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Cassie is here, along with the girl with dreads she acquired from her chair hopping in class. Gregory and two other guys I don’t recognise are here, and so is…
Chase.
My gaze falls on him instantly. His elbows rest on his knees as he talks to Greg, and something about his position makes me feel funny inside.
‘We come here on our days off,’ Archer explains. ‘It’s always quiet—which means we can do whatever we want.’
I try to hide my disappointment as we make our way towards the group.
Cassie and the girl are spread out on towels. They’re wearing shorts and low-cut tops, and I’m in a stupid cardigan with my school shirt beneath. I feel ridiculous.
Dreadlocks glances over at me, her smile fading. ‘What isshedoing here?’
Cassie’s head spins like an owl. Our eyes meet, and she sinks back down, deflated. ‘Fuck's sake.’
‘About time,’ says Gregory. ‘Where’ve you been, man? We’ve been waiting for, like, fourteen minutes.’
Cassie bursts out laughing. Greg looks embarrassed, and a pang of hatred boils in my gut. She used to always make fun of Greg, and she would use his struggles for popularity gain. She would ask him for the time, knowing he couldn’t tell it; she would ask him to look at her, knowing he can’t make eye contact; she would ask his opinion on something, knowing he stammers as he struggles to find the words.
Maybe I should have dumped custard on Cassie’s head instead.
Gregory rushes to give Archer a hug, seems to hesitate, and opts for a fist bump instead.
Chase cranes his neck to look up at me, and I glance away quickly. He’s shifted so he’s lying on his side, his elbow propped on his knee. He wears black skinny jeans and a white button-down shirt that’s rolled to his elbows.
Archer flops down beside Cassie, and I take the spot between him and Chase.
I’m still. Quiet with tension. Can he feel it? He must sense it, right? I’m so aware of him I can feel his bodyheat and I can barely breathe and my palms clam and every subtle movement he makes feels like a brush of cold, tentative fingers against my spine.
Even sitting next to Archer, Chase’s presence consumes me.
Archer lapses into conversation with Cassie and Dreadlocks, and I sort of just look around. I feel obligated to talk to Chase, since as no one speaks to me. A guy with a wog eye smiles at me, but I try not to stare at him too long; I'm not sure where to look. The other friend is preoccupied with his phone, and Gregory is absorbed in his Nintendo Switch. Which leaves—
‘I like your hair,’ Chase says.
I try not to beam at him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Does this mean I get to call you Frankie Fart Fringe instead of just Frankie Fart?’
I roll my eyes. ‘You’re never gonna let me forget about that, are you?’
He flashes a crooked grin. ‘Nope. Even when you live in your forest with your bugs, I’ll remind you of it every day. I’ll attach little scrolls to the hedgehogs and send them your way.’
‘Seems like a pretty big commitment.’
He shrugs. ‘Whatever I do, I do it thoroughly.’
‘That’s why you’re so infuriating,’ I mutter.
He chuckles. But then his eyes settle on my fringe again, and they narrow. Can he see the plaster beneath it? Is there still blood on my brow?
Just then Cassie screams. She leaps to her feet and runs her hands all over herself, and it’s only when Archer stands and tries to stomp on it that I see the spider on the towel.
I gasp and lunge forward. I push him aside without realising and pick up the spider. Archer’s boot comes down on my other hand.
I cry out as he scrunches his boot harder into my hand. Or did I imagine it?
‘Fuck, Frankie,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I was trying to get the spider.’
