Under the Westway

Chapter Three

Jamie slings his school bag over his shoulder before turning to Damon and adjusting his friend's tie.

"I invited Graham to practice with us this morning. He's a pretty good musician."

"Better than me?" Damon sighs and pulls at his collar, shrugging his bag higher on his back.

"Not gonna lie, Damon, most likely." Damon laughs hesitantly and punches Jamie's shoulder gently. He flicks the edge of his thumb over his shirt sleeve, "Do you really think he's better than me?" The words are less confident than intended, and suddenly Jamie thinks that the older is about to cry again. Jamie shakes his head and smiles, stepping up their pace to get to school. The early morning cold hits their faces as they turn a corner, Jamie pulls his blazer collar around his chin.

As they walk through the gates, Damon spots an empty can and kicks it tentatively over to Jamie, who kicks it back with twice the strength behind it. Jamie pulls his camera from his bag and fumbles to switch it on.
"This is perfect!" The younger yells from behind his camera, smiles plastered over both their faces despite the winter air making skin stiff.
In a few minutes they're into a full game, Jamie scores three goals, Damon almost scores one. Both red in the face, they pick up their bags and walk towards the music block, Damon skips ahead and kicks stray stones from the ground at the brick walls.

Graham is waiting for them in their room, he doesn't notice them come in at first as he picks at guitar strings. His shirt hangs loosely over his body, his shoulders hunched, blazer draped over his knee. They approach him sat on the floor, his head jolts up and he smiles, eyes covered by his glasses and fringe. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back a little, he talks to Jamie for a few minutes, Jamie asks about his new painting.

Damon grabs a guitar and watches Graham return to playing; mumbling along to his own song. Improvised or not; he plays slightly out of time, aware of the attention on him from the other side of the room, he slows to a stop.

"So, Graham," Jamie starts, clasping his hands together and leaning against the piano. "Damon and I are going to the beach on friday night, do you wanna join us?" Damon shoots Jamie a stare. It's ignored. Graham bites his lip and nods, "Sounds cool." His voice cracks and his tongue catches on each S, he clasps a hand over his mouth and blushes.

*

"We do the same thing, Jamie. Day in, day out." Damon whines, running a hand through his hair. The class is loud behind them, a few paper aeroplanes fly over their heads.
"Will you stop talking to me as if I'm your wife?" Jamie grabs his book from the shelf and returns to his seat.

"But you are my wife! Don't you understand?" Damon grabs Jamie by the front of his blazer and pulls him towards him. "You're my wife, Jamie! You're my wife! Every weekend we do the same thing: we go to the beach, we take a few tabs, we play music, we draw!" He lets go of Jamie's blazer and rests his chin on his hand, looking over the table at the girls throwing pens at each other. He sighs.

"I am so unhappy in this marriage."

Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and sits up, exhaling slowly. He looks back at Damon and feels defeated. "All right, but I'm the husband anyway. Are you going to give me that textbook or not?"

*

Jamie walks through the school gates in the middle of the crowd, approaching the others waiting for him at the top of the road. He rubs his eyes and squints in the sun, Damon half-cocks a smile at him as they start walking together. Graham holds onto his bag straps and lags slightly behind them, Damon ushers him along a little, to which the younger boy blushes and shakes his head slightly. His glasses slip down his nose in the warmth, he has to keep rubbing the lenses. The taller pair poke gentle fun at him, Graham walks between the two, stopping often to pick up dandelions. By the end of their way home, he has accumulated a substantial bouquet of the yellow flowers in his hands. He presents it to Damon on one knee, playing along with their jokes. Jamie fakes shock, "But, Bran! You're my wife!"

When Graham turns off to walk his own way home, Jamie turns to Damon, the now wilted bunch of dandelions tucked in his shirt pocket.
"He isn't bad, is he?" Damon smirks and pulls one of the flowers from his pocket, pulling petals from it.

"I think I can live with this."