Lucy - Age 16
“Didyouhear?”Gemmaasks, her voice full of enthusiasm as we leave the science lab and pile into the school corridors, moving to our next class.
“Did I hear what?” My body suddenly falls forward.
Gemma reaches out and grabs me before I fall flat on my face as two boys from one of the other Year 11 classes barge past us.
“Harry Leverton is having one of his end of term parties this Friday.”
“And this is important because? You know he never invites anyone other than the Year 13s.”
“Yeah, well, Matilda said that they are allowing girls to come from year eleven. If we do some sort of initiation task or something.”
“Oh well, ifMatildasays—” I grin, and she rolls her eyes. “Come on, she’s full of shit.”
“Well, I’m going to go after school to check it out. Why don’t you come? It’s not like you have anything else exciting happening on Friday. And besides, Owen will be there.”
“I don’t care if he’s there,” I rush out.
“Sure you don’t. That’s why you said that super quickly and have a flush running up your neck onto your cheeks as we speak.” She points at my warming cheeks, and it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
I push her playfully. “Oh, fuck off.”
She laughs. “Oop. Talk of the devil.”
“You’re an idiot.” Even as I glance at her hazel, sparkling eyes that twinkle with mischief, I know he’s close.
It’s a strange sensation when every nerve in your body is acutely attuned to the presence of someone who means everything to you. Every inch of my body tingles with awareness.
I trick myself into thinking it’s because of what we go through, the hardships that have created a bond that will never be broken.
I trick myself into believing that there is nothing more to us than just two foster kids’ love. A brother and sister love. But that’s all it is, a trick.
Because as I’ve grown older, and things at home have gotten more toxic and complicated, so have my feelings towards him.
So, I trick myself because that’s easier than admitting that I think I’m in love with him.
He’s with his best friend, Billy. Being in the 6thform, he’s allowed to wear his own clothes.
My eyes settle on my uniform, my rolled-up skirt, short tie and black blazer, which makes me feel young and unseen by most.
But not him.
He doesn’t stop to say anything. He barely acknowledges me, but as he brushes past me, his little finger reaches out. I reach out mine, and our fingers graze.
Briefly, for a heartbeat, a featherlight touch.
But it’s there. My heart thuds behind my ribs, and I carry on walking, my chin to my chest, trying to ignore that flutter in my stomach. Because that flutter tells me everything.
He sees me.
I love him.
And it’s not a trick.
23
Kara - Present
