Candy [MCCARTNEY]

TWELVE

"No," I replied. My tone was cold, and I hoped my poker-face matched it. "Hurry up and get your bag."

He finished putting on his shoes and followed my instructions, all the while smiling at me with raised eyebrows. For a thirteen-year-old, he really knew how to push buttons.

Maybe he was just a tad too much like his sister.

When he caught up to me, leaving out the front door, I tried my hardest to avoid eye contact. God, what did he see? Did he read the name in time?

"I'm telling Mum," he told me, a wide grin still plastered to his freckled face.

"What did you even see that makes you think I have a boyfriend?" I said. My voice was far from friendly, although I tried to play it off. He'd take my defensiveness as guilt.

"You were sending winks," he said, laughing as he said it.

"And? You've never sent a wink to your friends?"

"Nope."

"You're so full of shit," I sighed. "Just shut up. Don't get Mum pissed off over nothing, Louis."

We were both silent for the rest of the walk, perhaps even thinking about the same thing: having Mum pissed off at one of us was always preferable to watching her wallow in wine and depression. She'd been getting better though. Mostly because I had her preoccupied. .

✟

Nothing much happened at school. I got a C on a maths test, which I was really proud of. Emma tried to make (uninteresting) small talk about Stu Sutcliffe. George didn't show up.

That bothered me. I was itching to talk to him again, to see those sharp fangs when he laughed at my stupid jokes. I didn't want to 'apologise' over Facebook; it didn't feel like something he would accept. He could easily look away from a screen, but he couldn't shut out my voice.

And plus: anyone could message him. This was me. It had to be in person. I'd have to go and smack him on the head and tell him I was sorry I had made him feel whatever he was feeling.

So, I did. For English class — my last class of the day — we would surely be taking turns reading aloud embarrassing lines from that morbid play, so I skipped.

George didn't live far from the park. He actually lived behind it, just beyond the fence and a few houses down, which is why it had become 'our' spot. All he had to do was climb the fence to reach his place when we parted ways. However, I preferred to arrive by more conventional means.

The door was unlocked at the Harrison's, which meant someone was home. I was hoping it was George, but there was always the possibility it was his mother or father passing through. It wasn't that I didn't like being at George's, but his parents asked me as many questions as my mother did.

Of course, they were being polite and they liked me, but sometimes the questions got a bit personal; asking about how home life was and about my mother. Those questions came especially from Mr. Harrison.

The house was quiet this time, though, so I made my way up to George's bedroom. My feet were nearly silent on the floor as I crept toward his open door, maybe expecting him to be asleep.