Catcher Told Me I Was Rotten

>Two:

"No," August corrected. "Charlie had had prior contact with the pair of them."

"The pair?"

"Louise and... Charlotte." For the first time, something that wasn't self assurance flickered in the boy's eyes, and Liam knew that he'd finally struck something.

In her dreams, somewhere, there was a beautiful utopia where forcing people to get out of bed on a Saturday morning at half seven was a crime. Somewhere.

Unfortunately, Lottie was stuck in upper class England, and that meant clambering up out of bed and looking for the thick tights. Now that they were edging into October, frost was beginning to steal in at night time, impishly touching all the windows, dragging its way over blades of grass. She'd need good boots, too – Rebecca's Doc Martens, maybe, with their heavy soles. An extra pair of socks to cushion her slightly too small feet. And a coffee, to keep herself alert while she listened to Louise complain about the lack of eligible bachelors in and around King's College campus.

She'd called last night, about... it would have been two o'clock, lately. Lottie probably would have been prickly about the situation if she hadn't been sat up herself, trying to put the introduction of her latest essay together. And Louise had been very, very drunk – celebratory drunk, she supposed, but it was important that she keep an ear out lest her friend get into some sort of trouble, need someone to come get her. Although Lottie mostly disapproved of her lifestyle, she knew she'd find it difficult to hold against her if she needed help.

Anyway, for some strange reason, they were to be taking a morning stroll along the banks of the river that wound around the campus. Lottie would have asked why exactly it was that it had to be so early, because Louise wasn't exactly a fan of alarm clocks either; but she hadn't had time to question it before the phone had been hung up, succeeding a chorus of inebriated giggles. Well, all she could do was prepare herself for the daytime cold.

Borrowed boots in hand, Lottie crept down the stairs in stockinged feet, not wanting to wake anyone else in the house. She hadn't been the only one who was up late the night before, working away at the stack of paper that tended to build up around any university student, and she wouldn't want to inflict her hideously early morning on anybody else.

Right. Keys, purse, phone, earbuds... everything seemed to be there. Letting herself out through the front door without a sound, she set her designs on the Costa Coffee stall that would be found on the way to the river.

Fortunately, Louise intercepted her as she crunched over a few broken, frost-coated leaves, just below a collection of oaks. Immediately, an arm slipped into the crook of her elbow, giving a tight squeeze, and the same sweet-scented perfume that she associated with her friend was wafted right underneath her nose.

"Good morning!"

"You know, you sound awfully chipper for someone who was out clubbing until... what, four o'clock?" Lottie teased, taking a sip from her recently-purchased coffee. They continued through the gap in the trees together; the river was in sight, a silvery serpent that stretched out thicker than anything. It melted into the sky, both the same shade of perturbing blue-grey that made it almost difficult to distinguish one from the other.

"Mmm. Well, I had to come out and meet you, didn't I? Hurry up or we won't see them pass." Her hand tightened, her strides increasing. Now, when Louise was in a comfortable pair of laced up sneakers, she was almost as short as Lottie; but little legs had her fighting to keep up in any case.

This provoked an eye roll. "Oh, fabulous. Who did you meet last night, then?"

"He's on the rowing team, Lottie," Louise beamed, head turning to one side in an effort to see if she could spot – ah, there it was. If one squinted, it was easy to make out the figure of the boat coming upstream. It appeared that nine men were perched in there, eight of which were commanding oars. The ninth was sitting opposite the rest, holding some sort of megaphone and yelling indistinguishable commands at the crew. Lottie understood, then. "He's absolutely gorgeous, oh my God."