![]() ![]() The next day Si’s hair was gelled and he’d keep it that way since. One of the kids in the year above had called him out on the first day back at school for looking like a twat. He used to have cur- tains, little half-moons, hairspray crisp. In the last couple of weeks Si’s started wearing his hair slicked back, too much gel, and the light catches it. The sun’s bright and it’s still warm despite it being late afternoon. He and I have be- come closer since Oli left last year, I like him, but I can’t help thinking we’re probably only friends because of Si. I don’t know why he does it, he gets treated like shit but keeps going back. He’s always so desperate to please, like a dog humping Si’s leg. He’s working at a spot on his neck, nails pressing deep into red puckered skin, the whitehead remaining resolutely intact. “Yeah, Nick’s known Liz for years, haven’t you Nick? Aren’t your mum and dad friends with her mum and dad?” Tom falls over his words, like a drunk man throwing darts. My cheeks are hot, a swell of inadequacy in the face of his needle-like questions. I can hear the sneer in his words, causing them to crackle in my ears. I’m not looking in Si’s direction, but I sense he’s staring at me. I can’t get Liz out of my head, I’ve created this parallel world in my mind where we are a thing, which makes my inability to do anything a little easier. Susie Locke? That’s bollocks, she’s in the year above and doesn’t even know Si’s name. “Who does it for me? Well, I’ve already done Susie Locke. I’m not even sure if I’ve got the guts to give Liz Morris the mixtape I’ve made, let alone ask her out. All across ‘year 5’, everyone seems to be getting together with someone, it feels like half the class are going out. He’ll just tell you it’s because he wants to look like Kurt Cobaine. His blonde hair falls over his face, which he’s grown out to hide the spots that cover his cheeks like exploding freckles. “So who in school does it for you, then? You know, in that department.”Īs Tom says this, he looks down at the ground, embarrassed, head bobbing like he’s listening to music. He rests the gun on the inside of his elbow and allows the barrel to hang loose, gently swinging like a thin black arm. Si unlocks the air rifle and draws the barrel down towards the wooden stock until it clicks. He’d come up to me at lunch today and suggested that the three of us meet up. Different classes and teams in school, different excuses and interests out. We barely saw him over the summer, only coming to the woods a couple of times over the break. ![]() His parent’s split up last year and Tom reckons that’s what’s done it. ![]() A cocky bastard, but recently Si’s become a right prick. ![]()
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