Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

I walked to the park after school, not to play football with the guys since everyone had other plans, but to run. I hadn’t run in a while, mostly because I hadn’t felt the need to, but I missed it. I missed the rush of euphoria, the aching in my chest that gave way to a dull numbness, the complete clearness of mind. I didn't even go home to change out of my uniform; I just headed for the park and started to run. All the thoughts swirling around in my mind were driven out by the wind roaring in my ears, whipping my face, the park racing by me in a blur.

I did three laps. Three laps, and then I started to get tired. I’d gotten lazy; I needed to keep running or I’d turn into a fat slob like my Dad. Shuddering, I pushed the sudden mental image out of my head and sat on a bench, pulling out my bottle of water. Closing my eyes, I took a long drink, letting the cool, refreshing water cascade down my throat.

“Hey Fletch.”

I choked on my drink and spat it out all over myself, coughing and spluttering. Tory dissolved into helpless giggles, clutching her sides with uncontrolled mirth.

“Hilarious,” I muttered, once I had got myself under control. “I could’ve choked to death, and then what would you have done?”

She seemed to consider this for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t really fancy spending my evening in Casualty.”

Rolling my eyes, I got up to hug her. She kissed me quickly on the cheek and we sat down.

“So, how was your day?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Pretty good. I have a tonne of work to catch up on, though.” I made a face. “Stupid school. I’ve got an English essay to do for next week and I haven’t even started it yet.”

“Aw, what's it on?” Tory asked sympathetically.

“Merchant of Venice,” I replied. “We have to write about the evil dude, what's his name?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shylock? Yeah, we had to do that one too.”

I perked up. “You don’t think you could-”

“Fletch, I’m not doing your essay for you,” she informed me before I could say anything else.

I drooped. “Okay.”

“But I will help you with it if you want,” she offered. “For a reasonable fee, of course.”

“I’m still skint,” I informed her.

She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that kind of fee.”

My eyes widened. “Tory, are you flirting with me?”

She dissolved into helpless giggles once more. I started laughing too; her laughter was infectious.

“I was just trying it out,” she chuckled. “No?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, you can come over to mine and I’ll help you with it now if you want,” she offered. “I’m not doing anything else tonight.”

“I feel so honoured,” I replied sarcastically.

Tory rolled her eyes. “Fine. I retract my offer.” At the look on my face, she laughed. “Okay. Let’s go.” As we got up, she smiled.

“What?” I asked her, confused.

“You smell nice,” she informed me shyly. “Kind of like a mixture of boy-sweat and Lynx.”

I laughed. “I don’t see how you could find that nice.”

“Well, I do,” she replied. “But then Lynx smells so good. I would wear it but I don’t want to smell like a man.”

“I like the way you smell,” I commented. “It’s quite sweet, and kind of… fresh.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’ll be because I wash, idiot.”

“I wash,” I said defensively. “Sometimes.”

“What, every blue moon?”

“No, at least once a week,” I replied indignantly. At the look on her face, I added, “Mostly more, of course.”

She shook her head disapprovingly at me. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know.”

I couldn’t think of a good comeback to that, so I just stuck my tongue out at her. She laughed.

“I win,” she crowed.

I just looked at her. “You are so immature, you know that?”

“And that’s why you love me,” she sang childishly.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just one of the reasons,” I mumbled under my breath so she couldn’t hear.

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“Mother!” Tory called in a sing-song voice as we walked through the door. “I’m home!”

“Daughter!” Catherine called back. “I can tell!”

Tory rolled her eyes and dumped her bag on the floor. The kitchen door was open and I could see her mum in there, doing the ironing. Tory walked towards her, and I followed tentatively.

“Oh, hi Fletch,” Catherine greeted me, still holding the iron.

“Mum, put that down,” Tory ordered. “Remember what you did to Eddie?”

Catherine put the iron down with a solemn look on her face. “Of course.”

“What did you do to Eddie?” I asked curiously.

“She burnt him with the iron,” Tory said indifferently, hauling herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. My mouth dropped open and she burst out laughing. “It was an accident. He put his arm on the ironing board just as she was going by it. It was actually quite funny.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “You are one sick child, Victoria Pearson.”

“And where do you think I get it from, Mother?” Tory retorted. She looked at me, lurking uncomfortably by the oven, and ushered me forward. “Come. Sit.”

I obliged, pulling myself up to sit by her.

“So, what are you two going to do?” Catherine asked.

“I was going to help Fletch with his English essay,” Tory replied. “It’s on Merchant of Venice.”

“Oh, I did that one too,” Catherine said thoughtfully. “Mind, it was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. They didn’t even have colour TV back then,” Tory teased her.

Catherine narrowed her eyes at her and brandished the iron in a somewhat threatening manner. “I’ll have you know I’m not that old, young lady.”

Tory turned to me. “Go on. How old do you think my mum is?”

Catherine looked at me expectantly. I didn’t want to insult her, but I didn’t want to lie, either. She didn’t look that old, mid-thirties I guessed. “Um, thirty five?”

Catherine chuckled. “Oh, you’re too kind. Try nearly another decade on top of that. I’m forty three.”

“Really?” I exclaimed. “You don’t look it.”

She turned to her daughter. “Tory, feel free to marry this boy whenever you like. He has my approval.” She leant over and ruffled my hair, winking at me.

Tory rolled her eyes. “I’m glad.”

“So, Fletch, what’s your essay about?” Catherine asked me.

“‘How Shakespeare makes Shylock dramatically effective’,” I recited.

She nodded. “Same as Tory. She wrote an overwhelmingly positive essay about him.”

“I like the poor guy!” Tory retorted defensively. “He’s been through a lot and I feel sorry for him.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “You always like the bad characters.”

“I do not.”

She looked at her. “Sylar in Heroes?”

“That’s one character,” Tory retorted. “Besides, Shylock isn’t a bad character. Shakespeare portrays him in a way which was supposed to make the Elizabethans think about their attitudes to Jews and create sympathy for them. It didn’t really work, but we as a modern audience can see it.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Listen to you. ‘We as a modern audience’.” She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t going to write his essay for him, are you? Because, you know, that would be cheating.”

“Of course not,” Tory replied, jumping down. “I’m just going to help him. Fletch, come on. We can go up to my room.”

I smiled at Catherine before following Tory out, up to her room.

“My mum loves you now,” she informed me as she shut her bedroom door behind her. “Not that she didn’t before.” She wrinkled her nose. “Some part of me is disappointed. Some part of me always wanted a boyfriend my parents didn’t like. But then, I guess I’ve had my fair share of them.” She smiled at me. “But I’m babbling. Come on.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the empty space of floor in the middle of her room. She reached under her bed, rummaged around for a bit and pulled out a notebook and pen.

“Okay, let’s make a list of stuff,” she suggested, clicking the pen. “You got a copy of the play?”

I nodded and pulled it out of my bag. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

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“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Tory announced sometime later, after we had filled up nearly fifteen pages of her notebook with ideas. It was A6, though.

I smiled hesitantly at her. “Thanks for this, Tory.”

She smiled back. “You’re welcome. Where do you want it?”

“Can you just stuff it in my planner or something?” I suggested.

She nodded and zipped open my bag since it was nearest to her. Rummaging around, she pulled out my planner and tucked the sheaf of paper in. but as she did so, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. My eyes widened with horror; I recognised it instantly. But Tory had already picked it up.

“What’s this?” she asked curiously.

“Nothing,” I said hastily, grabbing for it. “Just a random piece of paper.”

She drew it back out of my reach and grinned. “Just a random piece of paper, eh?” she unfolded it and started to read.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see her reaction to it.

“Aw, this is so sweet,” she murmured. “I didn’t think anyone was watching me.”

A smile played at the corner of my lips as I recalled the memory. “Obviously. You were dancing like a freak.”

She whacked me with the piece of paper. “Seriously, though. That was a life-changing moment?” She sounds sceptical.

I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “It was for me. It was the first time I saw you. And you’ve definitely changed my life. For better or for worse, that is the question.”

She smiled at me, and I smiled back. We leaned in, until our faces were millimetres apart-

“Sorry, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Eddie said cheerfully as he barged in. We leapt apart, feigning casualness. “Need to get something.”

“Eddie, are you familiar with the concept of knocking?” Tory growled.

He smirked. “It’s not like you were doing anything, anyway. You’re just doing homework. God, you’re so boring. Don’t you ever make out, or whatever?”

Tory threw a pillow at his head, which he ducked expertly.

“By the way,” he added, on his way out, “me and Annie are playing Guitar Hero downstairs. Want to join?”

Tory looked at me. I shrugged. “Why not?” she replied.

We followed Eddie downstairs to the living room where Annie was setting up the drum kit, Eddie cracking chess jokes the whole time. I still wasn't sure about the whole chess thing, and made a mental note to ask Tory about it later.

“I’m going on guitar,” Eddie announced, grabbing it.

“Drums,” Annie said immediately.

Tory looked at me. “Guitar or vocals?”

“Well, since I sound like a cat that’s just been run over by a lawnmower when I sing, I think I’ll take the other guitar,” I replied.

She grinned. “Believe me; you can’t sound as bad as Eddie.”

“Tory,” Eddie warned.

She ignored him, still grinning. “He sounds like a chipmunk. Kind of. It’s really weird. Maybe he’ll give us a demonstration.”

All three of us turned to look at him simultaneously.

“I’m not singing!” Eddie shrieked, his voice going high at the end.

Tory nodded solemnly. “He sounds a lot like that. Except higher.”

Stifling my laughter, I secured the guitar strap around me while the game loaded. Eddie muttered something incomprehensible.

“Payback for the crappy chess jokes,” Tory said pointedly.

“What do those actually mean?” I asked curiously, sensing an opportunity.

“Apparently I’m a chess club geek because I go to grammar school,” she replied resignedly, “so I must spend all my time playing chess.”

I chuckled, but refrained from commenting at her stern look. “Your band is called Meat?”

“It’s computer generated,” Tory informed me. They selected themselves as players and I played as Judy Nails. I liked her. “Fletch, you can pick a song first.”

“Um,” I mused, “Everlong by Foo Fighters.”

“What I’ve Done,” Annie said immediately.

“Some Might Say,” Eddie added.

“Then I choose Monsoon by Tokio Hotel,” Tory grinned. “What fun we shall have.”

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“Oh yes,” Eddie crowed after we finished Monsoon. “One hundred per cent.”

Tory rolled her eyes. “I still got the most money.”

“That’s because you’re the singer,” Annie reminded her.

“Well, I need sustenance,” Tory announced. “Who else wants chocolate?”

“I’ll have a Topic, a packet of Animals and two packets of Smarties,” Annie replied.

“Annie, you are so greedy,” Eddie informed her, shaking his head.

“What?” she protested. “It’s not my fault I’m a growing girl.”

“I’ll just have an Aero,” Eddie added.

“Fletch?” Tory asked me.

I shrugged. “What have you got?”

Tory smiled. “Come and see.”

“That was fun,” I commented as we walked into the kitchen. “Your brother is actually hilarious. I didn’t think his voice was that high.”

Tory cracked a grin. “I know. Hi Mum.”

“Hi,” Catherine replied. “Raiding the sweet cupboard, are we?”

I looked at Tory. “You have an actual sweet cupboard?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “And a biscuit cupboard.”

I shook my head with disbelief. “How are you not huge?”

“Metabolism, darling,” Tory called, hauling herself up to the counter. She opened the cupboard and got out the chocolate Annie and Eddie had requested. “What do you want?”

I peered in critically. “Uh, Snickers. Thanks.”

Tory grabbed a couple extra packets of Smarties and downed one in one go, pouring the small, chocolate spheres down her throat. Then she pulled open another cupboard and tossed the empty cardboard box in a plastic box.

“The cardboard recycling box,” she informed me and my questioning look.

“You mean you actually recycle?” I said sceptically.

“Yes, we’re very environmentally friendly,” Catherine informed me. “By the way, are you going to stay for dinner, Fletch?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” I said hastily. “I should be getting back now, actually.”

Tory drooped. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Show him to the door, Tory,” Catherine said pointedly. “Honestly, young people have no manners.”

Tory stuck her tongue out at her mother as she led me out of the kitchen to the front door.

“Do you have to go?” she asked mournfully. “I love spending time with you.”

“Me too,” I replied. “But I should really get this essay done tonight or I’ll procrastinate and never get it done.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Okay then.”

She kissed me softly, before opening the door for me. I smiled back at her and walked out, shoving my hands in my pockets. Whistling softly, I trudged down the road, back to my house.