9. Seventeen years old
Seventeen years old
Sam
Iring the doorbell at Kath’s house, ready to head to Claire’s party together. But instead of Kath, Tom opens the door.
“She just texted me to say she’s running late.” He leans against the doorframe. “Apparently, you’re not checking your phone.”
I blink at him in confusion.
“She and Bobbie only just left his house,” he adds, his tone apologetic.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone. Sure enough, I’ve got a missed call and a text.
I don’t know why, but it irritates me. Kath’s never late—she’s obsessively punctual.
I don’t like the way that’s changing. Or, more accurately, I don’t like that he’s the reason.
Her boyfriend—or ‘the guy she’s dating’ because apparently, he’s ‘not into labels’. Whatever that means.
I thought him moving to a different school for sixth form would save me from Bobbie Reynolds and his stupid hair. But apparently not. I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve this karmic twist. And he’s always talking about his private school like it’s so much better than St Peter’s. Dick.
Tom steps back to let me in. I head inside and sink onto the couch, typing out a quick reply to Kath.
“How’s training going?” he asks, taking a seat next to me and unmuting the football.
We chat about swimming and his university course, slipping into easy conversation.
It’s funny—I used to be terrified of Tom.
Back when he was this tall, vaguely grumpy fourteen-year-old and I was a scrawny eleven-year-old who tripped over pool bags.
Now I kind of miss him when he’s away. I’ve spent so much time at Kath’s house over the years it feels like a second home.
Homework at this table, board games on the floor, movie nights on this couch.
Evenings spent listening to Tom talk about some ancient battle in history like it was breaking news and we were all about to be tested on it.
Though given that he’s talking about something he learnt on his history course right now, I guess some things never change.
I’m also now taller than Tom. Which I would never say out loud, because I value my life.
My phone pings again. Another message from Kath.
“She’s still ten minutes away,” I frown. “I swear this is the first time she’s ever been late. Being on time is basically her entire personality. And she’s meant to be staying at mine tonight too; Mum was so excited to see her. I don’t even know if she’s packed.”
Tom watches me, his expression unreadable. Then he frowns at his beer. “What do you think of Bobbie?” he asks. “Honest opinion. I won’t tell Kath, I swear. But you know her so well and I want to know what you think. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but…” he trails off.
I hesitate. Mum always says to be careful about commenting on people’s partners. But this is Tom. And Kath’s my best friend.
“You seriously promise this doesn’t go beyond us?” I ask.
He nods. His eyes are so similar to Kath’s. That deep brown that makes you just want to trust them.
I let out a breath. OK. We’re doing this.
“I don’t like him,” I admit. The words feel like a relief, like something I’ve been holding in too long. I haven’t even told our friends how much I dislike Bobbie. Josh has probably guessed, but I don’t want anything getting back to Kath.
“I think he’s an arrogant idiot who doesn’t treat her well enough,” I continue, the frustration spilling out of me. “And I have no clue what she sees in him. She’s way better than him. Obviously that’s just my opinion, but—” I stop. Maybe I’ve gone too far.
“I agree,” Tom says, his voice firm. “He’s worse than Claire’s boyfriend, and that guy is a complete idiot. He came over the other day and tried to explain the Russian Revolution to me even though I’m doing a history degree.”
I exhale.
We exchange a look. The kind that says yeah, we both see it. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m being dramatic.
“Are you going to say anything to her?” I ask.
He hesitates, taking another sip. “Maybe.” Then he glances at me. “Are you?”
I sigh, torn. My instinct is to stay out of other people’s business. But this is Kath. “I don’t want to upset her.”
Tom gets up, heads to the kitchen and returns with a beer, offering it to me.
“Thanks, but I have training tomorrow,” I say, shaking my head.
He laughs. “Sorry, I know it’s been years, but I always forget.”
“And I’m only seventeen,” I remind him.
“As if that ever stopped anyone.” He scoffs, popping the cap off his bottle.
I roll my eyes, and we lapse into comfortable silence, half-watching the football game playing on the TV. A few minutes later, during a lull in the commentary, he speaks again.
“You’re an idiot, you know.”
I glance at him. “I mean, probably. But what did I do this time?”
“You should’ve just asked her out yourself and saved us all this hassle.” His eyes stay locked on the screen, like he hasn’t just casually lobbed a grenade into the room.
My glass freezes halfway to my mouth. Shit, have I given too much away? Why would he say that?
“This is a deeply weird conversation to be having with Kath’s brother,” I say instead.
He snorts. “Welcome to my world.”
“Anyway, I don’t date. I train.” I pause. “It doesn’t stop after the Olympics. There’s the European Championships, then Worlds next year. It’s a cycle.”
Tom doesn’t argue. Just shrugs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Aquaman.”
Before I can say anything else, the front door swings open.
Kath walks in first, looking… off. Not exactly upset, but not herself either. Something in the way that her stride’s a bit more forceful than usual and her jaw is set. Behind her, unfortunately, is Bobbie.
“I’m going upstairs to change,” she says, barely glancing at him. “Bobbie, can you wait down here? I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Kath,” he whines, dragging out her name, but she just frowns.
God, what an idiot. Now that I’ve admitted how much I dislike him, it’s even harder not to glare. His dark hair is slicked back with too much gel, and when he drops his backpack onto the floor, it clinks suspiciously.
Tom catches my eye behind Bobbie’s back, raising a single eyebrow.
Bobbie flops into a chair, pulling out his phone. “Can I have a beer?” he asks.
“No.” Tom doesn’t even bother to look away from the TV.
Silence. Awkward, heavy silence. The sort of silence that Kath usually saves me from. It doesn’t end until she comes back downstairs. Her hair is pulled back in a braid and she’s done some sort of glittery thing to her eyes. But she still isn’t smiling.
“Say hi to Buttercup,” Tom shouts after us as we leave, and Kath doesn’t even muster up a retort to his stupid nickname for Claire.
When we get to the party, Kath makes a beeline for the kitchen, immediately pouring herself a glass of wine.
I follow, unsure how to pull her out of whatever mood she’s in.
Before I can even ask what’s wrong, someone sweeps her away into a conversation, and I’m left standing there, watching her disappear into the crowd.
By the time I find Kath again, over an hour later, she’s moved past the giggly stage of drunk and into something more subdued. She’s still smiling as she talks to Claire in the kitchen, but it’s not a real smile. Not the kind that reaches her eyes.
Claire excuses herself and I lean against the counter, watching Kath carefully before pulling a KitKat out of my pocket.
“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “Pretty sure you didn’t eat dinner. Are you OK?”
“Peachy,” she mutters, unwrapping the chocolate bar with more aggression than necessary.
I stand watching her for a minute. She doesn’t look peachy to me. The tension that’s been clinging to her since she got to her house a few hours ago is still in every move of her muscles, every dart of her eyes, and she still looks off.
“Are you sure?” I ask again.
She sighs and leans into the kitchen counter next to me, and I reach over to give her arm a squeeze.
“Am I not good enough?” she asks me, and something in my chest crumples a bit. I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t envision this conversation going particularly well.
“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously, glancing around. The party’s still in full swing outside and in the living room, but in the kitchen it’s just the two of us.
“Bobbie still hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend.
” She snaps another finger off the chocolate bar like it personally offended her.
“What about me isn’t good enough? We’ve been dating for two months.
Two months. I don’t understand. Why does no one ever want to go out with me? What about me isn’t worth it?”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going, words spilling out like she’s been holding them in for too long.
“And he wants us to do more stuff.” Her voice wobbles, and my hands clench.
“He wants me to stay over at his house. But then he won’t even ask me to be his girlfriend.
And I call him my boyfriend, but maybe I’m wrong.
We’ve never even had that talk, I just sort of assumed.
What kind of bullshit is that? But when we’re together, I have fun.
I feel special.” She pauses, inhaling sharply, like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“But then sometimes I feel really small. That’s stupid, right? ”
I stare at her, my brain scrambling for the right thing to say. A tear rolls down her cheek. I’ve never seen Kath cry before, she doesn’t even cry at movies, and I have no idea how to navigate this.
“Hey.” I step closer, turning her to face me. “Look at me.”
Her glassy eyes meet mine, and my chest aches. She looks pale, even her freckles look sad.
“You are good enough,” I tell her firmly. “If you want more, you deserve more. You should never have to feel like you don’t. You’re amazing. The best person I know.”
Her shoulders sag. “Do you promise?”
I nod. “Pinky promise.” I hold out my hand. “Which, you know, means it’s legally binding in pirate’s code.”
She huffs out a laugh. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. I tug on the end of her braid and she smiles.