Page 68 of Meet Me After Life

‘Shut up and let me walk you home.’

My eyes widen. Okay dom-daddy.

‘I mean, please. I’d like to walk you home,’ he says, softer. ‘You gonna start walking in the right direction or am I gonna have to guess where you live?’

‘I don’t know. It might be fun to watch you flounder for once.’

‘For once?’ He laughs, shaking his head.

I put him out of his misery. We’re walking now.

Both watching our feet as a flimsy tension settles between us.

‘You always seem unbothered when I see you.’

‘I’m honoured you see me in such a flattering light.’ He continues to laugh. I smile. He’s always easy with his emotions. Everything is surface level. Nothing to worry about underneath. No fear of diving too deep here.

We’ve been walking in the direction of home for a while. The streetlamps are growing more distanced, and I step closer to him.

‘Where do you live?’ I ask, trying to think of something other than the dark and what might lurk there.

He buries his hands in his pockets and tilts his head back in the direction we came. ‘Back that way.’

‘Oh, Stars. So not only have I committed breaking and entering and stolen your liquor⁠—’

‘I said you could have it.’

‘I’m now forcing you to walk in the complete opposite direction to home.’

‘I offered.’ His mouth stretches into a half-grin. He talks like he’s offering something else completely.

I swallow past the anxiety building in my throat. I want to be brave. I want to be brave and ask him to the showcase tomorrow night. Even though, for some reason, the attraction I felt for him previously seems to be ebbing. I don’t want to let Lav and Delilah down, but as it turns out – it’s quite hard to break from the mould of cowardice when you’ve been pressed and fitted your whole life. I take a deep breath – a steadying breath – like I’m rallying for labour.

I look at Hot Face. He looks at me. Shit, I don’t even know his real name. This is a bad idea. This was easy through a phone – not in real life.

When he looks at me, his profile is painted in moonlight. It catches in his left eye, turning it almost green. Not Walker’s green. Hot Face’s are like the deep murky green of algae, brown flecks of sediment swimming at random. Walkers are like moss. Like the first leaves of a sapling. Bright, despite his near constant scorn. Light and⁠—

‘I hear you’re hosting a showcase tomorrow.’

‘Oh, really? Who’s giving away all my secrets?’

‘I’ve my sources.’

I squint my eyes at him.

‘Aggy came and saw you, didn’t she?’

Hot Face makes a gesture like he’s locking his lips. I roll my eyes.

Bloody mouldies.

‘Will your work be in there too?’

I scoff. ‘Who, me?’ I kick a pebble and watch it tumble off the path. ‘No way.’

He hums.

A few more minutes of terse quiet and we’re standing outside my house. The lights are all off. I can hear Lavender snoring from here. What a waste of a⁠—