A few weeks later, Galen buys a rusty old banger from an elderly man a few streets over. It was his dead wife’s car, he told Galen, and she’d been gone over ten years.

By the looks of it, the car hasn’t moved in all that time.

The word jalopy was invented with this machine in mind.

Galen has been saving all his wages from his weekend job at the music store in town, and doing odd jobs in the neighbourhood to pay for his new wheels.

Max offered to buy him a brand-new car, but Galen refused saying he wanted to do it on his own. He gave the excuse he didn’t want a soulless hunk of metal straight off the production line, that he wanted something with history, but I think he wanted something that would always be his, that he’d earned, that gave him a sense of adult responsibility and in the same breath, reckless freedom.

He’s called the ugly, faded red, two-door hatchback with about a million miles on the clock, Mildred—God knows why, but the name kind of fits. It runs well, has an MOT, and he passed his test a few weeks ago, so he's all set to drive wherever he wants.

He dangles the keys in front of me and I try to act unimpressed, but he can see right through me.

"Want to go to the beach in Mildred?"

I shake my head.

"C'mon, Fflur. Come for a drive with me."

My heart whispers, 'Go' but I know I should ignore it.

"Take me to the mountains instead."

Knowing what I should do and sticking to it—when it comes to Galen—is impossible.

He grins big and ushers me out of the door with a flourish.

"Most girls would be excited by the beach, but not our Fflur, she wants to go to the mountains," he mocks as he opens the car door for me to slide into the passenger seat.

We’re silent for the twenty-minute drive, and not the companionable kind of silent. Ever since that day with his dad, Galen’s not been his usual cocky, overconfident self. His mood can flip on a coin toss.

“It’s a cool car,” I say, as we pull into the visitor centre’s car park that sits at the base of the mountains.

He grunts in response.

“At least you won’t ever have to wait for a bus again.”

Silence.

Why did he ask me to go for a drive if he didn’t want company?

“C’mon,” he finally says, while opening his door. “I guess you need to go and find some flowers.”

He slams the door shut and I stare at the square section of his back that I can see through the car window as if it will give me answers. It doesn’t tell me any more than the boy himself.

Part of me wants to sit here and demand he takes me home, but the bigger part of me knows that he needs this more than I do.

Eventually, I open my door and step out into the crisp air. I close my eyes and breathe it in deep. It always smells so good here; like clarity, endless opportunities, and nature all wrapped into one. When I open them, Galen is staring at me.

“What are you looking at?”

“I don’t know,” he says. A hint of his usual smirk plays across his lips. “It doesn’t have a label.”

“Well lucky for me, what I’m looking at does.”

His previously stony face dramatically brightens. “Does it? And what does it say?”

“Sulky. Arsehole.”

“Huh.” That’s all he says.

Then he turns his back on me and heads towards the well-trodden path that slowly guides you up the mountain.

I figured I might get an annoyed response from him or maybe a payback comment. I get nothing.

“Well, you are,” I say, sounding equally sulky while rushing to catch him up. “You haven’t been yourself for ages, and I don’t know why you bothered asking me to come with you if you’re going stay all moody and silent.”

That gets a reaction, and he spins on his heels to face me. The movement is so abrupt and unexpected that I stumble backwards a step.

"You haven't got a clue. You've got no bloody idea."

His words are angry, and nothing like the cocky, confident teasing I expect from him.

"Then tell me, Galen. Make me understand."

His mouth opens then snaps shut, and his shoulders stiffen before he spins back around and heads towards the mountain path.

I follow him because what else am I going to do. He may not want to speak to me right now, but the least I can do is be there if he ever does.

The next hour we spend in silence.

I pay very little attention to our surroundings, ignoring all the flowers that line our way, disregarding the ones that beckon me off the beaten path and onto the grassy slopes.

My mind is on Galen. On what is eating him up so bad.

We reach the top of the mountain without a word shared, and this silence between us clangs against my ribs, causing every intake of breath to hurt more than the one before.

The sun is bright today, quickly burning away the low-lying clouds. From up here, you can see for miles. It always makes me feel small and insignificant. I'm just one speck in an infinite universe filled with far bigger, far more important things. And yet, I still love the sense of freedom I get when looking at the vast expanse of land all around me, knowing that there's so much out there for me to explore.

Galen finds a rock to sit on. It's big enough for two, so after I drink my fill of the view, I walk over and sit next to him.

More minutes pass by in silence.

"I've just got a lot on my mind, Fflur. I didn't mean to take it out on you. You're the last person I ever want to upset."

I accept his apology with a single nod. If he wants to say more, he will.

A few moments later he jumps down from the rock and turns to me with his hand outstretched.

"Come on. Pick some flowers with me?"

I look from his face to his offered hand, and back up again. The green grass of the mountain backdrop is a direct contrast to the emerald green of his eyes. The grass up here is wilder than their perfect lawn, maybe even a little yellow. It has nothing on Galen's stare.

I can see him wondering if I'll refuse his offer, and his hand wavers slightly, dropping a fraction in the air between us.

He smiles wide when I slip my fingers between his, and he tightens his grip. The stiffness in his shoulders and back loosens immediately, and with my hand in his he allows a fraction of whatever weight he carries, to float off on the mountain breeze.

No further words are spoken between us we make our descent, each of us collecting flowers on the way.

By the time we get back to the car, Galen's free hand is full of blooms, and he passes them to me before opening the car door and ushering me inside.

He leans in through the open door with the solemn look back in his eyes.

"I lied," he says, his voice carrying the heaviness of hurt. "You do have a label."

"What is it?"

"It’s Latin."

"And?"

"It says, Illicitus."