it was only fair. If Mum had broken my phone I’d have expected her to place it, it was just the same principle as that. Finally, I could hear the gentle rumble of wheels upon the tracks. I swallowed nervously. Sam. I had to face him eventually, I knew that, hardly alone as such but still... I was scared. How would he act when he saw me? Shifty and moody or casual and as though nothing had happened? Which would I prefer anyway? Shifty would mean he was just as worried and panicked as me, casual would mean he wasn’t all that concerned by my lack of a reply. Oh shitting Hell. I’d had another sleepless night; the butterflies in my stomach were relentless. These boys were going to be the death of me, I could tell. First Spencer and now Sam, oh God. I’d tossed and turned, thinking about what my Grandpa had said and the words that Sam had used in the text. ‘Does he make you happy?’ ‘I’m the happiest I’ve ever been so long as I’m with him.’ ‘Flo, you make me really happy.’ Surely it wasn’t just a coincidence? I mean, did this really mean what I felt toward Sam was... love? Or, had Grandpa just told me what I’d wanted to hear? He didn’t seem like that kind of person, he’d never done it before, but we’d hardly touched on the subject of my ‘love life’ before either. There was a first time for everything though, even at his age of sixty-three. They were the only four people to actually disembark at the station. Sam got out first. Spotting me immediately, he pulled up the collar of his jacket to protect the back of his neck from the bitter chill and waved. Nikki stepped onto the platform after him and, finally, came Spencer and Kathy hand in hand. Something was different about them though. The two of them, I don’t know, seemed... just different, I can’t explain it. They looked the same, it wasn’t their outward appearance that was odd, it was more the way they carried themselves. I couldn’t put my finger on it; it was frustrating. As per usual, Nikki was the first to greet me. ”Explain to me again why we had to come to you.“ Maybe greet had been the wrong word. ”Skint.“ ”Explain to me again why you couldn’t have just asked your mum for the fare.“ ”Not exactly speaking to her... ever again if I have my way, to be honest.“ Sam looked concerned. ”Not again. Y’alright?“ He took a step toward me and reached for my hand but Nikki stopped him. ”No mollycoddling, she’s a big girl now.“ It was meant to be a joke. No one laughed. To be fair, I don’t think Spencer or Kathy were listening; they seemed very faraway. Sam glared that Nikki though in a way that seemed to suggest that he was going to bite her head off. ”I was asking her how she was. Problem?“ He seemed tense... which made me feel bad. Clearly, it was going to be an odd day. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so thankful that I wasn’t grounded or maybe I should have just cancelled. I couldn’t deal with everyone being so weird. ”Forget it, I’m fine. She’s right, I need to toughen up a bit. I’m sorry. C’mon then, where are we going?“ Scowling, Nikki rolled her eyes. ”We were gonna go to the cinema. Y’know, in town?“ I bit my lip. ”Oh, right. Yeah...“ I didn’t know what to say. ”For f’s sake Nik, what side of the bed did you get out of this morning because she’s said sorry so, maybe, it’s time to grow up a little bit.“ Instinctively, Sam jumped to my defence. ”There’s stuff we can do here, it’s not like we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere.“ I pulled a sarcastic face. ”Really?“ He smiled. ”Well, I’m sure we can think of something.“ Taking my hand in his, I could see a flicker of something in his eyes. I don’t know what it was but it made me happy. It was weird, I don’t know; the cold might have sent me mad or something but, he made me feel warm. ”Y’sure that you’re alright?“ ”Yeah, I am now.“ I snuck a look behind me and dropped my voice to a whisper. ”What’s gone on with that lot? I mean, something’s wrong.“ Grimacing slightly, Sam shrugged. ”I don’t know what’s wrong with Nikki, pretty sure she’s just being grumpy, but, from what I can gather, I think Kathy and Spencer had a bit of a falling out yesterday or something.“ ”Aww, bless them, is it serious or can they patch things up?“ Sam gave me a half-smile. ”They’re holding hands aren’t they?“ Looking at our own mittened hands, he bit his lip. ”They’ll be okay.“ ”Are they even, y’know, going out yet?“ He laughed. ”Subtle. Nah, not officially, but I reckon it can only be a matter of time.“ It went silent and I began mentally kicking myself for taking the conversation down that route; was I f*ing mentally retarded or did I just enjoy psychologically torturing myself? We were in dangerous territory. Finally, he said the words that we had both been thinking. ”So, what about us?“ I looked into his eyes, those green eyes, and it was like all those time I’d tried to tell him how I felt about him all over again. There was something about them that left me unable to string together coherent answers. Especially when the answer I was expected to give was really quite important. Pressing my lips together thoughtfully, I tried to produce a way of changing the subject but I couldn’t think of anything; my mind was blank. Again, I cursed my brain. It was useless, it really was. ”Sam, I-“ Suddenly, thankfully, as though she were the answer to my prayers, Nikki butted in. ”Guys, I need food.“ I nodded, shooting Sam an apologetic look (he shrugged casually but I could see that he really needed to talk). ”Yeah, sure, but we’re gonna have to eat out ‘cause I sure as Hell ain’t going home until absolutely necessary.“ Sarcastically, I gave them all a double thumbs-up. ”Thought you were skint?“ ”Tap water’s free, isn’t it?“ I smirked. Yeah, I was glad Nikki had mentioned food but, really, that didn’t excuse rudeness. In my book, nothing did. It also was beginning to annoy me that neither Spencer not Kathy had said a word so I turned to them. ”Where d’you two want to go?“ I knew that they knew nothing about this part of town but, so long as they actually got involved in the conversation, it really didn’t matter to me; Nikki’d had the deciding vote anyway. They just looked at each other and shrugged. ”I don’t know.“ I could tell that they wanted to be anywhere else but here; they just wanted to be alone. It was going to be a shit day. There were too many grey clouds just hanging over us. I mean, first there’d been Sam and I, which had been bad enough, but, combined with Nikki’s bad mood and the weird tension between Kathy and Spencer, it had just been made about a million percent harder to act as though I didn’t just want to burst into tears. I shouldn’t have bothered waking up; it had just been a complete waste of breath so far. ”Right,“ Nikki announced, rubbing her gloved hands together and snapping me out of my train of thought, ”s’go find some food.“ She lead the way, practically marching us toward town, with military efficiency. We followed two by two, hand in hand; Kathy and Spencer trailed behind Sam and I, it were as though they weren’t even a part of our little group. Well, it certainly felt as though they weren’t. I hated this divide and I hated the looks of sadness that I could see in their eyes. Is that what love could do to friends? If it was, I didn’t want that. Not if it could change everything, anything, so suddenly. Not if it could change it in that way. I thought love was meant to make you happy. It was hard to imagine that, just two days previously, the two people that I saw before me had been laughing and joking with us as though nothing else mattered but now... well, there was no laughter. Not anymore. I could see that it pained them both to be so distant with one another. Spencer had the very same look in his eyes that he had on my doorstep that night; he was crushed. There was a part of me that wanted to scream at them to just grow up and get it together. They both knew that they couldn’t stay mad for long. They cared too much about the about the other’s feelings. They’d be back to normal within a week so why drag it out? It annoyed me. It annoyed the crap out of me. I swore to God, if I found out that they were just doing it due to petty pride, I was going to bang their heads together or something. But it was Kathy and Spencer though, I thought, maybe they were just struggling to say how they felt. Neither of them were very forward. I wanted them to be okay so badly though! They were meant to be together, everyone knew it. They made each other really happy; they deserved each other. If they let this slip through their fingers... well, I don’t know but, I guess, I’d have to make them both realise how big of a mistake that they’d made; that is, if they didn’t realise themselves. - We trawled the streets for what felt like hours until out cheeks were red and out hands were blue. It was freezing cold outside and it was a Saturday; we shouldn’t have really been very surprised that every cafe in the whole town was crammed full of people clutching coffee cups. It was ridiculous. Finally, we accepted defeat; there was nothing to do and nowhere to eat. Or sit. My feet hurt. Everyone else’s probably were too. Feeling guilty, I offered to do the unthinkable. ”Uh... I’m pretty sure that there is some soup at mine.“ I glanced at my watch, Mum wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours and I doubted Dave’d be home at all. Leading them back down the street, I could see that smug grin on Nikki’s face; she almost seemed proud that she’d been proven right. She was in a God-awful mood. I hated it when she was like this, almost too pompous and self-assured for words. It were as though, on days like these, she knew that she was pretty much the leader of our little group so she abused her power. I was very glad that these moods were becoming few and far between. Turning the key in the lock, I listened out for any signs of movement. ”Hello?“ No answer. We were in the clear. I motioned everyone inside and they all automatically kicked off their shoes, hanging their jackets and scarves on the coat pegs. ”Soup all round?“ I asked, smiling. - Minutes later (that’s what I loved about soup, it was so quick and easy; it’s why I practically lived on the stuff), we were all sat around the dining room table. See, I don’t know why we had a dining room table really because never in my fifteen years of life could I remember a time that we all sat and ate a meal as a family, just Mum, Dave and I. To me, it was just a huge reminder that we weren’t the family that I wanted us to be. Literally. That thing was massive. I suppose though, it was times like these that being a table owner came in useful. ”Why couldn’t we just have done this from the start?“ complained Spencer, diving into his soup vigorously. That was the first full sentence that I’d heard from him all day. And it was a bit of a dig toward my stubbornness. Thanks, that would have worked just as well, I noted. If he was going to complain, he should put down the spoon and leave. I thought I was being quite kind letting them all in my home despite them all being arseholes; I must have been feeling charitable. ”Mum’s only just gone out to work and I don’t wanna be in the same building as her.“ I mumbled, trawling my spoon through my soup and making patterns; I was lying through my teeth, of course, and they’d notice, of course, but the last part was true. The minute my mother came home, I was locking myself in my bedroom and barricading the door. I didn’t even want to see her face. It was the maddest I’d been with her in a good while; and I’d been pretty mad with her in the past. ‘I thought we’d gotten past this childish behaviour’, she’d goaded me the night before when we returned from Gran and Grandpa’s, ‘I thought perhaps you were able to act like an adult’. Pfft, I was trying to be f*ing mature; she was the one baiting me like she was a toddler in the playground. She loved making me explode. I could see it in her eyes. By acting the way she had, she’d made me apocalyptically angry. She’d really given herself something to laugh about. But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I refused. I wouldn’t so much as look at her until I got the apology I deserved but, unfortunately, I had to get my stubborn streak from somewhere. I could live until the age of ninety and never see my mother again. Not that I was complaining, of course. I couldn’t stand her. Sam snapped me into reality. ”You make good soup, Flo.“ ”It’s not hard, exactly,“ I laughed. ”Open can, pour into pan, put on stove, turn stove on, stir; s’not rocket science, dear.“ He blushed. ”No, I just meant it’s really nice, that’s all.“ I smiled. - When everyone had finished, Sam helped me clear the table and insisted that he help me with the washing up too. He was so polite. The perfect guest. Everyone else had beggared off to watch television. ”Ungrateful shits!“ I shouted after them, throwing a dishcloth that hit Spencer square in the back of the head. He spun around, laughing. ”But it was your idea!“ Sticking out his tongue, he returned the dishcloth and followed Kathy and Nikki into the living room. Shaking my head, I went to the sink and turned on the taps, letting the warm water run over my hands. I poured soap into the bowl and watched the bubbles form. I smiled. To me, washing up wasn’t really a chore; I’d been doing it for ten years so, as a five year old, to make it a bit more fun, I’d made a little game to try and pass the time. I couldn’t remember it now, I’d not played it in years and years, but the theory had stuck and the feeling had stayed; washing up wasn’t a chore, it was actually a little bit fun. Suddenly, Sam appeared behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. ”That was some really great soup,“ he whispered, kissing me on the cheek and resting his head on my shoulder. Oh my God. He kissed me. A little shocked. I blushed. Jesus Christ, he’d kissed me. Had he meant to do that or had he just forgotten himself? Inside, my stomach was somersaulting. That was sweet; that was how a kiss was meant to make you feel, I thought, and it hadn’t actually been a real kiss. He’d just kissed me on the cheek. Well, my jaw really but that didn’t matter; how it had made me feel did. I was getting more and more flustered by the second. I smiled, turning my head slightly so I was looking at him. ”Thank you.“ Smiling, I shrugged him off and handed him a tea towel. ”Now, you dry and I’ll wash.“ He laughed. ”Fair enough.“ For a while, we worked in a comfortable silence, both of us thinking about what that kiss had meant to us. I would take a pot from the side, dunk it in the suds, scrub it and rinse it with water from the tap and then I’d pass it to Sam to dry. We didn’t say a word. We didn’t have to. Occasionally, our eyes would meet for a brief second and it we’d smile but we never spoke. It didn’t feel awkward like it would with anyone else. It felt amazing. He left this warm feeling in my belly, deep down inside. It was the kind of feeling you usually only got from fond memories or hot chocolate. It was good. Really good. It was almost addictive. I just loved being with him. The only sound in the room came from the sloshing of the washing up water, the gentle hum of the boiler in the corner, the squeaking of Sam drying a glass or the laughter of the others in the front room. Finished washing and dying, I poured the water down the plughole and, together, we proceeded to put away the pots. It didn’t take long; Sam knew exactly where everything belonged (he even put the soup cans in the recycling bin, bless him). ”Thank you.“ I grinned as he shut the cupboard door, hugging him. ”Wanna go watch some crappy T.V?“ Not waiting for an answer, I turned to join the others in the living room but he caught me by the wrist, pulling me back toward him. ”Flo, you’ve been avoiding it all day but, please, I need to know...“ Swallowing nervously, I nodded. No; please God, no. ”Well,“ he leant in closer to me, tilting my head up so that I was looking at him; his green eyes practically burned into me, ”what do you say?“ I took a deep breath and braced myself. ”I don’t know.“ Eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his grasp on my wrist tightened as he went stiff. ”You... don’t know?“ I could hear the disdain in his voice. The anger. Anger. From Sam. Anger. F. Seeing the look on my face, he softened his voice. ”You don’t know.“ That time, it wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement but, still, I shook my head. ”I don’t know.“ He bit his lip. ”Okay.“ I was going to explain; I promise, I was going to explain. I didn’t want to leave things like I did. But then a curse came from the living room. ”Shit! Flo, I think your Mum’s home!“ I grimaced. Bad timing. Really, really bad timing. She was determined to ruin everything good in my life, wasn’t she? Honest to God. ”For f’s sake, that woman.“ I ran to the hallway, grabbing all the coats and trying to distribute them as everyone fumbled with their shoes. ”Hurry up! Everyone out. NOW!“ - We sat on the train station bench. All five of us. It was a bit of a squeeze. It was a couple of hours later. We’d wondered the streets again, just looking for something to do but the place was dead. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do; no way for us to kill time. So we gave up. There was no point flogging a dead horse. We were waiting for the train. They were going home. It had been a shit day. A really shit day. The night sky was pretty though; that was nice. It was pitch black up there, completely still and as black as, well, night. No stars. Just black. Black and the moon, as bright and round as a new coin. Floating there. Weightless and yet so heavy. The sky amazed me. But that didn’t change the fact that it had been a shit day. Sam hadn’t said a word to me since we’d fled my house and yet he continued to hold my hand as though nothing had happened. His fingers were freezing, I thought; he’d left his gloves on the dining room table. It was so confusing. At least, with Spencer, I’d had a pretty clear indication that he had been pissed off with me. I didn’t have that with Sam. I had no idea what was going on in his head, how he was feeling or what he thought about me. He wouldn’t let me ask. Every time I tried, he’d shake his head as though it would be better if I didn’t know. I needed to know though. I also needed him to know that I didn’t know why I’d told him the truth. It hadn’t been my plan. At all. Of course, I’d have told him eventually; but not like that. Sometimes, I acted in a way that made it seem like I had no control over my mouth and what came out of it. It was rather obvious that my brain hated me. With a passion. Jesus. Finally, for the second time that day, I could hear the gentle rumble of wheels upon tracks. We all stood up expectantly. I turned to Sam, desperate to speak to him before he left. ”I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear but, let’s put it this way, it wasn’t a no, was it?“ ”It may as well have been.“ Befuddled, I licked my bottom lip. ”Huh?“ ”You don’t get it, do you?“ He sounded exasperated; like a teacher who’s fed up of their students being unable to answer simple questions. ”If you don’t have an answer after thirty six hours,“ he put a lot of emphasis on the amount of time I’d had, ”then you should have just said no because, if you have to think about it that much, you don’t want it.“ Shrugging, he boarded the train. No goodbye or anything. No time to explain. Almost as soon as the doors shut, the train pulled away, racing off into the distance, taking him with it. It was one of those moments that didn’t feel real, that I was too numb to feel. It couldn’t really be happening. None of it. Really? Alone on the platform, I looked up into the night’s sky, tears in my eyes; why did this always seemed to happen? No matter how hard I tried to please people, to keep everyone happy, it still happened. Why did this always seem to happen? And, more importantly perhaps, why did this always seem to happen to me? I was a waste of space. A waste of oxygen. I shouldn’t have bothered getting up after all.

Okay so... Sam was pissed at me. And I mean properly pissed at me. He didn’t speak to me, he wouldn’t look at me and, Spencer told me, if a conversation involved my name, he went cold and walked away. It sucked; it was like the exact opposite of what was meant to happen. If I entered a room, he would leave so, if I was in a room, you could be pretty damn sure that he wouldn’t be. It was depressing. I hadn’t been expecting that from him; I’d expected a little bit of maturity, a little bit of understanding. Oops. At first, I thought he’d been joking or something but, unfortunately, it turned out he was being serious. Which seriously scuppered our Christmas holiday plans and put the others in a bit of a predicament. None of them wanted to take sides and I didn’t want them to; I was pretty sure I knew who’d win if they did. So, instead, awkwardly, we took it in turns to have friends. Jesus, how childish did that sound? We shared. We shared friends. One day I’d get to spend time with Nikki, Kathy and Spencer and then, the next day, Sam would. We may as well have drawn up a frikin’ time table or something, not even that could have made the situation any more ridiculous. It just felt like we were back at playschool. Except, at playschool, you were friends again by home time. There we were though, still not talking, after two bloody weeks. A lot happened in those two weeks as well. I mean, I missed fifty percent of it all because of the almighty fallout. Instead, I was home in my pyjamas eating ice-cream out of the tub. In my bedroom because I was still not talking to Mum. Fun. Still, a lot happened. And the bit I was most annoyed about was that I missed the announcement of Kathy and Spencer’s relationship. That was a monumental moment for both of them, for all of us, and I missed it. I missed out on the embarrassed faces, the laughter, the mocking, the congratulations and the celebrations. Why? Because I was, most probably, scraping out a tub of Ben and Jerry’s and (re-)watching Finding Nemo for the one thousandth time. Kathy and Spencer were going out. Sweet. Sam and I weren’t. Awkward. The worst thing was that his Christmas present sat in the corner of my bedroom, an annoying reminder that, technically, my Mum might have been right. In a weird, roundabout fashion, I don’t know, she might have been right. It just felt odd that I’d gone to all that effort to get him the perfect present and I hadn’t even been able to give it to him. Everyone else’s present had been delivered (by me in a Santa’s hat because I’d wanted to keep the festive spirit alive) but I’d walked straight past his house, his wrapped gift in hand and a heavy heart in my chest. When I’d gotten home, I’d gone to put it in the bin but then I’d stopped. This isn’t forever, I’d thought, just keep hold of it for a little while longer. That ‘little while’ turned out to be a bit longer than I thought though; I just couldn’t bring myself to bin it. I really didn’t want to go back to school. That was probably just echoing the thoughts of every child that went to school but, genuinely, I did not want to have to go back to school. What was the point? At school, like at home, I’d be alone. What difference did a change of scenery make? Spencer, Kathy and Nikki couldn’t stay neutral forever. First day back at school would be D-day for them. And me. I’d not seen Sam for two whole weeks; I kind of missed his stupid face. I was both desperate to see him and eager to never see him again. My head was a very complicated place to be. Even I was struggling to understand exactly what was going on. I think, because I’d spent so much time alone, I‘d been given too much time to think. Thoughts were colliding too often and I slipped too easily from one train of thought to another. I was going to be useless at school. I just... I didn’t know what it’d feel like seeing him again and I was scared. That’s all I could really think about; seeing Sam. I hoped he’d be at least a little bit civil. I prayed he would be. And I was the least religious person you’d ever meet. - Just my f*ing luck, I thought as I sprinted down the corridor, cursing my mother for the one millionth time that morning. My alarm hadn’t gone off, there’d been a power cut or something, but, instead of thinking ‘oh, my daughter’s alarm clock runs on electricity’, my mother just went to work and assumed that I’d automatically wake up at seven in the morning. After seventeen days of not leaving my bed until well after noon, I was just meant to instinctively get up early. She was an idiot and I was screwed. I’d missed all of assembly and first lesson was already have finished; no one in the history of the world have ever been that late for school. Anywhere. Ever. Like I said, I was screwed. Seriously, seriously screwed. I skidded to a stop outside the classroom, took a deep breath to try and calm myself, and turned the handle. Immediately, every pair of eyeballs in the room were set on me. They were staring right at me. Everyone. Every single person. I suddenly felt two inches tall. ”Sorry I’m late.“ I mumbled, staring at the floor as I blushed. Feeling the most self-conscious that I had in a while, I shuffled to my seat. Had I maybe gotten away with it? ”Excuse me?“ Of course not. Slowly, I turned around to face my teacher. He sat at his desk looking incredibly unimpressed, his thick moustache bristling. ”You walk in, an hour late for school may I just say, interrupt my lesson and expect that I’ll just ‘let it slide’. No, no way. Explain yourself.“ I swallowed. ”Sorry sir, I had...“ I racked my brain, ”a dentist appointment.“ My voice cracked halfway through my sentence, making me sound even more guilty than I was. ”A dentist appointment on the very first day back to school after two weeks off? How convenient.“ ”I think you mean inconvenient, sir.“ I smiled sweetly. ”Sorry but I have been very busy.“ Shaking his head, he waved me to my seat. ”Red textbook, page two hundred and four.“ How I managed to do that I had no idea at all. I mean, he knew I was lying; he had to know! But, I suppose, he had no proof to suggest otherwise... I thought he would have at least demanded to see a note though. A note that I did not have. Perhaps he was feeling particularly festive still. The season of goodwill toward all men and all that. Smiling to myself, I collected a textbook from the back shelf and took my seat. Lying felt good; I don’t know why I didn’t do it more often. As I pulled my pencil case out from the very bottom of my rucksack, it was then that I could first feel his gaze burning into the back of my head. I swallowed. Turning around, his eyes met mine. Just for a second. But still, we looked each other in the eye. We saw each other for the first time in two weeks and we looked each other in the eye. Two weeks. It was in that single second that I realised how much I missed him. Life without Sam, hadn’t I said that the thought of it scared me? Well, it was my reality and it was worse than I imagined. I really missed him. ”Hey,“ I mouthed, giving him a slight wave. In return, he frowned at me. ”F off.“ And, with that, he returned to his work. I couldn’t believe him. ”I cannot believe you.“ I froze; that was pretty spooky. ”You come in late and then refuse to work. I should sling you into detention right now!“ The teacher loomed over me, making me feel even smaller than I did already. ”Insolent girl!“ I bit my lip. ”Sorry sir, it’s just a misunderstanding.“ A really f*ing huge misunderstanding. - ”We’re never going to fix this, are we?“ It was break time and Kathy had dragged herself away from Spencer long enough to come and try and find me. She had. Sat by the sinks in the girl’s toilets, I wasn’t crying but I was miserable enough to have scared away everyone else who came near me. ”I mean, I tried to be nice Kath. I said hey; what’s so bad about that?“ She sighed, putting a hand on my shoulder. ”Well, if acting maturely isn’t going to work then, you’re just going to have to do as he does.“ ”But he’s not doing anything.“ ”Exactly. Ignore him, it’s all you can do.“ Gnawing on my fingernails, I had to admit, once again, that she had a pretty good point. It may kill me to act as though nothing had happened but it killed me even more to see the anger in his eyes. Without his smile, he almost didn’t seem like the same person. It had been so soul-destroying to hear him say that to me. It was as though he didn’t even know me; as though I were some stranger on the street. I’d been his best friend, he’d loved me enough to ask me out, and how could all that change at the drop of a hat? I guess it just showed how nothing was permanent. Change was all around us, not all of it for the best. At least some good had come from Christmas, I thought, looking at Kathy. I still couldn’t really believe it. Spencer and Kathy. Wow. I’d never seen her happier; or him for that matter. I was glad that they’d finally found each other. It had taken long enough. Too long really, if you thought about it. Kathy had been pining for years, practically since they’d first been introduced, but she’d never formally admitted it. It was really obvious though, anyone could tell. I genuinely do not understand how Spencer hadn’t noticed earlier. It were as though he was blind, deaf and stupid but I knew for a fact that he was only one of those three. As though she knew what I was thinking, Kathy turned to me, frowning slightly. ”Sorry but you’re gonna have to find Nikki or someone for lunch because, well, I’m meeting Spencer.“ She blushed. Aww, that’s sweet; I nodded. ”Consider it done.“ Suddenly, the bell rang. Shit. Double history with Sam. I jumped down from the counter, checking my hair in the mirror, and headed for the door. Kathy followed. ”Remember, just ignore him.“ Again, I nodded. ”Gottit. I’ll talk to you tonight, have fun at lunch and keep it clean.“ Laughing, I nipped out of the way before she could hit me and made my way through the crowded hallways. It was always during lesson change over that I realised how much I hated people. They were loud, they were obnoxious and they were everywhere. I hated walking through crowds alone, it kind of felt like I was drowning, being sucked under. It took knowing that there was someone behind me for me to overcome those feelings. Too many people felt too overwhelming. I was built for loneliness; quite apt, if you think about it, as I’d decided that I was destined for a life of being alone. Kathy already had Spencer, how long before Nikki and Sam found someone and left me? My bets were before the end of the school year. At the latest. I couldn’t find ‘new friends’ either. If I did, it would be a miracle. No, I’d just be alone. Well, it had been good while it had lasted, I thought, three years of being sociable was, perhaps, too long; surely I couldn’t maintain it any longer anyway. I’d crack eventually. I’d just flip out and retreat back into my shell. I could imagine that happening. I suppose, in a way, I’d always known there was no way it could last forever, there was a part of me that found it surprising that they’d put up with me as long as they had, but I’d hoped it could last for at least a little bit longer. I wanted it to. I really wanted it to. How many times over the holidays had I thought of something funny or mildly amusing but had no one to tell? It was things like that I’d miss, I guess. Things that I’d never had before but had taken for granted over the past three years. I’d miss all of them. I loved them. I sat down in my seat just as the final bell rang and settled down for the double lesson from Hell. I was really bricking it. Sam wasn’t there yet, his seat next to me was empty. What if he didn’t show? What if he skived because he couldn’t... because sitting next to me was so unbearable for him. Sam never skipped lessons. I used to, most of the time in fact, but that changed when I met Sam; I tried persuading him to join me but he’d have none of it and drag me to whatever lesson we had. Sam was a good boy. He never skipped; was I really a good enough reason for him to start? I hoped not. I really did. Even if he hated my guts, I just wanted to sit in the same room as him. Even if we never spoke a word to each other, I wanted to see him again. Even if the next one hundred minutes were the most painful that I’d ever have to endure (which they would be), I just wanted them to be spent with him. It was Sam that I’d miss the most. Of everyone, I thought, Sam was the one who I would miss the most. Finally, the door swung open violently, hitting the cabinet behind it with a bang so loud it was almost deafening, and in stormed Sam. He saw me immediately and practically marched his way to our desk. ”Move.“ By this point, everyone was staring at the pair of us; they loved a bit of drama, that was the worst part about school, everyone wanted gossip as though it was fundamental for survival. ”I said f*ing move.“ Sam repeated when he realised that I had no intention of going anywhere. I shook my head. ”I think you’ll find that I was here first. Oops.“ On the inside, I was shaking so badly; he looked so mad. He looked as though he might have hit me. I gripped the edge of my seat tightly. ”And? I think you’ll find that I told you to move.“ ”Well, I ain’t moving.“ I managed a sarcastic smile. ”So, if I’m that repulsive to you,“ I pointed to a shocked student across the room with a shock of messy curls, ”there’s a free seat next to her. Knock yourself out.“ ”Fine.“ he growled, admitting defeat. ”Maybe I will.“ Exhaling nervously, I turned to face the front once more and slumped into my chair. So much for ignoring him, I thought, that’s clearly just gone out of the window. Disappointed, I got my pencil case and exercise book out of my rucksack. I hadn’t meant for that to happen; I’d just wanted him to know that I was never going to take orders from him, whether he was mad or not. I hadn’t wanted to send him to the other side of the bloody room. He was sat next to bloody Penny Lawrence now. I cursed. She was the kind of girl who was pretty and knew it. I was sure he knew it too. I’d probably just done him a massive favour. What better way for him to get over me than with a slut like Penny Lawrence? Jesus Christ, I may as well have gift wrapped him a naked woman. I flashed a shifty look in their direction. Great. They were talking. I suddenly had the urge to slam my head against the desk multiple times until I blacked out or, at least, until I completely forgot about him. About them. Loving someone should not hurt so much, I thought. I felt like I was going to explode. Maybe exploding would hurt less though, who knows. ”Eyes to the front guys,“ Miss Thompson’s voice cut through the chatter immediately and the whole class fell silent. Rushing to the front, folders of paper in hand, she paused beside me. ”No Sam today Florence-Anne?“ Behind me, people sniggered; why’d she feel the need to use my full name? She didn’t call Sam Samuel. ”I’m sure I saw him earlier.“ Across the room, he raised his hand. ”I’m here, miss.“ She spun around, a little surprised. ”Oh, why yes you are. May I ask why you’ve decided to ruin my seating plan, Mr Smith, or is it a secret?“ Hiding my head in my hands, I couldn’t help grinning as Sam blushed bright red; he hated Miss Thompson’s interrogations. ”I just didn’t feel like sitting next to her today, I’m sorry Miss.“ he managed at last, shrugging. He couldn’t even bring himself to say my name. Confused, Miss Thompson looked at me (for some kind of response, I think) and sighed. ”Very well, just for today Mr Smith.“ She continued to make her way to her desk. ”Now, if you would all kindly retrieve a textbook from the back shelf then I’ll begin.“ - The first half of the lesson was, admittedly, not as bad as I had feared. As usual, Miss Thompson gave us one of her ‘mini-lectures’, expecting us to take notes (which I did), and rounded off in the usual fashion, saying that she wanted to see a summary of the lecture in our own words by the next lesson (which, thankfully, I had the necessary notes to do). Group work, however, during second lesson, felt a hell of a lot like a kick in the teeth. It was bad timing. Really bad. Normally, it would be Sam and I, no questions asked, literally; we wouldn’t even ask each other, it was just automatic. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Sam was too busy with f*ing Penny Lawrence. No, wait, that sounded wrong... well, to be honest, with a reputation such as hers, who knew. Instead, I was adopted by two girls who were in a couple of my other classes. We were hardly close but it was better than nothing. I mean, at least they knew my name and actually wanted to do some work. I wasn’t forced into doing everything like I used to be during group work, it was actually quite nice. It wasn’t as nice as group work was with Sam though; it felt weird. I hated it. So much. I missed him and he was only a few feet away. That was the worst thing; it felt like he was so far away but I could see him, I could actually see him. Sighing for what felt like the one millionth time that day, I flicked through the information sheets we’d been given; why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? I was annoying myself. I should just grow up, I thought, grow up and move on. That’d be a good plan. Tapping my pen against my teeth, I slumped into my chair. On the other side of the table, my ‘partners’ elbowed each other, giggling amongst themselves. ”What?“ They went silent, looking at each other shiftily. ”Is there something going on that I should know about or...?“ One of them smiled. ”Uh, we were just wondering... what’s happened between you and Sam? Is it serious?“ I forced a laugh. ”Nah, it’s fine.“ ”Really?“ she said, an eyebrow raised, ”because people are saying, well, y’know...“ ”Well, no. I clearly don’t.“ ”That you’re... well...“ ”That I’m...?“ ”Pregnant.“ ”Sorry, what?“ I actually may have shouted that. Quite loudly. Just as the class went eerily quiet. Immediately, I looked over to Sam, just to see if he’d heard the same thing. He too was staring at me in disbelief. Judging by that reaction, I’d say that it was obvious that he’d just heard the same stupid rumour. ”What the f?“ he yelled across the classroom, standing up suddenly and knocking over his chair. He pointed at me, his eyes burning angrily. ”Was this you?“ Disgusted, I stood too. ”You really think I want people to think that I’m some filthy slut? Please.“ Around us everyone burst out laughing, as though this was somehow entertaining for them. Well, I suppose if I’d been anybody else, I’d have been pretty amused too but I wasn’t anybody else; I was me and Sam was Sam. ”Get out.“ Miss Thompson roared above the din. ”Both of you, get out of my classroom.“ Rolling my eyes, I walked toward the door, Sam following, as everyone stared at us, at me, yet again. It was really getting tedious; surely three times in one day was a new record or something, I deserved a medal. I could hear them all, practically every word that they were saying, as I passed. Half of them didn’t even bother to whisper; they had something to say and it didn’t matter who heard. It was like a bad dream; my worst fears were realised as everyone ‘told’ me exactly what they thought about me. I’d had nightmares like this, reoccurring nightmares, but I’d never imagined it would become real. Behind me, I could hear Sam grumbling to himself. They weren’t exactly being kind to him either. Why were they doing this to us? We didn’t deserve this. It was our problem to deal with. It didn’t even concern them; they never seemed to give a crap before there was gossip to be had. Personally, I preferred it when they just ignored us, when they just left us to it, when they just left us to be us. To be honest, that’s all I asked of any person; just let me be. Sam closed the door behind us. ”I cannot believe you.“ he growled. Shocked, I raised an eyebrow. ”Really? You’re such an arse, how is this my fault? You’re the one who started shooting his mouth off!“ ”What? So this is my fault now?“ ”I don’t f*ing know but there are better ways to deal with situations than making a scene.“ Frustrated, he kicked the wall and then hopped around when the pain hit. ”You’re such an arse.“ I repeated. ”Oh yeah?“ He walked up to me; well, limped would have been a better word really. ”What else was I meant to do then? How was I meant to deal with that situation, if you’re so smart? What else was I meant to do?“ ”Here’s an idea, uh, you could have waited the ten minutes until lunch! That might have worked out better. For the both of us.“ Rubbing his forehead, he sunk to the floor. ”You’re right. I just... I hate them talking about us.“ I sat down next to him, unable to believe that that last sentence sounded like he was actually talking to me. For the first time since before Christmas, we were going to have a proper conversation. ”Maybe if you didn’t give them something to talk about, they wouldn’t.“ Pausing, I bit my lip. ”And yes, I do realise that I am part to blame too.“ He elbowed me, smiling. ”Is that... an apology of sorts?“ He took my hand. ”Because, if it is, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.“ I didn’t know what to say, it didn’t feel like any of that was actually happening. It felt like we were in an alternative reality or something. ”I’ve missed you.“ I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder, ”I’ve really missed you.“ ”I’ve really missed you too Flo, you have no idea.“ I had a feeling that perhaps I did but I didn’t want to say anything; this was a nice moment, I wasn’t going to ruin it. Suddenly, the door swung open. ”Up. Now. Both of you.“ barked Miss Thompson. ”I cannot believe either of you. I allowed your little disruption earlier to slide but clearly you’ve both just been biding your time. I’m disappointed, to say the least. Now, please, inside and never ever let me hear that kind of language again. It’s repulsive and repellent. Now, in.“ We stood simultaneously and trudged back inside, heads down and smiling to ourselves. Sam tried to follow me to his normal seat but Miss Thompson frowned at him sternly, making him double back on himself and return to his seat next to Penny Lawrence. It made me feel pretty good that he did so begrudgingly; it made a nice difference to ten minutes previously. The rest of the lesson consisted of the two of sitting on opposite sides of the classroom and smiling at each other. It might sound weird but, well, it was pretty normal behaviour for us. But, then again, we were pretty weird ourselves. ”Hey,“ I mouthed to him, ”meet me in the janitor’s cupboard at lunch?“ ”Oh aye?“ Sam laughed, ”thought you weren’t a filthy slut?“ ”No wait, not like that.“ I blushed; Jesus, sometimes I really put my foot in it. ”I’ve got something for you.“ ”Steady on.“ he winked. Again, I cringed. ”Sorry.“ ”I ain’t complaining.“ - As soon as the bell went, I jumped up, my bag already packed and Sam’s Christmas present safely inside. I was desperate to give him it; eight says late but still, it was a Christmas present so it was exciting. Genuinely, I was really excited to see him open it – it had taken me absolutely ages to think about it and, although I knew he’d like it, I was still pretty nervous about it. Present shopping wasn’t usually a strength of mine but it was fine because, usually, everyone was quite satisfied with whatever I bought for them so long as I wrapped it up nicely and tied it with a pretty bow. Sam was normally subjected to parcels of sketchpads, pencils, crayons and paints simply because I knew that he’d use them; but, I’d finally thought of a good present! It wasn’t just the same old thing that he’d be expecting, it was a genuinely good idea. I was so proud of myself it was unbelievable, brainwaves were rare for me. All I wanted now was for him to open it. I was just about to leave when Miss Thompson stopped me. ”Florence-Anne, may I have a word?“ Cautiously, I shut the door, concerned; surely this couldn’t still be about our little ‘outburst’? We’d apologised for God’s sake. ”Is everything okay with yourself and Sam?“ I smiled, nodding. ”Yeah, we are now.“ And, in my mind, we were. Everything was fine again. ”Good,“ messing with her papers, she hid a small smile, ”I’m glad because I’ve never seen two friends as close as you and it would be such a shame if you grew apart.“ She had no idea. ”I know.“ And, I did. Not bothering to raise her head, she looked at me from over the frames of her glasses. ”Florence-Anne, about your essay from October...“ ”Y-yes miss?“ ”If he really means that much to you then, and this is my personal opinion, you would do well to keep hold of him.“ ”I’ll try miss, I promise.“ ”Good,“ and with that, she waved me off, ”I’m just making sure that no one can accuse me of not looking out for my students.“ Smiling to myself, I closed the door behind me and made my way toward the janitor’s closet. All of a sudden, the crowded corridors didn’t seem to bother me as much as it had just one hundred minutes earlier. I didn’t quite feel the burning desire to kill everyone in sight as I had before either; I still didn’t want too much exposure to human contact but, I suppose, not wanting to commit mass homicide could only be a good thing, right? I felt happier and that was a big deal for me. Really big. Sure, everything wasn’t back to ‘normal’ yet but, surely, it was just a matter of time. We were speaking again, we’d (metaphorically) kissed and made up and I was giving him his Christmas present, all in one day; if that wasn’t progress then I did not know what was. Weird. I’d been absolutely dreading double history and yet, as it turned out, it had been one of the best lessons that I’d had all year. I’d (nearly) gotten my best friend back. I know we’d said that we’d missed each other but, really, I don’t honestly think it would be possible for me to express just how much I’d missed Sam. Excitedly, I opened the janitor’s cupboard door, giving it a slight push with my hip as I began rooting around in my bag for Sam’s present. It was all going to plan but... then I looked up. Then I saw what was going on. I saw something that made my blood run cold and I froze. Sam was there, as he said he would be, but he wasn’t alone, as I had implied he should be. He’d brought a friend. He’d brought a new friend. Penny Lawrence. He’d brought his new friend Penny f*ing Lawrence. Her jumper lay on the floor, just by my feet. Along with her school tie and rucksack. That was the first thing that gave her away. Her untidiness. No, wait that was a lie. Let’s see, the first thing that gave her away... what could that have been? Oh yeah, the fact that she seemed to be attached to Sam’s face. Attached to his face in a way that made me surprised that either of them could breathe. Bodies pressed up against the wall, they began to fumble with one another’s shirt buttons, almost tearing them off. Desperate to... It was supposed to be romantic, I think, but, to me, it was just sickening. See, in a way, it’d be ‘okay’ if they’d known each other a while (more than five minutes) and, at least, spoken more than once before; Penny Lawrence hadn’t so much as waved at Sam before and yet there she was aiding him in the removal of his clothes with her tongue down his throat. There was a reason she had a reputation. I was beginning to see why. I felt sick. Why would he do that? I could probably have expected it from her but, Sam was the good boy. I’d thought he’d at least... well, I don’t know what I’d thought he’d do but I didn’t think he’d be so rash. In the end, I thought bitterly, he really is just another teenage boy. There’s nothing special about him. His hands dropped to her waist. I’d seen enough. ”Dickhead.“ I growled, backing out of the doorway slowly. Surprised, they jumped away from each other; Sam blushed, his eyes wide. ”Oh shit.“ ”Oh, don’t stop on my account, please.“ I stormed off, practically racing down the corridors. For once, I didn’t feel like crying. Instead, I felt like kicking his head in. Or hers. Either way, one of them was in danger of a kick in the face. I wanted to take my anger out on something. ”Florence, wait!“ I could hear him calling after me. I could hear how desperate he was for me to stop so he could explain it all to me. But, how do you explain that? In all seriousness, how can that be explained? ‘Sorry, I was waiting for you but, I got bored’? I mean, it just... it was unbelievable how stupid he could be. I kept walking. Fists clenched, I just kept walking. Away from Sam. Away from Penny fucking Lawrence. Away from Sam fucking Penny Lawrence.

Sam wasn’t pissed at me anymore, or he might’ve been, I wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter; I was mad at Sam instead. I was so bloody mad. It was weird, even when he’d completely cut me out of his life, when he absolutely hated my guts, when it would been more understandable for me to be angry with him, I’d felt nothing. If anything, then, I’d been mad at myself. Not him. But now I was and, technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. I mean, we weren’t going out. He was single. He could freely kiss any girl he wished with a guilt free conscience. He had no one to answer to, no girlfriend to whom he had to stay loyal. Then why was I so angry at him? Why did it feel as though he’d cheated at me? With Penny Lawrence. Eugh. Once upon a time, I’d wanted to be like her. Not anymore. Not if she made people feel like that. Not if she could make someone feel as broken as I felt. I think that what made me feel so frustrated was that... she knew I’d see. I’d arranged to meet him there, it wasn’t as though my arrival was spontaneous; I’d asked him to meet me in that bloody closet. He’s known I was coming. He’d known that I would see them together, kissing or not. It was as though he’d wanted me to see it. It was as though he didn’t care about my feelings anymore. He’d wanted to get back at me, I’d never seen him as the sort of guy who’d want revenge but he had, and he’d succeeded. That was the bit that hurt, that made me so mad. I might’ve been okay if he’d been going out with a girl for a while and I’d caught them kissing; that would have been an accident, a completely innocent accident, it wouldn’t have been vindictive or anything. But he’d pretty much planned it. That’s why I hated him. And Penny Lawrence for aiding and abetting. I had contented myself with ignoring them both although, if you saw the way she looked at me whenever she walked past at school, you’d be proud that I’d not decided to contented myself with her gruesome murder. Trust me, I’d considered it. She seemed proud that she’d done it. Proud that she’d nearly had sex with a boy in a janitor’s closet. Who knows though, that might have classed as being quite classy for her. Yeah, she looked proud but, also, I think, she seemed quite happy that she’d managed to stick another wedge between Sam and I. I thought we were making progress. I’d had hope. She took that away from me and left me just feeling empty again. She’d as good as stolen Sam. I knew it was her fault. Sam wouldn’t have instigated it. She’d have planted the idea in his head in lesson, made him think that it was genius. It had probably been her idea for us to ‘make up’ too; that way I’d be so high that I’d have further to fall. Bitch. What an absolute bitch. I’d done nothing to her, I’d never spoken to her before in my life but, somehow, my pain was amusing to her. My life was just a game and I was a doll to play with. Well, no longer. I’d had enough bullshit to last a lifetime. I wasn’t just going to take it anymore; I was fed up of people walking all over me. If I could stand up to my mother, I could stand up to anyone. Including Penny Lawrence. Especially Penny Lawrence. At school, nothing had changed. I hadn’t told Kathy, Spencer or Nikki about anything that had happened so, as far as they were concerned, nothing had happened. They didn’t need to know. No one did. I wasn’t one for starting stupid rumours anyway, whether those rumours were true or not. I just carried on as normal; except, I moped around a bit more. It was beginning to get to them, Kathy, Spencer and Nikki that is, I could tell; it must have felt like they were burdened with an abandoned baby or something. Cheering me up used to be Sam’s job. I couldn’t spend too much time with Kathy and Spencer either, it felt rude; they were always together, well, almost always, and I felt as though I was intruding unless Nikki was with us too. So that’s how I found myself face-to-face with Penny Lawrence. Alone. She’d been stood outside one of my classrooms at break time. Outside a classroom of a subject that she didn’t even have. She was waiting for me, a smug, self-satisfied grin on her face. ”Seen Sam lately?“ she batted her eyelashes at me sweetly. I really wanted to slap her. A lot. Instead, I shook my head and shrugged. ”No sorry, must be hiding next to your self-respect.“ Keeping my tone casual, I tried not to laugh as she narrowed her eyes at me (whether because she had to think about my little joke or because she’d been expecting a straight answer, I couldn’t tell). ”Very funny.“ ”Well, what can I say? I’m a very funny girl.“ I went to push past her but she stood in my way; she was determined to get the last word. I could tell. She seemed like that sort of person. She tossed her hair over her shoulder (oh, how I wanted to pull her hair out). ”Well, tell me if you ever do see him, okay? We might, y’know, meet up again.“ Swallowing, I clenched my fists; that had been a bit of a low blow. ”I’ll be sure to let him know.“ Somehow, I managed a half-smile; the kind that really told someone to f off. ”He’s such a good kisser.“ Subtle. Right, I thought, that’s it. I went to lunge at her but someone caught me at the last possible second. Angrily, I spun around, watching out of the corner of my eye as precious Penny Lawrence swanned away unscathed. ”This had better be good.“ I growled. Kathy raised an eyebrow. ”Am I missing something?“ Behind her, equally confused, Spencer mirrored her facial expression. Sighing, I shook my head. ”Sorry, got carried away, what’s up?“ I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. ”At lunch, I thought we’d do something special so meet us at the statue by the library, okay?“ I nodded. ”Sounds great, what are we doing.“ Cheekily, Kathy smiled. ”You’ll see.“ - I hated when Kathy said ‘you’ll see’; it nearly always meant something sneaky and unpredictable. She was normally very nice but, for some unexplainable reason, the words ‘you’ll see’ turned her into a scheming mastermind. It was as though she lived a double life or was a Bond villain in her spare time. ‘You’ll see’ just sounded very, very shady and it was ‘you’ll see’ that was all I could think about until that very lunchtime. It took my mind off of the darling brat that was Penny Lawrence though. That was always something. ‘You’ll see’ could have been anything. Anything at all. Knowing Kathy, it’d probably be something stupendously normal though but she’d have dressed it up to get me intrigued (I told you she was devious). They were already at the statue by the time I’d been let out of class; well, Nikki and Kathy were. Spencer was nowhere to be seen. ”Where’s your boyfriend?“ I asked. Blushing, Kathy grinned; that word still didn’t feel right to her. ”He’s gone ahead, you’ll see.“ There was that phrase again. They were going to murder me, weren’t they? That’s what I would see, my murder. And, you know what, I wouldn’t have been all that surprised. I was beginning to realise that I was really bloody annoying. ”Alright then,“ I said, tucking some hair behind my ear, ”lead the way.“ I thought she’d take us to town or, perhaps, to the field behind the art block but she didn’t; instead, she marched us all the way up the school driveway and in through the main entrance. Lightly, I punched Nikki on the arm as a way of asking where we were going but she just shrugged and kept on walking. Oh good God, I thought, they actually are going to kill me. The two of them lead me up so many flights of stairs that it might have actually counted as attempted murder; I genuinely thought I was going to collapse. I was not exactly the perfect picture of health, I noted. Finally though, once we got to the very top, they stopped outside a door. ”After you.“ Kathy said, indicating that I should go in first. Suspiciously, I narrowed my eyes but I didn’t protest. Twisting the knob, I let the door swing open. ”Huh, what the h-?“ But I didn’t get to finish my sentence. As soon as I had opened the door, Spencer jumped out at me, pinning my arms to my sides and pushing me into the room, before dashing out and slamming the door shut again behind him. All before I’d so much as blinked. Stunned, I sat there in the middle of the floor, cross-legged and curious. ”What’s going on? Kidnapping me?“ It was then that I heard the faint sound of a key in a lock and my eyes widened, shocked. No way. ”C’mon, s’not funny now, let me out.“ ”We’re not letting either of you out until you two patch things up or something.“ Confused, I scanned the room. ”The two of-“ I stopped. I wasn’t alone at all. For God’s sake. He sat in one corner of the room, his legs spread out in front of him, staring at me. Who? Sam, of course, who else would it be? ”Hey,“ he whispered, giving me a slight wave. ”Oh, f off.“ I snapped, leaping up and racing to the door. ”This isn’t fair you d***heads, let me out!“ Beating on the door with my fists, I swore and cursed until I was breathless; it was then that I realised that I’d be useless in a hostage situation. It wasn’t fair though. I’d never do this to them. They knew how angry I was with him, how much I wanted to hit him every time I saw his face and remembered what he’d done; why would they think that locking me in a room with him was a good course of action? Nothing would get done, no words would pass through my lips, and nothing would change. He didn’t deserve a second chance. No, wait, that was wrong, I didn’t want to give him a second chance; there was a difference. Sighing, I sunk to the floor. ”There’s some sandwiches on the table.“ came a voice. I punched the door one more time to emphasise that I’d rather be anywhere than there and I could hear three pairs of school shoes shuffling off down the stair. And giggling. I could hear giggling too. Dheads, I thought again bitterly, throwing my head back, and they call themselves my friends. My hands ached, my palms were red, my stomach was growling, my head felt like it was going to explode and Sam was sat opposite me; it certainly was not the ‘something special’ that I’d imagined when Kathy had mentioned it. To be honest, I’d rather that they had murdered me. It might have been less painful. I wanted to get out and I wanted him to stop staring at me; was that how caged animals felt? I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like the walls were closing in on me. I needed some fresh air. We sat in complete silence, so quiet that you could probably hear our breathing if you listened hard enough. I hated it. How could we be so quiet when we used to be so loud with each other? It was so weird. It felt so wrong. I didn’t want to do anything to change it though; I had nothing to say. I didn’t want to speak to him. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. I couldn’t believe the others would do that. It was as though they wanted us to kill each other or something; at least we wouldn’t be a problem then. We’d be dead, instead. I’d come back and haunt the three of them though; they deserved it. I mean, who locks their ‘friends’ in a room for a lunch hour? What if they didn’t come back? I had English next. I couldn’t miss that; we had a test or something. That was something else that was weird. Suddenly, out of the blue, school was more important to me than Sam was. That had never happened before. I didn’t like it. ”This is bullshit.“ Sam said at last, resting his head upon his knees which he hugged to his chest tightly. I sighed. ”Tell me about it.“ ”I meant us not talking.“ Looking at him, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ”And who started the whole not talking thing, huh?“ ”Me,“ he admitted, ”I did. But, I don’t know, I thought we were okay?“ I almost laughed. He was so ridiculously naive. ”Yeah? Well, Penny Lawrence just told me to tell you to get in touch. She wants to meet up again.“ As though it had just dawned on him, his eyes widened; he looked like a frightened rabbit in the headlights. Rubbing his forehead, he swore loudly several times. ”Penny Lawrence. That’s what all this is about? Penny Lawrence?“ Slowly, almost sarcastically, I nodded. ”Ten points to Gryffindor!“ I tucked my knees under my chin, wrapping my arms around my shins to hold myself together. ”Yes this is about Penny Lawrence, you idiot.“ ”I am so sorry about that Flo, I really am.“ ”Then why meet her there? If you’re so sorry and you really didn’t want me to see that, then why meet her there?“ Regretfully, I was back to shouting again. I hated shouting at him, it made me sad to see the way he would shrink away from me as I raised my voice, but I was just so frustrated by the whole situation. Confused, he bit his lip. ”You think, what, that I arranged that?“ I nodded again. ”Why else would she be there?“ ”Flo, she saw you mouthing to me about meeting in the janitor’s closet.“ Shit. I saw where he was going. ”She was already there when I arrived. She kissed me. Not the other way around.“ ”Don’t lie to me!“ I screamed, covering my ears, ”why would she do that?“ Wishing myself elsewhere, I closed my eyes. I wanted him to be telling the truth more than anything, that way I needn’t be mad anymore, but, also, I didn’t want him to be telling the truth at all. I really didn’t. A part of me wanted him to be lying. His story made so much more sense, Penny Lawrence was a slut, but, if he was right, it meant that I’d been wrong. If I’d been wrong then, it meant that I’d been mad at him needlessly. If I’d been wrong then, it meant that I’d f*ed up again. I couldn’t f up again. I just couldn’t. Not again. Not again. Lightly, he placed a hand on my right elbow, just as he always did when he knew that I was going to cry. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d crossed the room. I knew he might well but, instead of comforting me, it simply made me want to burst into tears; it was those kinds of things that I missed, little things, our little things. Gestures, secret mannerisms, pulling faces at each other across classrooms, mouthing answers, supportive thumbs up; our little things. I missed them. I missed him. And it was all my fault that I’d lost him. ”I’m so sorry.“ I sobbed. He shook his head. ”No, I’ve been a dick.“ ”You were right though! I should’ve, I mean, I mean, I-“ ”No, I’ve been a dick.“ Holding his arms out, he smiled. ”Come here.“ Reluctantly, I let him wrap himself around me, remembering all the good times I’d spent there, safe against his chest. He was something irreplaceable. He was solid, like an anchor, he held me down, stopped me from floating away. ”I’ve missed you so much Sam, you’ve not even gone anywhere but you’ve felt so far away.“ I could feel my bottom lip quiver as I spoke, fresh tears welling up in my eyes. I buried my head into his jumper. He stroked my hair soothingly. ”I’m right here. I’ll always be here for you, “ I looked up into his eyes, just as he looked down into mine. ”I promise,“ he whispered, his voice cracking, ”I promise.“ I was shocked; Sam never cried. Ever. Well, not in front of me anyway. It felt weird seeing him upset like that. I mean, I’d seen him upset before, of course I had (no one’s happy all the time), but not in the conventional way with tears and everything. Usually, he just went all quiet and thoughtful and his eyes went dull. But he was crying. A single tear rolled down his face. He was crying. Properly crying. I held him tight. We’d tiptoes around each other too much; I missed the sound of his heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his collarbone dug into my cheek when we hugged and the feeling of his arms around me. He deserved a proper apology. A decent apology. We needed to get everything sorted out and put behind us. ”Samuel Ryan Smith, I’m sorry that I hurt you; I am sorry, so sorry, that I didn’t just tell you outright that I wasn’t sure about going out with you but I was genuinely confused. No one’s ever asked me out before.“ I buried my face into his chest, blushing. Chuckling to himself, he kissed the top of my head lightly. ”And Florence-Anne Chaplin, I am sorry that I didn’t speak to you for two weeks, that was pretty petty of me, and I am also sorry that you saw Penny Lawrence kiss me in the janitor’s closet. And, no, that’s not a euphemism.“ I laughed, digging him in the ribs and making him yelp. ”You did seem to be quite enjoying it though.“ ”A gentleman never kisses and tells.“ ”But you’re not a gentleman!“ I smiled. - I’m not sure what Kathy, Spencer and Nikki had been expecting to find upon their return (a couple of dead bodies or something perhaps, who knows?) but I’m sure that they were over the moon with what they saw. I’ve certainly never seen the three of them smile as much as when they unlocked the door to see the two of us there, side by side, laughing and talking, Sam’s arm around my shoulders. Like we used to. Like we always would. Suddenly, we were back at the start again, a fresh slate, a clean page (or was it the other way round). The past month hadn’t even happened as far as we were concerned anymore. It didn’t matter. It was as though he’d never even sent that goddamn text. I had my best friend back again. The way I remembered him. Nothing had changed. We were still wonderfully goofy, we were still brilliantly odd but we were together doing those things. I could not get over how happy I was. Nothing had changed! Nothing at all. He made it very clear, making sure that I really understood, that he wanted me to know that he still had feelings for me and that he wasn’t sure if those feelings were going to go away anytime soon. He told me that everything he’d said in that text had been one hundred percent true. I blushed. ”Sam,“ I smiled, cupping his face in my hands and looking him in the eyes, ”I really f*ed this up last time so let me give this another go; I just want to be friends.“ He took my hands in his and nodded; he wasn’t going to let it stand in the way of our friendship this time, he assured me, grinning. Ever again. Our friendship was the most important thing. Our friendship came first and it always would. It was too important to both of us for either of us to lose it. Ever again.

”We should celebrate.“ The four of us stopped and stared at Nikki, each as confused as the next. ”Why?“ She smiled. ”Look at us! This deserves celebration. We all passed all of those bloody exams before the holidays, Sam and Flo have reconciled,“ (Sam squeezed my hand and I blushed), ”and surely you two have been going out for a month or something by now?“ she asked, looking at Spencer and Kathy pointedly. ”Three weeks and four days.“ Kathy blushed. Resting her head on Spencer’s shoulder, he kissed her forehead softly. ”Great! You can celebrate your anniversary.“ I laughed. ”Please, for the love of God, do not turn into one of those couples who celebrate every little milestone. Please.“ They both smiled. ”Promise.“ Nikki had been right though; random but right. We needed a party, the five of us, like we used to have. Just an opportunity to celebrate, like she said, I think we all needed that. We hadn’t celebrated Christmas or New Year together like we had planned. We had to make up for that. Nothing huge or extravagant, just the five of us, that’s all our ‘parties’ ever were; they were just social gatherings if anything. Still, we loved them; our little social gatherings with alcohol and Twister. They were hilarious, seriously hilarious. ”Right, my parents are out of town this weekend so, what say you all about Saturday night?“ I nodded. ”I’m in.“ Sam shrugged. ”Sure, why not.“ Kathy and Spencer grinned. ”Yes!“ ”This one’s going to be the best one yet, you do realised that, right? Because we actually have things to celebrate; and it’s going to be Christmas and New Year all rolled into one.“ Looking at my hand in Sam’s, I could not have agreed more. I really did feel like celebrating. Christmas had not been the best of times for me that year. Then, something inside my brain clicked. Christmas. It was nearly February and I still hadn’t given Sam his Christmas present. Oh God, it was still sat in the corner of my room, waiting. Every day, I looked at it and, every day, I thought to myself ‘I’d better give him that soon’, and, every day, I forgot. I think I was more goldfish than human really; if I so much as blinked, I could forget what someone told me not two minutes previously. I usually tried to write things on my hand but then, when I’d glance at it during class or something, I’d spend the rest of the lesson trying to remember why I’d written on the back of my hand; the words would mean nothing and I would be stuck. I had to give him his Christmas present, if only because I couldn’t stand it mocking me from its little corner and nothing else. It had to go. It had to. ”Flo?“ Tightening my grip on his hand, I blinked hard. ”Sorry, what?“ All four of them were staring at me, expectedly. ”Bring your own booze, alright?“ Nikki repeated, slowly. I rolled my eyes, sighing. ”So, what, that’s me supplying for everyone, right?“ Everyone nodded, smiling at me. - Hand in hand, Sam and I strolled down the street. ”Tree.“ I shook my head. ”Television.“ ”Nope.“ ”... Tractor?“ ”What?“ I laughed. ”No way.“ ”It was worth a try!“ Grinning, he bit his lip as he thought. ”Uh, well... okay, you got me.“ ”You’ll kick yourself.“ ”Tell me then!“ he laughed, elbowing me. I pointed to his leg. ”Trousers.“ ”F!“ Laughing, he ran a hand through his hair. ”Okay so, you’re superior at ‘I Spy’...“ ”And...?“ I goaded. ”Uh... hangman, noughts and crosses, Monopoly, Scrabble, Operation... life in general, let’s be honest.“ Satisfied, I nodded. ”Why thank you.“ ”Got another game you want to whup my ass at?“ I did indeed but, just as I went to answer, I stopped as my mouth went dry and I froze. I saw him before he saw me; I could have ran, I could have turned and walked a different way, I could have even hidden if I had wanted to but I did none of those things. Instead, I froze, petrified like a rabbit in a car’s headlamps, and stared across the road at him, unable to believe my eyes. Or my bad luck. It was him. My ‘bully’. He was right there across the road. He was within three hundred yards of me. It suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding at a thousand times a minute and I just couldn’t catch my breath. I may have felt scared before but this was actual fear. Ten months. I hadn’t seen him in ten months and he’d not been in school for eighteen. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten about him; almost but not quite. And, to be honest, I’d hoped that he would have forgotten about me. But, of course, he hadn’t. Who would forget the girl who ruined their life? Apparently, that was me; I, the victim of continuous bullying and tormenting courtesy of the arsehole, had ruined his life. Pfft. Well, I suppose, from his point of view, I had. In a way. Ian had gone to school with me but, being seven month older, he’d been in the school year above Sam, Nikki, Kathy and I and, as Spencer hadn’t emigrated from Poland yet, Ian was the tallest person that I’d ever seen. Not tall and lanky like Spencer either, the boy was, how can I put it delicately? Big. He was big. And mean. Very mean. He was the first one to spot me and see the perfect target. I wasn’t a person to him. I was a fucking guinea pig for him to watch running around in its wheel. He loved watching me sweat because he knew I wouldn’t do anything to retaliate. I was too afraid. And he was huge. Ian was the first one to steal my bag for fun. Ian was the first one to throw a rock at me. Ian was the first one to trip me over in the corridor. Once Ian started something, unfortunately for me, people followed suit. He was the head honcho; people in the older years had the intuition to stay away from him and even some teachers were afraid on punishing him. Rightly so too, he had an awful temper. Ian practically ran the school. Up until eighteen months ago that is. Eighteen months ago, Ian overstepped a line. He was expelled permanently for beating one of the first years to a pulp and the whole school breathed a collective sigh of relief. With Ian gone, his little posse lost their ringleader and so dissipated, dispersed amongst the corridors and classrooms once more. I was free. However, as my life got better, his fell apart. His parents split up and he stumbled blindly into drugs and he blamed me. He blamed me for turning him in. He still had a problem with me and a big one at that. ”OI! If it ain’t little miss weirdo,“ he spat, throwing his cigarette butt into the road and swaggering his way toward Sam and I. My grip on Sam’s hand tightening, I could feel myself physically shrink as Ian pushed into my face. ”’ow you doin’, darling?“ Growling, his tobacco breath made me want to gag. ”I’m fine thanks, how are you darling?“ I snapped back, trying to sound brave; I couldn’t let him get the better of me. Not again. ”I’m fine thank,“ he mimicked. ”As pathetic as ever I see, aren’t we?“ Smirking, he turned to Sam. ”Well, well, well, I’m surprised to see you here mate. Smith, ain’t it? Sam Smith, it’s been a while lad. Taking in garbage are we now? Bad luck Sam, I’m sorry to hear about that.“ I hung my head, fighting back tears. Thirty seconds. That’s all it had taken for him to make me feel absolutely useless. Thirty seconds. He hadn’t changed at all. But then, something happened. Something... different. Now, personally, I thought that, in the situation he was faced with, Sam, like me, would have crumbled. Kind, caring, passive Sam, Sam that would rather read a book than watch football with his dad, seemed like the sort of guy that would just take it as it came and not react; not exactly cowering in fear but, then again, not throwing any punches back at them either. That’s what I’d expected anyway. I was wrong. ”She’s not garbage. I’ll have you know that she’s worth a million of whatever pathetic bitch that you end up with. Mate, I’m the luckiest guy in the world. You’re the f*ing garbage, I gotta say.“ I think, for a moment, we were all rather shocked that Sam had actually said that. Even Sam himself. I was bloomin’ awestruck. None of us knew what to do; we’d found ourselves at a stalemate. But then Ian realised what exactly had been said about him. And punched him. Right in the face. Everything seemed to slow down for a second or so. I saw him raise his fist. I saw it flying toward Sam. But I couldn’t stop it. I saw the fist connect. I could hear the crunch of bone and Sam crumpled to the floor, folding in on himself like a house of cards. ”Sam!“ I gasped as time sped up again. ”Call me garbage again and it’ll be more than just your nose that gets smashed, capiche?“ Ian spat, kicking Sam for emphasis, as he walked away. Shocked, I dropped to my knees. ”Oh my God, oh my God, Sam, are you okay?“ He sat up, dazed, blood streaming from his nose. ”I... I think so.“ He blinked hard, grimacing. ”Jesus Christ, my head hurts.“ ”Pinch the bridge of your nose,“ I suggested, ”it might stop the bleeding.“ Gently, I helped him to his feet. ”Come on, let’s go to mine. I think we’ve got asprin somewhere.“ Slowly, we staggered down the street. - Sam laid on the sofa, a bag of ice pressed to his face, moaning to himself. ”Why’d I do that? I mean, he’s a bloody maniac.“ ”Maybe you should go to the hospital or something.“ I wasn’t really listening to his complaints; I was more concerned that he might have just had his nose broken. He was right though; why had he done it? I mean, I hadn’t asked him to stand up for me. It was his own fault. I really don’t think that he’d thought it through. I wasn’t giving him any sympathy (well, not much anyway), only advice. Advice he clearly wasn’t listening to. ”No,“ he shook his head, wincing, ”I’ll be fine. Can I have a glass of water though?“ I smiled. ”Sure.“ He was hardly my knight in shining armour. More like my jester wrapped in tin foil. Bless him, I thought, but at least he’s learnt not to try and be something that he isn’t. Walking into the kitchen, I grabbed a tumbler from the cabinet and turned on the cold tap, allowing the water to run. I filled the glass and put it down on the counter as I began my search for the promised asprin. Last time Sam was here, I remembered, we washed up together and he kissed me. God that felt like so long ago. A month. A whole month had passed since we’d tidied away the lunch pots like an old married couple and he’d kissed me on the cheek absentmindedly. It had felt so good. Not weird or embarrassing, just sweet. I wanted to go back to that day so much. I wanted to do it all again. Everything. All of the last month. I wanted to re-write it all. Thinking back though, would anything be any different? If I’d said a definite no, the chances were Sam would still have been more than a little pissed at me so I would have still f*ed up everyone’s Christmas break. If I’d said yes though, we might have been boyfriend and girlfriend for a while, sure, but who was to say that it would have lasted? We might have been happy but, I knew, it wouldn’t have lasted. We’d have broken up, I could just tell, and it might have been nasty, in which case, I still would have f*ed up something. It would have just taken a little longer. No, maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was fate or destiny or something. Perhaps we were both better people because of it. It would be nice to think that something good had come from the situation. Producing a box of asprin, I read the guidelines and popped out a couple of pills. I returned to the living room and sat on the arm of the sofa. ”Y’alright to sit up?“ He nodded sadly, looking sorry for himself. I passed him the water and asprin, watching as he took them. ”Feeling well enough for a present?“ ”Of course,“ his eyes lit up, ”what’s the occasion though?“ ”Consider it a belated Jesus’ birthday gift.“ I smiled, fetching it from the cupboard under the stairs. I’d hidden it there because Mum had taken to searching through my stuff in her spare time and I knew that, if she found it in my room, she’d think that she’d been right and none of us wanted that. ”Ta-da!“ I presented it to him shyly. He grinned, accepting it politely. ”Why thank you very much.“ Carefully, he slid a finger under a fold of the festive wrapping paper and ran it along the crease so that he (expertly) sliced the sellotape in two. Although he was applying some of his self-restraint, I could tell that, like a six year old on Christmas morning, he really wanted to rip into it. The childish look on his face told me so. When, finally, he removed the last piece of wrapping paper, letting it fall to the floor, a huge grin spread across his face. ”Oh my God, Flo!“ Shocked, he stared at me. ”Really? For me? Seriously?“ I nodded. ”Yep.“ Almost forgetting that he was an invalid, he threw his arms around me, pulling me down on top of him. ”You’re fantastic!“ ”You like them then?“ I laughed, bopping him on the head with a cushion. I’d hoped he’d react like that; it was as though I’d given him the world. ”Of course I do!“ To illustrate his point, he pulled his new hat down over his head. ”I love them, okay?“ The hat, I noted, was quite adorable. We’d gone shopping together a few weeks before Christmas (as a way to stop Sam revising excessively) and he’d stopped in front of a store window. ”Now that,“ he’d said, pointing at a mannequin, ”is a truly wonderful hat.“ And I’d agreed because, really, it was. It was one of those Soviet Union style hats with the ear flaps and the fur but it wasn’t the same as everyone else’s; the material was a dark, inky blue and dotted with gold stars. Being the kind of boy that he was, Sam very rarely pointed out things that he liked or wanted so, later on that day, feigning a toilet emergency, I’d snuck back to the shop and purchased it, hiding it in my bag as best I could. Seeing that hat though, I saw an opportunity for a themed Christmas present. The hat had stars on it. Stars were a good starting point. A few days after acquiring the wonderful hat, I went to some market with Gran and Grandpa. I’d been bored, obviously, so Grandpa and I escaped to look at something that had caught his eyes earlier. By an amazing coincidence, I’d found part two and three of Sam’s gift; a packet of peel-off backed, glow-in-the-dark stars and a copy of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, one of Sam’s favourite books. When I’d gotten home that night, almost immediately, I wrapped everything in gold paper and wrote out the gift tag. I was really quite proud of myself (to say the least). ”Flo, seriously,“ he thumbed through his book, tiny gold stars falling from the pages, ”this is all amazing.“ The hat pushed his fringe down into his eyes so he had to lift his head back to see anything. ”You’re amazing.“ Blushing, I tucked my own hair behind my ear. ”You know I don’t do things by halves.“ He laughed. ”Still, thank you very much.“ ”You’re welcome.“ Giving his shoulders a quick squeeze, I smiled. ”Now, how are you feeling?“ Biting his lip, he lied through his teeth. ”Better, thanks.“ I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. ”Yeah, of course you do. You look it too; a giant, swollen, red nose is always a good sign.“ ”It’s kind of throbbing too, don’t forget throbbing.“ he added, grinning cheekily, taking off his hat so I could see his eyes laughing. I shouldn’t have laughed, I should have been a little bit angry that he was joking about it, but I did. I laughed. ”Go to sleep for a bit, maybe that’ll help.“ As I got up to leave, he grabbed my wrist. ”Don’t go.“ I blinked, confused. ”I might have concussion.“ Again, I laughed at a joke that shouldn’t have been funny but instead may have been a possibility; it was the innocence on his face as he said it that made me giggle. I sat down again, flipping on the television and turning the volume down so it was barely audible, as Sam stretched himself out on the sofa, resting his head in my lap. ”Comfy?“ He nodded. For a while, we watched the screen and the changing colours, talking until Sam’s words turned to whispers and, eventually, he fell asleep. I didn’t know what to do; I certainly didn’t want to wake up but I was stuck. I couldn’t move. Gradually, he’d curled up into a ball, his legs tucked up against his chest with one arm sandwiched between his thighs and the other beneath his head. He slept oddly, I thought, thinking of how I would often wake to find myself starfished on my mattress. How he could sleep so compactly, I had no idea. He looked so peaceful though, I wondered what he could possibly be dreaming about to make the corners of his mouth turn up so. I sighed, stroking his hair absentmindedly. His nose had really swollen up. I know we’d joked about it but, honestly, it looked bad, really bad, so, not for the first time that day, I found myself worrying that he may have broken it. Jesus, how was he going to explain that one to his mum? I felt so guilty. Ian was a bloody giant, compared to the two of us, and yet Sam had still defended me, escaping with only a bloody nose. I was pretty surprised that Ian had allowed him to live after what he’d said. Wow. I couldn’t decide if he was brave or just really, really stupid. To be honest, it was a toss up between the two. Realising that I’d probably be stuck on the sofa for some time, I settled down, careful not to jostle Sam, and changed the channel. Sam hardly stirred at all.

How do I explain Dave? Well... Dave was a magnificent waste of time, in my eyes; unfortunately, he was the apple of my mother’s. That pretty much sums Dave up in one sentence and, really, he barely deserved any more. My mum met Dave not long after I arrived into the world and, pretty soon, he became more important to her than I ever was. She was a young, single mother who worked long shifts in a cafe to make ends meet and Dave was a ‘dashing’ lawyer in the making. See, here was the thing, personally, I didn’t understand the attraction. He could have had anyone, and I mean anyone, there was most probably a line forming he was that popular, but he chose my mum; at only a few month old at the time though, I was in no position to try and make them see sense. So, I was stuck with Dave as my ‘father’. They got married when I was about four, the perfect age to be forced into a pretty pink dress and called a bridesmaid. Apparently, I was adorable but, it would appear that, I disagreed because I went and wrestled my second cousin in the flower beds (I was an obnoxious child even then). No one did anything though. No one told me off and it didn’t seem like anyone was mad. Everyone just laughed at me and carried on toasting the bride and groom. Not even Mum shouted at me. I was really confused at the time and I never understood why; I knew it was a pretty expensive dress and I’d just ruined it so, why wasn’t she mad? Because she was too busy being happy with Dave, that was why. She was always happiest with Dave. I suppose that made him good for something at least. Ever since the wedding though, Dave and I tried to have as little to do with each other as was humanly possible. We could go whole weeks sometimes without saying a word to each other or even seeing each other. It helped that he was barely home; he worked long hours at the office and sometimes didn’t come home until the earlier hours of the morning but, even then, he was out again by the time I got up for school. Even Mum struggled to find a minute alone with him. He wasn’t a dad to me; no more so than my actual proper father anyway. A dad would notice when their daughter was trying to smuggle alcohol out of the house. Especially when it was their own. ”Going out?“ he asked gruffly as I slipped on my sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces. F*ing d’uh. ”Yep.“ ”So are your mum and I. Home for eleven though, yeah?“ I nodded sweetly. ”Of course.“ Rocking back on his heels, Dave shoved his hands in his pockets. ”Have fun.“ He still had no clue how to talk to me and he’d known me pretty much all my life. ”You too.“ I replied. I threw my rucksack over my shoulder, trying not to make it too obvious that it was bloody heavy, and shut the door behind myself. Sometimes I wondered if, perhaps, Dave knew about my little visits to the alcohol cupboard but didn’t do anything about it in the hope that I’d do something ridiculous whilst drunk, get arrested and he’d have to defend me in court, increasing the size of his already over-inflated ego. That would be a quite devious plan; genius but very, very devious. Actually, wait, that would be an awful plan; stupid and very, very awful. Perhaps Dave knew about my little visits to the alcohol cupboard but didn’t do anything about simply because he could not be arsed with me. That sounded about right. Like most other adults in my life, he had given up on me long ago. - I looked into the mirror for the last time. For once, I didn’t really mind what I saw. When I’d arrived at Nikki’s house, she’d only opened the door a crack, not letting me in until I showed her the beer in my rucksack. When, finally, I get inside, she wrestled the bag off of me and dragged me upstairs kicking and screaming. Unfortunately, I knew what came next. Of course, what I was wearing didn’t pass muster so, of course, Nikki had to change that. I hated Nikki fussing around me so much, scrutinising me. I knew she meant well, she only wanted me to look nice, but she... she just made me feel more insecure and paranoid about myself than I did anyway. I didn’t want that and I’m pretty sure that she didn’t either but it happened anyway and that made me sad. I mean, I hated feeling as though me being me wasn’t good enough for them but I knew they just wanted me to feel confident and they thought that sticking me in fancy, dressy-up clothes was going to help me. It didn’t though. It really didn’t. Looking in the mirror though, I didn’t mind what I saw at all. Nikki had let me keep my Converse on, for a starter, and she hadn’t tried to force me into a dress like she usually did. I looked okay, more okay than I had before anyway, but that wasn’t saying much. There was a knock on the door. ”Flo,“ Nikki called, ”the others are here.“ ”There in a sec,“ I replied cheerily, feeling a knot settle in my stomach. Why was I feeling nervous? It was only Sam, Spencer and Kathy. It wasn’t as though I’d never met them before. It wasn’t as though I needed to impress them. Applying some mascara, I wanted to bite my lip nervously but then I remembered that I was wearing lipstick. Maybe I was nervous because I wasn’t comfortable; I never felt comfortable in short sleeves. I fingered one of the many bracelets that I wore around each wrist. I kind of felt naked without sleeves; I liked to pull them down over my hands. Cautiously, I went downstairs. Sam was in the hallway, waiting for me. ”Hey.“ ”Hey,“ I hugged him. ”You still look a mess, y’know that?“ He smiled, running a hand through his hair. ”One or two people may have mentioned it, yes.“ Admittedly, it would have been hard not to. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali or something. Okay, slight exaggeration, but, still, it wasn’t pretty. Over the last couple of days the swelling had gone down slightly (revealing a pretty crooked nose), replaced instead by two wonderful bruises that seemed to had have bloomed almost overnight. One around each eye. Like a panda. As guilty as I may have felt, I’d laughed when he’d walked into school looking like that. It really did look like he’d just gone and gotten his face painted at the carnival or something. Also, he was a walking colour chart. Purple, blue, yellow, green, red, brown; it was all there. In addition to the magnificent panda bruises, Sam had also received a busted lip and, he told me, a sore arse. ”My hero“, I’d joked, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t the only one who’s sympathy was beginning to wear thin with him; the others hadn’t had any for him in the first place. They’d all laughed so hard when we’d told them how it had happened and who could blame them? It was pretty funny, thinking back. ”You look nice.“ Sam commented, stepping back to admire me. Blushing, I gave him a twirl, curtseying cheekily and almost tripping. Elegant, I thought, cringing internally. ”Thank you.“ Smiling, I gave him the once over. ”You don’t look too bad yourself.“ ”Why, thank you.“ he held out his arm. ”Drink?“ ”You know me all too well.“ He led the way to the kitchen, laughing. Happily, he squeezed my hand. ”Seriously though, you look beautiful.“ I smiled shyly, my cheeks turning an even brighter red. Why did he say those kinds of things? I knew that he meant to be nice but... I had no idea how to react. Compliments scared me, in a way; probably because I thought they were lies, not compliments at all. I couldn’t turn it into a joke again, that would seem rude, but I genuinely had no idea what to say in reply so I just kept smiling. ”Thank you Sam, and you look very dashing indeed.“ He returned my smile but his heart wasn’t in it; I could see the disappointment in his eyes when he realised that I didn’t believe him. A pang of guilt hit me; he was only trying to be nice. Why couldn’t I just accept a compliment for once from him, I thought, for him I cursed myself silently. I needed a low self-esteem like someone else needed a hole in the head. I didn’t. I really, really didn’t. As we walked into the kitchen, Nikki thrust a bottle of something into my hands and an identical bottle into Sam’s. ”You two took your time.“ I rolled my eyes and she took the hint, retreating to the fridge so that she could get her own drink. ”A toast!“ suggested Sam, smiling to himself, one arm around my waist. Laughing, we all agreed. ”Toast, toast, toast, toast, toast!“ we chanted, looking at Nikki pointedly. ”Fine!“ she raised her bottle, ”to us!“ We copied her. ”To us!“ ”Now,“ Nikki grinned slyly, ”may the festivities begin.“ Cheering, I took a gulp of my beer. F yes. - Soon, it got late (very late) and I got drunk (very drunk). I don’t know why I did it but I did. I don’t know how I did it but I did. It wasn’t my aim to get absolutely shitfaced but, somehow, I had. I suppose, at the time, it had seemed like a good idea and, that night, once I’d started, I couldn’t stop and I don’t think I wanted to. I didn’t quite feel like myself. ”I’ve got to,“ I hiccupped midsentence, giggling to myself, ”go home.“ I stood up, knocking the table with my knees and sending the glasses flying as I stumbled. Staggering to the door, I was just slurring my last goodbyes when I felt someone wrap their hand around my wrist. ”I’m coming too.“ Sam stood behind me, holding my bag in one hand. ”Oh.“ ”Yeah,“ pointing to the door, he sighed. ”After you.“ For the second time that night, I curtsied jokily and then staggered out of the door and along the pavement in the direction (that I hoped) I lived. Sam trailed me miserably. I don’t think Sam liked me drunk. Or, at least, he didn’t like seeing me drunk. It wasn’t a common occurrence but, I noticed, whenever I did, he’d go all quiet and just sit, looking at me with a look of concern on his face. It was as though, in his mind, he was looking at a different person. I’d got to admit, I wasn’t a fantastic drunk. My vocabulary wasn’t great, to start with, and then there was the fact that I couldn’t stop hiccupping. Or keep my eyes open. Eventually, I genuinely think that he’d had enough of my tripping over my own feet (I mean, I was clumsy at the best of times but, with alcohol in my system, there were baby giraffes that were more graceful) so he stopped me. ”Get on my back.“ ”Huh?“ dazed, I looked up into his eyes, dark in the moonlight. ”Just... get on my back.“ ”But-“ ”Fine, fall into the road and get run over, see if I care.“ Sighing, I realised that he’d guilt tripped me again. He squatted down and I jumped up; I threw my arms around his neck and he caught my legs as I wrapped them around his waist. ”Happy now?“ I mumbled sleepily, resting my head on his shoulder. ”Much happier.“ ”Good.“ Absentmindedly, I looked up into the sky. It was pitch black and littered with hundreds of tiny, glittering stars, the moon hanging amongst them, suspended in a pool of indigo. ”The sky looks pretty.“ I whispered. ”Oh yeah?“ ”Yeah,“ tired, I closed my eyes, ”it almost looks like it did that night at the train station.“ Beneath me, I could feel Sam go stiff and he clenched his jaw, going quiet. ”Does it now?“ he mumbled. ”Yeah, it looks pretty.“ I wanted to say more but my mind felt all fuzzy, as though it was made of cotton wool. And I was tired. Really tired. I couldn’t stay awake any longer, as hard as I tried; I needed sleep. Desperately. Burying my head into his shoulder and balling up the material of his shirt in my fist, I listened to the sound of his soft breathing and his footsteps upon the pavement. As I was rocked back and forth gently, I felt like a baby all over again. - ”Hey, wake up.“ Disorientated, I opened my eyes, yawning. ”Woah, where are we?“ Sam chucked to himself. ”Your house. God, how much did you have?“ Carefully, he set me down on my doorstep. ”Got your key?“ Frowning, I bit my lip. ”Uh...“ I was also a rather forgetful drunk. Worried, I rooted through my pockets and began turning everything out of my bag. ”Oh Jesus!“ ”Hey now, calm down. It’s alright.“ he sat down next to me and began to search through my things. ”It’ll be here somewhere, don’t worry.“ I looked at his face; from the side, he looked so handsome in the faded moonlight. I don’t know, maybe it was the alcohol or something. ”Ah-ha!“ Sam held up my key and bopped me on the nose with it. ”Right, now let’s get you inside.“ Gathering all my things together and stuffing them back into my bag, I rolled my eyes. ”I’m drunk, not an invalid.“ I got to my feet, wobbling slightly. I was beginning to feel a little bit queasy. ”I just need to know that you’re safe, okay?“ Not waiting for an answer from me, he scooped my up into his arms. ”It’s a good job that you’re only a skinny cow, ain’t it?“ ”Well, ironically, that’s what being a vegetarian does for you.“ He walked into the house casually and kicked the door shut behind him (”show off,“ I mumbled under my breath) before gingerly traversing the stairs and, with only a moment’s hesitation, walking into my room. He’d not been to my house in so long, yet alone my room. Once upon a time, we spent hours locked away up there doing anything and everything we wanted, from the mundane to the extraordinary, together. And that was the most important bit; together. Listening to music, learning music, studying, watching television, watching films, reading like an old married couple; just being us. It must have felt weird for him too, being back in a room full of memories after so long. It certainly did for me. We used to spend almost every night there, in my room; would I feel strange going back into Sam’s too? Picking his footings carefully, he took me over to my bed and laid me down on the mattress, pulling the sneakers off of my weary feet; throwing a blanket over my even more weary body, he tucked me in like a concerned parent. He leaned over me, his face just inches away from my own. His lips just inches away from my own. Almost without thinking, I propped myself up onto one elbow and threw an arm around his neck. I wanted to kiss him. Suddenly, all I wanted was to feel his lips against mine. Not a kiss on the cheek or the forehead; I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to bring him down on top of me and feel the weight of his body on top of mine, desperately. I wanted to have that moment with him that we’d never been able to have. Soft lips, cool breath, warm bodies and a mess of blankets. I wanted that with him. No one else. With him. In that single moment, I wanted that, I wanted him, and that was what I was going to get. He just sighed though, sighed and untangled us. ”You’re drunk.“ he whispered although more to himself than to me; it was as though it was more of an explanation for my actions than an accusation. He wanted that kiss too; he wanted it just as much as I did. I could see the disappointment in his face when he thought that though only way for him to get it was for me to be drunk out of my head; that I’d never give it to him sober. That was the second time that night that I’d let him down and it was the second time that night that I’d made him feel disappointed. It killed me to see that look. ”See you tomorrow,“ Sam whispered, brushing his lips against my forehead. Why was he so kind to me when I could do things like that to him? ”Goodnight,“ I replied, already feeling guilty. I’d tried to kiss him. I had tried to kiss him. And, despite how he may have felt, he had turned me down. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or a little bit saddened by his reaction. I mean, I really wanted to kiss him in that split second but, whether that was the alcohol alone or the alcohol making me realise that I’d wanted to kiss him all along, I didn’t know. In hindsight, he’d done the right thing. I mean, kissing when someone’s drunk was never going to be the best idea. I was glad that I was the drunk one and he’d been sober because, if it had been the other way round, I don’t think I’d have had the moral character to turn him away. I’d have kissed him and we might have had yet another dilemma on our hands. And that was the last thing that either of us wanted. Exhausted, I pulled the covers over my head, possibly more prepared for sleep than I had ever been before. - ”Jesus Christ.“ I whispered groggily as I opened my eyes, pressing a hand to my forehead. ”What the hell happened?“ I already knew the answer though; I’d drank too much, that was what had happened. Way too much. Far too much. I felt as rough as sandpaper. The room was spinning. My mouth was a desert or, at least, as dry as one. The light that crept through a crack in my curtains burned my eyes. I was still fully clothed. My pillow was covered in splodges of last night’s mascara. My stomach felt as though it was preparing to explode violently. As did my brain. In fact, my brain did even more so. Pretty quickly, I came to a well-supported conclusion. I was hungover. Uh, today’s gonna be fun, I thought, swinging my legs out of bed. Really fun. Stumbling around my room, I found myself a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and got changed immediately. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and wiped my eyes with a tissue. Looking into the mirror, I realised how tired I looked without make-up on. I needed more sleep and I was sure as hell going to get it. As soon as I ate. My stomach rumbled angrily but the thought of eating made me feel as though I was going to vomit. I at least needed some asprin or something. And a glass of water, I added, thinking of how dry my mouth felt. Slowly, I descended the staircase, worried in case I bumped into Mum or Dave. They could not see me like that; if they did, I would be dead. I couldn’t feign illness; they’d be able to tell straight away that I was lying. I mean, I’d been out pretty much all night and they’d been teenagers too once. They’d be able to spot a hangover. My only hope was that they would be too hungover themselves to care; that was what I was pinning all my hope on, it was my only chance. Shuffling into the kitchen, I almost had a heart-attack. ”Oh my God-“ I started yelling but couldn’t finish my sentence; every syllable I said was painful. I really needed that asprin. ”What are you doing here?“ Sam smiled, holding out a glass of water and two tablets to me. ”Good morning to you too.“ He hopped up onto the counter. ”Yeah, sure, good morning, whatever.“ I grumbled, swallowing the asprin and grimacing. ”Seriously though, what are you doing here?“ He shrugged. ”I stayed over.“ ”I’m sorry, you what?“ ”I stayed over.“ I froze. ”But-“ ”Don’t worry, it’s fine. I sorted everything.“ ”What do you mean?“ ”You’re Mum and Dave came home at around three-ish, I don’t know, and I said that you had been feeling ill so we came home from the party early but you knew that they wouldn’t be home for a while so you asked me to stay.“ I bit my lip. ”And... they were okay with that?“ ”I was sleeping on the sofa, Flo. I was hardly taking pictures of you as you slept.“ ”No, I didn’t mean that. I just mean, Mum’s a bit weird about boys in the house.“ I smiled. ”She must like you if she let you stay.“ ”Well, I’m a loveable chap,“ laughing, Sam jumped down from the counter, ”and she was a little bit tipsy herself to be honest so Dave managed to talk her round. Now,“ he rubbed his hands together, ”breakfast?“ Holding my stomach, I shook my head. ”You’ve got to have something.“ I shook my head again. ”Not if you don’t want to see it again in about ten minutes.“ ”A glass of orange juice at least, please; it’s the most important meal of the day, c’mon!“ Rolling my eyes, I gave in. ”Fine.“ I leant against the cupboards as he fetched me a glass. ”So, where are the dirty stop outs now then?“ He shrugged. ”They said something about your Gran and Grandpa but I didn’t catch it. They did tell me to tell you that you’re going to have to sort yourself out for tea though so, I’m thinking, that they’re going to be gone a while.“ I sighed. ”Great.“ ”The best bit is that my mum think that I’m at Spencer’s all day so you get to enjoy my company for a while.“ ”Really?“ I smiled, ”just the two of us?“ He nodded. ”Of course!“ ”That’s amazing,“ I sipped my orange, ”but nothing loud, okay?“ ”I was thinking along the lines of Finding Nemo and coffee.“ Oh my God, he remembered. Four months. Four months, that was how long ago it had been that we’d had to postponed our plans but, after all that time, he’d actually remembered. ”Sounds perfect,“ I said (because it did!), ”but, uh...“ ”Yeah?“ I ran a hand through my hair, laughing.”Could I maybe shower first?“ - Sam had to go home for something (or so he told me) which mean that I had at least an hour to get myself showered; forty-five minutes if he walked quickly. Plenty of time. I stepped into the shower’s spray and let the water pour down over me. Showering was one of my all time favourite things to do ever. That might sound a little weird but, for me, it was just so wonderfully relaxing and I needed to relax a lot of the time. Also, showers were a good place to think too and I had a lot to think about. Because I’d tried to kiss Sam. At least, I thought I had. I couldn’t be sure; a lot of the events of the previous night were missing from my memory. Which was a shame really because, well, I was desperate to know what I’d done. That was the worst part about being drunk; everyone else could remember what you couldn’t and took great pleasure in teasing you. Never again, I thought, I’m never drinking ever, ever again. That was a lie. I’d drink again but I’d just try not to get drunk again. Or hungover. Definitely not hungover. Never getting hungover again. Well, if I’d kissed Sam, or had tried to anyway, he didn’t seem too bothered by it so neither should I. Finally, I turned off the water. Wrapping my towel around myself, I stepped out of the bathroom, giggling at my footprints. Steam billowed out behind me, wispy and dramatic. I padded my way across the landing, humming to myself happily and running a hand through my sopping wet hair. That was why I loved showers; they made me happy. I loved the feeling that I always got every time that I let the warm water wash over me, tracing shapes in the condensation, the smell of the shower gel, the feeling of fluffy towels... even the awkward ‘shampoo-in-the-eye; moments. I don’t know, the whole thing just brought a smile to my face. In my bedroom, I dropped my towel, heading straight to my comfy clothes again; my old sweats and a t-shirt so large I could fit two people in if I really wanted to. It was a Sunday and I was hungover; no one could blame me for being lazy, right? I pulled the shirt over my head, water dripping from my gradually drying hair. Picking up my towel from the floor, I perched myself on the stool by the vanity mirror (I’ve always hated that name, vanity mirror; just by owning one, I felt like a posh bitch). I rubbed at my hair with the towel absentmindedly before yanking my hairbrush through the knots and pulling it up into a high ponytail, a few scraggily tendrils escaping and hanging loosely by my ears. I glanced at my reflection – I really did look tired and, without make-up, I also looked a lot younger; I definitely wouldn’t pass for my age but I felt better without it. The person that I saw in the mirror was who I really was beneath all the products and illusions. I was just another girl who didn’t quite feel pretty enough without it. It annoyed me that I didn’t value myself enough to be like that all the time but I couldn’t... I just couldn’t, not all the time. Grabbing a book from the pile by my bed, I bounded downstairs, immediately racing to the freezer and rifling through the drawers for ice-cream. There was none. I chewed my lip thoughtfully and looked at my watch. Sam wouldn’t be arriving for at least another half hour; that was enough time to bake a cake, right? Well, it must have been in my mind because, almost without hesitation, I whipped out my recipe book and flipped to the right page. Yeah, I could make a cake. Humming again, I started digging my way through the cupboards and drawers, pulling out mixing bowls, weighing scales, cake tins and spatulas. I didn’t bother with an apron because, really, who cared? Immediately, I ripped my way into a bag of flour, laughing as it fell onto the counter and giggling to myself as I traced patterns with my finger. The recipe etched into my memory, I automatically picked up ingredient after ingredient and measured them out, mixing them together to make a delicious looking batter. To be honest, I needn’t have baked it; I could’ve just eaten as it was... with my bare hands. Licking my lips, I spooned the mix into the cake tins, threw them into the oven and set the timer. Tossing my dirty pots into the sink, I smiled and curled up on the sofa, book in hand. - Some time later, the front door opened. ”Hey.“ ”Hey.“ I replied, not looking up. He sat down next to me. ”Can you smell something?“ For a split second, I looked at him blankly but then something in my head clicked and my eyes widened. ”Jesus Christ, the cake!“ I jumped up, racing to the kitchen urgently. Sam followed. ”What cake?“ The overwhelming smell of the burning was now very obvious and I found myself surprised that the fire alarm hadn’t gone off, thinking about it. Whipping open the oven door and spinning the dial to ‘OFF’, I fanned a tea towel to clear the smoke. We stared at the shrivelled, blackened mess. ”Oh.“ ”Yep,“ I nodded, ”another job well done.“ ”Literally.“ I nodded again. ”Yep.“ He put an arm around my waist, guiding me out of the kitchen and into the living room. ”Feeling well enough for a present?“ Smiling, I looked at him. ”What’s the occasion though?“ ”Consider it a belated Jesus’ birthday gift.“ And, with that, he produced a plastic carrier bag from behind his back. ”Sorry about the wrapping, you know that I’m not very good.“ I laughed. ”That’s very true but thank you very much anyway.“ Hugging him, I opened the bag to find a... well, a something, I suppose. I had no clue what it was at all. When he’d apologised for the wrapping, I’d thought that he’d just meant the bag but he’d actually wrapped the present as well. Badly. He’d wrapped the present really badly. A little bit gingerly, I took it out of the bag and examined it, trying not to burn into fits of laughter. ”Bloody Hell, how much sellotape do you need?“ Literally, I suspected, rolls and rolls of sellotape bound the present together and kept the make-shift quilt of wrapping paper from falling apart. ”Good luck opening that is all that I can say.“ Sam shrugged, grinning. ”I think I’ll need it.“ I huffed, wrestling with the tape. ”Jesus Christ, get me some scissors or something!“ No movement. ”Please?“ I added, sweetly. ”Please get me some scissors or something.“ ”Of course.“ Unlike Sam, when given a gift, I wanted to open it as quickly as possible. I had no self-restraint and I was very impatient. I really wanted to know what was beneath all that sellotape and paper because, to be honest, the shape wasn’t giving much away at all. Sometimes, just sometimes, I thought Sam wrapped present badly on purpose because he knew how desperate I would be to find out what was inside. ”Here y’are,“ tapping me on the shoulder, he passed me a pair of scissors, handle first. Taking them, I snipped away at the tape, annoyed at how resilient it was. Finally, the last piece of paper fell to the floor. ”Oh my God,“ I hardly dared to breathe, ”Sam, you’re wonderful.“ ”I try my best,“ he whispered softly. ”I just hope you like them, that was my only worry.“ I threw my arms around him. ”I love them; they’re perfect.“ In my lap laid three of the greatest gifts that I’d ever received. Ever. A copy of Never Let Me Go, one of my favourite books (my old copy had become so tattered that it was unreadable), a Finding Nemo key ring and a picture frame. The picture frames, although lovely, was nothing special; it was what was in the picture frame that really made me smile. It was the drawing of Nikki, Kathy, Spencer, Sam and I that I had been shown that night in Sam’s room. It was as perfect as I remembered it; seriously, if you just glanced at it, you’d think that it was a photograph. It was amazing – there was not a pencil stroke out of place. Once again, I was reminded how fantastic he was as an artist. I adored it. Even more so because it meant a lot to Sam but he’d still given it to me. It was obvious that he’d spent hours agonising over every single little detail and I was sure that, when he’d first put pencil to paper, he hadn’t intended for it to be for me. But he’d seen how much I loved it and so he’d given me it. That’s what made it even more special. It was more than just the skill and effort that had gone into producing but more that it was as though Sam was sacrificing his greatest work for me. It wasn’t something that could be bought in any shop; it was almost a part of him. It was certainly unique. ”Thank you so much.“ I whispered, squeezing him tightly. ” They’re fantastic and so are you.“ Gently, Sam tilted my head up so that I was looking him in the eye. ”And so are you Flo, and so are you.“ Suddenly, there it was again; that urge to just kiss him and forget anything else. That was all that could have made that moment anymore perfect for me. I just wanted a kiss. I had that warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach and my heart felt like it was fluttering inside its cage. Just one kiss. That’s all I wanted. That one kiss. Then, the phone rang. Sam jumped up. ”I got this. You sort out Nemo.“ Speechless, I nodded. He appeared to have forgotten that it was my house so I should have answered the phone. I wasn’t too fussed though; I was still reeling from the realisation that it hadn’t been the alcohol that had made me want to kiss Sam. It had been me. I’d tried to kiss Sam because I had wanted to. It had been all me. I did not know what to do with that information. At all. I mean, what could I do about it? We were friends. We were just friends. We’d established that many times and I didn’t think that reiterating that would help any of us in the slightest. We were just friends. I couldn’t f with his heart and his head. Not again. It wouldn’t be fair. Silently, Sam re-entered the room, as white as a sheet. He held the phone out to me. ”It’s your Mum.“ Confused, I took the phone from him. Why would she call? She never called. She never checked up on me. Ever. Something was wrong. ”Mum?“ On the other end of the line, I could hear her crying. ”You need to come to the hospital. Now.“ she whimpered between sobs. ”Please Flo, just get here. Soon.“ My heart was in my mouth. ”Mum, you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?“ There was a horrific silence and I could feel myself stiffen. ”Mum, please. Tell me.“ ”It’s your Grandpa.“

My Grandpa was the father figure that I’d needed; it didn’t matter that he’d pretty much been the only father figure in my life. His guidance was what I had needed more than anyone else’s. My Grandpa was loyal and reliable. He was the only constant in my life, the one person who had never left me. Not even Sam could lay claim to that title. It was Grandpa who had pretty much raised me since day one. There were more photographs of Grandpa and me together than anyone else in our photo albums. With good reason. Ninety-nine percent of the time, when Mum and Dave were at work, they would drop me at Grandpa’s without so much as a word but he wouldn’t complain; he’d just take me under his wing and walk me inside, making me laugh with one of his stories. Grandpa. Not Gran and Grandpa. Just Grandpa. My Gran never even held me until I was successfully potty trained she had a serious phobia that I’d crap on her or something. It was Grandpa that I loved the most. He changed my nappies, witnessed my first steps, heard my first words, was my first word, picked me up when I fell and soothed me when I cried. That bit never changed; he was forever handing me tissues and cleaning up my messes. Literally and metaphorically, I suppose. As I got older, we just got closer and closer. He took me to (and picked me up from) my first day at school, bought me my first guitar, taught me my first chord, he laughed at my jokes (no matter how badly thought through they were), gave me a smile at just the right moments and always knew the right things to say. He’s side with me time after time when my Mum would start picking away at me and I always believed him when he told me that everything would be okay. It never sounded like a lie when those words left his lips. He never lied. He was the most honest and trustworthy man that I’d ever met and probably ever would. He was a magnificent man. He was my Grandpa. He was gone. And I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. I was too late. By the time I’d gotten to the hospital, I was too late. He was already gone. I’d been too late. Too f*ing late. The greatest person that I’d ever had the pleasure to know and I hadn’t even been able to say thank you. Or goodbye. I blamed myself. For once, I wasn’t looking for a scapegoat because there wasn’t one. It was only my own fault that I’d not made it in time. If I’d not been out all night, if I’d not been hungover, if Sam hadn’t had had to tell my parents that I was ill, I’d have gone with them; I would have been able to at least see him one more time. But, instead, I’d just drank and drank and drank and not thought about any consequences I’d been selfish. It was my fault that I’d not been able to say goodbye. Also, niggling away at the back of my mind, there was another thought; a more dangerous thought, one that was eating away at me from the inside out. It was my fault he was dead altogether. It was my entire fault. It sounded ridiculous but, in my head, it was true. I’d as good as killed my Grandpa. Or, at least, karma had on my behalf. If I’d not been out all night, if I’d not been hungover, if Sam hadn’t had had to tell my parents that I was ill, if I’d gone with my parents, I’d have seen my Grandpa but, maybe, had my Grandpa died on the one day I couldn’t visit to teach me a lesson? Had karma wanted me to learn not to be so selfish? If I’d gone to see him, would he have still been alive? There was a little voice in my head that answered yes to all of those questions. There was a little voice in my head that constantly told me that I was a horrible person and that I deserved to die too because of it. And I was beginning to believe it. I deserved to die. I wanted to die; it would hurt less than living. There had never been a more perfect Grandpa or, indeed, a more perfect man. I loved Grandpa more than anyone else; there had been days when not even Sam came close. Grandpa had known things about me that no one else did, sometimes things that I didn’t know, and the best part? I didn’t even have to tell him. He just knew. He had seen things that my friends just seem to miss or ignore – more often than not, my Grandpa’s knowledge of the way my mind worked had left Sam baffled and rather impressed. We’d been too alike, Grandpa and I. We’d known each other so well that there were no secrets left between us. There couldn’t have been. I was pretty sure that we were actually two halves of the same person. Sometimes, just for a second, I’d almost forget that he was dead. But then I remembered and, when I remembered it was like I was losing him for the first time all over again and I couldn’t breathe. I just couldn’t breathe. - The funeral was the hardest day of my life. - It was a bitter February day, a thin layer of frost coated the ground, and I was shivering but not because of the cold. Everywhere was grey. Everywhere looked dead. It was quite fitting really. There were so many people; each and every single one of them claimed to have known my Grandpa ‘very well’. Each and every single one of them were liars. I wanted to be alone; I need to grieve alone. At least three-quarters of the people who surrounded me were complete strangers; they hadn’t spoken to Grandpa in years, he hadn’t mentioned any of them to me before in my life, there were no photos of them in the photo album, Gran looked at them blankly as they offered their condolences and many of them were shocked to discover that Grandpa had had a granddaughter. They had only gone to the funeral to ensure that they had a guilt free conscience in the morning. They were just showing their faces so that they could put their minds at ease; they weren’t real mourners. They were selfish. Bitches and dicks, the lot of them. I think that we all would have preferred that no one show up at all than we did having to put up with them. Although, really, was I any better? Not a single tear that I shed was real; not a single one. Normally, when I cried, it made me feel, I don’t know, better somehow. Every tear made me that little bit less likely to tear my hair out or kill someone who looked at me the wrong way but, that day, it didn’t help me. At all. In fact, I thought that crying made it worse and just intensified those feelings. But, I had to cry. If I didn’t, the whispers would start and they’d think that I didn’t care when, to be perfectly honest, I was the only one there who really did care. I did care. I really did. If anything, I cared too much. I just... crying hurt me; it really hurt. There was too much going on in my head. Thoughts were banging against my skull, desperate to get out and, all the while, my heart was tearing in two as I remembered that it was my Grandpa in that coffin. My Grandpa. My best friend before I could even walk. My best friend. The one man who I genuinely did not want to ever leave me... had gone. He’d gone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to tell them, each and every single one of them, exactly what I was thinking. But I’d lost the ability to speak. I felt nothing; I felt numb. I needed to be in that coffin with him because I felt dead already. ”Hey.“ Someone squeezed my hand. Turning around, I couldn’t have been anyone else. He always showed up at just the right time. ”Sam, I-“ I swallowed back a fresh wave of grief. ”I can’t do this.“ ”Maybe not. But we can.“ he stroked my cheek, flashing me a half-smile. ”Okay?“ Wordlessly, I nodded. ”We can do this Flo, I promise.“ He held my hand all the way through the service as though that action alone was what was preventing me from falling apart. I’ve got to admit, it certainly felt that way at least. He kept me afloat and stopped me from sinking and drowning. If he hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what I would have done. Mum, Dave and Gran were, as usual, all doing their best at ignoring me and pretending that I didn’t exist. They all seemed to have this group mentality thing going on; the three of them had been by Grandpa’s bedside but I had not, therefore, I wasn’t ‘one of them’. I didn’t deserve to grieve with them. None of them had even asked me how I was. I didn’t matter to them. Grandpa had been my only link to the family but, now that that had been severed, where did that leave me? We were meant to be pulling together but, instead, we were drifting further apart. Which was shit. I stood slightly away from them; it was a respectable enough distance to show that I was family but, also, it was far enough away to show that I understood that I wasn’t to try and talk to them. I cried on cue. I looked sombre as the coffin was lowered into the ground. I shook hands with everyone who came out in support of the family. On the outside, I appeared like the perfect mourner should have but, in reality, I was just going through the motions; my heart wasn’t in it. None of it seemed real. On the inside, I just felt remarkably empty. The only time I felt a flicker of anything was when everybody stepped forward to pay their last respects; to say their last goodbyes. They all laid flowers on the coffin. That made me angry. They clearly didn’t know him at all. He hated flowers. He’d never given a second thought to gardening. He’d had hayfever for God’s sake. It had been music that he had loved; music had been the passion that we’d shared. It was music that he deserved to have with him forever. I bit my lip and Sam squeezed my hand again. ”Go on, I’ll be right here.“ Slowly, I nodded; he made me feel so much better and I don’t know how he did it. I stepped forward, clutching the record to my chest, Sam’s fingers breaking away from my own. It was just me now. I had to do this. Reluctantly, I shuffled toward the grave and stopped just as I came to the edge. ”You said you only ever wanted me to be happy,“ I whispered, ”how does this make me happy?“ Saying it aloud made me cringe inside but it was true; he’d left me. ”I’m sorry I was such a pain in the arse, I’m really sorry that you were always stuck with me, I’m sorry... Let’s just put it this way, I’m sorry. And I wish that I’d gotten to say goodbye.“ Closing my eyes, I dropped his favourite vinyl onto the coffin. ”So... goodbye and... I hope you’re happy up there. You deserve it. You really do.“ I could feel everyone staring at me and I didn’t need to look to know that there were plenty of shocked faces around me. My mother’s would probably be amongst them. She never understood anything that happened between Grandpa and I so why would she understand this? I balled up my fists and I could feel myself welling up again. How could I feel so alone when I was completely surrounded by people? An arm slipped around my waist. ”Goodbye, sir.“ Burying my face in his chest, I dragged Sam down with me as I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my face. Finally, I had that sense of bereavement and pain that I’d wanted all day but it was too overwhelming. I couldn’t cope. Holding me close, Sam didn’t protest as I clawed at his shirt, soothing me and stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. - Eventually, everyone left. Darkness fell and everyone left. But not me. Or Sam. He said that he didn’t want to see me alone. Not at my Grandpa’s funeral. Not when he knew that I was already feeling like shit. We sat together on a bench nearby to him, sharing a cup of coffee. Neither of us had said a word in a long while, we just passed the cup between us. There wasn’t anything to say. At least, not in my mind. I wasn’t thinking straight; I was too busy living in the past and I’d ran out of tissues long ago. ”Flo?“ Sam whispered. I turned to face him, all too aware that my eyes were more than likely red and puffy and embarrassing. It was Sam though; he’d already seen me at my worst. ”Yeah?“ ”You’ve got to say goodbye already.“ ”I’ve already said goodbye, Sam.“ He gave me one of his concerned looks. ”You know what I mean.“ Sighing, I admitted that I did. ”But, what if I can’t Sam? What if I can’t say goodbye?“ ”You’re going to have to.“ Inching closer to me, he put an arm around me. ”Your Grandpa was an amazing man Flo, a good man. He wouldn’t want you wringing yourself out over this. He’d want you to remember him, of course he would, but he’d want you to be able to forget long enough to be happy too.“ ”I know.“ I looked at him. ”I know.“ And then I really looked at him. Grandpa had wanted me to be happy. I’d told Grandpa that Sam made me happy; what was it that I had said? I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, so long as I’m with him; that was it. Sam made me happy. And, boom, there it was again. That craving for something that I shouldn’t crave. Sam made me happy, Sam made me feel safe, Sam made me feel wanted; that’s all I wanted, sat on that bench, all I wanted was to feel happy and safe and wanted. Ergo, I wanted Sam. More specifically, I wanted Sam’s lips pressed against mine. I leant in toward him, one hand cupping his jaw, showing him what was going to happen, and, for a moment, his eyes closed, a small smile playing on his lips, anticipating the moment. We were really going to do it. We were going to kiss. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as he got closer and closer. I closed my eyes too and waited for the moment that our lips would touch and the pain would go away. Our mouths would meet, our bodies would press together, he would wind his hands into my hair and I’d wrap my arms around his neck; it would be perfect and it would be- But then he stopped me as though it had just hit him what the hell he was doing. I could feel the grip of his hands around my upper arms and his breath on my face. Our noses were touching. We had been so close. ”Flo, what are you doing?“ he whispered, softly, like an adult would speak to a child. ”Kiss me.“ I whispered back, not really answering his question. Distancing the two of us, he pulled away. ”That isn’t what you want though,“ unsure of himself, he added, ”not here.“ ”You make me... Sam, you make me forget.“ He looked at me blankly, considering what to say. I could tell that he was torn. He wanted me to forget just as much as I did, he wanted that kiss just as much as I did, but not how I was proposing. Hesitantly, he took one of my hands in his. ”Perhaps I do but... kissing me won’t make you happy Flo. Trust me. I know you and it’s something that you would regret in the morning, isn’t it?“ No, no it wasn’t. It was something that I’d wanted for so long and he had too; Jesus Christ, why did he do this to me? Why did he make me feel so guilty for trying to make us both happy? That’s all I was trying to do. Did the thought of kissing me repulse him or something? I bit my lip, looking at my shoes; why wouldn’t he let it happen? ”I’m sorry, I... I didn’t think.“ ”No,“ pulling me closer, he tiled my chin up so that I was looking into his eyes, ”you’ve nothing to apologise for Flo. Now,“ he gave me another half-smile, ”ready to say goodbye?“ I’d never be ready, why even ask? He knew I’d never be ready, I knew that I’d never be ready; the whole world knew that I’d never be ready, but I nodded anyway. ”Can I have a minute, please?“ He nodded, pressing our foreheads together. ”Of course.“ - ”Uh... hey,“ I said, sitting down cross-legged on the grass, not caring about the state of my dress anymore. ”I didn’t really say what I wanted to say before so, uh, well, here I am.“ Pausing, I chewed on my thumbnail. ”I feel a bit stupid, y’know, saying these things out loud but, uh, these are things that I want you to know. Firstly, I’m going to look after all of your vinyls, don’t worry about that. They’re most certainly not going to end up in some charity shop or something, I won’t let Gran do that. They were yours, they were a part of you, and I won’t let her give you away.“ I picked at the grass beneath me, feeling almost foolish. ”Also, uh, Mum’s going to miss you, you’re her dad so of course she is, what am I saying, but, I mean, even though you two fought a lot, she loved you so much Grandpa. I’m sorry I always got between the two of you but she loved you so much anyway. She needed you Grandpa and you never let her down. You never let any of us down, we’re all really grateful about that.“ Why was talking to him so hard now when it used to be the easiest thing for me? He felt so far away now. It didn’t feel right. ”I don’t know why I’m pussy-footing around this like you’ll judge me for what I’m going to say. You’re dead for one thing,“ I cringed, ”urgh, sorry, but, it’s true. It’s not just that though; you never judged me, ever, why would you start now? I should just be able to come out and say it, shouldn’t I?“ I shook my head. ”It’s not that easy.“ Annoyed, I tapped the side of my head stubbornly. ”There’s more going on up here than there seems, okay?“ I tried to smile, for his sake, but it was too hard. Closing my eyes, I just came out with it. ”You saved my life. So many times Grandpa, too many to count. I think you already knew though, to be honest, I mean, you already knew so much about me, but I wanted to make sure that you knew for certain. I wanted you to know how important you were. You saved my life and, if it wasn’t you, then it was Sam,“ I gestured toward the bench, not looking behind me. ”That’s the guy, by the way, the one that I like, yeah. His name’s Sam and, if you’re wondering why he looks familiar, he lives down the street from you. He makes me happy. There are only so many ways that I can say it so it’s beginning to feel like I’m repeating myself but he really does make me happy. He’s saved my life too, not quite as many times as you, but still. I’m worried though Grandpa, really worried.“ I felt bad about what I was going to say next, really bad, but it was something that I needed to say; even if it fell upon deaf ears. ”Without you, it’s just him. He’s all I’ve got, he’s my only safety net, he’s the only one I’ve got to fall back on and... he’s already left once. What if he does it again? What if I push him away? What if I scare him off? Who will save me then? I don’t trust myself anymore; I don’t think I can trust myself ever again. It’s selfish to say it but, come back, please, just in case.“ I ran a hand through my hair, trying not to cry again. ”Urgh, I’m not asking for a miracle Grandpa, I know that you can’t come back, I’m not five, but it would be nice if you could. It would be even nicer if you did. Please. I’m not ready to say goodbye, no matter how much Sam says that I have to, I can’t. I can’t say goodbye because... because that would mean that you’re really gone and I still can’t believe it.“ I swallowed. ”I don’t want to be alone.“ I felt someone’s hand rest on my shoulder. ”You’re never going to be alone Flo, not if I can do anything about it. Okay? I promise.“ I froze. No way. No way. How much of that... how much of that had he heard? That was meant to be between Grandpa and me. He was meant to have been waiting by the bench. He wasn’t supposed to have heard that. No one was. It was just meant to be for Grandpa. What would he do? I mean, if he’d heard? What would he say? Nervously, I tried to hide my worry and lightly placed my hand on top of his. ”I know, Sam. I know.“

For a few days after the funeral, everyone seems to tip-toe around me and treated me as if I was some fragile china doll. I didn’t need that. I didn’t need special treatment or the sympathetic faces and I sure as hell didn’t want it either. They were reminders that Grandpa was gone and all I wanted, more than anything, was to forget. I wanted to forget because remembering hurt too much. Every time that I remembered it was like I lost him all over again. I needed everything to go back to being so extra-ordinarily normal that it was boring. Boring sounded good; just for a little while. No more pity, no more head tilts and small smiles, no more pathetic faces. I welcomed homework because it was a distraction from what was going on in my head – which was weird because never before had I relished the chance to do work, at home or at school, but it was something to do and I really needed things to do. I had to keep busy somehow because, when I didn’t, I went back to falling apart and none of us wanted that. Sam would come around to mine every day, even if it was just for five minutes or so, to ‘see how I was holding up’. That made me sound pathetic for starters but, also, it made me wonder exactly how much of my little speech at Grandpa’s graveside he had heard. He claimed that he’s only been stood there for a second but his behaviour made me suspicious. I might have been wrong; he might have just been trying to be nice (again). Lately, I found myself misreading things more and more often than I’d like. I didn’t like it. I felt out of the loop. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite get myself back in it either. Seeing people, being sociable, was hard for me at the best of times but, suddenly, it was impossible. I couldn’t maintain a conversation and my voice sounded like nothing more than a whisper whenever I spoke. Instead, I retreated into my room and hid in my books. Real people may have scared me but I could deal with fictional people; they weren’t constantly mothering me and asking me if I was okay. Real people were and it was bloody annoying. The next person to ask was getting a punch the face, whether I knew them well or not; concern, at first, was nice but, eventually, it got on my nerves to the point where it made me want to pull my hair out. ”Hey, you okay?“ I turned to look, already balling up my fists. It was Spencer. I couldn’t hit him; he was too tall for me to reach his face anyway. I nodded. ”Yeah, thanks. How’s things with you?“ ”Can’t complain,“ he shrugged. ”Got anything planned for after school?“ Then it was my turn to shrug. ”The usual, y’know.“ I didn’t say that the usual involved reading, eating, sobbing and sleeping; it was implied. ”You?“ ”We’re going out for pizza.“ Thinking that he meant just him and Kathy, I smiled. ”Awww, that’s nice!“ ”Yeah, uh, you’re coming too, right?“ Confused, I bit my lip. ”Huh, why would I come?“ ”Well, because we want you there, d’uh. Sam, Nikki, Kathy, me and, of course, you.“ ”I don’t know Spence, I mean-“ He fixed me with a pleading look. ”Oh c’mon, please Flo, we’re all worried about you – especially Sam. Just come. It’ll be fun and it’ll put his mind at rest. You know what he’s like.“ Unfortunately, I did so I agreed (reluctantly). ”Fine, what time are we talking?“ ”We’ll see you there at seven, okay?“ Not waiting for an answer, he walked off down the corridor towards next lesson, waving at me cheerily. - I didn’t ask Mum for a lift, or Dave for that matter; I knew that neither of them would take me so what was the point? They’d both been really despondent and faraway since the funeral. Well, more so than usual anyway. Everyone seemed so disconnected now. Sure, they’d always left me to my own devices but the house suddenly seemed too quiet and eerie for it to be ours. Once again, I found myself wishing for normality. Shooting stars, eyelashes, birthday candles, staying up to 11:11, I realised that my wish would always be the same no matter what the method. Bring back normality. Viva la boredom. Instead of a lift, I got the bus. So I was a little bit late. Forty minutes late to be precise. No one was best pleased, to say the least. ”Right, where the hell have you been?“ Nikki hissed, glaring at me. ”Not gonna lie, dear, but we thought that you had bailed on us.“ laughed Spencer, one arm around Kathy, who was smiling at me in a sympathetic manner. Oh good God; they really weren’t getting the picture, were they? Sam shuffled along so that there was room for me next to him. ”Okay, okay, we can all shut up now. She’s here, that’s all that matters.“ Smiling, he gave my hand a quick squeeze. ”Y’alright?“ ”Yeah, of course.“ As I sat down, I could feel Sam’s gaze on me and I blushed slightly; suddenly, no one believed me when I said I was okay, they need to scrutinise me and decide for themselves instead. Ugh. Stop it, I scolded myself, he’s just trying to be a good friend. ”How is everyone?“ I mumbled, taking off my jacket. They all just nodded. God, it was going to be a painful evening. ”Hey, one small cheese and one extra large pepperoni?“ a waitress appeared, all wide smiles and sparkling eyes. I opened my mouth to say that she’d gotten the wrong table but Spencer got there first. ”Right here my good-woman, thank you!“ And then, as she turned away, he added. ”Can we have another soda as well, please?“ ”You ordered without me.“ I stated, dumb-founded, when she had left. ”Why would you do that?“ It was a grave sin indeed to order a meal with one person missing. ”What part of ‘we thought that you’d bailed on us’ has just gone straight over your head? We were hungry, okay?“ asked Spencer, handing me my pizza. ”Jesus, that’s hot.“ Kathy rolled her eyes, giggling to herself. ”And cheese is the only vegetarian option on the menu.“ Oh yeah. ”You never know, I might have converted.“ Everyone laughed. ”The day you turn to meat Flo,“ chuckled Sam, biting his pizza, ”is the day that we know for certain that aliens walk amongst us.“ - We ate. We laughed. We ate some more and we laughed some more. All in all, perhaps, the meal was not as bad as I had expected. It felt good to feel a part of the group again. Finally, once the carnivores had fought over the last slice, Spencer stood to pay the bill. ”Alright, everyone cough up their share.“ he held out his hand. Nikki got out her purse, Sam got out his wallet and I began rooting through my bag. ”I got this one, okay?“ lightly, Sam pulled my hands from a pocket and gave me a shy smile. Immediately, I began to protest. ”No, please, I’ve got money for once!“ And Nikki wasn’t exactly pleased by Sam’s offer either. ”What? Just because you two,“ she shot a look at Kathy and I, ”have boyfriends, you don’t have to pay?“ ”We’re just friends!“ Sam said it at the same time as me and we both blushed the same bright red simultaneously. ”We’re just friends...“ Why did the subject always get such a strong reaction from the pair of us? It made us seem too defensive; it made people suspicious. As if to prove my point, Nikki raised an eyebrow. ”Yeah, sure.“ ”Well, whatever we are,“ Sam handed Spencer a handful of notes before I could stop him, ”I’m paying.“ Shaking my head, I sighed. ”Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish you weren’t so kind.“ ”Tough!“ he laughed, standing. ”Right, well, uh, I’m off to the bathroom before we go.“ Kathy nodded. ”I’ll go too.“ ”Wait up.“ Taking a last sip of her drink, Nikki stood too. The three of them shuffled off toward the toilets, leaving Spencer and I at the table. ”Weak bladders,“ he mumbled. ”Uh well, I’ve got to go pay, you gonna-“ ”If the end of that sentence is ‘be okay’, you can f right off, okay Jablonski?“ I smiled, sweetly, fiddling with a napkin. ”I’ll take that as a yes then so I’ll be back in two minutes.“ I smiled. True to his word, Spencer was back long before the others got back from the bathroom and sat down opposite me. ”Right, listen, Sam’s worried about you.“ ”When is he not?“ I said, cockily, but then he shot me a bit of a withering look and I swallowed, feeling guilty. ”But, I know he is.“ ”You... know?“ I sighed. ”Yeah.“ ”So, uh-“ ”If you’re going to try and tell me to buck up and move on Spence then it’s not going to work because it’s not that simple.“ ”I’m not-“ ”It bloody well feels like you are.“ ”Jesus!“ Frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose. ”What I’m trying to say is just... let him in, I suppose. He wants to help Flo, he’s willing to do anything he can to make it easier for you, so let him.“ Again, I sighed. ”It’s not that simple.“ ”Well, it should be. He’s your best friend.“ ”But if there are some things that I can’t tell him?“ ”Then you don’t trust him as much as you make out.“ ”I do trust him Spence, more than anyone, and I want to tell him, of course I do, but I really, really can’t.“ Concerned, he narrowed his eyes. ”Why not?“ I clenched my fists, my knuckles whitening. ”He might not look at me in the same way ever again.“ Spencer smiled. ”Now you know that that’s not true.“ ”That what’s not true?“ Suddenly, Sam appeared beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”Nothing.“ Spencer and I said simultaneously, covering out tracks. We looked at each other and grinned cheekily. ”Nothing at all.“ - ”Come back to mine,“ I’d asked Sam, ”please.“ It was a Friday night, we didn’t have school the next day, and, anyway, it was only half-past eight; he wouldn’t have to be home for a couple of hours at least. Thankfully, Sam had agreed and proceeded to walk me to the bus stop, slipping one hand in mine. I needed to talk to him. Speaking to Spencer had made me realise that Sam deserved to know what I had to say. I did trust him and he wouldn’t judge me, I knew that as well as anyone. But why was there a little bit of me that just wanted to hold it back? I wanted to tell him and I didn’t. At the same time. I was so confused. Shutting the door behind us, I pressed a finger to my lips, begging him to be quiet, and pointed upstairs. ”I’ll be two minutes.“ I whispered. He nodded, sliding off his shoes and tiptoe-ing up the staircase. ”Hey.“ I walked into the living room and leant against the radiator. Mum and Dave were curled up on the sofa, watching some soppy crap, and neither of them tore their eyes away from the screen to answer me. ”Hey, how was pizza night?“ I smiled; they’d listened to me for once. ”It was good, yeah, thanks but I’m a bit tired so, uh, I think I might just get a drink and go to bed.“ ”Alright well, goodnight dear.“ ”Goodnight.“ Next, I went to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle for two hot chocolates. By telling them that I was going to bed, I had ensured no surprise visits from Mum or Dave which was one less thing to worry about; I’d made my job that little bit easier, if it was possible. I mean, I was so nervous. Whatever was going to happen was out of my hands and I didn’t like it. I hated not feeling in control. I hated that feeling of uselessness. I hurried to my room so that Mum and Dave wouldn’t see the extra mug and closed the door. ”Here you are,“ I smiled and handed Sam his cup. He took it from me, wrapping his hands around it so that he could warm up. ”Thanks.“ ”You’re welcome.“ I sat down next on the bed next to him, clutching my own mug tightly. Last time he’d been in my bedroom, I’d been very drunk and tried to kiss him. I wondered if he remembered; I wondered how he’d felt. How did he feel every time that I’d tried to kiss him?“ I felt... I don’t know, almost invincible, untouchable, whenever I was with him. He gave me a confidence that I didn’t have when I was alone. No matter what Spencer thought, I trusted him with everything that I had; everything except that one secret that made my stomach turn whenever I thought about it. The most important secret. After everything that had happened between the two of us, I owed him that. He wanted to help me; the truth was, he already had, without knowing it. Every time I’d needed him, he’d been there for me and I knew that he always would be; even when I told him. Even when I told him the ‘big’ secret, he’d be there for me. Always. I really wanted him to know I needed him to know how much I trusted him and how much he meant to me. Unsure of himself, Sam placed one hand on my knee, bringing me back to reality. ”Hey, y’alright?“ Oh God, I loved him. ”I’ve got something I need to tell you.“ I stuttered nervously. ”Okay,“ he nodded slowly, putting down his mug. ”Go for it.“ Ugh. It wasn’t that simple though, I thought. I put down my own mug on the bedside cabinet. I took a deep breath. Biting my lip, I rolled up my sleeves. I’d done this so many times that, once upon a time, I could do it without even flinching but now, thinking back, it made me shudder. I would never go back. Not to that place. Never. It seemed too long ago for it to have been me. I couldn’t go back. Not to that place. Swallowing hard, I began to take everything off of my wrists, my hands shaking violently as I remembered. Oh God. Off came my bracelets, charms, watches and bands; my protection. That’s how I thought of them. That’s what I called everything that covered my arm from my wrist to my mid-forearm. They were my protection. They protected me from the judging stares and disgusted whispers. I felt naked without them. I felt vulnerable. I didn’t like it; I hated them. Feeling useless, feeling weak, was too familiar. I despised it. I wanted to be strong. Invincible, even. I wanted to be the way that Sam made me feel but all the time. ”This is who I really am.“ I whispered, disgusted at myself; I thrust my wrists out in front of me, showing them to him, and hid my face. I didn’t want him to see my tears. I didn’t want to seem any more pathetic then I already did. The last thing that I wanted was pity or sympathy, especially from Sam. All I wanted to achieve was for him to understand. Or, at least, know. I wanted him to know the secret that I’d kept to myself for so long; too long. I’d hate for him to look at me differently because of it but, if he did, he did and I couldn’t change that; so long as everything was out in the open, so long as there were no more secrets between us, I could try and be happy. I could feel him gently stroke my wrists and I knew what he was seeing. It was the same thing that I saw each morning when I first woke up; the real me, without all the smoke and mirrors. The criss-crossed scars, pale and jagged, were a permanent addition to my body – one that would never really go away; they both pleased and disgusted me in equal measure. When I looked at them, I looked at them and remembered my tears as I lifted the razor to meet my skin, so dedicated to the cause that, toward the end, I’d barely hesitate before I’d mutilate myself. I was never going to go back there. Ever. I shook as I remembered; so terrified of my own past was I that I shook. I used to think that nobody noticed because nobody truly cared but, eventually, I allowed myself to accept that it wasn’t true; my mantra was a lie. Nobody noticed because I never, not even for a second, let the mask slip and showed them care. Nobody helped me because I never let them see that I needed help. That was the old me. Looking back, the old me was an idiot because she doubted herself, hated herself, enough to believe her own lies, that she wasn’t good enough to live. The old me would look at her scars and see her only chance for escape. Now, I looked at them and saw something completely different, proving that we were two completely different people; the old me and the new me. I looked at them and I saw hope, determination and I saw myself overcoming everything that saw me turn to my razor for ‘help’; and I was proud, so very proud, and pride was not a feeling that I got very often. My scars were a reminder of what I could achieve. They should how weak I had felt and represented how strong I could be. That’s what I saw; but what did he see? Cautiously, I turned my head to look at him. His eyes, suddenly dark and soulful, were full of confusion and disgust. He, technically, never said a word but he didn’t have to; his eyes were screaming at me. They told me what I’d known all along. It was the sort of secret that should never be shared. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. For f’s sake. I should never have told him. Immediately, I snatched my wrists from his hands, yanking down my sleeves once more, heart-broken. I’d trusted him, I’d really trusted him. How could that have happened? I could already feel the tears pricking behind my eyes. Jesus Christ. I’d, honest to God, trusted him with everything. Why would he do that? More than Mum, more than Dave, more than Gran, Spencer, Kathy, Nikki, Grandpa... he’d been the first one that I’d told; he’d been the first one that I had thought might, maybe, hopefully, understand. I’d been wrong again. All I wanted was for there to be one person that I didn’t have to hide in front of. I wanted honesty but, perhaps, just perhaps, the world wasn’t ready for the ‘real’ me. No. Maybe the world would never be ready for the ‘real’ me. Maybe ‘old’ me had been right and I’d been wrong to shut her up. Jesus Christ. How could it have gone so badly wrong? Then carefully, testing me for a reaction, he tilted my chin upward, turning my head to face him. I cast my eyes down and stared at the carpet, a lump in my throat. ”Look at me. Please.“ he whispered. Reluctantly, I did. ”Flo, let me understand. Make me understand. Don’t... don’t lock me out. Not now.“ he took one of my hands, pushing back the sleeve, watching my face all the while. ”Please Flo, please.“ I didn’t react. I didn’t even flinch. I just looked on, curiously. Slowly, he raised one of my wrists to his face, brushing his lips across it gently, kissing my scars softly, one by one. His eyes met mine. ”Flo, they’re a part of you and you are beautiful, therefore,“ he paused, leaning in closer, ”they’re beautiful too.“ And then, before I could register what was happening, we were kissing. Just like in the graveyard, he leant in toward me, eyes closed and a smile playing on the corners of his lips before they met mine. Shocked and taken aback, I let myself melt, my heart racing to the point that I thought it might explode. His hands wound their way into my hair and my arms wrapped themselves around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want the moment to end. I’d imagined it a thousand times and hundreds of different ways but it was more perfect than any scenario that my head could come up with. It the kiss that we were meant to have, not one brought on by alcohol or grief. It was the kind of kiss that was meant to be someone’s first. Indescribable. I flushed as our lips parted, my eyes still closed as I savoured the memory. ”I love you Florence-Anne,“ he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. ”I love you.“ I swallowed. ”I love you too Sam.“ And that was it. We’d said it. There was no taking it back now. Falling back onto my bed, our heads hit my pillow and I curled up against his chest, warm and safe. We laid there in a peaceful silence, simply replaying the scene over and over and over in our heads, trying to make sense of what had just happened. There was a smile on my face and an even bigger one on his. - Wow.

”Why the hell didn’t you show up at Spencer’s last night? Or school today? Was it because of the other day, because of the kiss? If it is then you’d better grow the f up Sam. Are you ignoring me, you d***?“ I screamed at him down the phone, tears streaming down my face. How could he be so cruel? ”What? No-“ came his baffled reply. ”Really Sam, really? This wouldn’t be the first time that you pushed me away the minute things turned a little bit odd, that’s all I’m-“ ”You know what?“ he snapped, ”This may come as a surprise but the whole universe doesn’t revolve around you, okay? It’s always about you!“ I sat on my bed cross-legged, stunned by his sudden explosion. It wasn’t like him at all. ”Sam, what’s happened?“ I whispered, tenderly. ”... my dad... I... I don’t know... I can’t... I need you Flo, I really do.“ he spluttered, sniffing, trying to hold back inevitable tears. I didn’t wait for further instruction. He needed me and I was not going to let him down; I was going to be there for him. I’d never heard him so upset. ”I’ll be right over.“ As I hung up, his words were still ringing in my ears. It’s not always about you. Was I really that selfish? - Sam needed me, for once. He had always been there for me, prepared, ready to pick up the pieces, but there had been considerably fewer circumstances where the reverse had been true. Maybe I’d had his fair share of crap as well as my own but there never seemed to be a moment where I’d been his shoulder to cry on. I wanted to repay him. I once told him this and he’d just smiled at me and had said that me being there with him was enough; I didn’t know if he was being serious or not but, for me, ‘being there’ was not enough. You can’t repay debts by ‘being there’. I knew though that he’d never willingly come to me with the kinds of problems that I went to him with. Never in a million years. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust me enough or because he didn’t love me enough but, instead, it was because he wanted to be the strong one, the one that never wavered or had a moment of weakness. For as long as I had known him, I’d never heard him complain about anything that went on in his life. He wanted to be invincible. He was such a typical man. I’d thought that he’d never crumble, that he was untouchable. But, then again, I’d thought that I wouldn’t need to go to a funeral so soon after my Grandpa’s. It would soon transpire that I had been wrong on both counts. I stood in front of the mirror, flattening out the skirt of my dress and thinking about how it brought back an awful sense of déjà vu. I wondered, not for the first time, how he was coping. If he was anything like I had been, he’d be falling apart but, not for the first time, I reminded myself that Sam was not me. He was so much stronger. Was I really as needy as he had made out on the phone? Urgh. No wonder he’d snapped at me. No wonder that he’d exploded. There was more to his life than cleaning up my messes and generally tidying up my life. I must have been so frustrating to hang around; I was always thinking of myself. It was about Sam now. Not me. Sam. I was going to be a good, respectable best friend. Because he needed me but he did not need all the additional hassle and worry that I usually brought with me. I was going to be there for him. Just like he’d always been there for me for three years. You see, it was not always about me. - My Mum pulled up at the cemetery and I took a deep breath. She put a hand on my knee. ”You don’t need to do this. You’re not related to him, no one expects you to go.“ I looked at her. I knew that she was trying to make me feel better; she knew that I didn’t want to go and she was trying to make me realise that I should feel no guilt in asking her to turn around and drive me straight home. I couldn’t do that though. ”I think Sam’s expecting me to though so I’ll see you later.“ Shrugging, I got out of the car, flowers in hand. Shyly, I made my way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces until I saw his next to his mother’s. ”I’m sorry.“ I said to them both; I didn’t know what else to say. I’d known Sam’s father for three years but, in all that time, I couldn’t recall actually having a proper conversation with him. Whenever I went round to Sam’s house, his dad was at work. ‘I’m sorry’ pretty much summed up how I was feeling. I was sorry that I hadn’t gotten to know him, I was sorry that he was dead, I was just sorry. Mrs Smith nodded. ”Thank you, dear.“ She looked at Sam. ”I think that it’s best if I leave you two to it, okay?“ Slowly, she moved through the crowds, accepting the half-hearted apologies and condolences of the mourners. Sam turned to me and managed a small smile, hugging me close. ”Thank f you’re here.“ ”And I’m not leaving until you tell me to either.“ ”You didn’t need to come though Flo, I know that you’re-“ Narrowing my eyes, I pulled away mid-way through his sentence. ”Sam, why can I smell beer?“ Swallowing nervously, he froze. ”Ugh, you can’t.“ ”I bloody well know when I can smell beer Samuel Smith, have you been drinking?“ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ”Don’t start Flo.“ ”I will bloody well start if I want to; have you been drinking?“ ”Yeah.“ ”Why?“ He swallowed again, biting the corner of his lip. ”Because I can’t do this.“ Oh God. ”You may not think that you can do it Sam but, remember, we can, okay? We can.“ I tried to give him a smile, remembering the things that he’d said to me at my Grandpa’s funeral. Weakly, he smiled and took my hand. And I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. All I could think of, all that was going through my head, was how alone I’d felt at Grandpa’s funeral, how much I’d wanted someone to hold and how relieved that I’d been when Sam had slid his hand into mine. I wanted to give him that sense of relief. I wanted him to feel supported. I wanted him to feel loved. I did not want him to have that same feeling of isolation and despair that I’d had without him. I knew that everyone grieves differently, that the way that they handle death is very personal to them, and that that probably meant that Sam was feeling things that were different to what I had felt but, still, he must have needed someone. I wanted that someone to be me. He needed to know that I’d always be there for him. Always. We stood by the graveside, staring at the coffin as the priest gave the sermon and the eulogy was read. He didn’t cry. He never even shed a tear but I could tell that he was sad though. Just because someone doesn’t cry does not mean that they are not sad. His eyes seemed really glazed over and far away – as if he was imagining himself elsewhere – and his mouth was set in a firm, thin line – a sure sign that he was deeply unhappy; so very, very defeated. He’d lost so much. Everything was changing for him and there was no way that he could stop it; no one could. Probably it was just the other day, he’d been sat around the dining room table with his mum and dad, discussing their next visit to see Michael but then that was shattered and taken away from him; no more dad, no more family meals around the dining room table and no sign of Michael. It was just Sam and his mum in the house now. He had to be strong for her but then, that meant, he had no one to be strong for him. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t fair. He deserved to be happy; he did not need all that crap and responsibility piling up over his head. He deserved to be happy but, looking at him, he seemed a long way away from happy. One by one, everyone stepped forward to say goodbye. Sam’s grip on my hand tightened as his turn neared, his bottom lip trembling. He didn’t want it to be over. He didn’t want to say goodbye. I could tell from the expression on his face that it meant that his dad was gone forever and he didn’t want that to be over. But, I also knew that, if he didn’t say goodbye, he’d regret it for the rest of his days. Soon, he was next. He swallowed hard and I squeezed his hand supportively as he shuffled forward. Standing motionless and limp, I could see that he, like I had been, was torn between what was expected of him and what he really wanted to do. What he really wanted to say. He looked so deflated; looking at him, he seemed so frail and thin. Almost like a ghost. There was something about him that just made me want to wrap myself around him and protect him. He looked vulnerable. It looked all too familiar; two weeks ago and it had been the other way round, our roles had been reversed. What had he said to me again? I stepped toward him, slipping an arm around his waist and throwing my flowers into the coffin. ”You raised a great boy, sir. I promise I’ll look after him.“ I glanced at Sam’s face; tears streamed down his cheeks and he hid his head in his hands. I gave him a quick squeeze, resting my head on his shoulder. ”We can do this. We can.“ It was then that something inside of his simply snapped and he broke down. Pulling away from me, he sobbed uncontrollably, screaming passionately with such anger and grief. I’d never heard anything like it. He wasn’t breathing; he was just hollering, shouting so loudly that his voice cracked and his body shook violently. Stumbling, he flailed wildly, his fist clenched. ”You said that you’d never leave! You told me, you told me so many times, that you would never leave us! You fing lied to me! You lied to me, you lied to Mikey and you lied to Mum! What was so hard about the truth? You fing lied!“ Then, he stopped so suddenly that it looked like someone had pressed a button; he hung his head. ”You promised.“ It broke my heart. Everyone stared at him, shocked by his outburst, especially the priest. No one approached him, not even his own mother. The looks on their faces told me that they were ashamed of him. He’d done the unthinkable; he’d made a scene at a funeral and he’d been drinking. To his family, he was an embarrassment. But I wasn’t family. I was his best friend. I was better than family. Cautiously, I walked up to him and, once again, put my arms around him. ”Feel better?“ He shook his head, ”not even close.“ Exhausted, he sunk to his knees, dragging me down with him. Stroking his hair, soothing him just like he had with me so many times with me, I rocked him back and forth, comforting him as he whimpered. Even with the roles reversed, it felt no different; with him near me, with him in my arms, I felt sure of myself, I felt secure and I felt safe. I didn’t feel that with anyone else. I couldn’t speak for him but I think he felt the same way. I hope he felt the same way, anyway. ”It’ll be okay Sam. I promise.“ He shook his head again. ”No. He was my dad, Flo. My dad. They’re meant to be unbreakable but it broke him, how is that okay? He broke.“ With that, I yanked his head up so his eyes met mine. The intense look that he was giving me made a shiver run down the length of my spine; I’d never seen him so sad. ”It will get better, it will get better. It may not seem like it right now, but, it will. I promise you that it does get better.“ I pressed my forehead against his. We were both crying by this point and I was more than a little bit aware that my mascara would be making me look remarkably like a panda. ”The pain will never go away, not really, but it does get easier to bear. Sam, your dad wouldn’t want you to be sad, okay? Not like this.“ He gave me a smile, his eyes twinkling, and it was then that I knew what was going to happen before he did. I pulled away at the last minute, more than a little shocked. He’s tried to kiss me. ”Sam, you don’t want this.“ ”Yeah, I do.“ ”No, you don’t; you’re upset and you’re drunk.“ ”So what! I still want it. You say that it gets easier, right? The pain? But I don’t want it to. I want it to fuck off and go away. When we were at your Grandpa’s funeral, you told me that I made the pain go away for you and it’s the same for me. You make it go away. I look at you, I touch you, I hold you and it all goes away.“ he stroked my cheek with his left hand, making me blush slightly. ”I love you. I’ve always loved you, y’know?“ I bit my lip; I did know. Everything that he said, everything, were things that I felt too. I wanted to kiss him. I really wanted to kiss him back. I wanted to let my lips meet his, to make it all go away for him, but, no matter how much we both wanted it, it would be wrong. I placed my hand over his, ”Sam, I-“ And then something caught my eyes. As he’d raised his arm to touch my face, the sleeve of his suit jacket had retreated slightly, revealing a plaster across the vein on his left wrist. I froze. He wouldn’t have. Would he? Realising what I’d seen, he drew back his hand and pulled away from me, cursing angrily to himself. He would. He had. He had. Oh God, Sam. - I didn’t say anything. Not at first anyway. I didn’t want to make a scene. Because, I knew that I would; I wouldn’t just be able to say something and that be the end of it. I’d want answers; I’d want a good explanation. I knew I needed to talk to him. I could not let it go now that I’d seen it. It was a slippery slide, I knew that from experience, and I had to stop him from falling; I had to save him. It was the right thing, the only thing, for me to do. It didn’t matter if it had been a moment of madness or if he’d been considering it for some time, it had to stop before it really started; before it got a hold of him because, once it did, it wouldn’t let go. Knowing what he’d done really meant, I had to talk to him, I really did; I just didn’t know what to say. As soon as we set foot in Sam’s house, I dragged him up the stairs, practically threw him into his bedroom, and shut the door behind us. Immediately, he sat on his bed, unable to look at me. I paced back and forth. ”Don’t act so surprised Sam, I’m pretty sure you knew how I’d react when I found out.“ He shrugged, passively. That wasn’t quite the response that I had been looking for. All I wanted to do was go and sit next to him and hug him, just hug him, but I couldn’t; that would be called letting him off the hook and I needed him to know that what he had done was not the right thing. It was pretty much the opposite of the right thing. I knew that, in his mind, he’d done nothing wrong but there was no way that he could really justify this. ” I’m just concerned, okay?“ ”Okay.“ ”Okay? That’s all you have to say? Okay. Urgh. You make me so mad, Sam. You’re being stupid, y’know that right? All I am asking, literally all that I am asking, is that you talk to me, please.“ I went to sit down next to him but he shuffled away from me. Shocked, I bit my lip. ”Sam please, it’s me. It’s me.“ There was a pause and then, carefully, he looked at me, his eyes wide. ”Exactly.“ ”Sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?“ ”I thought you’d understand Flo. I thought you’d understand why I’d done it but I don’t think that you do because this isn’t how someone who understands is supposed to act.“ Running a hand through my hair, I sighed. ”It’s because I understand that I’m doing this. Do you actually realise what you’ve done yet or has it not sunk in? Because, trust me, when it does, you’re going to understand why I’m so upset.“ He clenched his fist, biting his lip. ”Huh?“ ”Depression is addictive, Sam. It’s so hard to stop so don’t start. That’s what I’m saying. I had no one, I suppose that’s how it happened to me, but you have so many people that you can talk to so, please, listen to me,“ I paused, pinching the bridge of my nose to stop myself from crying, ”we’re all here for you. Every single one of us, whether you know it or not, none of us are going to leave you.“ Squeezing his hand, I gave him a half-smile. ”I love you Samuel Ryan Smith, don’t forget that.“ Consciously, he put his arms around me and I let myself fall with him so we were lying on the bed, my head on his chest. It was one of those moments that made my heart pound so loudly that I could feel it strain against my rib cage. I wanted to smile and laugh and giggle but it was a serious moment; just because he was trying to take away the sadness did not take away from the fact that it was still there. ”I love you too Florence-Anne Chaplin and I’m so very sorry that I made you worry about me.“ ”Just... promise me that you won’t do it again Sam? Please, anything but that, because I-“ Taking my hand, he nodded; he could see how much he meant to me, how hurt I was that he’d hurt himself. ”I promise.“ ”Thank you.“ I gave a small smile and breathed a sigh of relief. ”Want to go downstairs now?“ He shook his head. ”Not really.“ ”What are we going to do then?“ Stroking my hair absentmindedly, he smiled to himself. ”I think I want to just stay here for a little bit. With you.“ I bit my lip. ”You have to go down eventually.“ ”I know,“ he kissed my forehead softly, ”but just not yet. Not yet.“

I went home that night and sobbed under my duvet like a baby. I sobbed and sobbed and I didn’t think that I could stop. It may have seemed trivial, it may have just been one or two cuts to his left wrist, but it was Sam and it was Sam’s wrist. That wasn’t trivial at all. Really, it was quite the opposite; it was very serious. I wasn’t going to lose him, I couldn’t, and I wasn’t going to let him lose himself either because I didn’t know which would be worse. I would never forgive myself. I’d always know, I’d always carry that with me, I’d always blame myself. It had to stop. One cut was one cut too many. I had to make him realise that. He had to see it.
I’d known that it would be hard, burying his father was never going to be easy, but, perhaps, I’d underestimated exactly how hard it would be. He’d lost his dad. Losing Grandpa, I thought, had been hard enough; he’d been like a dad to me but, at least, when I got home, everyone was still there, as they had been when I left. All Sam got when he returned home was a house full of ghosts and a bitter reminder that someone important was missing. Yeah. I’d definitely underestimated how hard it had been for him. There was no way that it could have been made any easier, by me or by anyone else. He’d lost his dad.
I refused to lose my best friend though.
I simply refused.
Part of me didn’t want to let him leave my sight but, then again, when I’d lost my Grandpa, I’d just wanted time alone so, begrudgingly, I didn’t let myself smother him. However, I did find myself texting him at least twice an hour, just to let him know that I was thinking of him; I rarely got a reply. Sometimes, it wasn’t even as obvious as a ‘how are you? I’m here if you need me’ but I’d just tell him about something funny that I’d seen or heard, in an attempt to coax a smile out of him.
Smiling, I found, could do one of two things; it could make everything seem better and brighter or it could make everything seem a thousand times worse because it was yet another lie. I just hoped that, for Sam, it was the former. All I wanted to do was make everything better for him.
Because I really didn’t see how I could make it any worse, it was impossible.
He’d not heard from Michael in weeks and his mum was hardly ever in anymore; he was lonely, we all knew it, but he wouldn’t admit it. He was too proud, too much of a ‘man’ to do that. Sometimes, just sometimes, his stupid pride made me want to throttle him; why couldn’t he see that we wanted to help? We all just wanted to help. Nikki, Kathy, Spencer and I, all we wanted to do was make things that little bit easier. None of them knew about Sam cutting, I didn’t tell them (it didn’t feel right), but, instinctively, they seemed to know straight away that he was in a bad way. A really bad way.
He looked dreadful – so pale and gaunt. One of use would go around and he’d just be sat, alone, in the dark. Thinking. That’s what he told us when we asked him what he was doing. We knew otherwise though. He was crying. Remembering. And, I always had this fear that he was still cutting too.
It was awful.
It would have been bad if it had been any one of the us but wasn’t just anyone; it was Sam. He was meant to be the happy one, the one with the jokes and the wonky smile. He was meant to be able to cheer people up with just a look and make people laugh with only a handful of words.
But that Sam was gone.
It was like he’d been replaced.
We were left with just a shell and he was retreating back into it more and more with every passing day.
I hated seeing him that way, we all did, but we didn’t know what we could do to help. It seemed impossible. There were four of us, each with a good, functioning brain in our head, but not one of us could come up with a good, feasible plan that would work. Not one of us. Which was pretty bad.
We did, however, all agree that he needed to get out of the house for a couple of nights. He needed to get away from all the memories, just for a little while, to clear his head. He’d not been to school since the funeral. He’d not even left the house. Nearly two weeks just locked up in his room, refusing to face the world. Alone. Nearly fourteen days. Surely, alone with your memories, it must have felt like a lifetime. It was enough to drive people insane; I could only imagine what it was doing to him.
He needed to get out of that goddamn house.
Thankfully, Spencer had a spare room.
-

I walked in without knocking, as instructed. ”Hey.“

”Hey,“ Spencer and Kathy called back simultaneously from the kitchen. ”Any news?“

Shrugging off my rucksack, I began arranging DVD’s on the coffee table. ”Nikki called to say that she was just setting off and, she informs me, that if he does exactly as he is told and when he is told, they’ll be here on time.“ I paused as I came to Finding Nemo, biting my lip. We hadn’t watched it together. Still. Every time that we so much as tried, something came up and we forgot about it; maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. ”I still think that I should have gone, y’know.“

”I don’t care,“ laughed Spencer, ”we sent Nikki for a reason. Unlike you, she doesn’t take no for an answer.“

Sulking childishly, I flopped onto the sofa. ”I suppose.“

”I’m sorry but admit it, Flo.“ Kathy added, handing me a glass of soda, ”if he told you no, you’d let him get away with it. He’d give you that look or hug you or something and, suddenly, he could get away with murder.“

Sighing, I gave her a look. ”Maybe not murder.“ I frowned. ”I know that this is in his best interest, I know that we’re only looking out for him and that he needs this, but, really, do we have to force him to come?“

”Yes.“ They both stated it immediately, in a tone that suggested that I was a fool for thinking otherwise.

I sighed again. ”Then why do I feel like this is kidnap? I feel awful.“

Kathy sat down next to me. ”Why? He’s staying here, somewhere that he pretty much already feels at home, for two nights, so that we can try and help him, remember? What is the harm in that?“ she squeezed my hand. ”It’s for the best. We promise.“

Nodding, I pinched the bridge of my nose. ”Part of me just feels like that he needs to grieve his way and that taking that away from him will do more harm than good.“

”How do you mean?“

”I don’t know,“ I shrugged, staring at my feet, ”it’s just there, in the back of my mind, niggling away. I’m worried that it’s right.“

Looking at each other, Kathy and Spencer spoke at the same time, showing off a skill that they had clearly been practising at great length; telepathy. ”Flo, really, everything’s going to be fine. Promise.“

I only had time to shrug again because, suddenly, there was a sharp knocking on the door.

”It’s Nikki and Sam,“ Spencer whispered, pointing out what we already knew. ”Quick, positions!“

With military efficiency, Kathy and I leapt up and ran to the kitchen, shutting the door behind us as quietly as we could. I dove onto one of the stools, almost knocking over someone’s mug in the process, whilst Kathy busied herself with the washing up. Meanwhile, Spencer opened the front door.

”I still don’t see why you had to knock. He’s your cousin, for God’s sake.“ I could hear Sam muttering to Nikki as he came in. I smiled to myself as I sipped from a glass; he was onto us already. ”And you,“ out of the corner of my eyes through a crack on the door, I caught sight of Sam jabbing Spencer in the chest. ”Next time you want me to stay over, you come and get me yourself. Don’t send a bloody mafia hit-man, okay?“ Smiling, he punched him lightly on the arm. ”Thanks though.“

Spencer grinned sheepishly. For two good friends, they were both really bad with displays of even moderate affection.

Kathy nudged me.

Oh right, yeah; it was my part.

I walked into the hallway. ”Would monsieur like me to take his bags to his room?“

Taking one look at me, Sam burst out laughing.

I may have taken my role a little too seriously and drawn on a moustache with some of eyeliner but it felt good to hear him laugh again; it sounded like a sigh of relief. It was a sound that I was beginning to think that I wouldn’t hear for a while. For me to have made him laugh, it made me feel a thousand times better too. It reminded me that this wasn’t forever.

Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, Sam nodded. ”If it’s not too much trouble,“ he handed me his suitcase, ”thanks.“

And I knew that he didn’t just mean the luggage handling. I smiled. ”Anytime sir, it’s all part of the job.“
-

We sat on the sofa, all five of us; it was a bit of a squash but, somehow, we managed it. Spencer sat at one end, his arm around Kathy and Sam was sandwiched between Nikki and I; Nikki on his right and me on his left. I wouldn’t say that it was an uncomfortable arrangement but none of us were complaining either. We were all together, all five of us, for the first time in a fortnight.

Kathy hadn’t let me put Finding Nemo on though, which had annoyed me somewhat. Instead, she suggested a comedy because, apparently, Finding Nemo got a ‘little but too emotional’ to be appropriate for cheering Sam up. Admittedly, she had a point; I cried (pretty much) every time I watched it but, then again, I cried at nearly every film I watched. We settled instead for The Inbetweeners Movie because nothing says cheer up more than four boys vomiting and rutting on a Greek island.

Sam held onto my hand the whole time, his eyes never strayed from the screen but I never heard him laugh once; he just sipped at his soda and held my hand, expressionless.

Knowing that he was sitting next to me but wishing himself a million miles away, I couldn’t enjoy myself. I pulled my legs up to my chest, rested my head on my knees and just drifted away. I laughed when everyone else did but my heart wasn’t in it. How could it be? How could I have fun when Sam was feeling as miserable as sin?

I knew, I just knew, that the whole thing had been a bad idea.
-

”Could you come here for a minute please, dear?“ Mrs Jablonski called from the hallway.

Frowning, Spencer stood. ”Back in a second,“ he mumbled, shuffling out of the room.

Immediately, we ran to the door and pressed up against it, listening in.

Sam, however, stayed put on the sofa.

Maybe it was just a girl thing; who knows?

Unfortunately though, all we could hear was angry Polish that was being spoken so quickly and with such fury that even Nikki was as stumped as the rest of us; she couldn’t pick up anything. We needn’t have been listening, really, because a) none of us were going to be able learn Polish in an instant and b), as they were speaking Polish, it probably meant that what was being said did not concern us.

Eventually, Mrs Jablonski won (at least, we thought she did) and Spencer stormed back into the room, sending Kathy, Nikki and I sprawling onto the floor, flustered. ”Change of plan. Sam can’t stay here tonight.“

Nikki and I scowled. ”Why the hell not?“

Kathy, however, being the concerned girlfriend that she was, tried to comfort him. ”Are you okay? What’s happened?“

Clearly annoyed, Spencer ran a hand through his hair. ”Something very unexpected.“ he sighed, ”Sam just can’t stay, that’s all, and you all need to leave.“

”What?“ I complained, ”this whole thing was your idea and you want us to leave.“

”His bag’s in the hallway. Flo, I’d appreciate it if you took him home.“ Spencer explained, calmly, ignoring my comments. ”Please.“

Everyone stared at me, expecting me to give, so, eventually, I did. ”Fine but you’ve got some explaining to do, Jablonski.“ Getting to my feet, I jabbed him in the chest with my index finger. ”Understand?“

Looking guilty, he nodded.

I turned around and stared collecting my DVD’s, stuffing them back into my rucksack. ”You heard the man, Sam, home time.“

He looked at me, his eyes dark and thoughtful, paused for a minute, and put down his bottle. ”Yeah, sure.“ Standing, he grimaced slightly, putting a hand out to steady himself as he wobbled. ”Woah.“

”Y’alright?“

”Did you get up too quickly?“

He took a deep breath. ”I don’t feel too great.“

”If that’s not a good sign that you should leave, I don’t know what is,“ pointing to the hallway, Spencer encouraged us to get a move on.

I took Sam’s hand and slowly lead him to the door, picking up his bag as I passed. ”C’mon, an early night’ll do you good.“

He nodded, his face pale. He looked genuinely quite ill; I hadn’t noticed in the darkness of the living room but now, in the light, he looked tired and unwell to the point where he might faint.

I gave his hand a squeeze.

”See you later,“ we both called back as we left, stepping out into the dark street.

It was late February, March was just on the horizon, yet the nights were just as bitter as they had been at Christmas.

Out of habit, I glanced up to inspect the skies, as I often did as I walked. Hidden by a thin layer of cloud, the moon cast a dim glow, making the endlessness seem almost empty; just a dark blanket, permeated with tiny, twinkling stars that watched the Earth but were too far away to care. I loved it – to me, the sky was more magical than any fairytale. Up there were things that we’d never really understand, not really, and that made me smile; who knows, maybe we weren’t really alone?

Distracted, I didn’t notice the stranger walking up the Jablonski’s garden path.

So I walked straight into him.

”I’m so sorry,“ I babbled hurriedly, looking up, shocked. ”I really am.“ He was taller than I had expected so I had to crane my head back to make eye-contact but his face was obscured by the hood of his jacket.

He shrugged. ”No harm done.“

Stepping aside, I watched him stride toward the house, curious; there was something about his voice that sounded familiar, something that made me stop and think. At the door, he barged past Spencer, who’s jaw clenched, annoyed; whoever this person was, whatever he did, he wasn’t welcome.

”Flo?“

”Yes, Sam?“

”I’m going to be sick.“
-

He only lived a few streets away but we walked slowly, pausing every now and again whilst Sam bent over a drain in case his body decided to empty the contents of his stomach all over the street, so returning him home took longer than usual.

We walked in a sort of uneasy silence and I could not work out why. I’d done neither wrong and neither had we; I hoped, he was just tired.

Eventually, we reached his front door.

”Come in for a while?“ he suggested, rooting around in his bag for the key.

”Where’s your mum?“

He snorted. ”Out again.“

Confused, I paused. ”That doesn’t sound like your mum... where is she?“

”Getting pissed probably.“

”Now that definitely doesn’t sound like your mum.“

Sighing, he shrugged. ”People change,“ he opened the door at last and let it swing open. ”After you.“

”Thanking you.“ I smiled and walked in, giving him a kiss on the cheek as I passed. ”Paracetamol, yeah?“

Blushing slightly, he nodded. ”Yeah.“
-

I rooted through the drawers and cupboards, looking for the box of tablets that I knew that they had stored away somewhere,

Beneath the sink, I found a half empty bottle of vodka hidden behind a baking tray.

My heart sank; Sam may have been right about his mum drinking.

Oh God, everything was falling apart for him.

Everything.

For the first time since or disastrous meeting, I found myself praying that Michael would come home soon. He’d be able to help, he’d be able to take some of the weight off of Sam; he might be able to fix this, I thought, hopefully.

Maybe.

Suddenly, I heard someone bolt upstairs, their feet pounding against the floor as they urgently raced to the bathroom. ”Sam?“ I called, sprinting after him. ”Sam?“

He’d left the door open in his hast and I could see him doubled over the toilet bowl, his hands gripping so tightly to the sides that his knuckles had turned white. Heaving, he coughed and spluttered, his shoulders tensing with each new wave of nausea. Remembering something that my Grandpa would do to me when I was ill, I crouched down next to him and began to rub his back, trying to soothe him, but he pushed me away, shaking his head in protest, before it started all over again and he returned to throwing up his guts.

He was ridiculously stubborn when it came to things like that.

So, instead, I backed out of the room and sat against the wall by the door, waiting for it to end.

I felt useless again; I didn’t know what else I could do to help him. I just sat there, listening and yanking at the hem of my shirt nervously. I snuck a peek around the corner; when did he get so thin? I could see the outline of his spine through the material of his t-shirt. I mean, he’d never exactly been big, he was one of those boys who, like Spencer, could eat and eat without even thinking about his weight, but I’d never been able to see his bones before. For God’s sake...

Finally, it went quiet.

I bit my lip. ”I think you should see a doctor.“

”It’s just a stomach bug.“

”You know that’s not what I’m on about.“

There was no immediate reply; I couldn’t see his face but I knew that his jaw was clenched and his mouth was set in a thin line. ”I’m not sick.“ he whispered, at last.

”You’re making yourself ill, Sam. Admit it.“

”I’m not sick.“ he yelled, pounding at the floor with his fists.

”Sam-“

”I’m not sick!“ turning to me, red in the face, he was screaming at me.

Stunned, I bit my lip; I didn’t know how to react. I was right though. No matter what he said, I was right. I couldn’t argue with him though. Not when he was being so... odd. I had to choose my battles and this wasn’t going to be one of them. I sighed. ”Go to bed. I’ll get you that Paracetamol.“
-

He lay in bed, the duvet pulled right up under his chin, with one hand under the pillow, curled up into a tight ball. His eyes opened as soon as he could hear the sound of my feet coming along the landing. He smiled slightly when he saw me but I didn’t return it; I suddenly didn’t feel much like smiling. Propping himself up onto his elbow, he swallowed the pills that I handed to him and gulped down the water.

His arms bare, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the single scar on his left wrist. It had scabbed over and had healed to the point where it was just a pale pink line but I could still see it. Nearly invisible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. But I did so it was all that I could see. To be honest though, I was just glad to see that it was alone.

Sam took my hand. ”I promise I’m not sick, Flo. I promise.“

Looking at him, what he had just said could not have been further from the truth but it was getting late and he was tired and, like I said, I had to choose my battles, so, instead of arguing with him, I nodded. ”I’m sorry – we should have just left you to it. We’re just worried about you.“

”I’m fine.“ he lied.

”I know.“ I lied back.

Hiding under the covers once more, he yawned, exhausted. ”This week, Flo. I’ll be back to school this week. Day after tomorrow, in fact. I promise.“

He wasn’t in the day after but I didn’t worry because he’d told me that he’d be there the day after the day after. But then, he didn’t show. He’d promised that he’d be in but he wasn’t. Surprise, surprise; he wasn’t in the day after that either. The boy had lied to me. To my face. I’d known that he wasn’t fine; showing up to school would have been an excellent opportunity for him to prove otherwise but he hadn’t taken it up thereby proving that I had been right. He’d lied to me. He had lied to me. I was not impressed. - ”Whose turn was it to visit Sam last night?“ I slammed my tray down onto the table, causing everyone to jump slightly. ”Well?“ They looked at each other, not sure exactly what to say. Finally, Spencer raised his hand. ”Me.“ ”Did you tell him he was lying bastard?“ Playing with his food, Spencer mumbled something so quietly that I couldn’t make out a word. ”Huh?“ ”I didn’t go.“ he grimaced; as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew that he’s said the wrong thing. ”You didn’t go.“ Shaking his head, he slowly began to go bright red. ”No, I didn’t go.“ Calmly, I sat down. ”And why would that be?“ ”I was busy with my brother so he told me not to bother.“ ”So... you didn’t.“ ”No.“ ”And, if he told you to drown a rabbit, would you?“ Rolling his eyes, he sat back in his chair. ”Flo, don’t be like that-“ ”Well?“ He sighed. ”No, I would not drown a rabbit but, Flo, my brother’s back in town and, well, there’s stuff that’s more important than Sam in this world.“ Angrily, I stabbed at my salad. ”I’m going tonight.“ ”It’s your turn anyway,“ Kathy piped up cautiously, edging away from me slightly. ”Yeah, well, even if it hadn’t been, I am going tonight. Anything could have happened.“ I could see it on their faces, they wanted to tell me that I was over-exaggerating, that I was being too dramatic but, in all seriousness, I felt like I was the only one who still gave a shit. Following out little movie night, everyone seemed to think that it was case closed, job done, but Sam was still not back at school; the job was far from done. At this rate, Sam was going to fail all of his summer exams and, I knew, that that would be the final straw. Enough with the ‘gently-gently’ approach, he needed a bloody good kick up the arse. - I went home afterschool so that I could a) get changed, b) do some homework (or try to, as the case turned out) and, most importantly, c) eat. Whenever I was angry or upset, I got hungry too. And I was starving. It was like I was trying to convince myself that eating made everything better or that it made me happy. Or, maybe, I was just fat. Who cares? - I left from my house at around half past six under the impression that, as I was walking, I would get there around seven. Walking gave me the chance to think that getting a lift did not. I had a lot to think about. Well, technically, I only had one thing to think about but I was thinking about him a lot. I missed him. Which was strange because, he was right there and I talked to him every day but I still missed him. I missed him because it wasn’t really my Sam that I was talking to, I suppose. My Sam had beautiful green eyes that sparkled when he smiled and were so familiar that, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get lost in them, not really. This Sam had eyes that were dull and never changed, no matter how much he smiled; he was alien to me, not my Sam at all. It scared me how much he’d changed. It may have only been the little thing but it was the little things that I noticed and it was the little things that I missed. His laugh, the way that he’d trace a pattern on my palm whilst he held my hand, tickling me, his absentminded doodling on napkins, the way he’d run a hand his hair unconsciously whenever he talked to me, the smell of his aftershave when we hugged, even though he didn’t even shave yet, and, most of all, his wonky, one-sided smile. What scared me though, what really made me go cold all over, was the thought that I didn’t know when I’d have all those things again. I’d felt this way before, of course, in early January but, this time, it was worse because, this time, there was someone who was trying to replace the Sam that I was scared of losing. If he didn’t realise what I had already figured out then the change might be permanent and nobody wanted that. Sam was too precious to let fade away; he was the kind of guy that you prayed would never leave you, religious or not, because he made you happy when no one else could. So, as I turned to walk up the Smith’s garden path, I paused and closed my eyes, praying that it was just because of the stomach bug that Sam had broken his promise to me. I, the person who claimed she was as atheistic as a person could possibly be, prayed. I’d do anything to ensure that Sam was okay. The door was unlocked so I knocked twice and walked in, as I had every day that I had visited previously. ”Hello?“ I called, unnerved by how still the place was. Still but not quiet. Sam’s music blared from his room; judging from the volume and the frequent use of profanities, his mum was out. Smiling to myself, I kicked off my shoes and climbed up the stairs as quietly as I could, wanting to surprise him. I crept along the hallway and turned the handle of the door to his room. It was locked. Confused, I bit my lip. He locked the bedroom door but not the front door? His logic was flawed. He’d not locked his bedroom before. Never. He was a firm believer or ‘what’s-mine-is-yours-so-long-as-you-knock-first’. ”Hey Sam, it’s me.“ I waited for a reply but all I could hear was the music, no movement. I sighed and knocked. ”It’s Flo, c’mon, let me in.“ Still no reply. Maybe I wasn’t being loud enough, I thought. ”Sam, it’s me.“ I shouted it that time; I shouted like I was trying to communicate with the deaf. Then, the CD stopped and so I expected him to come and open the door for me but, pressing my ear to the door, there was still no movement. Did he really think that I’d think that he’d have just left or something? Jesus Christ, he was the master of shit plans sometimes, he really was. ”I get the picture,“ I spat, ”you don’t want to see me but, as I’ve said about a thousand times before, we’re all worried about you Sam and you’re not helping your case in the slightest by ignoring us. Text me or something when you grow the fuck up, okay?“ Kicking the door for emphasis, I turned away and left. I had nothing more to say. Not if he was going to behave like that. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard the coughing. It wasn’t just a cough though – it was the sort of cough that someone coughs when they are vomiting or choking, for instance. When they are dying. And it wasn’t just once. I froze. Oh shit. Immediately, I ran to his door, almost tripping over the top step in my hast. ”Sam? Sam, I’m here.“ Again, I rattled the door handle, desperate. ”Jesus, Sam,“ I hissed, ”what a shit day to lock your door.“ I sighed, ”I’m sorry about this.“ With all the force I could muster, I pulled back my foot and kicked. No movement. I did it again, my teeth clenched. ”C’mon you f*ing piece of wood.“ I kicked it again. And again. And again. Each time, getting more and more frustrated. Finally, my foot connected with the door and there was a magnificent crack as it swung open. ”Sam!“ I gasped, frozen. ”Oh shit, Sam!“ I ran to him, falling to my knees. ”What have you done, you bloody idiot? What the f have you done?“ Eyes screwed up tightly, he coughed and coughed, hacking up his guts; something was wrong, something was seriously wrong. Worried, I took in hand in mine and recoiled automatically, gasping as my skin came into contact with something warm and sticky. Holding my hand up the light, I examined it. Blood. It was, unmistakably, blood. My heart sank; oh my God, what had he done? Breathing slowly, trying to calm myself as well as him, I took a precious moment to try and establish what I could. Sam was bleeding. I didn’t want to think about why, even though I knew. Judging from the smell of his breath and the vodka bottle on his bedside cabinet, he’d been drinking. Too much, I thought, if that’s the bottle from the other night, he’s been drinking too much. But, something told me that, that wasn’t everything; I was missing something. Something vital. Then, it dawned on me. He’s taken something. Panicking more and more with every passing second, I looked around, searching for the missing puzzle piece. Oh God, oh God, oh God. He’d tried to kill himself. He wanted to die. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, drawing my attention back to him. Shaking his head, his eyes were just as wide and frightened as mine. ”No,“ he mouthed, over and over again. ”No.“ ”No?... what do you mean?“ I pleaded with him, desperate for him to hold onto consciousness; just desperate. Grimacing, he just shook his head. ”No.“ His eyes met mine for a second and held my gaze. ”This isn’t right.“ For a second, my heart jumped into my mouth. It wasn’t right. Did that mean that he hadn’t wanted it to happen? Did he not want to die? Was it just a mistake? But, then I realised and the little slither of hope that I was hanging onto vanished; I was what wasn’t right. He meant that I shouldn’t have arrived. I was the variable that hadn’t been taken into account. My heart sank again. No, he wanted to die, that was pretty obvious. These kinds of things don’t just happen by accident. Just because he wanted to, though, did not mean that I was going to let him. No way. I refused. I refused to let him go. I shook him lightly. ”Twat.“ Through his tears, he gave me a quick half-smile but then he was back to coughing, his body convulsing violently. His chest heaving as he did so, he fought for breath, clawing at the carpet beneath him. It was then that I noticed the pool of vomit that he was lying in. Oh my God. I really was losing him. I was losing him. Fumbling in my pockets, I remembered that I’d left my phone on the kitchen table, too desperate to get out of the house and see Sam to remember to pick it up. Oh my God, I couldn’t leave him to call an ambulance either. I couldn’t leave him alone. Oh my God. I let him grab onto my hand and squeeze it as tightly as he wanted as each new wave of pain hit him. I didn’t protest. The feeling of the pressure of his fingers wrapped around my wrist was good; if he was holding onto me, he was alive. That was the most important thing. He was alive. He spasmed uncontrollably, slowly losing consciousness; I could see it fading from his eyes gradually, bit by bit. But alive. Barely. No. Just no. ”Sam, please, hold on. Okay? I’m begging you here. Hold on.“ I wasn’t expecting miracles, I wasn’t expecting him to just jump up, give me a hug and tell me everything would be okay, but I was expecting something. Anything. Just not what actually happened. Gasping, his head fell to one side, his eyes closing and his grip on my wrist going slack. ”Sam, if you’ve just done what I believe you have just done, you’re in big trouble.“ I sobbed, leaning over his suddenly still body and watching for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Shit. There was none. ”Oh, you absolute twat.“ I whispered, pressing my middle and index fingers to his neck beneath his jaw. It was there. I could feel it. It was faint but it was there. ”You’d better not give up on me, you dickhead. Not now, okay?“ On his chest, I rested one palm on top of the other and pushed down sharply over and over again, trying to remember what it said on the posters in the doctors’ waiting room. ”Please, please, please...“ I mumbled to myself, ”just please, okay?“ ”Sam?“ someone walked in the front door, their words slurring. ”Help!“ I screamed, thanking God silently. ”Quickly, help!“ ”Florence, is that you?“ It was his mum. Oh Jesus, it was his mum, how was I going to explain this? How was I going to explain any of this? ”Florence, what’s wrong?“ She appeared in the doorway. ”Wha-“ she slapped a hand to her mouth, shocked by what she saw. ”Oh good Lord- “ ”Don’t just stand there!“ annoyed at her inability to take the initiative, I snapped. This was not the time for stupid questions. ”Fucking call an ambulance or something, now!“ ”But-“ ”Call an ambulance.“ ”But, Florence-“ ”Call and ambulance. Please. Just, call an ambulance.“ Eventually, she backed away from the doorway and raced downstairs to the phone. Hearing her voice talking to the operator, I felt a little better; help was on its way. He just needed to hold on a little bit longer. Just a little bit. Relentlessly, I continued to pound at his chest. ”You hear that?“ I asked. ”That’s your mum Sam and, I swear to God, I am not facing her alone so you are going to wake the fuck up and explain yourself because she can be one scary lady.“ I could imagine the smile spread across his face. ”And you need to explain where all that lovely, expensive vodka’s gone too.“ Through my tears, I grinned. ”This is all very rock’n’roll, Sam. You’re almost Kurt Cobain in my eyes, right now. Just, promise me, when you get through this, because you will, trust me, don’t put a gun to your head and pull the trigger, okay?“ Talking to him felt pretty normal, considering the situation, which, in itself, was pretty weird as you could hardly call it a conversation. I continued to babbled away to myself; pretending that everything was okay was keeping me from thinking about worst case scenarios. ”And, also, could you not marry a crazy, drugged-up psycho bitch? Because you know how much I hate Courtney Love and I’d quite like to be at your wedding.“ Still nothing. Nothing. Not so much as the rise and fall of his chest. ”Please Sam, wake up. I can’t do this without you, it’s not right. I love you and you’re just going to leave? You didn’t even say goodbye, you bastard, so you’d better wake up.“ I swallowed and closed my eyes; it felt hopeless. I was doing everything that I could, everything, and it wasn’t enough. It simply wasn’t enough. If he wanted to die, if he was prepared to leave it all behind, what was going to bring him back? I could talk to him until I was blue in the face but that was not going to change the fact that he was pretty much dead in my arms. And, it was suicide. It wasn’t even an accident. It was suicide. It wasn’t fair. He was an idiot, the whole situation sucked and it wasn’t fair. He was meant to be the strong one. He was meant to deal with everyone else’s problems and then have enough strength left to deal with his own because, ever since the day that I first met him, Sam was strong. Sam was the strongest person that I knew. He was a rock; supposedly unbreakable. Why hadn’t he said something? One word. That’s all he need have said. Just one word. To any of us. Spencer, Kathy, Nikki, it didn’t even have to be me. Just one word. Help. We’d have been there to take some of the slack but instead we were being left to pick up the pieces. No, he was too stubborn. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. I screwed my face up, desperate not to cry anymore. Just desperate. ”For God’s sake, wake the f up. Please.“ Then it happened. Gasping, his body shuddered one last time. ”Sam?“ Panicked, I leant over him, checking his pulse again. ”Oh come on, Sam, this isn’t even funny.“ I didn’t know what to do; everything that I had done hadn’t worked. I was useless. Suddenly, the paramedics arrived and I was pushed aside like a ragdoll. Simply picked up and thrown across the room. ”Sam!“ Screaming, one of them literally had to hold me back as they crowded him, working on him and doing the one thing that I couldn’t do; save his life. ”Sam, please!“ I bolted toward him but they pushed me aside again, sending me sprawling on the floor. I felt something hard and cylindrical beneath me; I sat up, staring at the bottle of pills that I’d landed on and my blood ran cold. Oh my God, what the hell was going on? Frowning, I scratched out the name on the label frantically and passed it to the nearest paramedic, silently and discreetly. Just then, Sam’s mum appeared at the door, looking flustered; glancing around the room, her scathing glare landed on me. ”Get out.“ she growled. ”What?“ ”Get out!“ grabbing me by the back of my hoodie, she dragged me from the room and down the stairs. ”Get out, get out, get out, get out!“ I stumbled into the street, almost tripping over the front step. ”No, you can’t do this, plea-“ ”You see that?“ she pointed to the ambulance. ”That’s all your fault. I never want to see you again.“ Stunned, I said nothing. ”I want you out of my son’s life.“ she slammed the door in my face. My bottom lip began to quiver. ”Shit.“ That was all I had to say and, I must admit, I that it summed up the night’s events pretty well. Shit indeed. - Closing my front door behind me, I collapsed into tears. I think that it finally hit me exactly what had happened. Sam had tried to kill himself, that was the bottom line, and I had found him. What if I had gotten a lift? Could I have stopped him? What if I’d set off twenty minutes later? Would I have perhaps been too late? Relief and panic was a very strange combination of emotions. There wasn’t even a metaphor for it or whatever. It just was and it was what I was feeling. I just sat there, covered in his blood and vomit and God knows what else and not being all that bothered by it. I couldn’t stop shaking. He’d tried to kill himself. I wondered what he’d been thinking about, what had been going through his mind, when he’d decided that none of us were good enough for him. We weren’t a good enough reason, or we hadn’t given him a good enough reason, to stay. I wondered if he’d thought how I’d feel, how we’d all feel, when we found out. I wondered if he’d even hesitated when he realised what it really meant to kill oneself. No matter how he did it, there would always be mess to clean up. For God’s sake. The thing that I was really angry about, the thing that really boiled my piss, was that he had suffered in silence, even though I’d told him so many times that I was there for him. I knew what it felt like, to want to leave everything behind and just forget, I told him; I was proof that things got better. But he didn’t listen. He just suffered in silence. Eventually, my mum found me slumped against the front door. She didn’t say a word; she didn’t have to because, for once, it felt like she understood. Picking me up off of the floor, she led me up the stairs to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Before she left, she gave my hand a quick squeeze. ”Maybe it needed to happen.“ Thoughtfully, I shrugged, my head spinning. ”Maybe.“ - When I finally shuffled into my room, freshly showered and blood-free at last, I noticed that my mum had laid out my pyjamas on my and, on my bedside table, there was a mug of hot chocolate and a note. ”Drink. Sleep. Talk in the morning. Things will look better tomorrow. x“, it said. I read it twice. The kiss was a bit of a surprise but it managed to wrangle a smile out of me; compassion from Mum was something to cherish. Unfortunately, I could not sleep. If I did, I didn’t notice. All I could see when I closed my eyes was Sam’s face contorted in agony, his mum’s voice echoing around my head. It was all my fault. She wanted me out of Sam’s life. It was all my fault. She wanted me out of Sam’s life. It was all my fault.

School was, of course, hellish. Unbearably so. - I sent each of them a text when I woke up and realised, judging from the untouched hot chocolate and the screwed up note on the floor, that it hadn’t been a nightmare. It had really happened. I’d very nearly witnessed my best friend’s death. That was a soul destroying moment; the realisation that that might have been the last time that I saw him. I wanted to cry but I felt drained. Crying was no good anymore. I needed to talk. ”Meet me in the cafeteria before school. Something’s happened.“ Telling them via text would be wrong; this had to be said face to face. To Spencer’s text, I added an extra ominous sentence. ”You’ve got some explaining to do.“ Because, in my eyes, he did. The fact that no one replied, no one acknowledged the instruction, did not perturb me. They’d be there. They had to be. So that was how we all ended sitting around the cafeteria table, each with a coffee in hand from the vending machine. Every pair of eyes was fixed on me, waiting. I didn’t know how to say it. How do you tell someone that one of their friends had tried to kill himself?... and had almost successful. Eurgh. It sounded so... surreal. These things... they were the sort of things that you read about or saw them on the news; they didn’t really happen. Not to us. Definitely not to us. I sighed, closed my eyes and blurted it out; they had a right to know. ”Sam’s in the hospital. He tried to-.“ My mouth wouldn’t form the words so I stopped and took a deep breath. ”He tried to kill himself.“ Nikki was speechless for once and slumped back into her chair, blinking hard as in a daze. Turning white, Kathy grabbed hold of Spencer’s hand, trying to ground herself. Spencer, however, was defiant that I was wrong; he was shaking his head, his mouth set in a thin, grave line. ”No. Not Sam. No.“ ”You think that I’d lie about something like this? You think that I’d make it up?“ Of course, I was furious. ”Someone’s got their wires crossed somewhere or something, I don’t know, but you can’t be right. Not Sam, Flo. Not Sam.“ Clenching my fists, I felt the sudden urge to throw something flood through my body. I wanted to punch something. Anything. Anyone. ”I f*ing found him, Spencer, lying in a pool of his own vomit and blood; how can I have got it wrong?“ Nikki and Kathy gasped sympathetically but, yet again, Spencer was just shaking his head. It wasn’t out of defiance anymore, though. It was disbelief. Shrugging, I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself. ”I thought that you’d want to know, that’s all. They all looked at each other, concerned. ”Is he okay?“ ”I don’t know.“ Gently, Nikki placed her hand over mine. ”Are you okay?“ ”Nope, I don’t know that either.“ I sighed. ”I just need to get through today, I think, and then I’ll fine.“ On cue, the bell rang and, collecting our stuff together, we began to make our way to registration. Before we left, I grabbed hold of Spencer’s wrist; I had to speak to him alone. Like I said, he had some explaining to do. ”Well?“ I asked, trying to keep my voice emotionless. He shook his head. ”Well, what?“ From my rucksack, I produced the pill bottle that I had stumbled across at Sam’s. ”Look familiar?“ I pointed to the name on the label. ”This is what Sam took.“ One word, that one word that pointed back to him, I re-read over and over again. Jablonski. Staring at me, his brow furrowed, he bit his lip. ”Florence, I-“ ”Save it.“ I interrupted. ”You’re not going to worm your way out of this one; I just thought that you’d like to know that I’m not going to give this to Sam’s mum or the police, whatever, and that I blame you. His mum may blame me but I blame you.“ With that, I simply walked away, knowing that his face would be one of shock and confusion and feeling oddly satisfied that my words had hit home. Being despicable should not feel so good. Especially when it was to a friend. - Everything little thing annoyed me. The little patience that I had that morning anyway was slowly stretched and stretched until it was wafer thin. I was on a knife’s edge. I couldn’t cope. It felt insignificant. Everything just felt insignificant and stupid. Sam was dying. Sam was dying and we were learning about f*ing fractions. If that wasn’t ridiculous then I didn’t know what was. I just wanted to see him. I needed to know that he was okay. That he was alive. That was what was most important to me. No matter what his mum said, I would see Sam again. He was too important to me to just let go. He needed me and I needed him; we’d established that much before. He was all I could think about. Literally. Hearing people complain about stupid, pathetic things made me want to throw chairs at them. In all honesty, they were intolerable. ”Oh my God, I broke a nail last night – I was doing so well.“ ”Eurgh, I missed that show; my girlfriend came over and wouldn’t take the hint.“ ”I spilt Ribena all over the carpet, mum’s going to kill me!“ The list went on. They weren’t even problems; they were inconveniences. There was a difference. The last time I saw my best friend, I wanted to scream at them, he was surrounded by paramedics and I’d just had to resuscitate him. Top that. Reluctantly, I didn’t say anything; I simply kept my head down. No. No one needed to know. No one deserved to know. - It didn’t take too long for someone to spread the world though. - God was testing me. - It started around breaktime when the whispers and rumours began to circulate like venom. The whispers and the stares; weapons of the weak and the cowardly. I could handle them. I had plenty of times before. All it took was to shake them off. It was that simple. You just had to shake them off before they took root and began to grow into something altogether more ugly and significantly more difficult to destroy. When the torrent of insults began, I could feel myself begin to panic a little bit. - Throughout the day, I hid. When I met Sam, I promised myself, and, more importantly, him, that I would never hide from them again. Ever. Without him though, I couldn’t face them. I was afraid. I was genuinely afraid. All I had to do was get through the day. That was it. Just get through the day. There was one double lesson left. Only one hundred minutes. How hard could that be? Saying that though, it was me that I was talking about. I was alone too; religious studies was one of the only lessons on my entire timetable that I had by myself. There would be no Nikki, no Kathy and no Spencer to stand by me. I was alone. I had to do it by myself. Which made things difficult, to say the least. But not impossible. I had to do it. Spencer walked me to my classroom, dropping me off like some kind of concerned parent. ”I’m across the hall, of you need me, you know that, right?“ Feeling guilty but still not willing to forgive, I shrugged. ”I’m fine. I’ve got this.“ ”Less than two hours and we’re out of here.“ I nodded. ”Yep.“ Not waiting to say goodbye, I simply turned away and walked into the classroom, leaving him stood, alone, yet again. It felt even worse the second time around. I wished that I could forgive him but it wasn’t that easy. Sam wouldn’t have stolen those pills, he didn’t have it in him; Spencer had to have given them to him. In a strange, indirect manner, he’d almost killed Sam. That was going to be hard to forget. Really hard. I just had to try and push it out of my mind because, for the next one hundred minutes, I was going to be trapped in a room with a pack of animals. And that was no exaggeration. Very little learning actually occurred during religious studies because very few people actually cared about what was being taught. I was amongst the minority; the rest of them were just ignorant, bigoted thugs. ”The kind of people who could do with learning a thing or two about tolerance and sensitivity, you know?“ was the way that I had summed them up for Sam, when he had first asked me what my class was like. They were almost as bad as sharks; once they smelt blood, the slightest hint of weakness, they lost control and simply started ripping people to shreds with no thought for the consequences. My blood began to boil after just ten minutes in the same room as them, on a good day, but I was not in the mood for ridiculous behaviour, in the slightest. However, I was more than prepared to do my fair share of fighting back; I needed a way to diffuse all the anger that I was feeling. Because, man, was I angry. Not just at Spencer or Sam but, also, myself and Sam’s mum and his brother and his dad and Nikki and Kathy and spiteful idiots and teachers who simply marked his as absent without batting an eyelid when they clearly knew what was going on. Yeah, I was angry. As soon as I entered the room, the moment that I set my foot down over the threshold, the class was in uproar. ”Tell her!“ ”Yeah, do it!“ ”Oh my God, this’ll be priceless.“ Urgh. Pathetic. ”Tell me what?“ I asked, my voice flat and expressionless, fed up of acting as though nothing was wrong. Tyler Lawrence, the delightful Penny’s equally infuriating cousin, stepped forward, a smug look on his face and a phone a phone in his hand. ”He’s dead.“ Unable to think, I didn’t respond; my brain wasn’t processing things properly, surely. Had he just said that-? ”Your little friend is dead. Sorry to break it to you but mum just texted me.“ ”She’s a nurse,“ piped up some ridiculous twat from somewhere in the room. Suddenly, it was deadly silent and every pair of eyes was upon me, waiting. Just waiting for the moment where I burst into tears or broke down. But I did not. I refused. ”Lying cretin,“ I growled, punching him as hard as I could. My fist connected with his jaw and, momentarily, I felt a small sense of relief. He’d deserved that. He really did. ”Florence-Anne Chaplin!“ I froze; they hadn’t gone quiet in anticipation of my reaction. Sir had arrived. Guiltily, I turned around, prepared for the punishment I would surely receive. Confused, he narrowed his eyes. ”Can you go to the staffroom, please?“ I tilted my head to one side, a little shocked. ”But, sir-“ ”Go. I’ll come and have a word in a minute.“ Swallowing the bile trapped in my throat, I shot Tyler one final look of disgust and stormed from the room, unable to believe that I was going to get the brunt of the rant and the punishment when it was his fault. Yet another example of how life wasn’t fair, I thought, as I made my way down the corridor toward the staffroom. It was unbelievable. I hadn’t even managed two minutes; how could I have even thought about seeing it through until the end of the day with them being in the same room? They were loathsome. Truly revolting. Everything was a joke to them. Sam’s life was a joke to them. It was sickening. They made me sick. How could they even consider doing what they had done? Even if it was true. Jesus Christ. What if it was true? Sam might be dead. Frustrated yet again, I kicked the staffroom door shut behind me, not caring if there was someone there to see me. I kicked and kicked and kicked and kicked and I punched and punched and punched wildly. I’d fooled myself into thinking that I could cope, that I could just treat it like another day of school, but, as always, I’d been wrong. Finally, I admitted to myself just how shitty things were and it annoyed me how powerless I really was. Exhausted, I collapsed against the wall, slumping to the floor. ”You lasted longer than I did, I see.“ I looked up. ”Spence?“ His face appeared over the back of the sofa, battered and bruised. ”Hey, Flo.“ ”What the hell have you been doing?“ He smiled cheekily, wincing. ”The same as you, I believe.“ ”I highly doubt that,“ raising my eyebrow, I shook my head. ”I think you’ll find that I’ve been the one throwing the punches, not acting the punching bag, thank you very much.“ Laughing, he laid back down. ”I meant defending Sam but I’ll have you know that I threw a few punches of my own too.“ ”Yeah, you’re bleeding quite a lot.“ I said sympathetically, forgetting how mad I was supposed to be at him. ”Should see the other guy.“ Shrugging, he mumbled something else to himself but I didn’t ask what. I handed him a tissue from my bag. ”Did they tell you that Sam was-?“ He nodded before I’d even finished the sentence. ”It’s a f*ing lie, Flo; don’t believe it for a second. They’ve been planning it all bloody morning.“ ”But, what if it’s-?“ ”No. Don’t even say it.“ ”What if it’s true?“ I forced the words out quickly; they left a bitter taste in my mouth. Distressed, Spencer looked at me in disbelief. ”It can’t be, okay? It just can’t be over.“ Apparently, the image of Sam lying lifeless in a mortuary was too vivid for him too. Just then, suddenly, Mr Evans walked in, looking flustered and upset. ”I’m so sorry, Florence, I really am; what they did was inexcusable and I promise that they will be punished accordingly because it’s wrong what they did. It’s just wrong.“ It was then that I realised that he’d not sent me out of the room because I was in trouble but, instead, because I was the only one not in trouble. It was clearly easier to expel one person from a classroom than just under thirty people. Smiling awkwardly, I ran a hand through my hair, ”I’m sorry that I punched him, sir.“ Chuckling, he shrugged. ”I would have done the same although, personally, I’d keep practising because it did not quite have the desired effect, I fear.“ That made Spencer laugh and I threw him a withering look; at least I wasn’t bleeding like I was a fountain. Mr Evans turned to him, smiling. ”Oh yeah, are you okay? Miss Bates told me what happened and it sounds like it was quite a good show, to be honest.“ Amused, I bit my lip, shaking my head in amazement. ”For a religion teacher, you sure are accepting of violence; shouldn’t you be preaching some Buddha to us both right now?“ ”They deserved it. Pure and simple. Seriously, they really did – it’s despicable, what they said, and I just wish that I could have been a little more proactive but I had no idea; I feel awful.“ Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up at odd angles, and pushed his glasses up his nose, thoughtfully. ”Although, I suppose, if anyone asks, tell them that I was really disapproving and gave you a lecture about the merits of peaceful protest, right?“ Spencer and I both nodded, grinning. ”Great! Well, uh,“ Mr Evans stood, ”I’ve got a class full of morons to teach but you two can just stay here until the end of the day, okay? I feel as though you’ve both earned a free period or two.“ Flashing us a kind smile, he returned to his classroom, leaving Spencer and myself a little bit speechless. I’d always liked Mr Evans; as a teacher, he was patient and unassuming but, in that moment, I realised that he was a genuinely awesome man. He’d earned more than just a few Brownie points. ”I told you that he was nice,“ I whispered at last. Spencer laughed, ”only ‘cause you fancy him.“ ”Uh, okay, no. That’s not true.“ He laughed even harder but then stopped suddenly, holding his head. ”Yeah, that hurts.“ ”We need to go to the hospital, Spence.“ ”I don’t think that it’s that bad.“ ”That’s not what I meant.“ He sighed. ”I know what you meant.“ No matter how he tried to convince me otherwise, their words haunted me. He’s dead. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would be hearing that sentence again. For real. Soon. I was scared; petrified, in fact. I needed to find out for myself. I didn’t want to rely on rumours and hearsay. I needed to know. I needed to prove myself wrong. ”Woah, watch it,“ the concern in Spencer’s voice brought me back. ”Huh?“ ”I said, watch it.“ he nodded toward my wrist and I caught myself scratching. Oh God, no. Biting my lip to stop myself from screaming, I quickly sat on both of my hands, my heart thumping in my chest. That was how it started last time, scratching, and I’d promised Sam, I’d promised him, that I’d never go back. I wasn’t about to let him down. Never. ”Flo, are you okay?“ I looked at him. ”I don’t know.“ I answered truthfully. ”I really don’t know.“ Stubbornly, I refused to hug him as his open arms suggested, remembering that I was supposed to be furious with him, and, instead, pulled my knees up under my chin, hugging my shins with my right arm and chewing the nails on my left. ”How are you doing it?“ ”Doing what?“ ”Acting as though it’s not your fault.“ ”Florence, it’s not acting. Do you really believe that I’d give my best friend pills when it was blatantly obvious as to what he’d probably end up doing with them?“ Shrugging, I tugged at a hangnail on my thumb. ”Your name was on the label though. Jablonski, right? It had to be you.“ ”There’s more than just me with that last name.“ I snorted. ”Yeah, because your mum and dad would give a fifteen year old medication, wouldn’t they?“ Irritated, he hid his head in his hands. ”I cannot believe that I have to spell this out for you.“ I didn’t say anything. ”My brother was in jail for dealing drugs; does that help?“ ”What does that have to do with anything?“ Exhaling in exasperation, Spencer massaged his temples. ”Philip’s here. He’s in my house. He’s not in jail anymore. The other night, he just arrived, out of the blue; even mum and dad weren’t expecting him, that’s why you had to leave, but, he’d been in jail for dealing drugs. It was him, Flo; definitely not me but him.“ For a minute, I didn’t react at all as the information sank in. ”Oh my God,“ I slapped my hand across my mouth, my eyes widening. ”Spence, I’m... I didn’t... it’s... what... no, I’m sorry, okay; I’m so sorry.“ ”I’d never hurt him. You’ve got to understand.“ Nodding, I could feel my cheeks burning. All I had done all day was accuse him, accuse him of pretty much killing our best friend, and he’d been innocent. Totally innocent. I was a horrible person. Suddenly, his arms were around me and I was sobbing into his chest. ”I’m sorry.“ It was stupid and not enough but it was all that I could say. ”I’m sorry.“ ”We’re going to go to that hospital tonight and put all of this behind us because it has to end, Flo; it has to end.“

The journey to the hospital was difficult. Nikki sat in the front seat, talking with her mum, complaining about the way Spencer and I had been treated, whilst the rest of us sat in the back, in silence, not really listening. Resting her head on his shoulder, Kathy held on tightly to Spencer’s hand and he stared out of the widow, his eyes glazed over. All I could think about was how the bruises beginning to form around his eyes looked exactly like Sam’s had when he’d tried to stand up for me, how much I wanted to hold Sam’s hand and how we all wouldn’t have fitted into the car if it wasn’t Sam we were visiting but someone else entirely. As selfish as it seemed, I just wanted to get it over and done with, which probably wasn’t how I was supposed to feel. I didn’t know what I would see lying in that hospital bed but I did know it wouldn’t be the Sam that I wanted – he was gone, for now at least, I wondered if I’d, if we’d, ever get him back. I really hoped so; it was frightening how he’d changed and how little I recognised him. I missed his smile. His real smile, the floppy, lopsided smiled that was contagious and made his eyes light up; the smile that made me feel safe. To be honest, it wasn’t just his smile that I missed. Listing everything would take too long so, let’s put it this way, I just missed him. I missed my best friend whom I loved more than anything else. Even more than myself. So, I closed my eyes and prayed. I was desperate. - The minute the receptionist saw Spencer’s face, she sighed the sigh of a woman nearing the end of her shift. ”Sir, you need to go to A and E, if-“ Rolling his eyes, he shook his head; too many members of staff had already told him the same thing. ”Sorry but I’m looking for a Samuel Smith? I was told that you could help us. He was admitted last night.“ ”But, sir, you’re-“ ”Samuel Smith.“ he fixed her with his most serious look. ”We’re just here for him.“ Reluctantly, she turned to her computer. ”Samuel Smith?“ ”Yes, ma’am.“ Spencer confirmed, his grip of the desk tightening to the point where his knuckles were turning white. Instinctively, Kathy stepped forward and slipped an arm around his waist. He didn’t move. Nikki and I flanked them, waiting. Waiting to hear what we all feared. ”Fifth floor.“ Spencer’s rigid body suddenly relaxed and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief. ”Can you tell us how he is?“ I whispered, my voice hoarse and croaky. The woman shrugged. ”I’m sorry, dear. All it says is that he’s on the fifth floor.“ Forcing a smile, we thanked her, making our way to the staircase. He was alive. That was all that mattered. - When we reached the right floor, Spencer went through an almost identical conversation with an equally tired looking receptionist there too, only with a lot more gritting of teeth and clenching of fists; we were a bag of nerves, not just him but all of us, and it was starting to show and the staff, although well-meaning, weren’t really helping matters. In fact, Nikki mumbled constantly, they were almost making things worse. We were told to take a seat. Everywhere seemed just a little too... nice for it to be a place where people died daily; it was horrible, stand there and knowing that someone, somewhere in the same building as you, was barely holding onto life. It was even worse when I allowed myself to think that it might be Sam. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him like that; Tyler Lawrence and his bastard cronies had planted the seed of doubt and it was beginning to take root. Like Mr Evans had said, it was despicable. Why would someone take pleasure in saying those kinds of things? The next time I saw them, I was going to do more than just punch them in the face; if I had my way, the chances of him having children in the future would be severely decreased, to say the least. He was just as bad as his precious and oh so pretentious cousin. Eventually, a doctor arrived. ”You’re here to see Sam?“ We nodded, holding on tightly to one another. ”Follow me.“ We looked at each other, a little bit lost, and shuffled after him. The corridors were never ending and identical, like a labyrinth. Or, they may have just felt that way. Off-white linoleum floor tiles, ironic sickly green painted walls, worried faces, hurrying nurses, pained patients, dim lighting; I hated it all. I hated what it all meant. Mrs Smith spotted us first. Rising to her feet, she strode toward me, ignoring everyone else completely. ”You,“ she spat, jabbing my chest with a long index finger, ”I told you that I wanted you out of Sam’s life.“ She looked so tired; I wondered if she had slept at all since I had last seen her. Swallowing my concern, I cleared my throat. ”Well, uh, I am a firm believer in patient knows best so, uh,“ as I stumbled over my words blindly, I could feel the little bravery that I’d managed to uncover slowly slip away. ”Has anyone actually asked Sam what he wants?“ thankfully, Spencer interjected before I began to flounder. Shocked, I think that she finally noticed the state of Spencer’s face and, caught off-guard, the words she sought failed to flow; perhaps she realised that he had been defending her son. I hoped she did. ”It’s our opinion that my brother is not in the right frame of mind to make his own decisions.“ Before it even registered in my brain who had spoke, I was scoffing. ”Bullshit.“ I announced, almost proudly, ”that’s a shedload of bullshit, if I ever heard it.“ Michael appeared beside his mother. ”Is that a technical term?“ Fuming yet again, I clenched my fists, kicking myself for even opening my mouth. ”You have no right to tell him,“ I pointed to the room that we were stood outside, ”that he can’t make his own decisions. Absolutely no right. You don’t know what he’s been through, how tough it’s been for him; it was always going to end badly, that much we should accept, it was just a matter of time.“ ”Is that your professional opinion?“ sarcastically, he cocked his head to one side, raising a conceited eyebrow. ”I am in a damn site better position to make a judgement on this situation than you are!“ I practically roared, enraged by his attitude. ”At least I have had the decency to be there for him and to at least try to help, if I could at all.“ ”Oh that’s rich; does teach people to self-harm count as helping people nowadays?“ My heart almost stopped. Self-consciously, I pulled at the sleeves of my jumper, my bravado stripped. ”He... he told you?“ Beside me, Spencer, Kathy and Nikki all stared at me, confused by my revelation. I didn’t even consider stopping to explain. ”Did he tell you?“ Smug, Michael shrugged. Sam would take any secret of mine, or anyone’s for that matter, to his grave, if we asked him; I snorted, shaking my head in disgust. ”Lucky guess.“ It wasn’t a question but a statement. He simply shrugged again. ”Perhaps.“ ”Fabulous,“ a bitter taste filled my mouth. ”Absolutely bloody fabulous.“ It had been a guess; an educated guess, perhaps, but a guess nonetheless and I’d given him the confirmation that he wanted. Stupid, I thought, glaring at him through gritted teeth, so stupid. That one slip, by not denying it, I’d given the lawyer everything he needed to make his case. From the look in his eyes, my confession had been practically perfect. Looming over me, he cast a foreboding shadow. ”The last thing that my brother needs right now is a self-harming busybody who can’t leave people be.“ Menacingly, he stooped down so that he was looking directly into my eyes; I could see a flicker of pleasure in his own every time a word left his mouth. He’d been crafting this monologue all day. ”Allow me to reiterate what my mother told you last night, get the hell out of my brother’s life; I want you as far away from him as is humanly possible because, and this is my professional opinion, the last thing that my brother needs right now is you, Florence-Anne Chaplin, so run along. He doesn’t need you.“ Smirking to himself, he straightened up, as though he were some sort of modern day Atticus Finch. Stunned by Michael’s vindictive speech, no one moved. ”Florence Chaplin?“ Everyone’s heads whipped around so suddenly that they could have been ripped from their necks. Emerging from Sam’s room was a nurse; I wasn’t sure if she’d overheard the whole altercation but she had a concerned look on her face that seemed to suggest that she’s heard more than she’d intended to. Wiping at my eyes, I nodded. ”Yeah, that’s me.“ She smiled. ”He’s been asking for you all day; since he woke up, in fact. He’ll be thrilled to see you.“ I froze. ”Really?“ My voice had been reduced to less than a whisper as my throat began to close up. ”Honestly?“ Chuckling to herself, she nodded. ”Yeah, it’s actually started getting a little annoying.“ ”That’s Sam alright.“ chimed in Spencer, the relief in his voice palpable. ”Yep,“ I laughed. ”So,“ the nurse smiled, ”do you want to see him?“ Biting my lip, I faced Spencer, Nikki and Kathy and shrugged. ”Well?“ Kathy smirked. ”I think she just means you. You’re the one that he wants to see. He wants to see you, Flo. We’re just happy that he’s okay.“ Beside her, the others nodded in agreement. ”Just do it. Tell him that we want him to get better soon, yeah?“ Grateful, I smiled. ”Thank you,“ I mouthed to them, ”thank you.“ ”No, wait,“ as I turned back toward the nurse, Michael grabbed my wrist, sending a shiver down my spine. ”I’m not allowing this; whether he wants to see you or not, I’m not letting you to go in there.“ ”And why not?“ definitely, I ripped my hand away from his grasp. ”Why the heck not?“ ”Because it’s your fault,“ he roared, pushing his way into my face and past Spencer. ”Because it’s your fault.“ Suddenly, he reached up and grabbed me about the face, yanking my head toward the room so that I was staring through the window. ”Look at him, f*ing look at him, and try to convince me that you don’t even feel a little bit guilty.“ From his hospital bed, Sam waved at me weakly, trying to flash me a reassuring smile and inviting me in. ”No,“ I whispered, backing away, ”I can’t... I just can’t.“ Suddenly, I was running back down the corridor and toward where we had come from; pushing past Spencer and Kathy, I noticed that, although she tried to follow me, he held her back. He knew that this was something that I had to work through by myself. ”Bailing on him again? You’re right, you’re such a marvellous friend.“ Michael’s voice followed me, arrogant and mocking. I didn’t look back. - The hospital cafeteria was empty except for the woman behind the counter and a medical student who looked as though he was ready to fall into the cup of coffee that he was cradling. As I walked past, he nodded in greeting and pointed at his pile of paperwork by way of explanation; politely, I smiled sympathetically. I took a seat by a window and collapsed into it, drained. Even though I knew that I’d done all that I could, why did I accept that Sam’s attempted suicide was my fault? Why did it feel like it was? I was so confused. ”Want anything, love?“ the woman called over, kindly, sensing, perhaps, that I needed a way to kill time. Counting the coins in my pocket, I scanned the list. ”Erm... black coffee, please.“ ”Sure thing, honey.“ All I’d wanted all day was to see him, to talk to him and touch him but, when it came down to it, I couldn’t. When I had seen him, I physically couldn’t bring myself to walk into that room and sit down next to him. Something was stopping me and I couldn’t figure out what it could be. It wasn’t that the Smith family blamed me, I hoped, because, if it was, that would mean I would only be able to see him when they both forgave me; I couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. Over at the other occupied table, the man studied his documents, sipping his coffee and clicking the end of his pen, as if deliberating something important. I wondered who his patients were or if I knew any of them or if any of them would walk out of here alive. I wondered how they got here, to the hospital; was it a motorcycle crash, heart failure, pregnancy, a broken limb or cancer? I wondered how they felt, not the pain, but the actual emotions; regret, helplessness, despair, sadness? Or joy, relief, pride? Then, I wondered about him, the medical student; how did he cope working in a hospital where, sometimes, he would be the only difference between life and death? Did he sleep well at night with that thought in his mind or did he lie awake? Looking out of the window, I noticed the tell tale spots of rain on the pane and the menacing grey clouds that signalled the beginnings of a storm. Pathetic fallacy. It was a literary technique that Shakespeare used a lot, like in Macbeth with the witches; it was where he used the weather to reflect the mood of the scene. A storm always meant turbulence or uncertainty; sometimes even, it meant death. Great, I thought bitterly, clenching my fist. Just what we needed. My mind was all over the place, I was tired and upset and all I really wanted was to curl into a ball under my duvet and sob; Michael had really gotten to me. Why did he hate me? Our first meeting had lasted no more than ten minutes, we’d barely exchanged a dozen words and yet, somehow, he’d made up his mind about me; I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to change it either. For some reason, it mattered; it mattered what Michael thought about me and I hated that. Approval was not something that I usually pined for but, from Michael, I needed it. Even just a little bit. Perhaps it was because he was Sam’s brother; I was certain that that’s what a professional would tell me. Pfft... whatever. A polystyrene cup of coffee appeared in front of me. ”You look like you need to talk.“ Looking up, the woman wore a serious expression so I did not protest when she took a seat. ”I don’t know what to say.“ ”Well, let’s start with why you’re here; how’s that, dear?“ I shook my head. ”No, I mean I don’t know what to say to him. I look at him and I think of all the things that I want to say but none of it seems quite right.“ Frowning to myself, I wrapped my hands around the cup. ”Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.“ Sweetly, she smiled at me. ”No, no, don’t apologise.“ Cocking her head to one side, she studied my face. ”Why do you think that is? Why does nothing seem right to you?“ Staring at my cup, I shrugged. ”He tried to kill himself; what am I supposed to say?“ ”Whatever you want to, he’s still your friend.“ ”But it’s meant to be the other way round!“ I snapped. ”It always was. This is all wrong.“ She pursed her lips. ”I feel as though I’m missing something.“ Sighing, I pushed my hair behind my ears. ”Sam saved my life and I’m supposed to just be able to walk in there and look him in the eye when I couldn’t do the same for him? It’s not right and I hate it. It was meant to be the other way round.“ Exasperated, I sat back in my chair. ”I thought, maybe, it might have been because I couldn’t forgive him but... I don’t know... it’s because I can’t forgive myself. I let him down and he won’t admit that, I know he won’t because he’s stubborn that way, so he’ll never accept an apology from me. I’m a shit friend.“ ”No, you’re not-“ ”Yes, I am! He’s in a hospital bed and I’m still thinking about myself! I’m childish and selfish and I hate myself for it but all I’ve thought about all day is how horrible it would be for me if he died and how I would be left behind. I – I don’t deserve a friend like him.“ Wringing my hands together, I shrugged. ”He deserves someone so much more.... more... He deserves someone so much more than me.“ She placed her hand over mine, making me stop. ”But, right now, I think that you’re exactly what he needs.“ Sensing that I was going to protest, she pushed on before I could open my mouth. ”Think about it; you know how he feels, if he’s saved you then you must have been in a similar position before. He’s alone and he needs someone. Not just anyone. He needs someone who he can talk to, really talk to,“ she smiled. ”Someone who loves him and whom he loves.“ ”And you think that that someone is me?“ ”Yeah, I do.“ ”How can you be so sure?“ ”Because you wouldn’t be so upset about this, if you didn’t care as much as you do.“ ”Oh.“ She nodded. ”Yeah. You ready?“ Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard. ”But his brother-“ ”I’ll get you an escort, okay honey?“ Grinning, she shook her head and swivelled her body on her chair. ”Luke?“ The tired medical student looked up suddenly, as though he’d been awoken from an impromptu nap. ”Yeah?“ She smiled at him sweetly. ”You got a minute?“ For a moment, he glanced at the paperwork that surrounded him but then rose to his feet, running a hand through his hair. ”Why not,“ he laughed, ”how can I be of service?“ ”You’re such a gentleman, dear; would you be so kind as to take this young lady to her friend? It’s pretty important.“ ”Sure, yeah, of course,“ Luke looked at me, holding out a hand. ”Dr Luke Langdon.“ Doctor? I thought. Whoops, someone looks younger than they are. ”Hi,“ I smiled, shaking his outstretched hand, ”I’m Florence Chaplin.“ He paused momentarily. ”Don’t tell me that you’re the Florence Chaplin?“ ”Sorry?“ ”Samuel Smith’s friend?“ I nodded cautiously. ”Umm... yeah.“ ”He’s not stopped talking about you all day; he’s one of my patients, you see.“ ”Oh, I see.“ So the nurse hadn’t been lying after all; he really did want to see me. Beside me, the woman squeezed my hand as if to say I-told-you-so. ”The coffee is on the house.“ Locking eyes with her, I gave her possibly one of the most sincere looks I’d ever given. ”Thank you.“ She nodded. It wasn’t just about coffee. There needed to be more people like her in the world. ”You ready?“ Luke asked, softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”Let’s go.“

Suddenly, I felt more relaxed than I had since I first entered the hospital; I wasn’t sure if that was because of the kind woman or the fact that Luke seemed to be radiating a sort of aura of calm. Either way, I appreciated them both; without them, I would have been halfway home and I’d have abandoned Sam. That would have been yet more guilt for me to bear. ”How is he?“ I asked as we wound or way back through the corridors, realising that, somehow, I still hadn’t gotten an answer to the most basic of questions.

”Absolutely brilliantly, to be honest, all things considered. He’s a fighter, I can tell.“ He shook his head in amazement, as I smiled to myself. ”I mean, well, the amount of crap in his system was lethal, he shouldn’t have made it through the night, but nope, he’s up and talking which is truly remarkable.“

”That’s Sam alright.“

”He speaks highly of you, y’know?“ Glancing at me, Luke caught a glimpse of my cheeks flushing before I hid my face behind my hair; he laughed and continued. ”No but seriously, I can tell you mean a lot to him. You’ve never let him down, by the sounds of things. You’ve always come through for him, especially with his dad and everything.“

I shrugged. ”Yeah, well, his death was pretty sudden, I don’t think anyone really saw it coming.“

”Sudden?“

Sensing the confusion in his voice, I nodded in confirmation. ”Yeah, it was really out of the blue.“

Luke was frowning by this point. ”Florence, Sam’s dad died of cancer; it can’t have been sudden.“

I froze. ”But-“ Shocked, I felt my knees go weak. ”Cancer?“

Propping me up, Luke led me to one of the seats by the side of the corridor. ”Okay, okay, let’s just take a breather for a minute.“

I couldn’t believe it. ”Cancer?“ That was horrendous; Sam had gone through all of that with no one to really talk to, yet again. Words failed me as I sat there, my head in my hands, trying to come to terms with what it meant. Sam had literally spent, what, months? Sam had spent months watching his father fade away as he fought a battle with his body that that would only have one outcome in the end. I couldn’t even begin to conceive how difficult that had been for him. Had he wanted to do it by himself? Had he been asked to keep it a secret from us? I felt as though I’d let him down for the one millionth time. So many revelations in one day, I thought; how many more could I handle? I mean, did Sam have an increased chance of developing the same cancer? How scared must he feel? His father’s end, the one he’d witnessed, could be his in just a few years. A few precious years.

My problems suddenly felt woefully trivial in comparison.

I took a deep breath. ”C’mon, I need to see him.“

”Florence, I feel as though, perhaps, I’ve overstepped a mark or something, did Sam not tell you?“

”No,“ I said, bluntly. ”No he didn’t but that was his choice and I’ve got to respect that.“

Luke nodded. ”You’re a good friend.“

Smiling, I shrugged. ”I learnt from the best.“
-

By the time we finally got back to Sam’s room, Michael had gone, nowhere to be seen. Mrs Smith stood by the doorway, guarding her son. Leaning against the wall opposite her, Spencer flashed me a supportive grin which I returned, grateful. Nikki and Kathy sat side by side on the awkward plastic chairs, the former’s head rested on the other’s shoulder; both of them smiled as I approached.

Immediately, I stepped passed Luke and toward Mrs Smith. ”I don’t know what you think of me right now and, to be quite honest, I don’t really care because you should by now that your son means a heck of a lot to me therefore I would never do anything to hurt him, if I could help it. There are some things that you cannot protect him from but I am one thing that he does not need protection from because, to me, his life has more value than my own. I wouldn’t be half the person that I am without him; heck, I’d probably still be the lonely outcast getting paint thrown at her had I not met him. Your son is someone to be proud of and I hope you recognise that; he makes mistakes, everyone does, but his heart’s in the right place and that’s the most important thing.“ I took a breath. ”You’ve got to let me see him, please.“

Mrs Smith looked me in the eye, sending a shiver down my spine. ”Spencer told me everything about his brother and the drugs,“ surprised, I tried to catch his eye but Mrs Smith ploughed on, ”so I would like to apologise, about accusing you, for both my actions and for Michael’s, for everything. We were wrong. You saved my son’s life and, for that, we should be thanking you, not making you feel guilty.“ She took my hand, ”I’m sorry, Florence; I truly am.“

”No, it’s okay, I understand; you were worried and wanted to make sense of it. It’s fine.“ I smiled kindly and shrugged, trying to show that, although I was hurt, Sam came first.

”It’s not fine at all, I accused you of something awful, so I am the last person who should stop you from seeing him; who am I to stand in your way?“

”His mother?“ I offered, laughing. ”You only want what’s best for him.“

”True and, right now, I’m pretty sure that that is you,“ indicating that I should enter, she stepped aside, giving me access to the door. ”Go for it.“

Trying to calm myself, I exhaled and knocked. ”Thank you,“ I told Mrs Smith, taking hold of the handle. Cautiously, I peered around the door. ”Hey, you’ve got a visitor.“


Awkwardly, Sam shifted himself around in bed so that he was facing me, his eyes lighting up suddenly so that they resembled the eager green pair that I remembered. ”Where the heck have you been?“

There was almost a scolding tone in his voice so I laughed, shrugging. ”I don’t know, just around.“

I smiled, beckoning me toward him. ”I’m sure,“ carefully, he sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. ”Now, c’mon, I want a bloody hug, okay?“

”I’m sure I can manage that.“ Hardly hesitating, I hastened to him, wrapping my arms around him as I had longed to all day. He winced as I did so but, when I tried to pull away, not wanting to hurt him, he shook his head stubbornly, pulling me back in and burying his head in my shoulder. I smiled. It was Sam. It was properly Sam; my Sam, not the emotionally stunted vampire-like body double that he’d been replaced with for the past month. My Sam. My lovely Sam. Despite how angry and betrayed I’d felt earlier, I was so happy to have him back.

I didn’t want to let go but, eventually, we did and he fell back into bed, holding on tightly to my hand. ”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.“ he repeated over and over and over again.

Shaking my head, I put my free hand over his mouth. ”No, stop; there’s no need.“

”But-“

”No need, Sam, honest.“

”To be honest, I thought you’d be mad.“ he whispered, tracing patterns on my palm and not meeting my eyes.

”I am,“ I smiled, ”furious, in fact, but I’m also happy, really happy, so let’s focus on that bit right now, okay?“ softly, I kissed him on the cheek. ”I’m just so happy that you’re alive, Sam.“

”Me too.“

And there it was; the acknowledgement that he hadn’t really wanted this but was glad for it. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the bandages on each of his wrists, stretching all the way up his forearm; the fact that I knew what they concealed made me feel sick to my stomach. Sam was now, literally, scared for life and he had to live with the knowledge that he’d done it to himself. That was the worst bit.

Carefully, he shuffled backward and patted the empty space next to him. ”Please?“

Laughing, I slipped off my shoes and slid under the covers. ”You do realise that we’re probably going to get told off when the doctors come in, right?“

Sam shrugged. ”They can’t shout at me. I’m a patient.“

I rolled my eyes. ”I’m not too sure that that’ll wash, to be honest.“ Studying his face, I bit my lip. ”How are you feeling?“

Sighing, he pursed his lips. ”If I hear that one more time-“

”I’m sorry,“ I cringed, realising how quickly that must have gotten old, ”I didn’t think.“

He chuckled to himself, pushing my hair behind my ears. ”It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.“

”But, seriously, how are you?“

”Ache-y, embarrassed and sore but, I’m telling you, this stuff is the best hangover cure that you’ll ever find.“ smiling, he indicated the IV line in his left arm and I shook my head, disapprovingly. ”Last night was rough, I’ll admit, but I’m okay now so that’s what I’m thankful for.“ he kissed me on the cheek. ”I don’t know if I imagined it or not but I remember seeing your face... you saved me.“

I nodded, blushing. ”So, yeah, you owe me, okay?“

He laughed. ”I owe you for more than just that.“

No, I wanted to tell him; no, I was only joking, you owe me nothing, it’s the other way round. Instead though, I just let him wrap his arms around me gingerly as he tried not to let his wrists and forearm rub against anything.

”You got me through last night,“ he continued, resting his chin on the top of my head as I buried my head in his chest. ”I was just lying there as they fixed me up and it felt like me whole body was burning and I just kept vomiting and vomiting, even though they’d already emptied my stomach.“ I could feel his jaw clench as he remembered and I realised that, as hard as it was for me to hear, it must have been ten times harder for him to recall. ”Then, in the back of my head, I started thinking about you and how... well, I just... I felt better after that, y’know?“

”Glad to be of assistance.“

Sighing, he stroked the side of my face with a gentle index finger. ”You don’t believe me.“

I bit my lip, sitting up carefully. ”Sam, of course I believe you; it’s just...“

”Yeah?“ mirroring me, he propped himself up on one elbow, staring at me intently.

”I thought that this would be the other way round. To me, this just feels wrong and I wish I could change it.“ I pulled my sleeves down to cover my hands. ”I’m meant to be the idiot in the hospital bed, okay? It’s just the way it’s meant to be.“

Frustrated, he groaned. ”We cannot keep coming back to this place, Flo; it’s not conducive to anything.“

”I know,“ I sighed, ”but I can’t help it.“

”Just keep swimming.“

Confused, I raised an eyebrow. ”Sorry?“

”That’s life. You can’t keep looking back all of the time; look to the future, not the past.“

”I know what it means,“ trying not to smiled, I pulled my knees up to my chest. ”I mean, why say that?“

”Well, I could ask you the same thing.“ Sam took one of my hands in his and pushed back my sleeve; I tried to pull away but he held on tightly. ”I knew that you wouldn’t just accept that it was a bad decision on my behalf, Flo, I knew that you’d have some sort of guilt swimming round in that head of yours because that’s just who you are but you need to stop.“ Softly, he kissed each of my scars. ”Do you remember the last time that I did this?“

Blushing, I nodded. ”Of course.“

”I meant every word that I said that night. Every single one. You’re beautiful, Florence-Anne Chaplin. Inside and out.“

I shook my head. ”No Sam, I’m not.“

Sighing, he fell back onto the pillows. ”A great man once said that trying to convince a woman that she’s beautiful is an impossible task... maybe he was right.“

”Oh yeah?“ I smiled, rolling onto my stomach. ”And who said that?“

”Me, just now.“

Shaking my head, I laughed. ”A great man indeed.“ I meant it. Although he may not feel it, Sam was, to me, a great man and seeing his familiar spark slip back into conversation made my stomach tie itself in knots. He was back, or on his way back, but, either way, no more worrying about him constantly, I thought, making a pact with myself, only occasionally. No more mollycoddling and fussing or whatever you feel like something’s not right; don’t smother him.

Gently, I rested my hand on his chest, savouring the sensation of the steady rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled. Strange how something so simple and fundamental could bring someone such relief to witness. ”Since when did you follow the rugby?“ curious, I noticed the crest stitched onto his shirt; it was a Wales shirt. I’d never seen him wear it before.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed, not opening his eyes. ”It was dad’s.“ he bit his lower lip, thoughtfully, as though trying to deliberate as to how much to tell me. ”Sometimes, just sometimes, when I wear it, I can almost hear him shouting at the screen and telling me that he could do better himself... y’know?“

I nodded. He wore it for the same reason that I played old vinyls; to feel close to someone who seemed very far away, to try and maintain that connection that they’d had together. To try and forget the truth. ”Sam, I-“

”It was cancer, Flo. He died of cancer. He fought a battle with his own cells and he lost.“ His hand shuffled around at his side, searching for mine.

Immediately, I let his fingers intertwine with my own. ”Oh Sam.“

”He did it all alone as well. I couldn’t even... I couldn’t...“ his voice trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes.

Gently, I gave his hand a quick squeeze. ”Maybe he thought that he didn’t need to. Maybe he thought that the treatment would work and that nobody would need to know. I’m not making excuses for him but-“

Shaking his head, mouth set in a grave frown, Sam whispered, so quietly that I barely heard him, ”he didn’t go for treatment. He gave up.“

Shocked, I opened my mouth to comfort him but no words followed. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ”Oh,“ was all that I could manage and it didn’t sound very convincing. Suddenly, the reason for Sam’s depression and grief became very clear. It was more than just the fact that he’d lost his dad. When he said that he ‘gave up’, Sam didn’t just meant that he’d stopped fighting for his life but, also, it must have felt as though he’d stopped fighting for Sam too, for the chance to see his future. He’d been abandoned. How worthless, how unimportant, must Sam have felt following that? His future, his prospects, weren’t worth the hassle. In a way, it was yet more reinforcement for him that Michael was the golden boy; their father had been at Michael’s results day, graduation, first day of university and had shared the joy of hearing about his job at the firm but Sam would have none of that.

One could imagine how that would make someone feel rather shit about themselves.

”Hope,“ I offered, ”can be a very dangerous thing. Maybe he didn’t want to give you false hope; make you feel as though there was a chance when it would have only been in vain. Maybe he was just thinking of you.“

”Don’t, Flo. Don’t try and defend him. Please, I didn’t get to say goodbye because he didn’t let me.“

”But he was your dad.“

”Was being the keyword in that sentence.“

”Sam-“

”Flo, admit it. If he wanted to be, he’d still be here.“ The look in his eyes was intense and... sorrowful. He was broken.

I didn’t say anything; I didn’t know what to say. There was no way that I could comfort him when he was so set in his ways. Anything that I said would go in one ear and out of the other. He simply wouldn’t listen to me. If he thought that his dad had abandoned him, his dad had abandoned him. Tentatively, I shuffled closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. ”I’m sorry, Sam.“

I could feel him go tense beside me. ”He just left though, that’s what I can’t get over. Three months. He left for three months before he died. Pretended to go on a business trip when he was checking into a hospice because he was dying. I... it’s just... I don’t get any of this.“

His confusion was understandable, of course; his head must have been all over the place, so muddled and scrambled. Everything was so complicated that it must have been so difficult for him to make sense of; I doubted that, even now, he was told the whole story. ”Sam.“

Burying his head in my hair, he sighed. ”Yes, Flo?“

”It’s okay to cry sometimes, y’know?“

”I know.“

”Well, this may be considered one of those times.“

”I know.“


Then he broke down and sobbed.
-

Exhausted, Sam eventually fell asleep in my arms, his cheeks still wet with tears.

He’d been through a lot, a heck of a lot, but I knew that it was only the beginning. He wasn’t out of the woods yet; plenty of challenges lay ahead for the both of us. For all of us, in fact. It was important that we all pulled together because united we’d stand but divided we’d fall. Facing school again was going to be like a full on war, not just a battle, for each of us. So long as there were students like Tyler and Penny, it was never going to be easy.

We’d done it before though so we sure as hell were going to do it again; we weren’t the kind of people to just roll over and give in.

Just as I was carefully sliding myself out of the bed so as to not disturb Sam, Dr Langdon appeared at the door. ”That’s a little bit against hospital regulations.“

Smiling, I rolled my eyes, thinking about the warning that I’d jokily given Sam. ”I told him but he insisted.“

”Persistent little buggar, isn’t he?“

Nodding, I looked down at him. He looked so small and peaceful amongst the sheets. Almost fragile. ”He’s a fighter.“

”You can say that again,“ Luke jerked his head toward the corridor, ”but even fighter’s need their rest.“

”Of course,“ finally, I pressed my lips to Sam’s forehead and left, closing the door behind me.

The corridor was empty.

”They all went to the cafeteria,“ offered Luke by way of explanation. ”They wanted to give you two some privacy.“

I nodded. ”Maybe I should go join them.“

”Hold up,“ leaning against the wall, he studied my face. ”Any questions?“

”Just one; how long?“

He smiled wryly, as though he’d been expecting it all along. ”A week, two maximum, perhaps, before we think about sending him home.“

Confused, I narrowed my eyes. ”But you said he was doing well...?“

”Yeah, he is. Physically.“

”Oh,“ I could practically feel my stomach drop.

”There’s something going on, Florence. Something serious. He may insist that it was just a mistake but, not matter how you try and look at it, he tried to kill himself.“

”You think I don’t know that?“ I snapped, bitterly, before biting my tongue. ”Sorry, that was uncalled for.“

”It’s hard, I get it, but he needs to heal, to rest, and we need to figure out if there’s something that can be done to stop this maybe happening again; if there’s any help we can give him.“

”I can help him. His family and friends can help. We’re not just going to watch him throw his life away for a second time.“

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Luke sighed and it was then I wondered exactly how long he’d spent with Sam... saving him; he looked so tired, exhausted... the bags under his eyes... the uncompleted paperwork. ”I meant professional help.“

”Therapy?“

”If it comes to it, yes.“

I grimaced. ”He’s going to hate that.“

”Surely a little humiliation is worth it though?“

”I’m not too sure he’ll see it that way.“

Luke shrugged, ”there’s only so much we can do for him.“

The rest is up to you, I filled in the blanks for myself. Sadly, I looked through the window at Sam’s peaceful face.

There was a lot of work to do.

I didn’t see Sam again until after he was discharged but not by choice. Things got difficult and... hard. For both of us. At first, I’d figured the initial would be the hardest but I was wrong.

The second time, he was asleep so they wouldn’t let me stay because undisturbed sleep was becoming rare for him.

The third time, he was in therapy. Which sucked.

My final attempt was the one that really made sure that I got the message.

When I got there, the receptionist just waved me through, saying that the doctors were with him but that they wouldn’t be long. It had been over a week since we’d last spoken and I was kind of getting desperate for contact; Kathy said that I was beginning to display withdrawal symptoms. Hopefully, Luke had told me, he’d be released soon; everything was normal and he’d not caused any damage to his liver which had been the real worry. This was good news.

For the first time, things looked to be on the up.

I wasn’t happy, per say, but I was... not sad.

And that was good enough for me.

However, it wasn’t until I arrived at Sam’s room that I realised why the doctors wanted to see him. It was S-day. The day his stitches got taken out.

I stood by the door, hardly breathing, as I watched, a sadness washing over me.

Teeth bared in an ugly grimace and his nose wrinkled up, Sam looked on through half-closed eyes as the doctor worked.

I don’t think either of us had realised how bad it really was until that point. I mean, the amount of blood that there had been was a fair indication but even the most superficial of cuts can bleed for hours. What I was seeing though was something else entirely. Both his forearms were covered. From wrist to elbow. They would be with him forever. Sure, they may fade but he would carry each and every one of those scars with him for the rest of his life. Someday, he’d have to explain to his kids and grandkids, maybe even his great-grandkids, what they meant.

But first, he’d have to try and explain it to every single person at school who would ask, relentlessly, having heard about the kid who’d tried to top himself.

And then there was his mum. And Michael. And God only knows who else.

There was a hell of a lot of cuts and that meant a hell of a lot of stitches. When Sam winced for the one hundredth time, I decided that I couldn’t watch anymore.

Slowly backing away, I ran.

Again.

I saw a pattern emerging.
-

It was my fault. After everything, I was back to blaming myself for Sam’s actions. It was my fault.
-

This all started after I had told Sam about my own secret. I highly doubted that he would have done any of this if I hadn’t told him. He’d have found another way to cope or some other way to express his anger but it wouldn’t have ended this way.

I’d planted that seed, that idea, in his head.

Therefore, it was my fault.

Hidden deep under the duvet, still fully dressed, once again ruled by my ostrich tendencies, I kept turning it over and over in my head.

My fault. My responsibility. My guilt to bear.

I was a horrible person.

It didn’t matter how kind he was or how pleasantly he told me to stop being daft because I would blame myself anyway. You see, I figured I was so full of self-loathing and hatred that I was always looking for a way to express it and my best friend had tried to kill himself.

If that wasn’t an excuse for self-imposed isolation then I didn’t know what was.
-

He tried to ring my mobile twice from, what I could only imagine to be, the payphone down the hall.

Both times, I hung up when I heard his voice, despite the way my heart leapt when I realised who it was.

The long and the short of it was that, as much as I loved Sam, I’d hurt him or, more specifically, I’d caused him to hurt himself therefore he was better off without me. I wasn’t a good person. I didn’t deserve someone as wonderful as him and he deserved someone more than I would ever be.

Rejecting his third attempt at contact, I put my phone onto silent, turned over and fell asleep.

Or, tried to, at least.
-

The next day was a Saturday so I had a good excuse for lying in bed all morning and into the afternoon. On the principle that I was a teenager, I refused to move. Literally. I just laid there, ear buds in and music on. I left my room only to eat and relieve myself. I was barely able to stand my own company; the thought of being in the presence of other humans frightened me.

The one person I wanted to see, I was trying to distance myself from. I kept trying to remind myself that it was for the best but I couldn’t even bring myself to believe my own lies.

Everything was such a mess. Most of it was down to me.

Ignoring the constant sinking feeling in my stomach, I sighed and rolled over again.

”Stop wallowing in self-pity and get up. You’ve got a guest.“ Mum’s voice echoes in my ears. ”Now, make yourself presentable.“

Grunting, I stuffed my head under my pillow. ”I don’t want to see Sam.“

”Who said anything about Sam?“

Puzzled, I sat up.

Stood in the doorway, staring at the hinges so as to avert his gaze, was Spencer, hands in his pockets. ”Do we not check our mobiles anymore?“

I shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. ”I’m giving you ten minutes to do whatever girls do to make themselves pretty, okay? I’ve got orders to adhere to.“ He closed the door as he left.

Immediately, I reached for my phone. Sure enough, I could see why Spencer seemed so annoyed by my surprise at his arrival. There were several missed calls and unopened texts waiting for me. Before I could read them, a voice came from outside.

”Nine minutes and counting Flo, just saying.“
-

Lacing my shoes on the bottom step of the stairs, I complained for what was probably the millionth time. ”Tell me where we’re going, Jablonski, or I will brain you. I’m not in the mood for games.“

”This isn’t a game, Chaplin. This is a military operation that must be carried out with military precision.“

Glaring at the back of his head, I followed him out of the door, dragging my feet.

”You’ve got to walk faster than that. We’ve got a schedule to keep.“

”It’s Saturday,“ I moaned, ”I should be asleep.“

”But this is so much better than sleep.“

”Do you realise how much you promise, Jablonski? I now have very high expectations.“ He was lucky I was playing along; acting as though you’re in reasonably good spirits when you feel so goddamn awful was pretty difficult. ”Tell me where we’re going.“ Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I jogged so that I was walking in step with him.
He shook his head. ”Classified.“
”You take the meaning of the word ‘annoying’ to a whole new level, do you know that?“
”Oh, yes.“
-

There were, really, only four options as to where he was taking me; his own house, Sam’s, Kathy’s or Nikki’s. The fact that we were, in fact, walking the five miles to town just confirmed that but, just as we were reaching the point that would let me know as to our exact destination, Spencer stopped me and reached into his pocket, presenting me with a blindfold.

”You’re kidding, right?“

Grinning, he shook his head. ”You really don’t understand that everything is on a need-to-know-basis, do you?“ Carefully, he slipped the blindfold over my head and pulled it down over my eyes, spinning me counter-clockwise three times for good measure.

”If I fall, I am suing your arse.“

Tutting, Spencer took one of my hands in his and proceeded to drag me along the pavement.

I could only imagine the looks strangers were giving us.

For a minute or two, I simply stumbled constantly so much of the conversation consisted of ”you’re doing this on purpose now, Flo“ or ”Jesus Christ, woman down“ so, until I managed to shake my disorientation, we didn’t actually have to say anything to each other but, eventually, I could feel us approaching the elephant in the room.

”So...“ Spencer began, his grip on my hand becoming vice-like.

”So indeed.“

”You used to...?“

”Yep.“

Somehow, I’d managed to avoid it since the big revelation by keeping the topic of conversation as far away from it as possible but, walking with Spencer, it felt okay; much less taboo. Probably because I couldn’t see his face. Also, Spencer was only one person. I don’t think I could handle the reactions of three people at once.

”And that’s the Earth moving secret that you were holding back?“

”Yep.“

”But you decided to tell him, in the end?“

”Obviously.“

”I’m glad.“

Confused, I tilted my head to one side, biting my lip. ”But look where it’s gotten us.“

”I’m shaking my head at you in disappointment right now, Flo, just a heads up.“

”I thought you might be but why?“

Suddenly, I felt a hand thwack me playfully about the ear. ”Because there are only so many ways that people can tell you that this whole sorry affair was not your fault in the slightest before it begins to get old.“

I sighed.

”Seriously, Flo, I’m glad you told him. Not even because it was Sam and he was desperate to help but because you told someone and that must have been hard for you to do. I’m glad that you finally gave yourself someone you could be utterly and completely honest with. You deserve that much.“

”Did you know or something?“ I smiled.

”I knew you were keeping something from us, we all did, but none of us really wanted to push you; there was much speculation as to what it might have been but it felt like something you had to decide to share.“

Yet more silence. ”Thank you.“ I gave his hand a quick squeeze. ”Just... thank you. All of you. For being so understanding. I know that I can be a little bit of a handful.“

”A little bit?“

”Okay, a lot of a bit. I really do appreciate what you lot put up with, you do realise that, right?“

Just then, Spencer stopped, pulling me in for a bear hug. ”See, we don’t just ‘put up with it’, Flo, we welcome it because you are our lot of a handful and we’re there for you, whenever you need us.“

I was glad that I was wearing a blindfold; at least he couldn’t see me tearing up.

Finally, we stopped and Spencer guided me to the door, taking off my blindfold and ringing the doorbell.

How predictable; it was Sam’s house. ”But-“

Slapping a hand over my mouth, Spencer held a finger to his lips, silencing me mid-sentence. ”Just go in.“

I shook my head. ”Can’t.“ I mumbled from beneath my gag.

”Well, you’ve got to.“

Again, I shook my head.

Exasperated, Spencer closed his eyes, throwing his head back to the sky. ”Don’t be like this, Flo. In all seriousness, how long do you think this whole cutting Sam out of your life thing’ll last? Because we’ve all figured out that that’s what this is. You need each other, that much you’ve both readily admitted, so just lose the bullshit attitude and get yourself in there.“

I stared at him, wide-eyed.

”He’s spent so much time planning this, getting it perfect, for you, so, please, just do it. It means a lot to him. It’s what he’s been going to all those goddamn therapy sessions for, no complaints or anything, just so her could get to this day a little bit faster.“ Slowly, he removed his hand from my mouth. ”I’m begging you, Flo.“ Then, he simply walked away, not looking back, knowing that I would make the right choice.

Exhaling nervously, I placed my hand on the door handle and, reluctantly, turned it, entering the house. God, what a difference a week made.

”Wow,“ I gasped, my eyes filling up. Carefully, very carefully, I shut the door behind me, not wanting to create a draft.

The hallway was full of candles. Fat one, thin ones, tall ones, short ones, scented ones and non; they lines the walls and shelves, creating a pathway to the living room, each one aflame.

It was beautiful. Everywhere just seemed so peaceful; the gentle glow of the candlelight appeared to simply radiate an aura of calm. It was mesmerising to behold. It was perfect. Candles were an obsession of mine or, to be more specific, fire was; it made me happy. I loved the way it moved and I loved how something so beautiful could be so dangerous. Sam had done this; Sam had searched out and gathered together the world’s largest candle collection for me. I could imagine him, giddy with excitement and that floppy smile on his face, going around and asking for candles; just like he always did, he’d worked his arse off for me. He was probably meant to be resting.

Hypnotised by the flames, I made my way down the make-shift runway, smiling to myself as I did so. I mean, I couldn’t stop it. The smile on my face. It just happened and I couldn’t get rid of it. Turns out, Sam had that affect on me; he just made me happy.

I heard the music before I even entered the living room. He’d planned every single detail. Grinning, I stuck my head around the door. ”This is my favourite song.“

Sam stood in the middle of the room, wearing an obviously new shirt, his hair still wet from his recent shower. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged. ”Really? Well, who’d have known?“

I bit my lip. Everyone has a favourite song, it’s just something that happens and you feel like you need to share this information to everyone, just so that they know, but then everyone has a favourite song, different to the first, that’s personal to them; it’s not necessary for the world and his mother to know that it’s the greatest song ever to be heard by the human race but it’s important that it exists. ”No but, seriously, this is my favourite song.“

He nodded, smiling sheepishly. ”I know.“ He held out a hand. ”May I have this dance?“

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. ”Of course.“ I took his hand, suddenly very aware of how clammy my own was. Carefully, he pulled me close, wrapping two arms around me, his hands settling on my waist, cradling my hips. Automatically, I threw mine around his neck so that I could run my fingers through his verging-on-too-long hair. Swaying to the music, we didn’t say a word. There was nothing that needed to be said. I could feel the beating of his heart beneath me as I rested my cheek against his chest. I could feel my own race as he pressed his lips to the crown of my head, resting his chin there.

It felt good. Really good.

Right then, in that moment, I was ecstatically happy. Nothing was going to ruin it; not even myself. To be honest, I don’t think I could have if I’d tried.

As the music gradually came to an end, Sam spun me around dramatically, a wide smile on his face. ”And you tell me you’ve got two left feet.“

I elbowed him sharply. ”You’re hardly Fred Astaire yourself.“

”I’ll tell you what though, I reckon I’m just as smooth.“ As he swallowed nervously, I realised what was going to happen next. Gingerly, he stooped down, running the back on his index finger along my cheek, sending shivers along the length of my spine. He leant in toward me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Hardly hesitating, I pushed myself up onto my tip-toes to meet him. Our lips met.

And there it was. That feeling of everything being perfect and nothing else mattering. A sense of euphoria washed over me. I loved him. I loved him. I loved him. I loved him. It was hardly an epiphany or some kind of great revelation but it was true. I loved him and it just felt right for it to be his lips pressed against mine. To be honest, I think it was plain to see that it had always been him.

Instinctively, my hands went to his neck again, weaving through his hair; I could feel his smile intensify as I curled a few strands around my index finger and I could not help but giggle.

”I love you Florence-Anne Chaplin.“ Our foreheads touching and lips just millimetres apart, Sam whispered it to me softly, his eyes still close. He said it so gently, as though it were a secret between the two of us.

”I love you too Samuel Ryan Smith.“ I replied, in the same hushed tone, a warm feeling spreading within me. It was surprising that, no matter how many times we said it, that phrase never failed to make me smile.

I think it was because I knew that we meant it.

”It’s always been you, Flo. It just... makes sense.“

”Perfect sense,“ I agreed because, well, it did. I couldn’t imagine doing this, any of this, with anyone else and imagining him with some other girl made me feel sick. I was his and he was mine. That’s just how it was. He would always be my first love. Nothing could change that. He’d certainly set the bar high.

”Hey,“ Sam brushed his lips against my forehead. ”I’ve got a surprise for you.“

”What?“

”I’ve got a surprise for you.“

Smiling, I sighed. ”Another one?“

”Yeah but, y’know, whatever.“

Punching him jokily, I stuck my tongue out. ”It’s just that I feel like a horrible person for not bringing you anything but Jablonski really didn’t give me much notice.“

”Oh yeah?“

”Ten minutes.“

Laughing, he kissed me again, picking me up as though I was nothing and carrying me over to the sofa. There, as he set me down, I noticed two mugs and a DVD case on the coffee table.

Oh my God.

Coffee and Finding Nemo. At last. As promised. How long ago since we first made those plans? How many months had passed since that day? It seemed like a lifetime had been and gone. Nearly everything was different. In many respects, hardly anything was the same but, as I curled up next to him under his duvet, it really didn’t matter. It was just us, coffee and an ocean’s worth of fictional characters.

It was perfect.

Not just because it was us, coffee and an ocean’s worth of fictional characters but instead because, everything was, seemingly, a thousand times better than it would have been at my house all those months ago. I mean, the effort and meticulous planning was clear to see.

But he wouldn’t take any credit for it.

Everything was beautiful – there were yet more candles everywhere and he’d draped string of tiny fairy lights across the ceiling, wrapping them around the lampshade in the centre. He’d made a nest of pillows and comfy things on the sofa. He had fish-shaped sweets, for God’s sake.

It was perfect.

”Now, as I remember it,“ he chuckled to himself, presenting me with a box of tissues, ”you’re prone to crying at certain points during this, right?“

I blushed. ”I’m not as bad as some.“

”Yeah but... you still cry at animated sea creatures.“

Feigning offense, I rolled my eyes, hitting him with a nearby cushion. ”I cry at a lot of things, get over it!“ I wrapped my arms around him, fitting my head in the crook of his shoulder, and laughed to myself. ”But, yeah, crying over fish seems pretty pathetic.“

Gently, he rested his chin on my head. ”That’s what I’m trying to say.“
-

Very little watching of the world’s greatest film actually occurred because, every time that I began to get into it, I’d start quoting along with the characters on screen, forgetting that I was not alone, and then Sam would laugh, proceeding to kiss me.
I wasn’t complaining.
This cycle continued until the credits rolled.
Flicking off the television, Sam smiled. ”I’m sorry.“
”Why?“
”We didn’t actually... well, we didn’t actually watch any of that.“ he blushed. ”So, I’m sorry.“
I rolled my eyes. ”I’m sure that I’ll find it within myself to forgive you, dear.“ Laughing, I craned up and managed to kiss his jaw, where the beginnings of a beard were starting to show. Amused, I ran a finger along his face, from his ear to his chin. I’d never actually seen him with anything resembling facial hair. I wasn’t actually sure if I liked it. ”We’re growing up, aren’t we?“
”I’m afraid so.“
”Same mistakes but bigger stakes.“
He nodded, sadly. ”I’m afraid so.“
I sat up, crossing my legs. ”Do you ever wonder...“ Pausing mid-sentence, I considered my wording more carefully. ”Do you ever wonder what the future will be like? Not even in five years or a decade but just something as simple as next month.“ My mouth going dry, I swallowed nervously. ”Do you ever wonder who you’ll be spending those memories with?“
There was a pause and then he took my hand. ”Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.“
There was another pause before I began to giggle. ”I cannot believe that you just quoted the great John Green.“
”Oh yeah? Well, you sure as hell won’t believe this; will you go out with me?“
The words had hardly sunk in before I answered. ”Yes.“
”Really? It’s that simple?“
”Yes,“ kissing him, I cupped his face in my hands, my voice dropping to a whisper. ”Yes, yes, yes, yes.“
”Is that a yes or...?“
Rolling my eyes, I stuck out a tongue. ”I fucked it up once, I’m just making absolutely sure that you get the picture this time. You’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time, my friend.“
Carefully, he traced an index finger along the outline of my lower lip. ”I don’t think that I’d have it any other way.“
-

I often imagined the future, my favourite kind of nostalgia, and it was Sam that I wanted to keep above everyone and everything else. I’d lose him, inevitably, and rediscover him because I wanted memories with him that I didn’t with anyone else. We had so many already and I knew that there were plenty more to come.

We always complain that we can’t just sit and watch life fly by us yet we cannot catch every single moment that comes our way; the ones that we do manage to catch, however, are the foundations of what lies ahead.

Fingers crossed, it could only get better.