He’d been a staple of their summer, part of the crowd playing (or watching) Smash Bros round Kellan’s and messing around on the wharf, the link that forged Freya’s connection to Kellan. At times, it had almost been nice to have Ryan there to take the piss out of all the giggling and fight-flirting that was going on.
The second his cousin and Freya had become something more than casual, though, Ryan had turned intolerable. Morgan had diagnosed a classic case of jealousy, but Freya had been weird with her about that. Since then Sophie had focussed firmly on the practical and steered clear of the hypothetical.
Ignore him Sophie scrawled in the margin of Freya’s notes.
He makes it hard Freya replied – then scribbled over their words.
“Right then,” the teacher was saying. “I’ve seen some really strong work as I’ve been going round, but I’d like to hear some of these conversations read aloud.” Before he’d finished the sentence everyone was roaring in protest, and Sophie slid Freya a jubilant look.
“Anyone?” Cockburn looked hopeful, but writing something down and reading it out were wildly different asks and everyone kept their hands tucked safely away, avoiding eye contact with the teacher.
Until Ryan spoke up. “Ask Freya, sir.”
Freya whipped round with a hiss of, “Shut up, Ryan.”
“What?” The grin on his face was pure malice. “I have it on good authority you’ll do anything for cock.”
And he pointed at the name still on the board.
Amid sniggers and people telling him not to be gross, Mr Cockburn called him up to the front, saying that Ryan knew full well this kind of language wouldn’t be tolerated out of the exercise.
As Ryan slouched past, because he couldn’t help acting like a gold-star douchebag, he brought a fist towards his mouth and punched his cheek out with his tongue, eyes on Freya the whole time.
“Another euphemism for you, sir,” he said, without a hint of shame. “Means blow job.”
WIN
When Sophie asked if they could listen to the radio, Win turned it on just that little too loud. A trick she’d learned from Dad, who knew all the gentlest ways of easing Sunny from her default state of constant chatter into something like silence. Once they passed back through the high street and over the bridge, the sat nav directed Win onto a road lined with larger, older houses, whose roofs flitted by above privet hedges and weathered brick walls.
After they dropped her off, Sunny switched to the front and turned the volume down on a man and his synths doing an impression of Ed Sheeran that Win had hated the last six times she’d heard it. If the alternative hadn’t been talking to her sister, she might have been grateful.
“So.”
Win rolled her eyes beneath her eyelids, before remembering she was driving and snapping them open so fast she pulled a muscle.
“That was all very interesting,” Sunny said.
“If you say so.”
“Er. You get a mystery parcel from our old neighbour, spend the last hour steaming up the windows with Sophie Charbonneau, introduce me to the man of my dreams, and all you’ve got is if you say so?”
“Exactly how have I been steaming up windows with Sophie? You make it sound like we’re in Titanic. I gave her a ride—”
“I’ll say you did.”
“Are you auditioning for Love Island? That wasn’t an innuendo.”
“I would be excellent on Love Island—”
“You’re fifteen. You would be illegal.”
“Whatever. What I’m saying is, you need to text Sophie and tell her we’re going to Kellan’s party.”
“Oh really?” Win hit the brake a little hard as they came to a red light and both of them bounced against their seatbelts, Win turning to give Sunny an incredulous look. “I need to tell her that me – and for some reason you – are going to a house party we’ve not been invited to?”
“And offer to pick her up on the way. Obvs.”
A car behind let out a little “peep” and Win turned round to glare. She was not in the mood for impatient drivers or ridiculous sisters or Year 11 house parties.
“Listen to me very carefully.” The car stalled. Win squashed the bubble of frustration swelling in her chest, killed the engine and started it back up, pulling away less smoothly than usual. “I am not going to text Sophie. About anything. I do not want to go to a house party. And if I did, I definitely wouldn’t take you with me.”
“But—”
“Oh my God, Sunny, just stop.”
“Stop what? I was just—”
“Stop. Talking.”
“Why are you always telling me to shut up?”
“Because you’re always talking!” Win swerved to the kerb, slammed on the hazards and pressed her head against the top of the steering wheel. “I can’t drive with you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Being all” – she waved a hand in Sunny’s direction – “you.”
“What’s wrong with being me?”
Win pressed her lips together to prevent her giving in to the temptation of listing all her sister’s flaws. (Too talkative, excessively horny, can’t take a hint, never replaces the loo roll…) Sunny wasn’t the problem. She was just there. Or she was until she started clambering out the door.
“What are you doing?” Win said, watching her.
“Making sure you don’t have to listen to me any more.”
“Sunny, don’t be like that—”
But Sunny ducked down, all her heat and light concentrated into a single furious beam. “Don’t be like what? Me?”
The force with which she slammed the door sent a shiver through the charms hanging from the rear-view mirror and Win collapsed forward onto her steering wheel once more.
She preferred her Fridays with a lot more chill and a lot less intrigue.
She hadn’t asked for any of this. Didn’t have enough of a claim over Freya to care one way or another what happened next. Whatever treasure was in the middle of that parcel, Sophie, Lucas and Ryan were welcome to it.
Someone knocked on the window and Win looked up to see a grumpy-looking man point at the ground and shout, “It’s a double yellow!” through the glass. Win gave him a resigned sort of thumbs up and turned back into the traffic.
Her sister had made it halfway down the hill and, when Win drove past, Sunny flicked her a double V-sign.
Win parked up in a bay a little further along. Tempted as she was, it was too far to make Sunny walk all the way home. When her sister was nearly level, Win called her name out of the window. Sunny made no indication that she’d heard – unless walking faster counted.
Win sighed, tried a different tactic.
“How am I supposed to take you to a Year 11 house party that we’re not invited to if you’re ignoring me?”
Sunny’s angry march turned to a dawdle, then she pivoted round and edged towards the car until she could see the message Win was holding up on her phone.
Hi Sophie. Sunny thinks we should go to the party with you. She definitely has ulterior Lucas-shaped motives, but the offer of company (and a lift) is there if you want it?