Two
He’s so beautiful
I can’t stop starin’
The boy wonder
Is this heaven?
‘Boy Wonder’ from The Brink of Teenage Freedom
Kira and I are binge-watching Hollingworth. Or at least trying to – Kira keeps looking at her phone to check the time every twenty minutes.
‘You know it’s not suddenly going to be twelve?’ I say. ‘You’re like Cinderella waiting for the pumpkin to come.’
‘It is now basically twelve,’ she says.
‘Time moves at one speed.’
‘Well, why do they say “time flies while you’re having fun” then?’
We make eye contact and both start cackling, just as Ollie walks through the door.
People wandering in is a big no for most people, but Ollie isn’t most people. One, he’s been my closest friend and next-door-neighbour for the past seventeen years. I bet he’s come in through the backdoor, which is usually unlocked, via the gap in our garden fence.
‘How’s it going?’ he says.
The other thing to know about Ollie Pointer is . . . I have fallen irrevocably in love with him.
The problem is, Ollie has always been hot, as my friends have been telling me since puberty. His thick brown hair, his green eyes, a lanky body that had filled out over the summer. But because we were raised next door, almost like siblings, I never saw it.
Until six months ago, when I realised: how could I have not seen it before? It was like a light switch had been flipped on inside of me. My hands get clammy and it’s pure electricity when we touch.
And I’m starting to hope he feels the same way too.
‘Ah, Pointer,’ says Kira, standing up with a bit of a swagger. ‘I’m about to go to a Young New Left meet up, you know.’
‘Getting it for that ol’ UCAS form, Kira?’ says Ollie, with a smirk.
‘It’s because I support the party,’ says Kira, even though she literally told me she was going because of her UCAS form about two hours ago.
I don’t take sides here though; this is Kira and Ollie’s endless dance.
They want to study similar things: Ollie, Law, Kira, Politics; and are both wildly competitive with each other, despite going to different schools.
Ollie is at the boys’ private school, myself and Kira at the state all-girls’ grammar school.
‘Have you decided where you want to apply to?’ says Ollie. ‘Early deadline is October.’
‘I’m aware of the calendar,’ says Kira. ‘And I haven’t made my final choices yet.’ She points at me. ‘Don’t tell him what I’m thinking.’
‘I’m not going to apply to the same places to spite you . . . where I’d undoubtedly get in,’ says Ollie.
‘And I am not engaging with this conversation,’ says Kira, clicking her fingers. ‘I’m out of here. See you later, Selena.’
Ollie laughs and sits down next to me. I shake my head, then lean against his shoulder.
‘Why do you two fight so much?’ I say.
‘Because we’re competitive.’ He shrugs. ‘How was the listening party?’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘I wish you liked Rose Conrad, you could have come too.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s not that I dislike her, she’s not my vibe, you know? Also I’d cramp your style. Who wants a boy there?’ he says, playfully shrugging and pushing me off his shoulder.
‘Fair point, you wouldn’t be there for all the pillow fights and dance routines.’
‘Is that what you all do?’
‘No!’ I laugh. ‘I’m messing with you. We just sat down and listened to the album.’
He stands up. ‘Kidding aside, shall we get going?’
***
Ollie and I have started a new tradition this summer.
Annie Banannie Bananas Ice Cream on the high street is doing a different flavour every week.
And if you try every flavour you get a stamp on your card, and with a full card you can enter into a prize draw to win a year’s supply of free ice cream.
And because Annie Banannie doesn’t have a huge weekly clientele, Ollie and I have a good shot of winning. We’ve promised to share the ice cream between us if one of us wins.
‘Welcome to Annie Bannanie.’ Kristy, the dirty-blonde cashier, smiles.
She does this every time, greets us as if she’s never met us, even though we’re in here every week.
I have the feeling she doesn’t want to engage with us, so it’s easier pretending she doesn’t remember us.
She’s only working here during her uni summer break, after all.
‘Flavour of the week,’ I say, slapping down my stamp card, like I’m a cowboy at a saloon paying for a drink.
‘Make it two,’ says Ollie, putting his card down next to mine.
‘Only one more week to go,’ says Kristy, scooping us two cones of a lilac-coloured ice cream. ‘Here you are, two scoops of Lavender Dream.’
We pay up, and then leave, walking down the street, eating our ice creams.
‘I can’t believe we’re halfway through now,’ I say wistfully. ‘It feels like a countdown to the end of summer . . .’
‘I really want a full stamp card,’ says Ollie. ‘I hate things being incomplete.’
‘It’s only a few weeks away,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll get the full collection soon enough. I told you before, obsessing over the stamps isn’t going to make it go much faster. What do you think of this flavour?’
‘Not convinced about flowers in ice cream,’ says Ollie. ‘I think there’s a reason it’s not been done before.’
‘That’s the point of the Annie Banannie invented flavours. Remember when they did Stilton Summer? Gross. This one I can get behind.’
Ollie laughs. ‘True, I don’t think I like any of these out-there flavours. Classics are classics for a reason.’
‘So you’re just doing this for stamps?’ I tease.
‘Well, also to hang out with you,’ he says, looking over at me with a smile that melts me way faster than my ice cream in the sun. ‘But mostly for stamps.’ He grabs my arm, tugs me towards him. ‘Here,’ he says, rubbing his thumb on the side of my mouth. ‘You’ve got some on your face.’
I freeze under his touch, under his spell. I have to tell him how I feel. Surely he feels the same way too?