‘Oi,’ I say, mock annoyed. The smirk on his face making me forget what moments ago I had just been anxious about. I pop my last bite of cookie in my mouth and shove him in his bicep with all my might. It has no effect; Devon has since morphed into The Hulk and is no longer the skinny kid I once knew. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the shots being worth anything then and being plastered on international magazines around the world,’ I note, relieved.
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that. I think they’d be worth plenty,’ Devon says making me laugh. The snowflakes and light raindrops hitting window ledges are the only sounds I hear in the peaceful night, when I realise my own laughter is ruining it as we reach my front door. Devon’s gone quiet, hands in his pockets, just watching me. Was he being serious? There’s no way Devon would be thinking about my arse; that’s not part of the best friend code. OK, so I might have taken a cheeky glance at his earlier, but it wasn’t exactly my fault – he had gotten on all fours in front of me. It had been right there. Suddenly my cheeks flush red hot. I had my butt in Devon’s face when I crawled out of our stupid den. Had that been why he had looked so flustered, stuttering over his words upon exit? Surely not.
‘I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m sorry that I pulled you away from the cookie tasting and that our den was a bust. I’m not sure what I was thinking,’ I say, my words coming out fast as I jangle my keys into the lock.
‘Not at all. I miss our adventures. I had a good time, though I’d suggest we find a new den. I’ve grown a couple inches since we were twelve,’ Devon says, his eyes now focused on mine, a slight hint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. The night sky’s golden stars reflect in his warm brown eyes and for a moment I feel completely content, like I’m home. Keys hitting the concrete with a musical note snap me from my trance.
‘Erm, ha-ha, I hadn’t noticed,’ I joke regarding Devon’s growth spurt as I bend down to retrieve my slippery keys. I force myself to concentrate on the difficult task at hand: opening my front door. It’s not like I haven’t done it a million times before. However, with Devon at such close proximity it would be a first, so I guess my shaky hands aren’t that unreasonable. ‘Night, D,’ I force enthusiastically. I really need to get my feelings in check. Hadn’t Lois Lane and Peggy Carter taught me anything? Falling in love with a superhero was a dangerous game. I step into my house as Devon salutes me and wanders down my path to the gate; he’s a gentleman and waits for me to close my door – knowing I’m safe inside before he walks away.
I push the door to and lean my head against it. Without Devon by my side, my body shivers. My feet feel like blocks of ice in my boots. Finally a night of running around the park without a coat on catches up with me and – hold on a minute, the goose bumps are back in full force. Did I just say love? Did I just say I was falling in love with a superhero?
15
‘You’re a star,’ Hope says as I place her coffee on her desk. The two paper cups had been keeping my hands warm beneath my gloves.
‘What did I do?’ I ask as I place my hot peppermint coffee on my own desk – I switched to hot from iced lattes this morning as the chill from last night’s escapades has yet to leave my bones.
‘I just got an email back from the production team and the governors and they are keen on the idea for us to move the magazine to monthly. With the drop in profit right now we’d be having to do that anyway within the next month, so it makes sense. They’re going to run some numbers and talk in more detail then get back to me to go over the plan, so we’re not out of the clear yet. However, I’m staying positive. Devon’s interview will be running in the January issue and there’s already been a buzz online with the website having more hits thanks to his picture advertising the issue, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a boost in pre-orders, that could swerve them. And, I had chance to speak to Mrs Rolph about your donation idea and merging the competition with the magazine and she said it was a marvellous plan and they’d love to be a part of it. Which brings me to where did you disappear off to last night?’ She lets out a breath after her monologue and quirks a brow under her golden frames.
‘Oh, that’s amazing, Hope. I knew you could do it. Things are looking up,’ I say cheerfully, feeling a touch of stress leave my body.
‘It had nothing to do with me – those were your ideas. And?’ she says, giving me a pointed stare.
‘And I just needed some fresh air and wanted to show D something at the park,’ I try with half honesty. I don’t truly know what came over me. One look at Devon and his playful behaviour with the cookies had made me feel like a kid again and I just got the urge to run, to be free, to go off on our own adventure, like we used to do. It was random and silly and the sniffles I have this morning prove why adults don’t tend to get on their hands and knees in the cold, wet earth to hide in bushes.
Surprisingly, Hope doesn’t press any further; she just smiles. ‘Sounds fun. The park’s beautiful this time of year.’ And she turns her attention back to her computer. I take a sip of my coffee and let the velvety liquid heat my bones, while my laptop loads. I look over at Hope, my best friend of almost ten years, and contemplate her rosy, sweet complexion. This morning she’s wearing high-waisted corduroys with a simple beige blouse tucked in, which compliments her golden-framed glasses and sandy blonde hair. I spent most of my life fearing girls thanks to Ruby, but Hope changed all that and I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve someone as cool as her in my life.
*
‘I’ve got pizza in the oven, but I’ve got ice-cream, chocolate buttons, Galaxy Ripples and Minstrels right here,’ I announce closing my bedroom door behind me and trying not to drop everything, the ice-cream freezing my forearm.
‘Just pour the whole bag of buttons in my mouth,’ Hope says, her voice coming out muffled with her face being buried in my pillow.
‘One at a time,’ I suggest. ‘He should be the one to choke to death, not you,’ I add, feeling a little mean but my best friend is in pain – I’m allowed to be mean and I want to show my support. I don’t have many girlfriends and I’ve only known Hope for six months. I really like her and want her to know she can come to me and count on me. And in truth, the guy did cheat on her; he deserves something bad to happen to him, maybe not death, but like a severely sprained ankle or something.
‘Why are boys so terrible?’ she asks, sitting up and reaching for the ice-cream. I pass her a spoon, not really knowing how to answer, my seventeen-year-old self not having had any experience with boyfriends.
‘Chuck Bartowski’s not terrible,’ I say thinking of a way to make her smile and spotting her notebook on the floor, which bears the character from her favourite TV show.
‘I wish all men were like Chuck Bartowski.’ She sighs and shoves a huge spoon of ice-cream into her mouth.
‘Imagine if we were spies,’ I start and quickly get lost in creating an epic fantasy, bringing Hope along with me. By the time I finish my story, she’s had brain freeze four times, eaten a Galaxy Ripple, cried twice, laughed so hard she has dribbled ice-cream all over my sheets, told me I’m the best and can’t remember why she was sad in the first place.