Drib Drabs (boyxboy) (girlxgirl)

Toffee Pops (I)

"This is the one," Jayden calls, scrambling up a horse-chestnut. His dirty-blonde hair sticks up in tufts, decorated with bits of moss and leaves. His eyes are like mirrors, the greens and browns of the foliage reflected in his Autumn-spattered irises. A few freckles scattered across his nose make up a whole new constellation.

As always, his grin is infectious.

"Which branch did you fall off?" I ask him, going along with the charade. We both know where the blue and purple welts along his arms really came from.

"Oh, this one," he says, clambering up a few more branches, knowing I don't believe him.

At first, he'd tried to use believable excuses. He'd fallen out of bed, bashed his hip off a door handle, dropped his schoolbag on his foot. Dropped my schoolbag on his foot. He even "accidentally" slammed a door on his hand a couple of times.

Eventually he realised I'd stopped believing that he habitually got his hand stuck in a toaster a long time ago. Now he just made up the most random, far-fetched stories he could come up with.

Purely for entertainment purposes.

Where'd I get this cut from? I was abducted by aliens last night. Lovely people, you know.

That bruise? Ah, well, I had to help a small colony of fairies fight off some evil dwarves. But it was totally worth it.

The black eye? I got into a fight with a grizzly bear and had to climb a tree. Which I then fell out of.

He could never admit where the injuries really came from, but I'd known for years.

They came from his father's fists. Or sometimes his belt, boots, a few sticks and - if Jay was really lucky - cigarette butts.

My best-friend continued hopping around above my head, leaving me to ponder the ridiculousness of his latest tale.

First, there was the fact that there weren't - nor had there ever been - any bears in this forest.

Then there was the fact that Jay would never have been clumsy enough to topple from a tree. He was the epitome of grace and agility. So sure-footed and elegant that he made football (in fact, any sport) look like a choreographed dance. Plopping himself down on a couch or slouching against a wall would suddenly seem like an art form, if he decided to make a hobby out of it.

I smiled at him and he grinned back.

Gripping the branch he was perched on, he swung down, like a monkey (or maybe gymnast would be a better comparison...), to land lightly on the branch below. He sat, leaning against the thick, moss-covered trunk, and patted a spot beside him on the branch, inviting me up.

"Why should I climb all the way up there?" I called.

"Because I'm amazing?" he replied, making it seem more like a question than a statement.

While that was true, it was certainly no reason for me to scale a huge (okay, okay, average-sized) tree. I raised my eye-brows, my expression doubtful.

"Fine. I'll give you a toffee pop tomorrow. How's that?"

"Much better," I smirk. Toffee pops are my favourite, even if Jay hates the taste of them.

It takes me time and a few scrapes to reach him, but I don't mind. I turn, to find his eyes closed, a slight smile still lingering on his lips. I almost would've thought he was asleep - if he hadn't gone and ruined it by talking.

"So, what do you think of Sandy?" he asks, eyes still shut tight. I want him to open them, to give me a hint as to what kind of answer he wants.

Since he's denied me that, I answer honestly. "She's okay, I guess."