"This is the one," Jayden calls, scrambling up a horse-chestnut. His dirty-blonde hair sticks up in tufts, decorated with bits of moss and leaves. His eyes are like mirrors, the greens and browns of the foliage reflected in his Autumn-spattered irises. A few freckles scattered across his nose make up a whole new constellation.
As always, his grin is infectious.
"Which branch did you fall off?" I ask him, going along with the charade. We both know where the blue and purple welts along his arms really came from.
"Oh, this one," he says, clambering up a few more branches, knowing I don't believe him.
At first, he'd tried to use believable excuses. He'd fallen out of bed, bashed his hip off a door handle, dropped his schoolbag on his foot. Dropped my schoolbag on his foot. He even "accidentally" slammed a door on his hand a couple of times.
Eventually he realised I'd stopped believing that he habitually got his hand stuck in a toaster a long time ago. Now he just made up the most random, far-fetched stories he could come up with.
Purely for entertainment purposes.
Where'd I get this cut from? I was abducted by aliens last night. Lovely people, you know.
That bruise? Ah, well, I had to help a small colony of fairies fight off some evil dwarves. But it was totally worth it.
The black eye? I got into a fight with a grizzly bear and had to climb a tree. Which I then fell out of.
He could never admit where the injuries really came from, but I'd known for years.
They came from his father's fists. Or sometimes his belt, boots, a few sticks and - if Jay was really lucky - cigarette butts.
My best-friend continued hopping around above my head, leaving me to ponder the ridiculousness of his latest tale.
First, there was the fact that there weren't - nor had there ever been - any bears in this forest.
Then there was the fact that Jay would never have been clumsy enough to topple from a tree. He was the epitome of grace and agility. So sure-footed and elegant that he made football (in fact, any sport) look like a choreographed dance. Plopping himself down on a couch or slouching against a wall would suddenly seem like an art form, if he decided to make a hobby out of it.
I smiled at him and he grinned back.
Gripping the branch he was perched on, he swung down, like a monkey (or maybe gymnast would be a better comparison...), to land lightly on the branch below. He sat, leaning against the thick, moss-covered trunk, and patted a spot beside him on the branch, inviting me up.
"Why should I climb all the way up there?" I called.
"Because I'm amazing?" he replied, making it seem more like a question than a statement.
While that was true, it was certainly no reason for me to scale a huge (okay, okay, average-sized) tree. I raised my eye-brows, my expression doubtful.
"Fine. I'll give you a toffee pop tomorrow. How's that?"
"Much better," I smirk. Toffee pops are my favourite, even if Jay hates the taste of them.
It takes me time and a few scrapes to reach him, but I don't mind. I turn, to find his eyes closed, a slight smile still lingering on his lips. I almost would've thought he was asleep - if he hadn't gone and ruined it by talking.
"So, what do you think of Sandy?" he asks, eyes still shut tight. I want him to open them, to give me a hint as to what kind of answer he wants.
Since he's denied me that, I answer honestly. "She's okay, I guess."
Well, maybe not entirely honestly. Because in truth? I don't think of her. Period.
"Yeah...some of the guys were saying she was hot and whatever... and they think... they think she has a crush on you." He swallows, finally opening up his eyes, looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.
But I didn't know what to say. Should I be excited? Should I ask why "the guys" thought that she liked me? Pretend to be flattered? Or maybe I should act unsurprised, as if this was only to be expected.
I don't care about Sandy. I couldn't care less about her dull, mud-coloured hair or her blue, lackluster eyes. I'd never even spoken to her. Why would it matter if she liked me? Clearly, it had nothing to do with my sparkling personality.
So, I leave it at a simple "Okay," and shrug, staring back at him.
"You don't like her back?" he asks, his eye-brows lifting.
"Nope." I can't work out why he's asking me these questions. Maybe he likes her. Well, he can have her.
"Are there any girls you do fancy?"
Now it was getting weird.
Jay and I didn't talk about crushes. Ever. The other guys had started saying that different girls were pretty, or rides, or stunners a while back. But not Jay. And certainly not me either for that matter.
I don't think of girls in that way.
Yet, I remind myself. You don't think of girls in that way yet.
"Oh." He sighs a little and nods.
"What about you?" I inquire. If he's going to ask me awkward questions, then I sure as hell have a right to do the same.
"Me?" he asks, startled.
"No, not you. Elmo."
"Huh?" Jayden looks confused.
"Of course you! Do you see anyone else in this tree?"
"Now that you mention it..."
"Jayden," I growl.
"Jack," he teases.
"Remind me why I'm friends with you?"
"Are you sure we're just friends? I mean, we were getting pretty into moaning each other's names back there..."
"Jay-"
"See? There you go again!" He sticks his tongue out, mocking me.
"I will tell everyone that you wet the bed until you were eight," I threaten, glaring at him.
"Alright, alright! No need to get hasty here! What's you're question again?"
"Do you like any girls? Romantically," I clarify, through clenched teeth.
"No, I don't. Happy?"
For some reason, I am. I feel as if a weight's been lifted off my shoulders, almost.
Curioser and curiouser...
He continues, post-poning my confusion.
"Jack, if I tell you something, promise not to freak out. Or tell anyone else." He looks worried, but hopeful; how can I say no?
"I promise."
I think I-I like b-b-boys," his words come out in a jumbled rush. At first, he can't look at me.
Then he can't look away.
"So do most people," I reply.
"Wha-?" His expression is perplexed, and then, "No. No, Jack, I mean I like boys," he's pleading with me to understand - so I try.
"Oh. OH, right..." I trail off, deep in thought, thinking of all the signs of having a crush, or being attracted to someone.
Happy when they're happy - check. Jealous of the competition - check. Butterflies in your tummy when they're near - check. Tight feeling in your chest when they smile...
"So do I."
"What?"
Hm. Didn't seem to expect that. Neither did I really. It just, sort of, came out.
"You like boys and I think... that I do too." I stare at my hands as I say this and wait until all the words have left my lips before risking a glance at him. He looks...
Relieved.
"Oh. Okay. Great. So... how do you know?"
I survey the brush surrounding us, uncomfortable, not for the first time in the duration of this conversation.
"I don't know, just do, " I say, and direct my gaze back to his before asking "You?"
"I-um like this one guy..." he trails off, yanking moss off the bark beneath us, picking it apart into tiny pieces of green fluff then dropping it, bit by bit, into the thin air below us. I watch as they spiral out of view, then turn to see a spider-web of minute wrinkles work their way across his nose as he scrunches it up, still pulling the greenery apart. He's glaring at it intently too. I wish he'd look at me instead.
"Who?" I ask curiously (fine, nosily), thinking he won't mind seeing as we sort of passed by privacy a few miles back without so much as a glance at the welcome or goodbye signs.
Apparently, I thought wrong. The second I ask, his face goes traffic-light red and he starts blinking furiously.
"Um... No one. Never mind." He begins tapping his foot off the branch nervously.
"Come on, you can tell me. I swear, I won't tell another soul," I promise.
"It's not any other soul I'm worried about," he mutters so low, I'm half-convinced he never said anything at all.
I sigh, waiting for an answer.
"Fine. But you can't stop being my friend."
I don't see how a crush could ruin our friendship, but I go along with it anyway, dreading his reply.
"Yeah, alright."
Jay swallows, pursing his lips before whispering "You."
"What?"
He rolls his eyes. "I like you, you idiot."
My mouth drops open - to talk presumably - but all that comes out is; "Oh."
Then, all of a sudden, my lips aren't able to form any sounds at all, they're otherwise occupied.
With Jayden's.
My arms have a mind of their own, wrapping around my best-friend's waist and tugging him along the branch, closer, dragging myself deeper into the scent of the cologne he'd only recently been old enough to need.
I pull away after a second to whisper "I like you more."
"What does that mean?" he whispers back.
"It means, I guess I'm going to have to cut back on the toffee pops."
Jay grins and pulls my lips back to where they belong.