WHEN KATE and I were fifteen, we had our first school disco.
I remember how giddy we were, reading the leaflets spread around the hallways; hearing the gossip that flooded into every class. Girls boasted about the dresses they were buying and boys bragged about their suits.
But we weren't excited in the same way that the other students were. We saw the disco as a chance to have fun, so we dressed up as Mario and Luigi. Even though we looked like we were going out for Halloween, and were practically the biggest laughingstocks of the century, we loved it. We stood out; we'd created an unforgettable experience, as opposed to everyone else, who thought of that day as just another ordinary school dance.
That memory feels different now. Bitter almost, like an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I don't want to remember how happy we used to be, or how glad I thought I was to have found a friend who knew me better than I knew myself.
I look down to my phone, where a list of texts Kate has sent me are left un-replied, weighing my fingers down with each notification that flashes in my face.
A stray tear falls down my cheek and I wipe it away angrily, turning my phone off. Outside, the sun is beginning to set the clouds alight with a crimson blaze, the sky darkening into dusk. The distant sounds of London coalesce together; cars and trains and voices on the streets. It's a world I know well, having grown up in the middle of such a busy city. Part of me can't imagine leaving it all behind, but the other part also wonders what life could be like outside of this bubble.
Maybe a new start would be a good idea.
A new identity, a different life. Even if I'm just pretending.
After all, the timing couldn't have been better.
There's a knock at my door, and Mum enters. Her eyes are sympathetic – I told her that Kate and I had a falling out. "I didn't think I'd be saying this, Vi," she says softly, sitting down on my bed, "but what dad's suggesting is a really good opportunity for you. It'd probably boost your confidence."
Sighing, I fall back onto my pillows, staring at the ceiling still plastered with glow in the dark stickers from when I was five. "Yeah, I know. But... I guess this is just a big thing. Way bigger than anything I've done for him before. It's not something that I can take lightly."
"I know, hun." Mum splays her fingers on my forehead, brushing hairs out of my face in a loving gesture. "But you'll do great. It won't be easy, sure, but change can be good." She pauses. "Are you still thinking about Kate?"
I nod. About Kate, about Josh, about every clue I missed that could have warned me.
"There are better people out there, Viola. I know that running away from your problems isn't a good way to handle a situation like this but honestly, leaving her behind will show you how much more you deserve. Think about it."
And with a short kiss on my head, she leaves, her curly hair bouncing with each step out of the door.
The light shines through my window pervasively the next morning, a golden stream that brightens the room and forces me to wake up. My phone, lying untouched by my bedside, is still turned off, a portal towards the person I am trying desperately to forget about.
Last night I spent a lot of time thinking. When you're alone, in complete silence, blanketed only by the darkness surrounding you, it's easier to order your thoughts. As much I cowered at the thought of a new life, Mum's words kept ringing through my mind over and over again. She was right, change can be good.
I'm going to agree to Dad's preposition. That isn't to say that I'll like it, or even enjoy it, but who knows what could turn out. I might enjoy acting as a different person.
In the kitchen, Mum is frying up breakfast in her dressing gown, humming to the radio as she cracks two eggs into the pan, blowing a kiss happily when she sees me. Buttery smells waft enticingly towards me as I enter.
Dad, by contrast, is dressed in his uniform with his ready-to-work face on, reading the newspaper and drinking a large steaming cup of tea. Silent, calm, and awake.
Opposites attract, I guess.
I take a seat at the table, crossing my fingers together as if ready for a business proposition. "Dad." I say, clearing my throat.
With his face still obscured by the newspaper, he replies, "Yes?"
"I think I want to do the thing."
He folds the newspaper up with a deadly silence, his bushy eyebrows raised on his stern face. "You think you want to do it?"
I grimace at his reaction. My dad hates indecisiveness more than anything, which is what makes him so good at his job. Quick, fast and sensible choices are his forte. That does, however, mean that we clash sometimes, because that's not a trait I've inherited from him at all. In fact, it's quite the opposite. "Sorry. Um. No – I do want to. Do the undercover work, I mean."
"Alright." He says, pursing his lips. "I'll call you in sick for school. Best we get started on this right away."
My body relaxes. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to go to school today – it was a long shot, but an educated guess. If this was so urgent to Dad, obviously he was going to want to get started on it as soon as possible.
Thankfully, that means I won't have to face Kate again. Call me childish, but I'm just not ready. She'd try and get me to forgive her, and, being the weak pushover that I am, I probably would.
A plate of cooked breakfast is placed under my nose by Mum, who smiles at me and kisses Dad on the cheek, asking him softly, "Are you going to call and make a time to meet them then?"
Dad nods, picking up the phone beside him. "Of course. I'll do it now."
"Who?" I frown, looking between my parents. They share a look – a secretive sort of grimace that tells me something else is being added to the equation that I don't know about.
Something I'm not going to like.
Covertly picking up his phone and escaping the room is Dad: a cowardly and quick exit.
Mum, glaring at his back, turns to me with a sheepish look. "Remember William?" She says slowly, with a sickly-sweet voice. "Little William from pre-school."
I freeze, my fork with half a sausage on it hanging in mid-air. "William...Peters?"
"Yes." She grins, as if my reaction is a positive one. "William Peters!"
"What about William Peters?"
"Well...he's going to do the same as you." She swallows. "Go undercover."
"You did not tell me William Peters was going to be involved." I try and catch her eye but she's now busily clearing up the dishes, once again humming to the radio feebly. "Why the hell is he involved?"
"Viola." She turns around. "Don't be rude. Just calm down. His dad works with yours, and William wants to join the force. They need two people to run this, so you can stick together. You're both untrained teenagers that shouldn't really do a job like this alone."
"But he's awful, Mum." I shudder. It sounds like a tedious, trivial matter, but my veins still alight with hatred from the sheer thought of William Peters.
In primary school, as a child socially awkward at the best of times, I was succumbed to being an easy victim for some. That 'some' mainly came in the form of William himself. Cutting my hair into a sloppy bob when sat behind me in class, throwing water on me to make me look like I wet myself; teasing, poking, taunting, humiliating, anything – you name it. William Peters did that.
Even in middle school, before Kate, when my best friend Alyssa was all I had as comfort, he asked Alyssa out and she never spoke to me again. You would have thought a boy would mature after a few years, but the evil grin on his face as he took her hand and led her away from me told another story.
We went to different high schools after that; had different lives, and so I was blessed with not ever having to see his face.
Until now.
Dad comes into the kitchen again, putting his phone back in his pocket with a look of satisfaction on his face. "Great. That's them meeting us in an hour."
Yep. Just great.
Familiarity embraces me as Dad and I enter the police station. Recognising the building and the faces that come with it, but still feeling the nervousness of what's to come, I take a deep breath.
The receptionist nods at us as we walk in and head through a long corridor that leads to an elevator. After Dad presses in a code, the doors open and we step inside, listening to the painful sound of silence as it takes us up several levels.
"You must be on your best behaviour, Viola." Dad eventually warns. His voice is stern, in full work-mode.
"I will." I croak, but I'm not being entirely truthful. If William used to bring the worst out of me, well, then I can't promise this will be any different.
When we reach our floor, we're greeted with nods and smiles from the rest of the police officers.
"Hey, Vi! How's it going?" Asks Bernie, one of the officers who also happens to be an old friend of dad's, seeing as they've both worked here for twenty years.
I give him a wide smile and a high five. He's known me since I was born. In fact, most of the people in this room have watched me grow up. When I was younger, I used to come here frequently when it was the school holidays or weekends. I'm not sure if there are any rules against children being allowed in police stations, but being the daughter of a chief constable has it's perks.
"Good!" I reply, smiling at Bernie's round face and goofy grin. "How are the kids?"
Bernie has 3 kids, one being a new-born, another age 2 and the other age 5. They're all crazy and actually kind of scary. But of course, I wouldn't say that to him.
"They have so much energy!" Bernie chuckles, shaking his head. "They wish they were only siblings."
I force a smile.
The Peters haven't arrived yet, so I settle and swing around on one of the wheelie chairs, plugging in my headphones and listening to some music. This probably isn't Dad's idea of my 'best behaviour', but he's too preoccupied with talking to his colleagues to notice.
I close my eyes, nodding my head to the beat of the song. It's a welcomed distraction from whatever is going to happen next.
Because all of a sudden, when the song fades, louder voices appear. I open my eyes and realise that Dad has shifted places, shaking hands with a man I don't recognise. A man I can only assume is the father of my old tormentor.
I stop pushing off the table almost immediately. Which would have been okay, if I hadn't forgotten that my head was right in the way of the corner; if I'd have just looked at what I was actually doing instead of freaking out.
So, three seconds later, I hit the table with a loud bang.
Loud enough for everyone to hear.
To my dismay, Dad brings the Peters over just as this happens. Whilst I wince and cradle the bump, he gives me an obviously disappointed look.
Mr Peters smiles at me sympathetically, a kind-looking man with dark eyes and greying hair, who I vaguely recognise as another police officer that dad works with.
And then I look to the boy by his side.
He's built like some heavenly creature: his muscles defined through his white polo shirt, glossy yet perfectly dishevelled black hair, jawline sliced to a complete straight line, piercing turquoise eyes, full lips puckered and pulled into a smirk.
What?!
"Viola, this is Mr. Peters, who you know, and his son, William." My dad begins, his voice laced with a polite, professional tone. "You went to school with William, a while ago, I don't know if you remember-"
"Oh, I remember." I cut him off, squinting my eyes at William to try and find a fault in his beautiful body. How the hell did a boy like him get such a glow up? He used to be such a scrawny little kid, his hair always matted; mud all over from when he used to run in and out of puddles.
"Nice to meet you." I add with a fake smile plastered on my face, to which Mr. Peters smiles warmly and shakes my hand, but William's eyebrows raise, his smirk widening.
I can already tell he's going to be infuriating.
"Shall we head into the meeting room?" Dad asks, sensing an obvious awkwardness between all of us. "The agent who will be working with William and Viola is going to be a little late."
Mr Peters nods firmly, his thin lips pressed into a line. "Yes. Good idea. Lead the way."
As we walk, Dad and Mr Peters are seemingly in a deep catch-up chat, while William and I are trudging behind in silence. Believe me, it's difficult as it is to keep your thoughts ordered with a violently throbbing head, but throw in someone who looks like that walking next to you?
"So." Says William finally. His voice is deep and husky - smooth, like soft ripples in a river. I almost, almost think about putting the past behind us. But then he continues. "Did your hair manage to grow back okay then? After the time I cut it for you?"
His lips quirk into a mischievous grin, those green eyes sparkling against the stray black strands that fall into his face.
"How's Alyssa?" I interject, staring daggers at him in an attempt to make him feel uncomfortable. "Or did she dump you?"
He lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. "You're still annoyed about that. And for your information, I dumped her. She got too boring. I like spontaneity."
"Of course you do." I roll my eyes and walk ahead of him, into the room where Dad and Mr. Peters are standing next to a long table, laughing at some awful joke that Dad probably made.
When I was little I always used to love the meeting room. It's spacious; the back wall is panelled entirely with glass windows so you can see a view of London: scatterings of buildings and flats, a train track spiralling and curving into different pockets of life. In the corner there is a coffee machine, some milk and some tea bags.
Just as Mr Peters takes off his coat and rests it on one of the chairs, Dad suggests they go and talk to some of their colleagues, leaving William and I.
Alone.
Taking a seat, I watch as William does the same, and, with a stupid grin plastered on his face, he leans backwards and crosses one leg over the other. He's wearing worn out shoes, but a gleaming white top and smooth jeans, something that middle school William would not have lasted in with those muddy fingers.
As if trying to analyse me, his eyes scan over my face, his knee jiggling up and down like a child unable to sit still. "So how have you been, all this time? Ditched the fringe, I see."
I glare.
His grin only widens. "Come on, we've got to at least be okay with each other. I mean, we have to spend 3 months together."
"I can spend three months without talking to someone." I tell him, trying to focus on the distractions of London through the windows.
"Well that's worked out well for you. You just talked to me."
It takes a lot for me not to groan. How on earth am I supposed to do this? It's bad enough having to go to a new school, but with William? He's a prick with a huge ego and annoyingly good looks. It's unfair. Why can't he just be kind and charming? Nice and caring?
Evidently his personality hasn't batted an eyelid since I last saw him.
Five minutes later, Dad and Mr Peters finally enter again, slicing through the tension obliviously.
"The agent is here." Dad announces, a big, satisfied smile on his face. "Come and meet her."
William leans in to me, tapping his fingers repeatedly on the table. "Don't know about you," he says quietly, "but I'm excited."
I watch him slide past me.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.
AUTHORS NOTE:
SO!
What are your thoughts on Will? Isn't he just a lil stunner?
An annoying stunner, at that, but if I was Viola I wouldn't be complaining!
Vote, comment, recommend, I'll love ya even more for it!
Love love love from