Goodbye, Evan

8

If I'd count as a person to him. It's a sad thought, so I stop thinking about it. We head back outside, to my immense relief, and around the back of the school. Save for two groups of boys, one smoking cigarettes and the other passing around a spliff, we're alone. The boys ignore us - I don't know if it's because of me and my ghost magic or Theo or both.

"So..." I prompt.

He sits down on a splintery wooden fence and I do the same. With a sigh, he starts to talk. "At first I tried to buy friends with a house party and presents and shit, which worked, but they weren't the kind of people I wanted to be friends with. Guys like those." He nods his head to the smokers. "People who only like me for my dad's money. So I tried to make friends with the quiet kids, but I'm too brash. The nerds, but I'm not smart enough. The sporty kids, but I'm not athletic enough." He laughs softly, but there's a sharpness to it. "Oh, they were all nice enough, but I never fitted." He sighs heavily, then wrinkles his nose in disgust. The air back here tastes (faintly, to me) of cannabis. "I never learned how to be around people my age. I've only ever had my dad, Georgia and the cleaner - and Mum." He swallows hard. "She tried to introduce me to new kids all the time, but it was always too little too late. And she's gone now - you know that."

I think it over analytically, trying to push away the ache of empathy in my chest. "Make new friends outside of school, then. You said you like art - why not try going to an art class?" He nods, eyebrows knitting in thought. "I'll think about it." I smile at him and he returns it, face relaxing. It really is a nice smile. The bell rings, making both of us jump.

As we stand, the groups of boys push past us. The boy at the front of the cigarette group pauses in front of Theo. He's taller than me - I've always been short, 5'4 at this age - but he's at Thoe's eye level. Theo tries to stare him down, but he keeps glancing away. They're like two dogs, sizing each other up - and Theo's losing. "Finally found a boyfriend, fag?" the boy says, holding up a cigarette. He taps the end and the ash falls on Theo's jumper. And I feel like he's just set me on fire.

This kid - bulbous nose, slit in his eyebrow, spiky brown hair, an ugly little shit - in just five words and a single action has made my hands shake and my vision goes red at the edges. He makes me remember things I don't want to remember. Ever since I was a kid, I've been impulsive. I would settle things with my fists instead of words and be beaten up numerous times because of it. And beat up twice as many in return. Fighting was what I was known for. (Fighting brought me to my end.) Nearly fifty years later and I still haven't broken the habit. I step in front of Theo, hands raised to shove - and a hand quickly closes around my wrist, the skin warm and soft. I look back at Thoe, the boy whose hand is currently wrapped around my wrist. His chocolate eyes are wide.

"Let's go," he mutters. When I don't move, he shifts his hand and links his hands with mine, tugging. "I said let's go." His skin is so warm. He's so full of life.

Reluctantly, I turn my back on the boy and give in to Theo, not even looking back when the twat laughs and crows the word "f*g" repeatedly at our backs. Theo drops my hand as soon as he sees I'm coming. I feel cold in the absence of his touch. "What the hell? Were you really going to fight him?" he demands as soon as we're out of the school's shadow. He turns to me, eyes still wide and arms folded. I suddenly feel very small.

"I didn't think kids were still like that," I mutter, avoiding the question, rubbing the knuckles of the hand he just dropped. "Anyway, why did you stop me? It's not like you were hesitating to start a fight with me when we met yesterday." (Yesterday? It feels like it's been longer.) Theo sighs with a mixture of emotions I can't quite distinguish. "I was... in a bad mood. Wasn't thinking straight.

'Well, I never am." He laughs, then becomes serious again. "He likes to push me, Jack. That was Jack," Theo fiddles with the strings of his hoodie. "He's all talk, mostly, but he could still deck you. I didn't want to have to fill out a witness form." "I could've beaten the shit out of him," I mutter. In fact, Theo was the only thing that stopped me from exploding. With these memories running through my head, I could've done a lot of damage.

"Well... thanks for being ready to stick up for me," Theo mutters. He strides towards the front doors and I follow him automatically, consolidated. Calmer, because of him.

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I follow Theo to his first class - English - and, as I predicted, the teacher's eyes sweep right over me as I enter the room. I take the seat next to Theo and we talk about Star Wars until the lesson starts. I think somebody pauses by Theo's desk at one point - all I remember about him is that he has a lip piercing - but he immediately goes and sits somewhere else. If he's Theo's original desk-mate, I don't think he really cares that much about sitting next to him. The teacher talks for a while - which I ignore - and hands out a sheet - which I ignore. It's not like I have any need for education anymore.

Theo offered me his headphones, which I accept. He has to stop working for a minute to show me how to use them and his phone. He starts the music on somebody called Troye Sivan, who I listen to for the rest of the lesson.

Even though I've never heard anything like him before, I like it. And that's how the day goes: I listen to Theo's music in lessons (after Troye Sivan, I move onto Bastille and Coldplay and Anne-Marie) while the teachers and other students ignore me; at break and lunch Theo shares his food with me even though I insist it's pointless. We sit outside even though it's cold (can he tell? How much I despise being cooped up inside the school?) and we talk about inconsequential things like Star Wars and Doctor Who and History lessons, which I discover Theo likes but isn't very good at. "Shit just leaks out of my head," he says. "I'm like a fucking sieve"

We don't talk any more about my grand plan. We don't need to. I think I enjoyed today a little too much because it feels like having a friend.

"Did you have a good day?" I ask as we head for the doors, just after the final bell had rung. His headphones are in his bag and his eyes are on me as we walk. He isn't smiling, but he looks relaxed.

"Did it make you happy?" I add, just so he knows I wasn't asking for myself. "I did," he says, smiling. (He hadn't frowned in a while, not since that fucking Jack kid had walked past his desk in Maths). "It was nice not to have to sit with a bunch of people at lunch who didn't talk to me. And talk about Doctor Who with somebody. Dad and Georgia hate that nerdy shit."

"It's one of the few things that are as old as me," I laugh. For some reason, it makes Theo look uncomfortable. "Hey," I add, knocking my shoulder with his. "I'm sorry I didn't help much with the 'making friends' thing." Theo shakes his head. "I think that's a lost cause, anyway. As I said, you can't make new friends here this late. Well, unless you're new, hot, and have a tragic backstory." He laughs at my confused book.

"Okay. Crappy teen romance novels are my guilty pleasure." I laugh. We're a few paces away from the school gates. "Shame you only have two out of three on the "making new friends requirement list"

"I'm not new here," Theo points out. "No," I nod. "You're not."

Before he can figure out what I was implying, or why I'm now dying inside as well as being dead outside, I ask what we're going to do now. "We still have a while until sunset." "Well," Theo pulls at his jumper on my arm. "Seeing as you don't have any of your own, I think it would be a good idea if we went clothes shopping."