Aged 12
My first year of secondary school is the worst. I tried so hard to make friends. I know Cass said he was there for me, but he also wasn’t. He transferred overseas to study in the States when he turned fourteen, and he doesn’t always come home for the holidays. He sometimes spends time with his grandfather in New York, or the family goes skiing, or takes a beach vacations, or perhaps goes sailing. It doesn’t really matter. It just means he isn’t home; he isn’t with me, and I am alone, and I’ve never felt so lonely.
My move to the big school was exciting at first. My primary school only had sixty children so changing to a school with over a thousand pupils, I felt confident I would make at least a few friends, and then perhaps I would have some sort of normal teenage social life. I had a few invitations to parties at the beginning of the year, but my mother doesn’t drive, and we live so far from anywhere I can never get home afterwards. I’m not close enough with anyone in particular, not more than a forced lab partner status, and definitely not close enough to garner a sleepover invitation. Declining invitations so early on was social suicide and meant that, pretty quickly, I stopped getting asked altogether. Despite the potential of a much larger pool of possible friends, I am back to being cripplingly lonely and isolated.
It was easier after a while to keep to myself, a depressing self-fulfilling prophecy that means my life is in full pause mode until Cass returns. I know it isn’t healthy, and with puberty kicking in big time at the age of twelve, it means when he does finally come home for the summer holidays, I am going to be an angry mass of raging hormones.
And I was.
“If you don’t open the door, Tia Parker, I’m going to break it down!” Cass continues to thump his fist against my bedroom door. It’s the seventh day in a row he’s called, and this time he’s managed to get all the way upstairs. He must’ve waited until my mother left, because I knew full well she wouldn’t have let him in. Despite Mrs Kruse’s abrupt U-turn regarding my suitability as a playmate when I was seven, my mother is ridiculously uncomfortable with our friendship and wants to maintain what she sees as our proper ‘station’. She really doesn’t like it when Cass calls at our house.
“Go away!” I call out, still lying on my bed but with my pillow pressed against my head because that banging has now given me a kicking headache.
“You can’t still be sick, and even if you are, I never get sick, so just open the damn door.” He pauses the thumping just long enough to be heard.
“Don’t swear at me!”
“Damn isn’t swearing!” His voice drops, and I can hear the smile in his tone. He sounds different though. There’s a roughness that wasn’t there only a few months ago. “Open the fucking door, Tia. That’s swearing, and just so you know, I have enough food here to last the week. I’m camping outside your door until you let me in and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“My mother won’t like that,” I argue.
“Your mother won’t mind, trust me. I can do no wrong in that woman’s eyes.”
“Pff,” I snort and kind of hate that he’s right. His own mother may find him difficult, but mine adores him.
“You know the shit I had to go through to stay here all summer. I want to spend my summer with you, Tia, and you’re being a brat.”
“I’m a brat! You…you—” I yell but get flustered when my mouth fires off before my brain has secured a witty or more likely, snarky retort.
“Me, yes, what about me?” he goads, and he starts to chuckle. I get a strange mix of anger and hurt that he’s laughing at me.
“Go away, Cass. I don’t need you anymore,” I state with as much conviction as I can, hating that my nose tingles with the lie. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray he doesn’t hear when my voice catches on that last word. The silence is thick, and I can hear him let out a heavy sigh that matches my own.
“Well, I need you, Tia ‘Trouble’ Parker.” He punctuates each word with a heavy hand banging loudly on my poor pine door. The hinges rattle and the poster of The Smiths loses at least two of the pins holding it in place. I think for a moment. He might just break through like he threatened, but he doesn’t. The thumping stops, and I hear him slide down and slump to the floor.
I prop up on my elbows and stare at the door. I can picture his icy white hair falling into his impossibly perfect sapphire blue eyes as he hunches over, pulling his long legs up and most likely resting his head on his knees, plotting his next move. His blond brows are probably crinkled with irritation at not getting his way, not this time, at least. He has this calm seriousness about him that he maintains at all times, almost without exception. Oh, he has a temper that’s akin to a mini apocalypse, but I have only seen it once, and although I’d never want to be on the receiving end, I did benefit in that instance. We both did. The ban his mother tried to enforce when I was seven was instantly retracted, and even at the age of ten he was more articulate and forceful at expressing his wishes than a fully-grown adult.
That aside, he also has some pretty devious ideas of how to get his own way, too, which are much more fun; but he has the tools to argue his case when necessary and he can be very persuasive. He is very smart, and I can listen to him for days. Which is what it feels like I am doing now. He hasn’t drawn breath for three hours straight, and I need to pee. Man, he’s stubborn.
“I need to use the bathroom Atticus.” I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, because I’ve actually left it a little too late, and I’m now at the toe-curling uncomfortable stage.
“And?”
“And you need to leave, so I can pee.” I rattle the door handle to give warning of my impending exit.
“Why? Don’t you have a door on the bathroom?” he quips.
“Don’t be an arse, just go home Cass. I don’t want to see you. I’m not sick, I just—”
“Just what, Tia? Talk to me. I’ve missed you, please,” he pleads, and I hate myself right now. Why don’t I want to see him again? It’s not his fault I’m a friendless freak.
“Damn it,” I huff and drop my head to the door in defeat.
“Hey, don’t swear.” His tone is affronted with mock shock.
“Fuck off!”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he retorts.
“I don’t kiss anyone with this mouth,” I mumble.
“Well, that’s a crime right there.”
“Cass, don’t be mean.”
“I’m not being mean, Tia,” he replies with a stern tone, and I can just imagine the serious glare he would be giving me if the door wasn’t in the way. “Now open the door.” I can hear him move, shuffle to his feet, and my hand hovers on the handle, my fingers trembling. Why the hell am I nervous? This is Cass, for goodness sake. I swing the door wide, and my mouth goes dry, my breath just freezes halfway between my lungs and my throat.
He’s so unbelievably beautiful. When did that happen?
It takes all my effort for my jaw not to drop open. He must be nearly six feet, towering above me and blocking the natural sunlight from the hall window with his frame. He might only be fifteen, but he is easily the best looking man I have ever seen, and he’s not done growing yet. Holy hell, I swallow the lump and try and mask my awkwardness by coughing, not hugely subtle, and I doubt it’s gone unnoticed. I can’t stop staring. Get a grip, Tia.
It’s just Cass. You’re best friends, remember? The boy you played hide and seek with, made mud pies with, built forts and castles with? The boy you got lost with from dawn till dusk? Only he doesn’t look like that boy anymore.
My heart feels like it’s trying to replace the lump I just swallowed, or at the very least, it’s trying to escape from my body that way. I’d be surprised if he can’t hear it, it’s beating so damn loudly. He rests his arm on the doorframe, exposing a small patch of smooth tanned skin over his bony hip. His jeans are hanging off his narrow waist, and the button-down white shirt he’s wearing is a little too baggy for his slight frame; he’s all skin and bone. I think all that energy from the mountain of food he eats must’ve gone straight to his height. My eyes seem to take too long working their way up his lanky body, because by the time they reach his, he has a huge knowing grin plastered wide and wicked on his face.
“Cat got your tongue?” He pulls his full soft bottom lip through his teeth. Oh god. My face must be able to generate its own electricity, it’s radiating so much heat.
How do I know his lips are soft? I don’t. Only looking at him now, I realise I have imagined many, many times that they are, and judging by that look on his smug face, he knows the exact same thing.
“Shut up!” I snap, mortified and flustered and I don’t know what, but I barge past him, take two steps, and I’m in the bathroom opposite my bedroom. I spin and slam a new door in his face. The handle starts to shake, and the familiar pounding resumes. I quickly relieve myself for fear he will actually break down this much flimsier door.
“Aw, come on, Tia, I’m only teasing. God, I’ve missed you, your cute temper, and pouty mouth. Come on, Trouble, give me a hug?” he coaxes.
“No!”
“For fuck’s sake, what have I done?” The thud is much louder, and I imagine his head dropping against the door with frustration. His tone is more perplexed than angry, but it’s a fine line that I can’t seem to help myself crossing.
“Stop swearing at me!” I bark.
“Stop being a pain in my arse, and tell me what’s up.” I was expecting a flare-up of biblical proportions, but his tone is filled with sweet concern. I forget completely why I was so filled with rage and now just feel hugely embarrassed for acting out.
“I…I…it’s nothing.” I open the door and try and shrug off my mood like I haven’t made a big ol’ fool of myself.
“Oh, that’s all right, then.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into the warmest hug. Strong arms wrap around my body, and I take all the time in the world, breathing him in, before I speak. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.
“Cass.” I tilt my head back, but he hasn’t released his hold so I only meet his gaze when he drops his chin to look at me.
“Tell me, please,” he implores. His crystal blue eyes glaze, and for a moment, he looks so tortured, as if I have already hurt him too much. I feel a deep ache in my chest, a similar pain I feel each day in his absence, but it is unbearable to me that I have caused him a fraction of that sadness.
“I missed you.” It’s all I can offer as way of an explanation. Luckily, it seems enough to lighten the darkness on his features and instantly lifts the mood that cloaked us both. His smile is brilliant, bright, and dazzling. It’s both infectious and breathtaking, or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at me. I hope it’s the latter.
“And I’m here now.” He plants a light kiss on my forehead that I feel tingle from where he touches me to the tip of my toes.
“But—” I want to at least try and explain my meltdown.
“But nothing, princess. The way I see it, you have two choices. One, we can fight and argue, or two, we can spend every possible minute together having the best summer before I have to go back to school. Your choice, Tia, but I have to tell you, choose your answer wisely.” His arms drop their hold from around my body, only to hold my shoulders and pull my posture straight. Like he is trying to shake some sense into me. That is an almighty challenge from where I’m standing, as I’m still focused on the sudden loss of his body heat and how good his arms felt, how good I felt. It’s my turn to shake myself
“That sounds like a threat.” I drop my hip and arch an accusatory eyebrow.
“No, Tia, it sounds like a promise.” He bends so we are almost nose-to-nose and definitely eye-to-eye. His deep voice rumbles from his chest, and I feel a flash of gooseflesh strike across my entire body. This is going to be an exhausting summer if my body is going to react like this every time he looks my way. He interrupts my wayward thoughts. “I want to spend my summer with you, and you want to spend your summer with me. There is nothing stopping us doing exactly what we want to do, so come on, Tia, what’s it to be?”
“Do you always get what to want?”
“Without exception! Why?”
“God, you’re an arrogant arse sometimes, you know that?”
“And it’s taken you this long to come to this conclusion. And there was me thinking you were smart.” He ruffles my hair, and my stomach drops at the easy switch to playmate, from something to nothing. Oh, God, maybe this is nothing for him. “Now come on, princess, we’ve wasted enough time. I have so much to do.” He keeps hold of my shoulders and manoeuvres me back into my bedroom.
“What have you got to do?” I frown, watching him try and gather things that he thinks I am likely to need: swimming costume, flip-flops, sketch pad, and sunblock. He grabs my baseball hat and slips it on his head, tugging the peak low so I can barely see his eyes, which, in my book, is a crime. He steps toward me slowly, with a hint of menace, making the most of his new intimidating height. I match his advancing steps with a backward one of my own, his grin bordering on nefarious. My breath catches when I hit the wall with my back. His hands press flat either side of my head, and he dips low. With his next words, he makes my life a whole lot more complicated.
“I have to make you smile.”