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2
Afew days later, whilst I’m minding my own business hiding from the world on the top of a garage roof behind the flats where I live, a firm hand clamps down on my shoulder. I don’t bother to look up and see who it is. The only person who knows where to find me is my best friend, and partner in crime, Eastern.
“What’s up, Alicia?” he asks me as he takes a seat next to me, spreading out his long, muscular legs next to mine. I try not to take too much notice of how his jeans are stretched across the firm muscle of his thigh. I’m pretty sure he’s been working out.
“You been avoiding me?”
“It’sAsia, dickwad,” I respond, shaking my head as he attempts to pass me a joint. I’m not in the mood to get high. I’ve got too much shit going on. Besides I’m seeing my little brothers in an hour. I’m not foolish enough to visit my kid brothers high on marijuana. That’d be a sure-fire way of never getting to see them again, and I won’t risk that.
“Sorry,Asia,” he retorts, rolling his eyes.
“Well, at least I’m not named after a direction on a map,” I bite back, feeling prickly. He might be my only friend, one I’ve known since forever, but he doesn’t get to call me Alicia. No one does.
“Should I come back after you’ve finished your period?” he laughs.
“Piss-off.”
“Alright, alright. We all know my mum can’t spell and she meantEaston, but I’m stuck with this name. Besides, I kind of like it. You’re Asia and I’m Eastern, it fits. Like we were always meant to be friends.”
“Hmm,” I respond, picking at the frayed hole in my jeans, my mind straying elsewhere.
“You still worrying about Oceanside? I say you got off lightly,” he adds nonchalantly.
“Taking the rap for you, jerk,” I bite out.
“Hey,youdid the breaking and entering, the artwork. I just came along for the ride,” he shrugs, but I see the guilt flash across his brown eyes.
“Maybe so, but you totally owe me one for not snitching on you.”
He scowls, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a hug. A waft of his familiar masculine scent of soap and apples unnerves me, like he’s spent the day in an orchard stealing basket loads of fruit rather than smoking joints and getting up to no good. I stiffen in his arms, I never used to feel this way when he hugged me before but ever since that kiss…
“Fuck man, if I could take the rap I would. It’s just…” he says, interrupting my thoughts and squeezing me tighter against his side.
“…Tracy needs you. I get it. Besides, you’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong…this time.”
I let him hold onto me tightly, ignoring the warm pit in my stomach at his closeness. We’ve been best friends since we were babies and always had a non-romantic relationship. Of late, things have become awkward between us. Especially since he kissed me at Mr fucking Patel’s shop. That night I’d acted rashly in more ways than one.Stupid.
“Mum’s having trouble holding things together right now,” he continues, taking a long toke on the joint before blowing it out. I do my best not to breathe in too deeply. This stuff will get you high even when you’re not the one actually smoking it.
“Braydon?” I question, knowing that the only thing Tracy struggles with is her youngest son who’s got every disability under the sun; deaf, mute, with Multiple Sclerosis thrown in the mix. He’s a sweet kid, eight years old and full of sunshine despite all his problems. Tracy adores him, we all do, and she works round the clock to care for him. Eastern does his best to be the man of the house given their own father did a runner as soon as Braydon was born. But as much as Eastern would like to ease his mum’s money worries, what hope is there for a sixteen-year-old kid who spends as little time at school as I do? We both pretty much sacked school off the second we turned sixteen. They’ve stopped trying to get us to go in. Besides, we caused too much trouble, it was easier to permanently exclude us both. Fuck them anyway.
“Yes, Braydon…” he confirms with a heavy sigh.
His younger brother is a constant source of joyandworry for him. Recently, the only way he can help his mum out is by delivering Mary J. I hate that he does it, but what other choice does he have? Tracy needs the money, and even though he lies and tells her he’s working cash in hand at a legit job, I think she knows deep down he doesn’t. That cuts him deep. She’s that desperate to help one son, that she’ll allow the other to lead a life of crime. Life sure does suck.
“Bray’s needed a lot of medical care lately and mum has had to skip work a few times to look after him. She thinks she’s going to get the sack.”
“Doesn’t she get like special leave or something because he’s disabled?”
“She’s on zero contract hours, Asia, earning the minimum wage. Those fucktards who employ her don’t give a shit. As long as the offices they send her to clean are kept spotless, that’s all that matters to them.”
He drops his arm from my shoulder and scrapes a hand through his hair, the warm afternoon light catching the strands of auburn within the brown curtains that flops in front of his eyes. The evenings are still mild, which is no surprise really, September is always a better month for good weather than August is. The second kids go back to school after the summer holidays the rain stops, and the sun comes out. Fucking typical really.
“She’s behind on the rent and the bills. That’s why I’ve…” he continues, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He sucks on the last dregs of the joint then throws it over the side of the garage, blowing the blue-grey smoke out slowly. The pungent smell is acrid and lingers around us like a dense fog.
“Whywhat?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Why I’ve got a run for Nash this Sunday. It’s a big job, will earn me a couple ton,” he responds side-eying me.
