Room Service

Chapter Eight

Dedicated to Mariam, beause the re-appearance of her favourite character is about to happen.

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            The next morning, when I came to, I realised I’d been sleeping in possibly the least comfortable position known to man.

            My arm was twisted oddly around my neck, fingers splayed across the opposite cheek, and the space around me was much too small to have either leg stretched out fully. One was pressed up against a cold surface – which I later recognised as the car window – while the other remained tucked beneath me.

            Eyes blinking hazily, I tried to pull myself into a more upright position, realising then that everything ached. Across from me, zonked out in the passenger seat that had been reclined all the way back, was Leon. His mouth was wide open, and he was snoring with an enthusiasm that seemed to rattle the whole car.

            It was all coming back to me now. Snippets of last night, returning to me in dribs and drabs, filling my head and leaving me to wonder how I’d forgotten in the first place. After what had happened at the pool, Leon and I had made a dripping exit, making our best attempt to dry ourselves with the blanket in his boot. Once re-dressed, we took off for a quiet country road and ended up watching the stars from his car bonnet.

            Somewhere between stargazing and making the sensible decision to return home, we must’ve fallen asleep in his car.

            I was aware of how horrifically cliché the entire thing was. It was the sort of thing you’d find in one of Rosemarie’s online fan fictions – only made more ironic by the fact I was actually doing this with the real Leon. Had it been anyone but me, I probably would’ve scoffed.

            And yet somehow… it was me.

            I cleared my throat. “Leon?”

            He continued snoring, still lost somewhere amongst his dreams. So I tried again, louder. “Leon.”

            Yet more snoring. Deciding there was nothing else for it, I leaned over the seat and shook his shoulder, causing him to awake with a start.

            He yelped out loud, jolting upright in his seat and looking around with a panicked expression. When our eyes met, I frowned, watching as he searched my expression. “Coraline? What are you…?”

            “Sorry,” I said. “Bad dream?”

            “The usual, really,” he answered, twisting slightly in his seat so our faces were angled towards each other. “Was about to go onstage at Wembley before realising I was totally and utterly naked.”

            The snort escaped me before I could stop it, but I clapped a hand to my mouth anyway. “That’s what pop stars dream of?”

            “The definitive pop star nightmare,” he told me, with a mock shudder. “Anyway. That’s probably a lesson not to fall asleep in my car. Remind me how that one happened again?”

            “I think we tired ourselves out being disgustingly cliché and looking at the stars.” I shook my head. “Can’t believe you talked me into that one. It literally sounds like one of those ‘What would be your ideal date?’ questions in those teen magazines.”

            As he laughed, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turning on the screen to check the time. There was really only one appropriate response: “Shit!”