“That’s my house there,” I point to the red-brick Victorian-style house just visible through the leafy trees. There’s a light on in the front window and I know my mum will be waiting up for me. A brief rush of appreciation for her washes over me as I think about Zayn’s mum, who left him to fend for himself with a drunken adult man. I push that thought to the side now though, as Zayn turns to look where I’m pointing.
“Okay, what should I do?”
“Wait here until I’ve gone inside. Give it a few minutes because Mum will probably ask me how my night was, then sneak around the corner there.” I point to the far side of my house. “The second window along is my bedroom.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning against the low brick-wall of my neighbour’s house.
“Do NOT go to the first window. It’s Tony’s. Make sure you duck when you go past because he’s likely still up playing video games.”
Zayn chuckles and crosses his hands over his chest. “Got it. Second window.”
I make quick work of walking up the front path and unlocking the front door, then make a show of waving behind me when I come into the foyer and see mum in her dressing gown wiping down the dining room table.
Her head snaps up when she hears me.
“Oh good, you’re home. I was about to call.”
“Yep, I’m home!”
I unwrap my scarf and exaggerate a yawn, taking a few steps down the hall toward my bedroom.
“How was your night at Anna’s,cara mia? What did yougirls do?” She rinses her cloth in the sink and peers over her shoulder at me. With a sigh, I force myself to stop at the doorway, knowing that the sooner I get her questions out of the way the sooner I can escape to my room and to Zayn.
“Good, Ma. We just watched a movie. Listened to music. The usual stuff.”
“Oh?” She wrings out the cloth and places it neatly across the sink. “Did you give Jane the cannolis?”
“Yes. Mrs Johns said thank you very much.”
Mum nods and walks over to where I stand. “Good. Now off to bed,cara mia. It’s late.” She kisses me on the cheek and watches as I head down the hallway before she heads off to bed herself. Thank God my parents’ room is at the front of the house.
I hear shooting noises through Tony’s closed door as I pass, confirming my suspicion that he’s still awake on his Xbox, then I quickly open my door and fling on the light. I pick clothes and shoes up off my floor in record time and shove them into my wardrobe before rushing over to the window. Pulling back the curtain, I can’t stop the smile from splitting my face when I see Zayn waiting for me.
It takes me a few minutes to open my window and pry off the fly screen as quietly as possible. When Zayn’s finally in and my window is shut again, I turn to find him standing in the middle of my bedroom, turning on the spot slowly as he takes in my personal space.
An unexpected wave of embarrassment crashes over me. It didn’t occur to me earlier that Zayn would actually see mybedroom,the one place that is full of all thingsme.My pink walls, the shelves that hold all the books I’ve collected since I was a kid. My photo wall that’s a mix between photos of me with friends and family and pictures of celebrities I’ve cut out of magazines.
I wait quietly with my bottom lip between my teeth for him to finish his perusal, and when he does, he stops spinning to face me.
“I love your bedroom,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s so… you.”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief and stare up at him.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
I grab the TV remote off my desk.
“Here. Find something to watch.” I hand him the remote and pull open my pyjama drawer, my eyes landing on the new pair my parents bought me for my birthday. A dorky-but-cute Harry Potter set. I grab them. “I’m just going to get changed and wash my face.”
I slip out to the bathroom and get ready at the speed of light. The thought of Zayn, layingon my bed, in my bedroom,sets my blood on fire like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
By the time I’m opening my door and slipping back into my bedroom, my heart is beating around my ribcage like a jackhammer.
Zayn is laying on my bed fully clothed, bar his shoes, watchingAmerican Pie.
“It’s the only movie I could find,” he says as I switch the light off and walk over to my bed. Zayn’s only illuminated by the glow of the TV, but I can still see the nervous fidget of his hand in his lap as I approach and crawl onto the bed beside him. It’s only a single bed, so it’s going to be a tight fit, not that I mind at all.
