Page 12 of Boy Friends
‘About coming down to the cafe to help out,’ I reply, trying to keep my tone light.
‘Did you finish your homework?’
‘No,’ I say, instantly wishing I’d gone for a little white lie instead. But there aren’t many rules in this household, and one is that we tell each other the truth.
‘Then you’re not helping out.’
My eyes return to the boarded-up windows opposite. Every time someone walks past, I expect them to spot the heart, but nobody pays it any mind. I can only hope that it doesn’t stand out for anyone else like it does for me, becauseas desperate as I am to cover it up, it’ll have to wait till tonight. I’d pull too much attention otherwise.
‘You sure there’s nothing on your mind?’ Dad asks. He grabs two cartons of oat milk from the cupboard, which means the cafe’s run out again.
‘There’s loads on my mind,’ I mutter, because there’s no point denying it when he reads me so well.
Dad leans against the fridge and waits until I’ve put my thoughts in order. I remember the promise I made him, that Simo and I would stick together.
‘You said that I shouldn’t push people away. But what if it’s not up to me?’
‘You mean, what if you’re not the one doing the pushing?’
If it was anyone else, I’d be frightened to be such an open book, but with Dad, it’s soothing to be understood, to know that I don’t have to hide. I shuffle into the kitchen and slump against him.
‘Mm-hmm,’ I hum into his chest.
‘Tell me what you did last week, after the message appeared on the noticeboard.’
‘School,’ I reply, unsure what he’s getting at.
‘And after that?’
I take a second to think. After school, I went home and so did Simo. But I hated the feeling of being alone with the mess in my head. Knowing that Simo would feel similarly rubbish, I thought it was wiser to stick things out together.
‘We ended up going to Sheila’s, to the bookstore. But that was last week.’
Now, following days of hoots and wolf whistles whenever we’re seen together in the school hallways,it looks like he prefers being alone. And I can’t blame him. I’m the reason our names appear on boarded-up windows. The lid I used to keep my feelings bottled up wasn’t screwed tight enough. They spilt out when I wasn’t paying attention. I’m the reason our friendship is starting to fracture. But I will do anything in my power to ensure that we stay together.
‘You’re his best friend. That hasn’t changed. If he needs space, that’s only natural.’
I frown, because the whole needing-space thing has never applied to me and Simo. I do my best thinking with Simo around. And when my thoughts are too scattered, Dad is there to put them back in order.
‘But it can’t hurt to remind Simo that you’re here if he needs you. It’s easy to forget that you’re not alone when you’re lost in your feelings.’
‘So, I should remind him?’ I ask.
‘Gently,’ Dad says.
I set the paper bag on the doormat and return to my bike. Dad let me bake a cheesecake, and I did my homework while it was in the oven. Before I left with a huge piece, he also handed me a takeaway bag of diner food. Call me delivery boy, because here I am, texting Simo that he should check the front door.
I swing myself on to the bike just as the door opens. Simo looks from me to the bag by his feet. He’s in shorts and a T-shirt so faded I can see every line of his torso if I stare for too long, which is hard not to do. He looks disgruntled, but I can’t tell whether he’s mad or if he’s just woken froma nap. Like a puppy, he only gets cuter when he’s moody.
‘What’s this?’ he asks, and takes a sniff inside the bag. His expression brightens.
‘Emotional support food,’ I explain.
‘Who says I need emotional support food?’ he retorts.
‘If you don’t want it, I’ll take it ba—’
‘Is that cheesecake? Did you bake me a cheesecake?’
