Scarred Roses

Chapter 11 part 1-flirting with the boundries

As September became October, the change of weather marked the change of pace in our day-to-day lives. As summer gradually shifted to Autumn, the feeling of invaded space since Nick’s arrival began to lessen; rather than the childhood enemy I remembered him as, he’d gradually become another part in our lives that we didn’t even know we were missing. Walking to school with him, doing homework together on the grassy bank skirting Lilac Lake, watching old movies in the living room, late into the Saturday nights, with a big bowl of buttered popcorn and funny, witty conversations to share between us. As the once-green leaves began to fall and cover the gravelled ground we trek, the extra pair of feet walking beside me no longer fazed me. In fact, it was like they’d always been there.

Thomas eventually came around. After over a week of avoiding Audrey, he came over to the house one afternoon with a bouquet of peonies-the Kerr’s specialty, and a box of Cadbury Roses, and asked to speak to Audrey. That same night, I had the full story from Audrey that Thomas had come to her with a grovelling apology and an explanation that he was stressed about ending his gap-year with endless Uni applications to fill out and had taken his frustrations out on her. She was, as always, taken with his apology, and had described the ‘kiss and make up’ part in more detail than I would’ve deemed necessary. Even so, yelling at her like he did? It didn’t seem right. When all the rumours about Trevor and I started, Thomas was one of the few who defended me, for it was always his uncompromised belief that a man should never lay his hands on a woman without permission; no matter how great his ‘needs’ were or what she was wearing. He was faced with the possible revelation that his girlfriend, my sister, could’ve been r***d, and what did he do? He blamed her. As if it were her fault! So if a fourteen-year-old was drugged without her knowledge or consent, it was a sickening attack, but if it ever happened to Audrey Kazia, she was the stupid one for not picking up on it.

Though I had my doubts about his sincerity, I never told them to Audrey. She was happy, just to make up with him. Making her doubt him, all over again would only make her feel worse. And besides, I’d never seen her as driven and focused as she’s been this past month, helping me to make the masquerade costume. Watching her cut and measure each piece with precision, not a snag in sight, sliding those thick, sharp sheer-blades through the lilac satin, and then meticulously stitching it all together on her sewing machine was like watching her slowly become a one-woman machine. In between, she taught me to embroider perfect, golden flowers into the skirt with all the patience and knowledge of a well-experienced teacher. Mine weren’t as good as hers were, but they were getting better, and I only had her to thank for it. When she asked me what I thought of her taking a gap-year after she’d finished high school, so that her and Thomas could stay together, I said to her that I’d support whatever decision she’d make. But in all honesty…I think she should’ve applied for a Fashion degree. Her teachers all thought it, even her friends too. She was just too…too talented to be wasting that talent away, for the sake of a boy. But would she listen to them? No. How could she? People did strange things when they were in love. More often than not, they put the needs of others above themselves.

But since Thomas’s gap-year looked as if it might be coming to an end, I was hopeful that Audrey’s would too. He was applying for Universities all over the country; she could too, if she wanted. Any school would be an i***t not to recognise Audrey’s talent. Just the fairy-costume alone could’ve been enough to impress them. It did for me. I could tell mum and dad wanted this too; they love Audrey, and they love having her around, but they knew just as well as I did that Audrey was never meant for small-town life. She was destined to explore the world and make her mark on it; one country at a time. And me? Well, I wasn’t sure of that yet. I still had over a year to figure that out. For now, I thought, why not help somebody who needed to sooner, rather than later?

That was the dominant thought I held onto Wednesday evening, as I helped her to sew the tulle-panels of the skirt over-top of the lilac satin. Her stitches were small, neat and straight as an arrow. Mine were just a little more uneven, a little more crooked, and a little wavier. That didn’t matter this time; nobody was going to see these stitches under the bodice.

“Hazel?” She said, out of the blue. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,”

“Do you…do you have any special friends?”

“I don’t think so,” I shrugged, “Unless you count Margaret’s cousin, Olivia with the club-foot. I don’t; even with crutches, she still gets to the ice-cream line faster than me.”

“No!” She laughed, “I meant…do you have anyone special in your life? Like…a boy?”

This was certainly surprising. Audrey never hesitated to tell me every detail about her love-life. From all the boys who had crushes on her as a child, to those short-lived boyfriends in her early high-school days. But I…I didn’t have a love-life. I’d never had a boyfriend before, never had crushes or even typical, unrequited attraction to a celebrity like Channing Tatum or Alex Pettyfer. After the Trevor-incident, and some lingering trauma from the Nicholas period, I was what people would call A-s****l. I had no interest in romance or boys; romance and boys lead to intimacy, and that was just something I didn’t feel comfortable with.

“Of course not! Why do you ask?”

“Oh nothing! It’s just, you’ve been different lately, that’s all. You smile a lot more, you’ve been asking me what clothes look best on you, and you get the same, day-dreamy look a lot of girls get when they’re getting crushes on boys.”

She’s noticed a lot about me, over the years. When I’m scared, when I’m hungry, when I’m sad. I just didn’t know how she could think, well-that. She knew I only hung out with a few, male friends, and Leo and Marlon could hardly be counted as suitors. Especially seeing as Leo was practically fawning over Ingrid for the past five years. Who else could there be...oh. I’ve been so preoccupied with day-to-day things; my brain had failed to conceive the very obvious. Nick. We’ve been spending so much time together, and people were beginning to notice. As we walked to school together, and went our separate ways past the front gates, we’d wave one another goodbye, and Ingrid would get this look on her face. As if I were claiming that I’d eat my own head off, in front of the entire school. I’d told her that I was trying to be civil with him! So what, if we became friends along the way? At least it meant that he wasn’t hurting me, or them. And if they knew what he was going through…if they knew, they’d understand.

“I guess I’ve just been more day-dreamy than usual.” I said, “With Green Thumb starting up next Monday, and the masquerade in a couple of weeks. It’s all coming up roses.”

“You’re not a real resident of Derby until you’ve used that phrase at least twice,” She giggled, “But if there was a boy, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? It’s just that, I know you don’t do the dating thing, and I respect that, but you’re only human Hazel. If we’re anything alike, we can only deny physical attraction for so long before it just comes creeping up on us.”

I knew what physical attraction was! I wanted to yell at her. Physical attraction was a bare, tanned chest, sculpted arms, a perfect abdomen, an aesthetically pleasing face to the eye, hair the colour of gold, and so deeply, wondrously blue, you could just swim in them…oh my god. Stop Hazel! Stop thinking about it. Just because I could acknowledge a good-looking guy when I saw one, it didn’t mean there looks alone could render me speechless. Or senseless, or muddled in the brain…No! Damnit Hazel, concentrate on the stitches.

“Of course I’d tell you Audrey,” I said, blatantly lying. “But…just hypothetically, those things that guys have, abs, why are they so…so…”

“Sexy?” She grinned, “Well, my dear sister, it all stems from the laws of the jungle. They call the lion king for a reason, you know; the strongest and deadliest rank higher, the beautiful, strong lionesses, like myself, rank a little lower, the animals with the stealth and agility-but lacking in strong flesh and sharp teeth are below me, and right at the bottom, you’ll find the herbivores. The ones who could try a bit harder to raise their positions in the food chain. Now, just remember this; the smart, charming, handsome ones are the lions of our kingdom, the brawny, not-so-brainy ones are the stags, and the smaller ones that lack confidence and wit are the herbivores. I know that you’re a lioness, deep down, but the other lions might perceive you as something more…dainty and docile. Like a doe. In some ways, you’re a bit of both. Just remind them that if they try to push you around, you can be one, powerful lioness. And Lionesses don’t blush at the mere glimpse of a six-pack.”

If that was the case, I was probably more doe than lioness.

I said nothing more as I pushed the needle back through the thick tulle, making another, few stitches before I cut the thread and finished it with the double-knot Audrey had taught me to use. Dress-time was done for the evening, and now it was time for bed. Bidding her goodnight, I wandered back down the hall, to my own bedroom. Just as I’d reached my bed, there was a knock on my door. Did Audrey want to bunk with me again? I didn’t think so. Ever since Thomas’s redemption, she’d mostly been sleeping in her own bed. So I went to open the door, only a little stunned that it was Nick on the other side. Already in his pyjama pants, and apparently nothing else.

“I think we might’ve accidently switched books back at the lake,” He explained, gingerly scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve got Chinese Cinderella, so you must have The Great Gatsby.”

“Oh-well, come in and I’ll try and find it.” I said, standing aside so he could enter. “It should be in my schoolbag somewhere; I wouldn’t have left it at the Lake.”

“I hope not!” He chuckled, sinking down, onto the foot of my bed. “If that should be the case, I would fail all English and have to repeat year thirteen, all because of you.”

“Nuh uh! You’re the one who took the wrong book. And besides, I would’ve hoped you’d learnt enough by now to write an entire thesis on The Great Gatsby.”

“An entire thesis?” He laughed.

“Hey, you’re the eighteen-year-old.”

This game of chase was almost like the one we had around the washing line, only there wasn’t anywhere for me to run to. Just the small path around my bed, and he had me cornered. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he tossed me onto the bed like a soft-toy. Pinning both wrists in just one, large hand then climbing up to sit astride me. He’s never tickled me before. Tickling was normally a very playful thing that mostly stemmed from something affectionate. Audrey used to tickle me a lot, and sometimes she still does when she wants to force absurd compliments aimed at herself. But not from Nick. Nick and I were never that close as children, and I wasn’t even sure we were close enough before this. And yet, here we were. He was on top of me, the same position we were in the first night he came here, tickling my ribs and stomach almost mercilessly. And for some reason, I was letting him. I was laughing and couldn’t stop! I didn’t know whether it was the tickling, or unnamed hilarity of the situation, but I was in hysterics regardless. And Nick was just as bad! Laughing triumphantly above me, revelling in his victory. Amidst all the laughter and the silliness, we’d both forgotten what it is he was even here for. Or, apparently, that my parents or sister could walk in at any time.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” He asked me, more laughter bouncing in his voice.

“What lesson?”

“That I don’t like to be teased,”

“Teasing? All I did was point out that you’re older than me, and by extension, you ought to be wiser.”

“Yes, but you go about as if the entire worlds’ weight rested upon your shoulders!” He accused, chuckling. “If I’m supposed to be wiser than that, then I’d be as mature as an eighty-year-old man!”

“Then I think the lesson ought to be yours!” I accused him right back, cackling. “For making a mountain out of a mole-hill, just so you could have an excuse to attack me.”

“I did not attack you!”

“You’ve thrown me onto my bed, gotten on top of me, and refused to have mercy in your tickling! I think that constitutes as an attack.”

“Now who’s making a mountain out of a mole-hill?”

I hadn’t realised just how close he’d gotten, and neither had he. His free hand now rested beside my head, his body barely brushed mine, and his face, in particular, was gradually moving nearer. I should’ve minded, I should’ve pushed him away, but I was still. I felt powerless, but…in a nice way. Like when a person has a full, long night of blissful, dreamless sleep, and there was nothing to disrupt it. So as he did move closer, the proximity didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I…liked being close to him. I wanted to be even closer.

“Hazel?” It was my mother’s voice. Hearing her call for me, Nick sprang away. Scrambling off the bed and to his feet.

“In my room, mum.” I called back, wriggling into a sitting position so I could actually track down the book in my abandoned schoolbag. Poking her head through the open door, she showed a little surprise at the sight of Nick, standing inside my room. Oh, where was that book...Ah, just as I thought. Right at the bottom, beneath all my exercise books.

“Just came to say goodnight, darling.” She said, shaking off the strange look on her face before she turned to Nick. “Try not to keep her up too long, will you?”

“I was just going to bed myself,” He said to her, very politely. “I just came to borrow a book, that’s all.”

After Nick had gone, I took out my phone and searched for Ingrid’s number. I was feeling so strange after that, I needed to talk to someone. Or at least text with them.

Hazel: You awake?

Ingrid: Yeah, what’s up?

Hazel: Just feeling…weird tonight, that’s all.

Ingrid: Could a certain house-guest have anything to do with it?

Hazel: If you’re referring to Nick, then yes. But not in a bad way.

Ingrid: Then in what way?

Hazel: I can’t really tell. I know it’s not bad, because if it were, I’d be miserable. But I can’t exactly call it good either.

Ingrid: You’ve lost me.

Hazel: I don’t know what to make of it myself.

Ingrid: Start from the beginning then.

Hazel: Well, he came to my room not long ago, because we’d accidently switched books. I teased him-well, sort-of, so then he…

Ingrid: Then he what?

Hazel: He pinned me down and started tickling me. The way Audrey does sometimes.

Ingrid: WHAT??!!

Hazel: That’s all he did, I swear! We were just laughing mostly, then it got quiet. He was getting closer, and I wasn’t stopping him. Then when mum came to say goodnight, he got off me and left. Simple as that.

Ingrid: Hazel, there’s nothing simple about it! I know you said you were going to try and get along with him, but this?! Forgive me if I’m wrong, but mere acquaintances don’t normally tickle each other, on a bed, in their pyjamas.

Hazel: Well, would it be so bad if we weren’t just mere acquaintances? Just, good friends.

Ingrid: After everything he’s done?! Hazel, when you first told me about all those things he’d done to you, I wasn’t sure I could believe you. What sort of eight-year-old kid tortures a little, six-year-old girl?! Then when you showed me the scars, I was horrified. And when he came here, I saw it for myself. When he found out about Trevor, not only did he believe Shantell Travers, but he flaunted it, right in your face. He brought that bastard to The Square, and he knew what he was doing, he just didn’t care! How can you forget that?

Hazel: Ingrid, I won’t forget it! Just like I can’t forget all the times he’s hit me, all the times he’s made me feel like I was nothing. I won’t forget, and I’m not even sure I can fully forgive. But whatever this is, I don’t want to stop it. I actually like being friends with him. When I walk to school with him, I feel comfortable. When I’m doing homework with him I feel at ease. And when we just talk it feels like I’ve been friends with him my entire life.

Ingrid: Does he think that way too?

Hazel: What do you mean?

Ingrid: Well, you think of him as a friend, but is that all he thinks of you as? I’ve seen it myself. Whenever you two say goodbye at the school gates, he looks at you. REALLY looks at you. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like he regards you as something to eat.

Hazel: That’s weird…

Ingrid: Come on, you know what I mean! He’s just so intense when he stares at you. I’ve seen him do it in study too, you know. When he knows you can’t see it, he just does it. And you know how you chew on your lip sometimes when you concentrate?

Hazel: Yeah…

Ingrid: He likes it! He likes it when you chew on your lip, and when you use your fingertips to trace over the lines in your text books. I don’t know why, but he likes it.

Hazel: Maybe he thinks I look funny then. Either way, there’s nothing to worry about. If he ever tries anything like that, I’ll make sure he doesn’t think about it again.

Ingrid: If you’re sure then…

Hazel: I’m sure. Goodnight Ingrid.

Ingrid: Goodnight Hazel.

I put my phone down, feeling dejected. I wanted to talk to Ingrid because I wanted advice; a fresh perspective. Temporarily, I’d forgotten that she was amongst the few who had seen how manipulative Nick could be. She was wary of him, at best, and disliked him at the very worst. But at the end of the day, Ingrid was still my friend. I still turned to her for honesty and comfort in things I didn’t feel I could go to Audrey for. I didn’t expect her to defend everything Nick has done for my sake…actually, I didn’t know what to expect at all. I guess I just wanted to talk to someone on neutral grounds. Someone who knew of his good points and flaws but didn’t jump to either side in defence. Oh, I knew I sounded selfish, but I didn’t mean to be! Ingrid was on my side from the very beginning, and so were the others. How could I just expect them to change their opinions on him, just because I wished it?

{}

School was…awkward. Not painful, not entirely eventful, just awkward. Leo, Marlon and the others were just the same as they always were; relaxed, carefree and intent of getting their homework done. Ingrid, however, was acting strange. Since our conversation last night, she’d been very quiet; only ever giving two-worded answers, and specifically avoiding eye-contact with me. Was it so horrible to her? The fact that I wanted to be friends with Nick? Or was it my dismissing of the fact that Nick liked to ‘watch’ me. It must’ve been me, for there was nothing else that could’ve done it! Not Leo and his Biology homework. Not Bridget and her upcoming match against Dudley Boys Preparatory. Not Flora and her woes over her devised drama assignment. Not even Marlon and his dilemma over whether his shoe-art was the ‘edgiest’ in school. No, it had to be me. Whatever I’d done, I had to make up for it.

We were in English when I finally plucked up the courage to ask her. She was on one of the numerus, slightly-outdated desktops we’d been assigned to in the school library, editing clips for her miniature movie. I was going through my digital prints for the slide-show. I couldn’t think of what to say to her at first-how to approach the subject gently. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings somehow, so I decided I’d do what mum taught me about broaching a difficult topic of conversation. Ask them about something they’re doing.

“How’s it coming along?” I asked her, daring to peek over to her screen.

“Really good,” She replied briefly, never taking her eyes off the monitor.

“You’ve got a good chunk of the footage for the first half, I see.”

“Mmhmm,”

“You’d better hope Flora is in at least two of the shots. She’ll be heartbroken if you cut her out.”

“Yeah, heartbroken.”

Alright, so it wasn’t working. Time for the next, best solution. Confronting the problem, head-on.

“Ingrid, have I done something to upset you?” She finally looked at me. A bothered, flushed sort of expression crossed over her face.

“No! Why would you think that I’m upset?” Exactly what she’d say if she was upset.

“You’ve barely talked to anyone all day, and it’s not like you. I can’t think of anything else that could’ve done it, other than what we talked about last night. I know you don’t like that me and Nick are friends now, but I don’t like us not speaking over it- “

“For Christ’s sake Hazel, not everything in our lives is about you!” She snapped, capturing the attention of some other classmates nearby.

“I know that, but- “

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be having some problems as well? That the world does not revolve around Hazel Kazia?”

“I never said anything like that, and you know it.” I said, “Why do you think I’m asking? I always talk to you about everything, so shouldn’t that go vice versa?”

“Yeah, but…you’re right. I’m sorry for going off, I just…there’s something I’m really frustrated about, and I don’t know who I can talk to about it. I don’t have an Audrey like you do; all Cathy and Camille are concerned with is themselves, mums hardly got enough time for any of us-let alone my problems, and there’s no way in hell I can go to my father about it!”

“You can talk to me if you’d like,” I said gently, “Or Flora or Bridget. You know we’re here if you need us.”

“But if I talked to you guys, you…” She sighed, “Flora and Bridget wouldn’t understand. Bridget’s got no time for guys with her tennis, and Flora’s never gone anywhere beyond flirting. I don’t know if I should ask you, when you have just as little experience as I do, but lately I’ve been thinking with you and Nick…I don’t know. It might not make any difference.”

“Well, explain it, and maybe it will.” I urged her, “Come on! What you’ve got to say can’t be any crazier than what I told you last night.”

“I…” I waited for her to continue, nerves sharp in her wavering tone. “I think I like Leo!”

She just blurted it out, like a sneeze that couldn’t be contained. I knew it wasn’t all that surprising, and yet it did kind-of shock me to hear the words coming from her lips. I knew her liking Leo was a possibility, but this…actually hearing her admit it made it both hard and easy to believe. Hard because Ingrid and Leo were never the kind of people to just straight-out admit their feelings. Easy from just watching them; talking, smiling, looking at one another in a way they never quite interacted with any of us. They’ve been close friends since primary school! How does a relationship so warm and platonic go to strange and uncertain once puberty sinks in?

“You think you like him?”

“Well, I’m almost certain but, oh, I don’t know! How can I be absolutely sure? We’ve been best friends since we were seven, and now suddenly, I just look at him differently? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“How about you start from the beginning?” I suggested, lowering my voice. “When did you start feeling like this?”

“Well, I was walking home from school, and Leo was walking with me, when I saw one of Cathy’s boyfriends’ friends walking by. He’s in his first year of Uni, and despite what Cathy tells them about me being a little kid and all, he was always nice to me. Anyway, we were walking, and the guy waves at me with a smile. I smile and wave back, as you do, but then I saw Leo looking sort-of angry. He grabbed my hand then and pulled me along-I thought I’d never keep up with him. Now, don’t tell him this Hazel, but it was almost like he was jealous. Jealous that I was looking at another guy.”

“That does sound strange.” I admitted, “He’s never like that with Marlon, or any of the other guys in class. Mind you, they don’t usually smile and wave like dignified human-beings.”

“Except for Marlon,” She said firmly. “When he walked me to the gate, he didn’t say anything as he left. Just looked stiff, like he was in pain.”

“Again, strange.” I pondered, “But he seemed normal today.”

“Well, with you guys, yes! But haven’t you noticed what he’s like with me?”

Come to think of it…yes. Leo has been acting strange around her today; not too obviously, but enough to pick up on it at second or third-glance. When their shoulders brushed by accident, he jumped a little. As if skin-to-skin contact had startled him somehow. And when she offered to share her tuna and crackers with him, he shook his head without so much as a ‘no thank you’. This wasn’t Leo’s way of being rude-but it certainly wasn’t giving off any feelings of normality either. This was just strange. Strange for Leo anyhow.

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked her.

“I don’t know yet; the masquerade is coming up and we’re wearing costumes that compliment each other’s. I thought, since that’s the case, it may make sense if we just go together.”

“That sounds…sensible.” I concurred, “But Ingrid, why didn’t you want to tell me about it?”

“Well, it’s like I said. Firstly, I wanted advice from someone who knew about this romance stuff. Cathy and Camille won’t give me the time of day, and mum can’t afford to. But then when you told me about you and Nick, I thought that…”

“That what?”

“That you might be in the same boat as I am. I don’t like Nick, but I do trust you. I trust that you’re making the right choice for yourself. But then, if you ever happened to think of Nick like- “

“But I don’t.” I cut her off. “So, I can’t offer any wisdom on that front. But if you ever want to talk at all, I’m always here.”

“I know,” She murmured, “Thank you, Hazel. I guess I just forget sometimes that girls don’t always have to talk to their mothers and sisters.”

“A little old-fashioned, but you’re welcome.” I smiled at her, “Now are you going to show me this footage.”

She showed me the few minutes she had so far, and it was…beautiful. Ingrid was always a creative person; I saw that in the beginnings of her own compositions, and the skilful way she projected that through her modest, little piano. But this, I had to say, could be the start of one of her best pieces. The very beginning alone was made up of carefully planned shots of Mr. Kerr’s classic Ford; a collector’s piece that couldn’t run, she’d managed to make it look as if it were travelling at 70 miles an hour. And Flora, looking bold as ever in her lulu-bob wig and her 20’s get-up, sat, perched gracefully on the bonnet. If Ingrid hadn’t said so herself, you’d never be able to tell it was an indoor fan she was using to ruffle the golden head. Honestly, I think Ingrid was going to pass this assignment with flying colours. On this first piece alone, our teacher would be easily impressed.

Happy that things no longer felt awkward between us, Ingrid and I left the library at the ring of the afternoon bell. Chatting more about regular things like the masquerade, and what we were all wearing. She already knew who I was dressing as; but she never gave much away about hers and Leo’s costumes.

“We’ve both saved up our allowance money to hire out some clothing from Luciettas’ costume emporium.” She explained, “I know it would’ve been good to commission Audrey to make them, but she’s already making yours, and I’ve always wanted to hire something from Luciettas’. I went there once with Cathy and Camille when they were picking up dressings for a costume party, and Hazel, the ball-gowns were absolutely divine! The golden, embroidered Tudor-gown Camille had was so well-made, you’d nearly think it was authentic. And Camille looked so gorgeous in it-though I’d never say it to her face. I’d be over-feeding her ego.”

“Well, at least tell me one thing about the costumes!” I said, “Are they period pieces?”

“…Yes, they’re period pieces.” She giggled, “But that’s all you get to know until the big night!”

The big night. It was hard to believe how seriously everybody was taking this event. We’d had school parties like this before! In year nine, we had the welcoming social; nobody made a big to-do about that. In year ten, we had a battle-of-the-bands concert; I don’t even think more than fifteen people went to that. Then in year eleven, came our first valentine’s day ball-I distinctly remembered Ingrid and I being paid to dress as cupid-fairies and hand out the mystery valentines everybody coveted so much. And now, suddenly, school parties were important? I just didn’t understand. Was it because we were older now? Because things like romance and grown-up sophistication suddenly mattered to us? I thought it seemed really fun at least. I just couldn’t understand why everybody else around me seemed to be putting so much priority into one, god-forsaken, high-school dance when all the good things were supposed to come after high school?

“Do you think he said yes?” A little behind Ingrid and I, were voices I recognized to be Lana Donnelley’s and Diane McKay’s. “He’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but he seems to have some crazy-high standards.”

“He probably has,” Diane retorted, “Mary Quinn’s got to be the only person who ticks all of his boxes.”

“She’s pretty, she’s smart, and unusually nice to everybody, but I’ll tell you one thing,” Lana sniggered, “She’s not Hazel!”

“God, the way he pines like a lovesick puppy is pathetic!” Diane snorted, “What doe’s she have that nobody else does?”

“She’s pretty, I’ll grant her that.” Lana said, “But not nearly as pretty as her sister, and anyone who counts knows she’s a pathetic, little liar!”

“Couldn’t be as popular as Audrey, so what else can you expect?” Diane said snidely. “Even if the feeling was mutual, he still couldn’t have her. They’re living in the same house, and her parents probably think of him as a son. One, wrong move and they could send him packing.”

“One word from dearest, little Hazel more like!” Lana said, “She acts like the perfect, goody-two-shoes all the time, it makes me sick!”

“And they just believe her? How thick can they be?”

“Come on, Hazel.” Ingrid wound her arm through with mine. “We don’t need to listen to them.”

Nick…had a date to this thing? I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a handsome, charismatic guy; why shouldn’t he have some pretty girl on his arm, and why shouldn’t that girl be Mary Quinn? She was tall, like him. She was blue-eyed and golden-haired, like him. She was smart, popular, and genuine-just like him. I couldn’t blame him if he wanted to go out with her. But…why did it feel so strange to me?

I tried to shake the feeling away as we passed the school gates and went our separate ways. The sun was getting cooler and cooler every day; less warmth in the breeze that brushed over my bare face. I liked autumn; I liked the endless blanket of crisp leaves that covered every bit of grass, I liked the cool winds that made for a much-needed relief from the summer heat, and for some reason, I loved the grey, rainless skies that settled the brightness but kept the darker shadows of winter at bay. Some people saw it as melancholy sort-of weather. I saw it as some much-needed solitude. Autumn was never harsh or overwhelming; it was just a bridge between two, equally strong tidal-waves.

In my case, Autumn was bringing about some feelings and changes I wasn’t prepared to face. Changes to our family dynamic, the puzzle-piece we didn’t even know was missing. Changes to everybody’s relationships; how a person can go from being a friend to something much more. Changes to passion; rediscovering what made you you and remembering how much you really loved it. Not all changes were bad-I knew that much. But telling apart the good from the confusing was nearly impossible.

“Hazel!” It was Nick, calling my name. Jogging a little to catch up with me. “I need your help.”

“But your essay isn’t due until November.”

“Not that,” he looked pointedly down towards his blazer. Pulling back the front a little to reveal an unsightly, big, blue blotch on his breast-pocket. “I had a biro-leak, and I don’t really know what to do.”

“You’re very lucky,” I muttered, rummaging through my school-bag. “I had to pick up some costume supplies for Audrey at lunchtime. I don’t know why she needed this, but it’s a good thing I have it.”

From the very bottom, I extracted the small, blue bottle of stain-remover amidst the purple glitter-tubes and the bag of gold-painted leaves. Compliments of the local craft-store. Knowing it was going to stain without question, I wasted no time in dabbing the large patch with the pungent liquid. I shouldn’t have it on my bare hands, but there was nothing else to use. And I knew how much those shirts cost mum and dad. It would make a sore on their bank account if they were forced to fork out for a new one.

“That should help, but you need to let it soak.” I said, “Then we’ll take it home and wash it.”

“Lilac Park?”

“Lilac Park,”

It had become a go-to place for the both of us, over these past, two months. Whether it was to do homework, relax for the day, or just talk; we went there, and for the most part, we went there together. So that was where we headed. Along the gravelled path, kicking the leaves out of the way, watching them scatter with the wind. Visitors at the main garden were scarce today, and by the time we reached the forestry, we realised it was completely deserted. That made our privacy within the fine, oak-tree borders of Lilac Lake all the more trustworthy. The moment we were standing before the lake, Nick pulled off the blazer and made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. The undershirt he was wearing appeared to be stained too. Oh dear. I hoped, for my sake and his, that he had a spare shirt, somewhere in his schoolbag.

“I’m always taking my clothes off for you, aren’t I?” He joked, peeling off the thin, white material. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were helping me, just for the sake of getting me shirtless.”

“You came to me for help, remember?” I replied, “It’s not my fault you like to run around like a feral wolf-child.”

“Wolf-child?” He snickered, “Where did you get that one from?”

“An old documentary I saw in class once, about a boy who grew up in a Canadian forest, raised by wolves. Since he didn’t know how to wear clothes, he mostly galivanted about the woods, naked.”

“So, I’m the wolf-boy of Lilac Park then?” He smirked, “Perhaps I should take the rest of this off, hmm? Complete the look?”

“And traumatize me for eternity? Please don’t.”

“That’s not what all the other girls say,” He said, sauntering casually towards me. “Mary Quinn in particular, finds my body to be quite the opposite of traumatizing.”

“I heard she’d asked you to the masquerade,” I blurted out, cursing my sudden bout of word-vomit. “If you said yes, I couldn’t blame you. She’s pretty, smart, blond-the perfect package.”

“Hazel, who told you about Mary asking me to the party?” He asked quietly, getting increasingly closer. As if the meaning of personal space was of little importance.

“Nobody told me, I overheard it.” My voice dropped to a near whisper. He was just a few inches away.

“And what did you hear, exactly? Mary Quinn asked me to the masquerade, and I said yes?”

“Mary Quinn asked something of you, but you didn’t give her an answer straight away.” I whispered, “By the way they spoke, they implied that she was asking you on some sort of date. If I’ve made any unwelcomed assumptions, it wasn’t out of pettiness- “

“You’ve made assumptions,” He said, placing his hands on my upper arms. “Not unwelcome-just incorrect. Mary Quinn did ask me to the masquerade, but I said I didn’t want to take a date. Because the one person I really want to go with is too far out of reach.”

“Is she…one of your friends from London?” I must’ve sounded so dense to him, but I didn’t care.

“I think you know who she is. I think you know quite well.”

It was happening again. He was getting closer, and I wasn’t stopping him. What would he do next? Pull me into his arms? Tell me that I was all he ever wanted? I meant it when I said that I didn’t know much about real-life kind of romance, and so the only scenarios I could really picture were the ridiculous, story-book ones. Besides, was this really even romance to begin with? He never explicitly mentioned my name, and all these feelings were just so…so complicated. At best, he might’ve found me interesting. Maybe in the way that my father finds S-cargo interesting.

“You’d better soak that shirt,” I said, tearing myself from his hold. “Hang it over the willow-branch for a little while.”

“And what should we do for that time?” He asked me, tucking the sodden shirt carefully over the long, winding branch. “I suppose I ought to practise that silly dance they want us to do.”

“Dance?”

“You didn’t think there’d be a masquerade without dancing, did you?” He teased, “Apparently, the planning committee have organized for everyone to partake in some very old-fashioned dancing. When I asked what kind, they asked me ‘have you ever seen Pride and Prejudice?’”

“That old?” I asked him, barely believing it. “No waltzing or anything?”

“Only for the earlier part. I seriously thought you and your mates would’ve been taking those dance-lessons they’ve been holding after school for the whole thing.”

“We were mostly planning to sit those ones out and just take part in the fun ones. The only one out of us who knows how to dance is Flora, and I don’t even think she’s keen on doing those big group-dances.”

“So, you’re saying you can’t dance?” What point was he trying to make?”

“I could learn if I wanted to, but I never did.”

“So, it seems there’s something I can do that you can’t.” He smirked again. More smug than flirtatious.

“Wait-you can dance?”

“Why so surprised?” He chortled, “I learnt a couple of years ago; part of some afterschool punishment I had to do. Apparently, the teachers don’t like it when you set off fire-crackers in the staff bathrooms.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” I commented, giggling. “So, what exactly can you do?”

“Waltzing, the foxtrot, even the tango-don’t ask me why I had to learn that last one.”

“Well, how good are you? On a scale of one to ten. One being Miley Cyrus, ten being Fred Astaire.”

“How could you even mention Miley Cyrus in relation to me?” He said in mock-horror. “I’ll have you know I’ve got more rhythm in my little finger than she’s got in her entire body.”

“Then prove it,” I dared him, “Show me your moves.”

He took my hand, to my surprise, and tugged me towards him. Guiding my left hand onto his bare shoulder, placing his right hand onto my waist, then joining the remaining two together. Wait...oh no. Oh, no, no, no! He could tango by himself if he wanted, but there was no way he was making me do it.

“Nick, I told you, I don’t like to dance- “

“Then how else can I show you my moves?” He pointed out, “Come on, if I can endure dance lessons from my history teacher for an entire year, then surely you can survive just one from me.”

It wasn’t the dancing itself I was sceptical of, but how I would become, once caught back in his arms. Why did I fit into them so perfectly? Why did my skin go all tingly, pressed up against his? Why were all these feelings supposed to be wrong when they just felt right? He didn’t understand, I’d never dealt with crushes or romance. I’d never been truly attracted to anybody, I’ve never even kissed a boy! Meanwhile, he’s probably had plenty of experience with the opposite s*x. He’s kissed, without a doubt, and if his looks and charms were anything to go by, he’s probably not even a…whatever I am. The point being that he knows exactly what he’s doing; I could barely even navigate my way through this.

“Take one step back, with your right foot,” he instructed, following me with the same step. “And then you step back with your left, but to the side so that we can join the right in one motion.”

It was a combination of his technical instructions, and the guidance of his body, close to mine. Going through each step, slowly so that we were essentially dancing in a small box. It was tricky, remembering the steps alone, but surprisingly easier, having Nick to teach me. His impressive patience and the natural rhythm made the waltz part of me, somehow. And I think, whether he liked it or not, the waltz was a big part of Nick too.

“You’ve got it,” he said, gradually slowing the steps. “You’ll make some lucky guy a pretty dance-partner at the party.”

“I’m not pretty,”

“You’re not.” I didn’t even notice he was touching my face. Just the slightest brush of his fingertips upon my cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

I was blushing, far too deeply than I would’ve wanted him to see. Having him compliment me was still strange; in our youth, an off-handed compliment could only ever mean one thing. A punishment. It was code for ‘you’ve broken another rule, and you’re going to get it later’. Those compliments were only small, discrete ones. You look nice today. That’s a cool drawing. I like your new shoes. I never fathomed that one day, he could ever find me beautiful and mean it. Perhaps he was just being nice, I wondered, or maybe he wanted something.

“Nick, you don’t have to- “

“I do, and I’ll prove it.” His hand had long-since let go of mine, hovering slightly over my up-turned face. I gazed at him without a word, silently eager to know what he was going to do. “The heavens put a rose in your lips,” He whispered, ghosting over them like the stroke of a feather. “Porcelain in your complexion,” he said, brushing my cheek. “A raven’s feather in your hair,” he took a few, lone strands. Watching with a strange fascination as he ran them slowly between his fingers. “Then they took your eyes and put gold, brown and green in them.” When I finally realised where he’d gotten all those flowery words from, I turned away from his gaze, laughing.

“That’s a poem!” I said, “But you changed the words around. And I thought you hated flowery novels and sappy love-poems!”

“Just because it’s sappy poetry, doesn’t mean it’s all bad poetry.” He chuckled, “Have you ever read a Rilke Poem before?”

“Wasn’t he a German poet?”

“Yes, he was. The translated versions are alright, but the words are more effective in the native tongue. O und die bald Liebenden, lacheln sich an, noch abschiedlos, unter und auf uber ihnen geht sternbildhaft ihr schicksal, nachtig begeistert.”

And the soon-to-be lovers smile on each other, still departureless, their destiny rising and falling upon them like clusters of stars, enchanted during the night. It was a beautiful line, for an exquisite poem. But what seemed too surprise me more was Nick’s clear dictation, and how the foreign words seemed to roll right off his tongue.

“You speak German?”

“My grandmother was German,” That certainly was surprising! “She immigrated to England about a year before World War two. She started teaching me when I was about thirteen-though she still says that my vowels sound like shit.”

We laughed a little then, completely forgetting that we were standing in each other’s arms. It was chilly enough to want to wear a cardigan, and yet his naked skin was quite warm in comparison to mine. So firm and golden; he was like his own, personal sun. It struck me then, how the two of us were so undeniably different, in looks. He was made of gold, I of paper. He was tall, muscular, built like a god. I was short and petite-made to be delicate. His eyes were clear, crystal-blue-mine were a mixture of colours he found so fascinating. He was confident, extroverted, hot-headed at the worst of times and forever loyal at the best of times. He was everything I wasn’t, and I was everything he wasn’t. Yin and Yang. Despite all those differences, I’d never felt…belonging in a man’s arms as I did right now, in his. I wanted to stay there, I wanted him to keep on holding me. Most of all, I wanted us, never to stop being the jagged, uneven puzzle pieces that fit together.

We were so close, so damned close, I was nearly oblivious. Blinded to the arms that drew me flush against him, to the intoxicating scent of his aftershave, the spearmint-laced breath, ticking my cheek, and the full, moistened pair of lips, inching their way towards mine. Oh. My. God. Was he…was he going to kiss me? Kiss me on the lips? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t…it was too much! Too much, too fast. I pulled back, out of his arms away from his searing gaze. I wasn’t like the girls before; girls with experience, or eagerness. Sometimes, I resented that fact. Especially now, as I purposely avoided his eyes. Please don’t stare, I pleaded. Don’t remind me of how un-romantic I really was.

“We should be getting home for tea,” I said, scrambling to pick up my schoolbag. “Your shirt should be a bit dryer now.”