‘Whoa, D,’ I say, looking away from my dad’s excited face to see what D has coloured in. He’s holding up an epic colouring of Captain Marvel. ‘I think D wins this week, Dad,’ I whisper turning back to my dad.
‘I might have to agree, Scar, but I think they both look fantastic and deserve a spot on the fridge,’ he replies, encouragingly.
D and I high-five.
‘I love yours too, Scar,’ D says. His cheeks are red with pride.
‘What would the winner like for a prize this week?’ my dad asks Devon. Devon looks at me and grins.
‘Ice-cream,’ he exclaims without much thought. I cheer. We both love our ice-cream.
*
The four of us are sat in mine and Devon’s old hang-out spot, the conversation is flowing, and my shoulders have relaxed more than I had intended them to this evening.
‘What else did Scarlett here get you to do?’ Hope asks, sipping her second gin with a broad grin on her face.
I sit up straight on the cosy booth seat and playfully throw a coaster at Hope. ‘We were young and stupid and this one was the bossy one – don’t let him fool you. I just couldn’t say no,’ I protest, my voice a higher octave than normal.
Hope’s face turns from amused to mischievous. I wish I had superpowers that meant I couldn’t read her mind. Her clear “I wouldn’t say no either” wink makes me sweat.
Devon has spent the last forty-five minutes regaling them with stories that make it look like he spent his childhood being forced into doing the craziest stunts and always playing the sidekick. He’s become wildly enthusiastic, engaging and attentive, asking just as many questions to both Hope and Jess as they are asking him. So much so that by the time our third round of drinks arrive, I feel I could give them all a pop quiz on where each of them grew up, family history, brothers, sisters, pets, and holidays they’ve been on.
‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ Hope says with a laugh.
I narrow my eyes, tilt my head and pucker my lips in a perfect pout. I look at Devon as if to say, “you asked for it,” as I prepare to knock him off the pedestal that Hope and Jess now have him on after the picture he has painted of me just now.
‘Devon, please tell my dear, dear friends here which one of us jumped out of a tree when they were twelve years old and fractured both their wrists?’ I say, slowly and purposefully, leaning forward and looking Devon straight in the eyes.
He smirks and shakes his head at my nerve. ‘That would have been you,’ he says, unable to stop himself from snorting.
‘And, Mr Wood, won’t you please tell my best friends here who later skated off an icy roof, landed in the concrete bowl and broke their arm and fractured their wrist again?’ I go on.
Devon matches my stance, leaning forward with his forearms on the table, his face inches from mine. Hope and Jess seemed to have stopped breathing, waiting with bated breath for Devon’s answer, as they go quiet and still.
‘That answer would also be you,’ he notes, closing his eyes when Hope gasps.
‘No way,’ Jess mutters, cringing. ‘Ouch, Scarlett, you never told us that.’
No, I did not. Both memories were too painful to ever bring up and the pain had nothing to do with the injuries. I can’t help but laugh at mine and Devon’s idiocy and because of the pang of joy I feel at being able to share such goofy memories and important pieces of my childhood with two of my best friends.
‘And who came up with those such clever ideas?’ I add, just to really hit home.
‘Oh, are you blaming me? Are you sure it was me?’ Devon says, pointing at himself and scrunching up his face to make a silly expression.
‘Not quite the perfect poster boy now, are we?’ I tease before moving away from Devon’s face and leaning back in my seat to allow myself to breathe my own air.
‘I can’t believe you two. Your parents must have been nervous wrecks,’ Hope comments. Devon and I both shrug in unison but remain quiet. We catch each other’s eyes, and both let out a chuckle. He’s obviously on the same page as me, not wanting to discuss our parents, and for a moment that connection feels nice.
‘Oh my gosh, Devon, have you been to New York Comic Con? Have you seen the cosplay there?’ Hope asks eagerly flapping her hands about and then they’re off discussing cosplay, Jess and Hope giving detailed accounts of outfits they have worn and Devon’s eyes lighting up after hearing about every one. I swirl the ice around in my glass and can’t help but wonder if this is how it would have been throughout the past ten years had Devon not left. If the four of us would have cosplayed together.
‘I’ve been a few times, but I’ve never cosplayed. I’m ashamed to admit this movie is the first time I’ve worn spandex since I was twelve,’ Devon says shaking his head.
‘Not a bad way to start up again, mate,’ Jess notes, clinking bottles with Devon in agreement.
‘Not at all.’ Devon beams. ‘I’m terrible when it comes to designing though. Scar was the brains behind our costumes and then our mums would make them for us, after much begging.’ He laughs gently nudging his knuckles against mine, which are around the rim of my gin glass, resting on the table. I feel a slight fizz and move my hand away quickly.
Hope leans across the table and wags her finger a mere inch away from my face. I think she’s had enough gin for the night. ‘OK, since he got here, I am starting to love you more and more. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ I say with a nod.
Hope sits back down. ‘She’s always crafting and baking, but I’ve never seen her draw. I want to see these superhero costumes,’ Hope says, talking to Devon now.
Devon’s face goes from relaxed and full of laughter to bewildered, like he’s missed some form of inside joke. I ignore the straw in my glass and down the rest of my pink gin and lemonade in one long gulp.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never seen her draw. Scar draws – that’s her thing. Right, Scar?’ Devon nudges my knuckles again. His brows crease and he’s looking a little worried now, like maybe something bad happened to me, like I hit my head and am suffering from amnesia and can’t remember my childhood, when really it’s not as dramatic as that. I may have just lied and kept my drawing a secret.
‘Not this one, dude. I mean she’s crafty and can make and build anything, but we’ve never seen her draw. She’s never so much as glanced at my comic book collection, which I now have to give her credit for. That must have taken a hell of a lot of will power,’ Jess chimes in unhelpfully. I’m getting that uncomfortable knot in my stomach that occurs when Devon’s features do that thing where his bottom lip starts to stick out and his eyes go foggy. It’s like Thor in the dryer all over again. He’s upset and no doubt embarrassed that he doesn’t get the joke.
‘What are you guys chit-chatting about?’ a shrill voice cuts through my friends’ chatter.
‘Oh, nothing that concerns you,’ Jess informs Ruby.
I notice Devon shift uncomfortably in his seat. I dare not look at my enemy. Nothing Ruby ever says to me is pleasant and I’d rather her not spoil this unexpectedly happy evening.
‘You here with the girls tonight? I’m sure they’re missing you right now, but thanks for saying hello,’ Hope says turning her back to Ruby who isn’t remotely fazed by her lack of subtlety in her attempt to shoo her away. Hope’s always stuck up for me whenever we bump into Ruby and her minions. Fortunately, Ruby travels a lot with work these days so that’s not an everyday occurrence.