Thankfully he did most of the talking from then on. Marco was taking a gap year to improve his language skills before going back to start his A levels in September. He’d been travelling all over Europe, and he planned to spend a bit of time in London during the winter with his uncle’s family. I didn’t catch where his accent was from, or why it seemed so familiar.
“I would love for a native Londoner to show me the sights sometime. Can I have your email address?” he asked, getting his notebook out.
Oh god oh god oh god. In my defence, I signed up for my email address years ago and barely use it. I obviously couldn’t give him my school email address – so saddo teachers can read my messages in the staffroom? No thanks.
“Sure,” I said in the most nonchalant voice I could muster.
I reached over to take the pen and notebook from him. And he flinched away from me! Did he think I was going in for a kiss and was completely revolted by the idea?
Just my luck. I’d probably misread the whole situation. Maybe Marco wanted to make friends (and only friends) with people in a new city?
“Would you mind reading it out? My notebook absolutely must not fall into the wrong hands,” Marco said with a wink.
Ahhh. He didn’t want me to see his notes. I wasn’t revolting, after all! But I still had my email address to read out…
I was going to have to say it. Why couldn’t he have asked for my phone number or Instagram handle, like any other normal guy?
“It’s [email protected],” I said as fast as I could. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
I looked up and noticed that the garden was a lot busier. It was nearly midnight, and everyone wanted to get a good view of the fireworks. Suddenly, I heard people shouting.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Marco put the notebook into his coat pocket.
“…seven, six, five…”
He put his hand on my waist.
“…four, three, two…”
He leaned in.
“…one…”
He kissed me gently on the lips. And I couldn’t tell if the sound of fireworks exploding was coming from the sky or inside my own head.
I don’t know why I was so nervous about my first kiss. All those hours reading about techniques online and debating their various merits with my friends were pointless. Marco kissed me, I kissed back, and that was all it took to set my whole body alight. It didn’t feel like a sea monster on my face. I couldn’t taste what he’d had for dinner. My nose stayed in the right place. For a first kiss, I think we knocked it out of the park.
By the time we stopped kissing, the fireworks display was in full swing, and my insides gently fizzed.
Then I noticed something that made my stomach plunge in a very different way.
There were people on my roof! Dad’s office window had a large window leading out on to a flat roof. It was the perfect spot for getting a better view of the fireworks.
I pulled away from Marco and gasped.
Strangers in Dad’s office! Climbing through windows! Fiddling with ancient junk! I had to get them out.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’ve got to go!” I yelled “And thank you!” I said over my shoulder as I bolted inside (why did I thank him for kissing me?!).
“Dad’s office. Now!” I barked at Eros while I ran up the stairs two steps at a time (not easy in such a fitted dress, let me tell you).
I burst into the room. Several people sat on the roof, some taking videos of the fireworks.
But that wasn’t what made my heart stop in my throat.
A few people I didn’t recognize were rooting through the cardboard boxes left over from the house move. Why were they wearing white sheets as dresses? And vines on their heads? Then I realized. They were wearing togas and laurel wreaths. Dad’s togas and laurel wreaths. Something told me these outfits were not to be touched.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I screamed as one girl jammed her foot into a winged sandal.
“Oh, we found this fancy-dress box,” said the girl. “Want to try some on?” She said, holding out a bundled-up toga.
“Do you reckon this fur is real?” said another guy, hauling up a heavy cloak complete with the head of a lion.
I gulped. Dad had kept this stuff secret for a reason. It wasn’t meant to be touched.
“OUT!” I shouted, still breathless from my jog up the stairs.
“Babe, chill,” said a girl taking selfies with her shiny new laurel wreath. “It’s just charity shop junk. Who else would want it?”
Eros appeared in the room, a picture of calm. “Hey, guys, this room is kinda off limits, I’m afraid. Would you mind going back downstairs?”
The effect was instant. The girl broke into a wide smile before Eros finished talking.
“No, no, we totally get it,” she said. “Sorry if we messed up the room.”
“And you’ll have to leave behind everything,” he added.
They obediently put the winged sandals, togas and lion head cloak (the thought of which made my stomach turn – I couldn’t look the poor thing in the eye) back in the boxes.
They filed out of the room with dazed smiles on their faces. The last guy to leave even hugged Eros, who had clearly inherited Aphrodite’s power to charm.
We stopped at the top of the stairs. Why was it so quiet? “Is the party over already?” I asked.
Then we heard something else. Guitar chords, maybe? Followed by a man singing along.
“There’s always some jerk who brings out the guitar at a house party and kills the vibe,” Eros said. “If the party isn’t over already, it will be in about ten minutes.”
Then I remembered where I had heard that voice before and my stomach sank. What the heck was Apollo doing here? The more gods that knew about the house party, the more likely Dad was going to find out about it.
We burst into the living room to see him standing by the window with his guitar. We couldn’t get much further than the front door – the room was rammed. Dozens of people stood and sat on every available surface, entranced by Apollo’s music. As in, they looked literally entranced. I’d seen that dizzy smile before.
Some swayed, some closed their eyes, but everyone looked peaceful and happy. A few recorded Apollo with their phones. It was so weird. Just fifteen minutes before, the thump of music and laughter rolled through the house. Now it was like naptime at nursery.
Apollo wrapped up his last song. “That was ‘Your Golden Love’ by me, DJ Sunny. And now for my next track, called—”
I caught his eye by waving frantically. “Give me one sec, guys,” he said, and left his guitar behind while he waded through the people on the floor to see me and Eros.
“Hey, fam. How’s it hanging?” he asked, blue eyes wide and shining. Apollo was in his element when he performed, even if it was only our living room.
“What on earth have you done to my party?” I hissed.
“Relax, little one. I’m doing you a favour. A fight was this close to kicking off, but my music calmed everyone down.” Apollo leaned in closer and hushed his voice. “Forget Father, how do you think the Council would react if they heard about that?”