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“Are you going in?” Casper asks, nodding to the maze.
“Not with you. You’d probably make it rain and leave me there alone.”
“I never said I wouldn’t give you a lift yesterday. As I recall, you were the one who stormed off like a petulant child.”
That’s his defence? “I left because you were being a twat. As per. I don’t know why I thought you would help me out in the first place.”
He shakes his head and walks through the maze entrance, muttering, “You have no fucking idea.”
I follow him, anyway, because I do want to see this maze, and I don’t know how long Flora will be. Besides, his parents and Reggie wouldn’t let me get lost. And there’s something addictive about being around him… like when you keep pushing on a bad tooth.
Casper turns left, so I go right.
His footsteps crunch on the stones and then stop. “Really, Ainsley?”
“What?” I ask, turning around.
He walks towards me without a word, but his dark expression tells me everything he isn’t saying: he thought I would follow him, and for some reason, it’s irritated him that I haven’t.
I can imagine he’s used to getting whatever he wants.
Now he knows which way to go since he spent his childhood running around here. I’d still rather get lost.
“Why are you following me?” I ask.
“Please. Lead the way,” he says without a hint of disdain.
What’s happening?
I turn again and walk along a tall hedge, my heart racing in the weirdest way. This is the unknown, and I don’t just mean the maze.
Casper walks beside me but says nothing while I turn corners and backtrack along dead ends. This must be killing him since he knows the way. It makes every wrong turn worthwhile.
I hope we end up back at the start and have to go again.
“Oops,” I say cheerfully, threading my fingers together when we come to another dead end.
“Your sense of direction is atrocious. We’ve been here three times.”
“I never asked you to come with me. Go back to your parents and Reggie. I’ll do this alone.”
“You’re doing it alone now.”
“Not alone enough,” I mutter.
“Ah, you’re still mad about what you did yesterday.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, controlling the urge to karate chop him. My uncle tried to teach me karate when I was seven. I was hopeless, but I remember a few things.
“I’m not mad,” I reply. It physically hurts not to tell him to fuck off. “I feel nothing for you. Let’s try this way.”
For a second, he doesn’t follow, and I almost turn around, but then I hear his footsteps again.
“Would you look at that. Another dead end.”
I sneak a look, and sure enough, his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are hard. Anger rolls from his shoulders. He’s having a hard time keeping it in check.
He doesn’t say a word to me for the next ten minutes while I lead us, badly, to the centre of the maze. It’s a trip that probably takes him two minutes.
