❦ WINNER OF THE RIVETING WRITING CONTEST ❦
OLIVER IS DYING
With only months left to live at just seventeen, Oliver spends his remaining days of endless tests and debilitating drugs in the St. Andrews paediatrics ward planning his impending funeral...
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IT'S like Mother Nature knows when and when not to ruin a good moment, but also knows how to make one special, like a perfect first kiss in the rain.
It was like a cinematic moment. I couldn't have asked for anything better.
The downpour had eased when we left the gardens of St. Andrews and as we took a cab to a place Ollie wouldn't say.
It hadn't felt weird sitting in the backseat holding his hand. It'd been almost too right for it to be weird, like his hand was made for mine, and his eyes were made to be locked with mine.
The cab had slowed to a stop by a secluded park, similar to the one I took Ollie to that night we went stargazing.
I'd paid the driver and Ollie had led me through the main entrance towards the lake in the far corner.
A rustic swing made from a thick plank of wood and weathered ropes wrapped around a massive oak tree was silhouetted against the silver-tinged water.
We've been here for over an hour now, Ollie sitting on the swing as I gently push him.
"When did you know?" he asks. He stops swinging and looks up at me. "You know, that you liked me?"
I pocket my hands in my jacket. "That night we went stargazing. Just watching the joy on your face sitting under the stars—it was like a switch flipped in my head." I brush his hair. "You see the world in a way no one else I know does."
Ollie tries to hide a shy smile pricking at the corners of his lips—those lips that I'd kissed and felt like I'd experienced a world I didn't know existed.
"So, what now?"
"I don't know."
That's not the complete truth. But what I do know is that I'm scared. I'm scared of what all this means.
Ollie feels right. I don't regret kissing him. I don't regret knowing him.
But I'm worried what all this could mean.
"Frankie was asking about you the other day."
I blink out of my thoughts. "What?"
"I mean, before you made the whole rom-com gesture of making out with me in the rain and turning this friendship into whatever this is. She was asking about what's been going on between us."
I clench my jaw.
My sister isn't an idiot.
She's smart.
Too smart.
And she's cunning.
If there's an answer she's looking for, she'll find it. If someone is hiding something, she'll discover what it is. She's always had the uncanny ability to rip the skeletons out of anyone's closet.
