TEN THERE’S A BOY IN MY ROOM
TEN
THERE’S A BOY IN MY ROOM
A mid the lively atmosphere of the Seven Angels bar, I’m finding myself in way over my head.
The whole Keeper thing is still a haze, and my training that begins tomorrow has my stomach tied in knots.
And then there’s Tariq, who’s supposed to stay the night at my place.
Other than Jack, who is firmly in the friend-zone, I’ve never had a boy sleep over before.
What if my mum doesn’t like it? What if she finds out I’ve been at a bar underage? This could be a disaster.
As I try to steady my nerves, I take in the medieval ambiance of the bar – a scene frozen in time.
Dark wood panelling lines the walls, while chequerboard tiles grace the floor.
Candlelight dances from chandeliers, illuminating worn tables and aged beams. Among the lively chatter and laughter, men toast with dark beer while couples share moments of connection.
Nearby, giggling girls huddle around a phone screen.
An elderly man with a case of cider brushes past me.
‘Watch yourself, lad,’ he says.
‘Sorry,’ I reply. How can anyone relax here?
The man throws the case on the countertop and begins to serve the mob.
‘Hey, kid, you should watch where you stand,’ a voice calls from behind me.
It’s Opel. She’s sitting at a table alone, a half-full glass in front of her. I wander over, cautiously.
‘I’m surprised Trevor didn’t ask to see your ID with that babyface of yours,’ she says.
The man behind the bar. I assume that is who she is referring to.
‘I’m just waiting for Tariq,’ I say.
‘Let me guess,’ she begins, playing with the mint leaves garnishing her drink. ‘Nathaniel has asked Tar to babysit you?’ She shakes her head. ‘What a waste of time.’
She’s starting to piss me off. She doesn’t even know me. ‘What’s your problem?’
She stands, drink in hand, and moves closer to me as if to get a better look.
‘You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, kid.’
‘I’m starting to get an idea. And I’m not a kid.’
‘What? You have one run-in with Draven and you think you know everything?’ Her face is now just inches away from mine. ‘You wouldn’t stand a chance against him.’
Tariq is now at my side, his coat in his hand, ready to go.
‘What’s going on?’ he says, looking at Opel.
‘Your bodyguard’s here.’ Opel glares at me.
Tariq pulls her to one side. He whispers something to her, and she returns to her seat, slightly less stroppy than a few moments ago. He kisses her on the forehead before returning to me.
‘Let’s get going,’ he says, and I follow him through the crowd and out the front door.
As we walk back to my house, I try to come up with a plausible reason for Tariq to stay the night.
Mum has always been cool with friends staying over, but it’s been ages since that happened.
The last time was on my fifteenth birthday when Lily and Jack stayed for a games night.
It was a blast. At least until Lily decided to make us late-night pancakes and set off the fire alarm, leading to the whole building being evacuated.
Safe to say no one has stayed over since.
Tonight is an entirely different scenario; Tariq is a guy, and a complete stranger to my mum.
Bringing him home would raise a million questions I can’t answer truthfully.
My nerves heighten as we approach my building, but I let out a sigh of relief on seeing Mum’s car is absent from its usual parking spot.
She must be on a late shift at the hospital.
‘Thank God,’ I mutter.
We cross the road and enter my building.
‘Want something to drink?’ I ask, nervously fumbling with the fridge door. ‘Water, orange juice, Diet Coke?’
‘Water’s perfect, thanks,’ Tariq says, exploring my flat as if it’s a museum. ‘Is this your mum?’
Tariq picks up a framed photo of me and Mum at the top of the Empire State Building in New York.
I nod.
It’s weird; that photo always reminds me more of Stonehenge than New York.
Stonehenge is just a few miles from Sarumbourne, practically in our back garden.
Everywhere we went in the Big Apple people would hear our accents and be all ‘oh my god, what part of England are you from?’ Describing Sarumbourne to Americans proved useless, but as soon as we mentioned Stonehenge, it was ‘Yeah, I know where you’re at.
You must visit the stones all the time’. I have never visited ‘the stones’.
I cringe as Tariq comes across Mum’s tribute wall to my embarrassing baby years. ‘Please don’t look at those,’ I say.
‘Ah, come on, you were adorable.’ He points at one of the most mortifying photos Mum insists on displaying – me in a bath, covered in so many bubbles I resemble a snowman.
‘Seriously, stop.’
Tariq laughs but seems to take the hint.
I pour the water. ‘You know, you really don’t have to stay tonight. I’ll be fine.’
Tariq takes the glass from me and looks me in the eyes. ‘I do. And you might not be. You don’t know the Dark Friars as I do. They’re savage, Liam. They won’t hesitate to come in here, slice you open, and…’
‘Okay, I get the visual,’ I say, pouring myself a glass. I do not want to dwell on the gruesome possibilities.
‘We can’t trust Draven to stick to his offer. It’s just…’ He pauses for a moment before continuing. ‘I can’t lose you,’ he admits, genuine concern in his eyes.
Is he worried about me? Or is he just worried about losing another Keeper from the team? Either way, I guess I appreciate his concern.
‘Let’s maybe get out of here in case my mum comes home.’
As we head toward my room, panic starts bubbling up inside me. My room is a complete disaster zone, and Tariq is about to see it.
‘Wait!’ I shout, squeezing past Tariq, blocking the way to my bedroom door and spilling a little of my water in the process.
‘What is it?’ he says.
‘My room, uh… it’s being decorated.’
I’ve seen Tariq’s room back at the Seven Angels, and it’s immaculate. There’s no way he can see this chaos.
‘Decorated?’ Tariq raises an eyebrow. ‘What are you having done?’
‘Uh… paint. Yeah, they’re painting it.’
‘Oh.’ Tariq smiles.
‘So yeah, maybe you should just go and…’
Tariq reaches around my waist and opens the door. My heart skips a beat, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.
‘Mate, is that your underwear?’ he says.
I clock a pair of black CKs draped over my desk chair. I immediately dash into the room and slam the door shut behind me.
‘Liam, I was joking,’ Tariq calls through the door. ‘I’m here to make sure no one kills you, not to judge how tidy you are.’
Yeah, right. As if he’s not secretly judging me.
Setting my water down, I take a deep breath and start scrambling to clean up the mess.
Clothes go into the wardrobe, the duvet gets shaken out, and the window is opened for some much-needed fresh air.
I try to light a candle, but after a few failed attempts with the matches, I resort to spraying some deodorant to mask the smell.
Finally, I turn off the main light, hoping the dim glow of my bedside lamp will hide some of the mess.
I open the door. Tariq stands there grinning. A kid on Christmas morning.
‘You can come in now,’ I say.
Tariq steps past me, sniffing the air. ‘Fragrant,’ he says, placing his glass of water on my desk.
He looks around, seemingly unfazed by the mess.
‘Big film fan, then?’ he says, admiring the posters on my wall.
I pick up my glass of water. ‘Yeah… are you?’
‘More of a book guy.’ Tariq looks up at the shark poster. ‘This one, by the way, the book is so much better.’
‘Don’t jab at Spielberg. Jaws is a classic.’
Tariq smiles in that annoying way people do when they think they’re right. But I’m fluttering inside. I’m getting hot. Too hot. Thirst hits me, and I down my water.
‘So, which side should I sleep on?’ he says.
‘What?’ I say, water dripping down my chin.
‘We’re sharing this bed, right?’
I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. My cheeks burn, and my heart starts thumping wildly. Sharing a bed? Is he serious?
He bursts out laughing. ‘I’m messing with you. I’ll take the floor.’
Finally, I can breathe again. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, it’s not like you asked for this. Besides, I’ve slept on worse, trust me,’ he says. His eyes glint in the lamplight.
‘Okay. Well, I’m going to go change. Take a pillow from my bed, and there’s a blanket on top of the wardrobe.’ I grab my pyjamas and head for the bathroom.
My reflection in the mirror is not sympathetic. The tiredness under my eyes is undeniable. I peel the plaster from my forehead. The graze from when I fell is already healing. I remove the bandages from my hand, stretching out my fingers. There’s no bruising. Nothing. Is this a Keeper thing?
My phone vibrates. It’s a selfie of Lily giving a thumbs up while Cassie snoozes on her lap, accompanied by Hope you’re feeling better .
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, attempting to make it look less dishevelled. I quickly brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face, hoping to at least appear somewhat presentable.
I enter my room and my insides do a somersault.
‘Oh… wow… sorry,’ I say, trying to avoid staring at Tariq’s flawless bronzed skin and bright white boxers.
Tariq looks up from his phone, then down at his naked body. ‘Hey, yeah, sorry. I don’t really do pyjamas. I get too hot.’
I’m overdressed in my long navy bottoms and white T-shirt. I close the door, trying my best to ignore the excitement building in… places.
‘You good?’ he says, clicking off his phone.
I’m very aware of the fact that I’m just gawking at him. I should say words. ‘Uh… yeah. The bathroom’s free if you need it. Mum’s still not home.’
‘I’m all good.’ He settles himself on the floor. ‘You’ve got a really soft carpet.’
‘Yeah. I wouldn’t trust it,’ I say, climbing onto my bed. ‘My mate Jack once spilled his banana milkshake in that very spot, and even though Mum cleaned it to oblivion, I swear sometimes I can still smell it.’