Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

Stubbing my toe on a bottle, I cursed, picking it up and dumping it in the plastic bin bag with the rest of the bottles. I’d take them round to the recycling centre later; it would be a good walk. For now, I just needed to get this place remotely tidy. Tory was due in half an hour and the place was a tip. At least Dad wasn’t here, I thought with some relief. He was out somewhere, I didn't know where.

My eyes went wide and I froze in the hallway as the doorbell rang. Stuffing the last bottle in the bin bag, I stashed it in the cupboard under the stairs and hurried to the door.

It swung open to reveal Tory, her hair tied up in a loose ponytail, strands escaping and framing her face. She was wearing a long green t-shirt over black jeans, with matching green converse. I wondered briefly how many pairs she had.

Tearing my eyes off her body, I forced myself to look in her eyes and smiled.

“’Morning Fletch,” she said happily.

“You are way too cheerful for ten thirty in the morning,” I muttered under my breath.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to let me in or what?”

I stood aside as she walked in, and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to see her reaction to my house.

“So where is this computer?” she asked brightly.

I opened my eyes, confused. Not even a comment? What was with this girl?

She frowned. “Are you okay? You look kind of constipated.”

“I’m fine,” I replied hastily, leading her to the living room. “It’s in here.”

She strode right up to the computer and pulled the big machine thing out. I think it was called a disk something, but I couldn’t quite remember. I didn't really listen in ICT lessons.

She turned the computer on, frowning when nothing happened.

“That’s what it does every time we turn it on,” I explained. “Nothing.”

She nodded to herself and squatted on the floor. “Okay. I’m going to tinker around with it for a bit. You got a screwdriver set?”

“I’ll look for you,” I replied, heading into the kitchen. Rummaging in the drawers, I found an unopened toolkit, probably from when dinosaurs still ruled the earth. I blew the dust off it and returned to the living room, handing it to Tory.

“Great. You don’t have to watch, you know. You can do whatever you want,” she offered.

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “Do you want a drink or something?”

She deliberated. “Why not. You got juice?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll have blackcurrant, then,” she replied. “Now leave me in peace so I can fix this darned thing.”

Chuckling softly, I went to the kitchen and poured her a glass of juice. While I was at it, I poured myself some as well, and returned to the living room with it.

“Here,” I said, handing it to her. She grunted and motioned to the table beside her. I put it down and watched her. She was unscrewing the back of the big tower thing and her bottom lip was stuck out with concentration.

Tearing my gaze from her, I sat down on the sofa. No sooner had I done so than my phone bleeped, informing me that I had a text.

Get FREE minutes by-

I didn't read any more. Stupid mobile phone tariffs, tricking you into believing you had a text when they were just trying to get more money out of you.

I must’ve said this out loud, because Tory chuckled. “I know what you mean. Hey, could you put some music on? It’s a bit quiet.”

“Sure, what would you like?” I asked dutifully.

“Hmm,” she pondered, grimacing as she placed the back of the thing on the floor. She set about rearranging wires and pulling them out. “Surprise me.”

I picked a random song. Immediately, it blared from the tinny mobile phone speakers. I winced. “I’ll get the radio.”

Seconds later, I was fiddling with the aerial for the old radio we hadn’t used in years. I stopped when I heard a song that wasn’t Top 40 playing.

“Wait!” Tory cried. “I love this song!”

“What’s it called?” I asked curiously.

“Second Chance by Shinedown,” she replied, bobbing her head slightly. She started humming as she worked, her fingers fiddling with wires and other things I had no clue about.

“…Tell my mother, Tell my father
I’ve done the best I can
To make them realise this is my life
I hope they understand
I’m not angry I’m just saying
Sometimes goodbye’s a second chance…” she sang, her voice husky and powerful.

“Sounds cool,” I commented. “You’re a really good singer, you know.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, blushing. “Oh! I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” I frowned.

“Your wires were a little loose and the hard drive needed readjusting,” she informed me. “It should work fine now.”

“And that was it?” I exclaimed incredulously. “Bloody hell, if I’d known it was that simple I would have done it myself!”

She rolled her eyes and downed some of her drink. “Yeah, but you’d probably have electrocuted yourself.”

“Good point,” I acknowledged. I suddenly felt awkward. “Thanks for doing this, Tory.”

“No problem,” she replied simply. “I wanted an excuse to spend more time with you, anyway.”

“Really?” I asked uncertainly, sliding down the wall next to her.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Sophie’s jealous, obviously.” I groaned. “What? Don’t you like her?”

“It’s not that, she’s just really annoying,” I confessed. “Sorry, I don’t want to diss your friend to your face, but she really is.”

“Believe me, she annoys me too. But she’s quite sweet. Knowing her though, she’ll have a new crush by next week. Eddie’s the only one who’s lasted.”

“Eddie?” I queried, an eyebrow raised.

“Edward, as in Cullen,” she replied.

I rolled my eyes. “Bit familiar, isn’t it?”

She punched me playfully on the arm. “Danny was asking about you as well.”

I groaned. “Not that too. Tory, just to clarify, I don’t fancy any of your friends.”

“Not even Cassie?” Tory teased.

I wrinkled my nose. “She’s not my type.”

“So who is?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I haven’t really had many girlfriends.”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I knew you were gay! You're too nice to be straight.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I think there was meant to be a compliment in there somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Danny told me that you hadn’t had a good experience with boys,” I said casually. I felt her stiffen beside me. “He didn't say anything specific.”

Tory shrugged, but I could tell the casualness was forced. “I suppose that’s true. I haven’t had many boyfriends either. I learnt my lesson after the first few. Boys are nothing but cheating scumbags.” Her voice contained a venomous undertone I hadn’t heard from her before, and I could tell she'd really been hurt.

“Well, I apologise on the behalf of the male population for being cheating scumbags,” I replied softly. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important or anything. I mean, everyone gets cheated on. It’s not like I’m special or anything.”

On the contrary, I thought to myself. But I didn't say it aloud.

She sighed heavily, and then smiled brightly. It looked a little forced.

“So, who’s your type then?” she asked. “Like, what do you look for in a girl?”

I thought for a second. “I don't know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

She tutted mock-disapprovingly. “Fletch, what will we do with you? Okay, put these in order of importance: looks, personality, style, music. And be honest.”

“Honest? Or not scumbag-y?” I teased. She thwacked me on the arm. “Okay, okay. I’ll say personality first, because you can’t have a relationship with a girl if she’s drop-dead gorgeous with the personality of an unbranded cereal bar.”

Tory giggled. Usually, I don’t like gigglers, but from her it sounded beautiful. Oh yeah, I had it bad. “You nicked that off the match.com advert.”

“Sue me,” I replied childishly. “Then looks.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m a guy; I’m allowed to be at least a little bit shallow. Then music, then style. I don’t really care how she dresses, since she’ll probably be better than me anyway.”

She grinned. “Not bad. Most guys would say looks, but I guess it’s important.”

“It shouldn’t be,” I said softly.

She shrugged. “There’s a lot of stuff that shouldn’t be. We just have to deal with it.”

She sounded so sad when she sad that. I couldn’t bear it. Sadness and Tory just didn't fit.

“Smile, Tory, it uses less muscles.” Nothing. “Smile, it makes people wonder what you're thinking.” Still nothing. “Smile, it’s easier than to explain why you're crying.” Her frown deepened. “Smile, it confuses people.”

She cracked a half-smile. “Okay. That one was good.”

“Please smile,” I said softly. “It doesn’t seem right when you're sad.”

She sighed deeply and mustered a smile. “Sorry. I just get depressed sometimes. It can last for ages, especially if I’m getting my period.”

My eyes widened. “Okay, too much information.”

She chuckled. Her freezing fingers started dancing on my bare forearm, her touch sending shivers down my spine.

I pulled my arm away. “Stop it. That tickles.”

“Aw, is Fletchy-wetchy ticklish?” she asked in a baby voice.

“What did I say about calling me Fletchy?” I threatened.

She rolled her eyes and got to her feet, but as she did so, she tripped on the mat and went flying. I caught her before she hit the floor, and steadied her.

“You okay?” I asked her.

She nodded. It was only then that I realised I was holding her very close, and her face was inches from mine-

“Fletcher? You in?” Dad called, his heavy footsteps heading down the hallway.

I cursed under my breath, dropping Tory like hot coals. Shit. He wasn’t meant to be back for ages.

He appeared in the doorway; he didn't see her at first. His eyes were bloodshot and his movements were sloppy. In other words, he was drunk. Already.

“Fletcher, I need you to-” he broke off, noticing Tory hovering beside me. “Who’s this?” he asked rudely.

“Dad, this is my friend Tory, Tory, this is my Dad,” I introduced awkwardly.

“Hello,” she greeted him, sticking out her hand. He looked at it like she had a disease, and she retracted it quickly.

“You banging this slut while I’m out?” he slurred angrily. “Thought I brought you up better than that.”

“I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed, outraged. “I am not a slut, and I resent the insinuation.”

“I beg your pardon!” he mimicked in an extremely inaccurate impersonation of Tory. “Where are you from, posh-land?”

I wished the ground would just swallow me up. There was no way Tory would ever even speak to me after this. Why did Dad have to ruin everything?

Tory glanced at me; I could feel her gaze on me. “Well, if I’m just going to be insulted, then I guess I should leave. Don’t worry, I can see myself out.”

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I winced. Dad barely noticed.

“Good-looking, I’ll give her that,” he mused. “But the attitude. You don’t want a girl like that, Fletcher.”

I ground my teeth. How would he know what I wanted? He barely knew what day it was anymore.

“I’ll get you lunch, shall I?” I asked with more politeness than he deserved.

“Nah, I had some with the boys,” he replied, belching. “Turn that shit off, would you?”

I knew he meant the radio. I pressed the off button and placed it on top of the desk. I wanted to slam it, to get rid of the rage, but I knew that wasn’t wise.

I cast a wistful glance at the front door. Tory was long gone. I wanted to go after her, but I knew she’d just reject me. God knows she had every right to. Better not to open myself for humiliation.

Glancing back at Dad, his eyes glued to the TV screen, I headed out of the house. I plugged in my iPod, allowing the blissful sound of Bring Me the Horizon to fill my ears.

Our legs begin to break
We've walked this path for far too long
My lungs, they start to ache
But still we carry on
I'm choking on my words
Like I got a noose around my neck
I can't believe it's come to this
And dear, I fear
That this ship is sinking tonight

I reached the park before I knew it and started running. Three laps wouldn’t cut it today.

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When I finished, I collapsed onto the bench, exhausted. I rubbed my aching muscles, closing my eyes to the outside world. There wasn’t a part of me that didn't hurt, internally or externally, but at least I wasn’t angry anymore. I stared at the ground, as if somehow, I could find answers in the concrete.

A shadow fell over me. I wouldn’t have looked up, except I recognised the green converse heading towards me. I tensed as Tory approached, her face unreadable, and sat down beside me.

“Hi,” she said monotonously.

“Hi,” I replied uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

She smiled humourlessly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“My Dad…” I trailed off.

“Well, it would’ve been nice if you’d done something rather than just standing there,” she said bluntly. “But I get it, he’s your dad.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things, though,” I said quietly. “He’s not always like that. He just gets a bit… nasty, when he’s had too much to drink.”

I don't know why I was sticking up for him. I just felt the need to explain.

“You mean he’s not as much of an asshole when he's sober,” she surmised.

I shrugged. It was near enough the truth; he was alright when he was sober. That just wasn’t very often. If at all.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, nudging me gently with her knee. “I forgive your alcoholic father.”

Something about this irked me. “Alcoholic? What makes you think he’s an alcoholic?”

“I just thought-” she started, but I cut her off.

“You think you're so smart, don’t you?” I said accusingly. “You think you can come up to me and spout all this shit, insult my dad and expect me to just sit here and take it?”

“I didn't mean that,” she said angrily. “So shut up for a second.”

The anger ebbed away and I deflated. “I’m sorry.”

“What did I say about shutting up?” But her tone was light.

I bit my lip to stop myself from apologising again. She smiled at me.

“Look, I don’t mind about your dad, I really don’t,” she assured me. “Everyone says stuff about other people, stuff they don’t really mean.”

“So, you're not mad at me?” I asked, daring to hope.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?” she laughed. “Though I will be if you don’t add me on MSN. You’ve got no excuse now.”

“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll do it as soon as I get home.”

She grinned at me, and I found myself grinning back.

“I have to get back though,” she informed me. I drooped. “Mum’s taking me shopping. I need new school shoes.” She grimaced. “Ugh. I hate school shoe shopping. Its torture.”

“You have my every sympathy,” I replied.

“Oh, and miss-call me so I can get your number,” she added.

I nodded, and we stood up. She hugged me, and I hugged her back, inhaling her beautiful scent.

“Seriously, what perfume do you wear?” I asked curiously.

“I told you,” she replied with a teasing smile as she walked away. “I don’t wear perfume.”