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‘Come on, Sketch,’ she says. ‘Just leave her. This is getting boring now.’
‘I’m not bored.’ He smiles. ‘Are you bored, Annie?’
I shake my head, and I’m reeling so much it makes me dizzy. Ten seconds ago, I’d have dropped my eyes to the road and used the opportunity to run past while the group on the wall were distracted. But that’s before he looked at me with his sea-blue eyes. His eyes tell me he knows so much more about me than just my name.
‘I’m not bored,’ I swallow.
‘See. Annie’s not bored either,’ he croaks confidently.
I like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. I like his lips. They’re full and dark red and the perfect complement to his warm complexion.
‘Go home if you want to, Bridget,’ he says, taking his eyes off me for a moment to toss them onto her.
She shrugs. ‘Fine. I will. I’m not going to waste my day trying to drag two words out of Annie the drip. But don’t come running to me when you discover what she’s really like.’
‘You know her so well, Bridget, do you?’ Arthur grins.
Bridget’s top lip tightens causing little wrinkles to appear across the bridge of her nose, ageing her.
‘She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. That’s for sure,’ Bridget snorts. ‘It’s downright rude. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to say hello to her since I left school, but Annie won’t waste her breath on bidding me the time of day.’
‘Is that true, Annie?’ Arthur asks, his eyes narrowing and glossing over with disappointment.
I blank. I don’t come into town often. And when I do, I’m always on an errand for my father complete with an unrealistic timeframe to get it done. Maybe Bridget has tried to say hello and I’ve been so preoccupied I didn’t even notice. No wonder she thinks I’m rude.
The bag in my arms grows uncomfortably heavy, and I look up at the sky as I feel a single raindrop fall and trickle down my nose.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ Bridget sighs. ‘Go back to walking on past with your head in the clouds and do us all a favour.’
‘Stop it, Bridget,’ Arthur scolds, his voice suddenly deeper and giving the impression that he’s much older than twenty. He moves closer to me. I can smell his musky scent that’s as crisp and appealing as his ice-white T-shirt that peeks out from underneath his leather jacket. ‘Annie, don’t mind her. I don’t want you to walk away. Won’t you stay and talk for a while? Please?’
My top teeth press into my bottom lip, and despite my little blue dress being far too light for the chilly day, I feel hot and clammy.
‘Oh, Sketch. This is ridiculous,’ Bridget titters. ‘You’re wasting your breath. She’ll be back to sticking her head in the clouds or her nose in a book tomorrow.’
‘Okay, Bridget,’ Arthur says. ‘You’ve made your point.’
Jealousy and disappointment settle into the fine lines around Bridget’s pretty eyes, and I actually feel sorry for her. I should probably tell her that I’m not a threat. Arthur is undeniably attractive, but I don’t see him in that way… I can’t.
Finally, Bridget walks way. The group hop off the wall and follow her. Bridget is a leader. I wonder if she knows that.
Arthur waits until his friends turn a corner and are out of view before he smiles brightly and reveals white straight teeth.
‘Let’s start over,’ he says. ‘I’m Sketch.’ He extends his hand.
My eyes narrow, and I shift on the spot as I try to figure out what he’s up to. Arthur Talbot has known me since I was four years old. We spent most of primary school sitting beside each other. I helped him with maths, and he often snuck an apple from his father’s orchard into his schoolbag for me. I never told him, but sometimes that apple was all I ate for the entire day. Looking back, I realise I didn’t have to tell him. He knew. Arthur left school three days before his eleventh birthday. His father needed help on the farm and, as an only boy, Arthur had a duty. I missed the delicious red apples terribly, but I missed Arthur so much more.
I shift the parcel to rest under my arm and use my free hand to shake his. I’ve already delayed too long to make it home before the rain. But since I’m carrying a bag of fresh vegetables and meat compliments of Arthur’s father, the least I can do is stop for a few minutes and entertain some conversation.
‘Annie Fagan. Nice to meet you,Sketch.’ I smile so wide my cheeks scrunch and try to force my eyes closed.
His hand is warm, and his shake is firm. Our hands stay clasped for a fraction longer than they should. I pull away first, but it doesn’t diminish the tingle running down my spine.
‘My friends call me Sketch these days,’ he explains, suddenly seeming nervous now that we’re alone.
‘Are they your friends?’ I point down the road to where shadows peek out around the corner, and I know the group from the wall are huddled and waiting there for Sketch.
‘Yeah. They’re not a bad bunch. Honest.’
