“Maddison!” Vivien admonished, but it was swallowed up by the rest of the team piling in on each other. My feet stepped away from the scuffle, and I went to wait next to the car, pulling my coat closer around me.
“Sorry about that.” Vivien came over and unlocked the car for us. We jumped in, out of the chill and waited for Mads. I looked out the window, feeling stupid and deflated when I should be happy about Maddison winning. And I was confused about why I was feeling like this. Was it because he’d shown interest in other girls over me, or his reaction when another boy tried to talk to me?
Nearly twenty minutes later, the car door finally opened.
“Hey,” Mads muttered as he climbed in the back seat.
“Good job, sweetheart. Congratulations,” Vivien exclaimed.
“Thanks.”
“Well done,” I offered and tried to catch his eye, but Mads seemed to be more interested in staring out the window. From this angle, I could see his jaw tensed like he was grinding his teeth together in frustration, and I wondered if he was avoiding me. He should have been happy—he’d just won.
I hated it when he was like this. Sometimes he made it so hard to be his friend.
We travelled home in silence, but the bouncing of his leg didn’t stop. My hand itched to rest on his thigh again—to still him and tell him that whatever it was, it was okay. But I was too mad. Or at least that’s what I felt inside: hot and bad-tempered.
Vivien dropped me off at my house, and I waved lamely to Mads in the car. You’d never think he’d just won the game.
“Is that you, Grace?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they win?”
“Yep. Cup winners, whatever that means.”
“You don’t look so happy?” Mum came and rubbed my arm, scrutinising me.
“I’m fine. Maddison wasn’t in the best mood. I’m just going to go to my room.”
“Okay, then. Dinner will be at six.”
I ran upstairs and into my room, scooping Bob up and letting him get comfy on my lap as I stroked his softness.
My phone chirped, and I had to shift to reach it from my pocket.
Are you coming over? I want a break from revision.
I read the message from Oliver.
Can you come over here?
I didn’t want to face Mads again. And that was annoying in itself because I didn’t know why.
Less than ten minutes later, my mum had answered the knock at the door, and Oliver was at my bedroom door. Bob immediately picked himself up and went to investigate Oliver before he decided his spot on my lap couldn’t be beaten.
“Hey,” he offered.
“Hey.”
“What happened at the match? It’s like they lost.”
I shrugged, not sure what to say.
He took a seat at my desk and spun on the chair. He looked bored already, and I felt bad. This was meant to be his break from study, not a fast track to boredom.
“Are you looking forward to the summer?” I asked, looking for a conversation topic that wouldn’t be hard.
“After the exams, sure.”
“You’ll have months off.”
“Yeah, weeks when you’re both still at school, and I can only wait for my results.”
Oliver would be going into the sixth form in September, leaving us behind again. At least it was on the same campus this time, although sixth form students didn’t mix with the main school students. It was just another evolution of our friendship. I knew that, but I couldn’t help but feel more insecure about it, just like last time. I still wished we could go back and freeze what we’d had that first summer—capture our simple joy of being each other’s friends. But the world didn’t seem to work like that. I was starting to fear all the changes we’d have in our future.
“You’ll be fine, you’re super clever, and you study hard.”
“Isn’t a guarantee, but thanks.”
I changed the topic. “Are you going to the end of year ball?”
“Probably. I don’t know for sure.”
“I thought everyone went, like a tradition? The whole school turns up to watch everyone arrive in their limos and fancy cars.”
“If I go, I’ll go with friends. I’m not taking a date.” He raised his eyes to look at mine and left the words unsaid between us. There was a part of my heart that wanted nothing more than to be Oliver’s date. But then I thought about Maddison and knew I’d feel the same way about him. It was confusing to feel so protective over my best friends, and I knew my feelings for them weren’t just friendship anymore. The swirling sensation and butterflies in my stomach told me it wasn’t normal, but then our friendship had never been normal. And how could I split what I felt between them, or even start to define it?
It seemed like there were no safe conversation topics.
“You never mention your dad.” Oliver appeared to be suffering the same struggle as me and did a one-eighty in the conversation.
“No.” It was a topic that was always off the table. My mum barely mentioned him, and I couldn’t remember him that well. He’d left, I presumed, a couple of years before we’d moved. I hadn’t asked about him in years.
“Do you still see him?”
I shook my head. “Not since we’ve moved.”
“Do you miss him?”
I got off the bed and picked up one of the dragon ornaments from the shelf as if the little creature held the answer. My dad wasn’t someone I thought about, but now that Oliver had mentioned him, I wondered why. Why hadn’t I asked my mum about him? Something stopped me wanting to find out. I wasn’t sure what.
Not wanting to delve into complicated waters, I moved the conversation on again. “What do you want to study next year?” I asked. I knew what the answer was, but I couldn’t talk about my dad.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, just say. Maths, business, and biology, but you already know that.”
“Do you remember when we would build worlds with these guys?” I kept the little dragon in my hand and thought back to when our friendship was a simple thing. The stories we’d created inspired the love of books that now lined my shelves. The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Eragon… anything with magic and mystery, and I would happily lose hours in the stories.
“Sure, I do. Look, I’m sorry I brought him up. I promise I won’t again.”
“No, you didn’t know. I didn’t even know, I guess, I’ve just not given him much thought, and now I have…” I didn’t finish, and the words dried up.
“Look, why don’t you come over later for dinner? Mum’s making lasagne, and I know that’s your favourite. It will at least ensure Mads is on his best behaviour.”
“Okay.” I smiled, grateful that Oliver could read the signs and give me some space. I needed to speak to my mum.
“See you later then. I’ll text you.” He left, and I suddenly felt nervous about having this conversation with my mum—a long-overdue discussion.
“Mum!” I shouted down the stairs before going to look for her. “Mum, can we talk?”
Her shocked face appeared from the kitchen. “Sure, what do you want to talk about? Is it Oliver?”