Truthfully, she couldn’t have done this alone.
September – 102 days before Freya left
Freya’s moods had grown more unpredictable. Either that or Sophie was finding it harder to predict them – but she didn’t like the thought of that.
Today should have been a good day. It was one of those late September days where the sun still carried warmth that would last long enough to make a Friday by the river worth their while. A night ahead that caught the interest of more than the usual suspects, although it seemed that the weight of everyone else’s excitement was bringing Freya down.
“You still want to come back to mine first?” Sophie asked during Geography.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I was just checking. You don’t seem in the mood for socialising, that’s all.”
Freya answered with a shrug. “Socialising with you I can tolerate.”
Which was hardly the most flattering way of putting it.
After last bell, they made it through the melee of people calling out that they’d see them later, asking what time they were planning on getting there, did Freya know if the Campion lot would be there…
“Oh my god,” she hissed, finally making it as far as the gates. “Why am I the one they’re asking?”
Sophie bit down on the inside of her lips to stop herself from answering, and they walked on in silence for a few paces before Freya looked across the road at the crowd by the bus stops and announced that she’d rather walk.
When she heard Sophie’s sigh, she frowned.
“What’s up?”
“Just tired, that’s all.” Last night she’d fallen asleep over her Chemistry book, then stayed awake until 3 a.m. waiting to do it again.
But Freya had zero sympathy.
“You’re always tired. The fresh air’ll wake you up. Come on.”
And Sophie did as she was told because disagreeing with Freya when she was like this meant losing more than an argument. Five minutes down the road, Freya sighed and sort of collapsed into Sophie like she was the one who needed the support.
“Sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being impossible today.”
Sophie slipped her arm through Freya’s. The pavement here wasn’t wide enough for anyone to pass, but Freya showed no signs of letting go and as a woman with a couple of shopping bags approached, the two of them bundled into the wall that ran along the pavement in a fit of “oofs” and laughter.
The woman and her shopping did not approve.
Once they recovered, Freya let go to adjust the bag on her shoulder. She’d all her stuff with her and Sophie thought about offering to carry it for a bit, but as the offer made a slow shift from thoughts to words, Freya stopped her with a, “It’s Kellan.”
“What about him?” The Kellan Spencer spam-a-thon that had once flooded Sophie’s phone had thinned to a dribble and she felt some retrospective guilt at how relieved she’d been. She was still interested, but demonstrating that interest was hard to maintain.
“He’ll be out tonight.” Not exactly news. Freya only went down to the river when Kellan did. “He keeps dropping hints about the fact that his parents have gone away for the night and won’t be back till after lunch tomorrow.”
“Hints?”
When Freya glanced across, her gaze didn’t quite land. “You know, sex hints.”
“Oh.” Sophie walked on a couple more paces. “Is that a bad thing? I thought—”
“You thought what?”
“I’d thought you’d want to.”
“I never said I didn’t.” Freya was walking a little faster now, like she was trying to outpace a conversation that she’d started.
“OK, it’s just—”
But Freya tutted like whatever Sophie was about to say had already pissed her off.
“Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m trying to.” Sophie felt more than a little helpless. “Please, Freya, just talk to me about what’s bugging you.”
She tugged on the strap of Freya’s bag, slowing them both to a stop.
The two of them stood, looking at each other a moment, as if each thought the other should go first. Sophie had said so many wrong things, she didn’t want to risk another, but Freya was the kind of stubborn that didn’t bend. Ever. And Sophie didn’t want to see her break.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I don’t know what the right thing is to say.”
But even that had been wrong – she could tell by the ripple of disapproval in the way Freya looked at her.
“Maybe don’t say anything,” she said. “Maybe just let me talk.”
“OK.” Hadn’t that been what she was doing? Sophie tried to backtrack through their conversation, but the words had turned to mist, too hard to hold on to.
“OK,” Freya said, nodding, and threading her arm through Sophie’s once more. “Maybe later.”
But it seemed that was all she’d needed to say. On the walk to Sophie’s, over tea, while they messed around trying on nearly every item of clothing in Sophie’s wardrobe, Freya’s mood lifted so far that by the time they got to the wharf, she was higher than ever before.
And at the end of the night, when Sophie looked for her, Freya had left with Kellan.
LUCAS
Kellan’s offer of friendship wasn’t entirely without conditions. The flip side of people always wanting his attention was that when no one else was around to ask for it, he expected his mates to do the honour. Texts had to be answered and invitations accepted – a small price to pay for entering the inner circle, but a price nonetheless when Kellan’s moods swung from sunny skies to stormy waters.
Tonight, Lucas figured Freya’s parcel might tip the barometer in a less favourable direction.
Best to find Ryan nice and early, hand it over and get on with celebrating the illusion of freedom that would last until he actually did some revision.
Kellan’s road was lined with tall trees and posh cars and houses with columns framing the front doors like a row of red-brick Greek temples. Passing through the fog of burnt fruit and fist bumps from the vapers on the steps, Lucas walked in through the open front door into the hall. Left was the massive lounge, already bouncing, and behind the stairs was the door to the dining room, but if you followed the hall round to the right, you got a choice between the kitchen and the nook.
Even after months of calling Kellan his mate, Lucas still felt like it was an honour to be allowed in the nook, with its Banksy print and shelves of games around the 65” TV. The room could fit ten people, absolute max, and there were eight already in there – some girls Lucas didn’t know plus the usual suspects. Kellan didn’t even look up from the screen when he gave dap – too busy working his way through an 8-player Smash – and Lucas propped a bum cheek on the arm of the sofa next to him.
“Where you been?” Fry asked, tipping right back on his beanbag to look up. He wasn’t holding a controller, keeping himself busy by sorting a bag of party balloons into different colours across his lap, ready for later.