The Shoe Story

Chapter One

I can see it. It's sitting right there, and I can't believe it's the right one. Yet it must be, because I can see the little silver swirl I drew using marker, and the fancy luminous laces I spent so long choosing from the sports shop. And of course because of what the homeless man told me. It's kind of hard to forget that.

***

I caught up to her at the door.

"Wait," I said breathlessly. "Wait a second."

She grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You're welcome, by the way."

I took a moment to look at her properly. It was her all right- the mystery girl, the ghost of my childhood. "How did you do it?" I asked. "The maths." I added, just to confirm. I was not asking about the way she'd flitted through my younger years without a second thought.

She winked conspiratorially and beckoned me to come closer before she whispered her answer. "I'm magic."

"Brilliant explanation," I said sarcastically, although the way she said it made it seem kind of funny. "Anyway, I owe you one, okay?"

She spread her hands. "Everyone owes me one. I never collect. I like helping people, even though I am not a good person." That confused me, and it must have shown, because she rolled her eyes. "Maths homework? Don't worry about it."

"Okay," I agreed slowly.

"Good," she said with a nod. "By the way, please don't call me Ataraxy. It sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie."

I laughed. "It's a nice name," I argued. It was- it was different, at least.

"Call me Ataraxy and you and I will have a problem." She raised her eyebrows with fake menace, drawing more attention to her eyes. They were a very particular shade of turquoise, one that pierced into you.

"Alright," I conceded, pulling away my gaze "I'll call you Raxy, then."

"Good."

And then she was gone.

***

In my mind at that stage, there were two pictures of Raxy being built up. One was the girl I remembered from fragments, the other the girl I was getting to know.

I didn't expect to talk to her for the rest of the day- our school was a big place- but surprisingly I did.

Every lunchtime me and my friends would play football down at the bottom of the field. We always left our shoes in a huge pile and traded them for football togs, kicking up scuffs of mud as we did so.

That day, the air was thick with rain, and my black Converse that I was passing off as school shoes sat on the top of the pile.

We played like we did every day. It was around halfway through I began to realise that we had generated an audience- a group of girls, and somehow, Raxy was amongst them.

I didn't notice her properly until the very end, when we ran up wildly to grab our shoes after the buzzer rang. We had Latin after lunch and the teacher would pulverise you if you came in late.

Except mine were not there.

The idea of someone stealing my shoes was so ludicrous that by the time the pile cleared and I was running up to the group of girls to ask them, I was quite annoyed.

"Hey," I said breathlessly, "you guys seen my shoes?"

Most of them laughed and said no honestly. Apart from one.

An amused smirk was curving its way up Ataraxy Smith's face.

"Raxy," I demanded, "where are my shoes?"