Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

“Go Fletch!” the class cheered as I rounded the corner, my legs pumping like pistons. As I crossed the finish line, they rose as one, roaring themselves hoarse. You’d have thought it was the Olympics, not a school P.E. lesson.

Bending over to catch my breath, I saw a familiar pair of spotless trainers approaching me. They could only belong to one person. Straightening up, I smiled.

“Hi Jordan,” I greeted my friend.

“You did good just then, Fletch,” he nodded, his dreadlocks shaking as he did so. I acknowledged this with a nod; Jordan never really said much. This, coming from him, was a huge compliment. He was the strong, silent type, the one girls fall over themselves for.

“Fletcher!” Kyle yelled, running up to join us. “What’s going on, man? Hassan nearly beat the shit out of you!”

I rolled my eyes as my other friends, Kyle and Hassan, joined us. “He did not. He was miles away.”

Kyle was the opposite of Jordan; he never stopped talking. It was an uphill struggle to get him to shut his big mouth.

“Give it up,” Hassan retorted. “I could have beaten you easily.”

I raised an eyebrow as we headed back to the changing rooms. “Yeah right. In what universe?”

“You won’t be laughing when I kick your arse next time,” he threatened.

I folded my arms, unimpressed. Hassan was just about the least intimidating person I knew. He was fairly short, with an innocent-looking baby face that always got him out of trouble with our teachers, and a shock of curly black hair. He had olive skin, due to the fact that his family was from Iraq originally.

“So Fletch,” Kyle interrupted, “you coming to the park after school?” At my blank expression, he elaborated. “We were going to play football. Remember?”

"Oh yeah," I muttered as we reached the changing rooms. "I forgot about that."

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After we'd changed back into our uniforms, we dumped our P.E. kit in our lockers and headed out of school.

"So, what did you think of the match on Saturday?" Kyle asked me.

"Match?" I frowned. "What match?"

All three of them stopped and turned to gawp at me.

"What do you mean, what match?" Hassan exclaimed disbelievingly. "The single most important match of the year! Arsenal vs. Manchester United!"

"Oh," I realised.

"Tell me you watched it," Kyle pleaded.

I shook my head. He gave an agonised groan.

"You know I'm not really into football," I said defensively. "And besides, I was at a party."

"A party?" Kyle exclaimed disbelievingly. "You, king of the unsociables, went to a party?"

"Hilarious," I said sarcastically. "And yeah. I did."

"Whose party?" Jordan asked curiously.

"A friend of this girl that I met," I mumbled.

Kyle's eyebrows shot up. "Surely not. You met a girl who didn't run to the nearest mental asylum when she saw you?"

I swiped at him. "Shut up."

"So, what's she like? Is she fit?" Kyle asked roguishly.

I shrugged, pretending I couldn't care less. "I suppose. We're just friends, though."

Kyle snorted derisively. "Yeah right."

"That's weird," Hassan frowned, interrupting our conversation suddenly. "There's a Fiveash girl outside our school."

We all turned to look where he was pointing. My heart rose and sank simultaneously; it was Tory. I was happy to see her, beyond happy, but this was all wrong. She shouldn’t be here.

"Bloody hell, she's fit," Kyle murmured, shamelessly running his eyes all over her. "She must be stupid though, for a grammar school boffin."

"Shit," I muttered.

"Do you know her?" Jordan asked.

I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. It's Tory, the girl who asked me to the party."

Kyle gaped at me. "You never said she was a Fiveash girl!"

"She's still fit," Hassan muttered appreciatively.

Kyle nodded in agreement, then frowned. "Hey, she's coming over."

I whirled round to see Tory making her way past our staring schoolmates, shocked to see a Fiveash in our midst. She saw me and waved enthusiastically.

"Hi Fletch!" she greeted me cheerfully.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, conscious of everyone staring.

"Felt like coming to see you," she beamed.

“Are you suicidal, or something?” I hissed.

She frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in St. Martin’s territory,” I informed her. “Not only that, you are directly outside of our school.”

“So?” she shrugged.

“She must be stupid,” Kyle muttered.

“Did you not hear about the Fiveash boy who got stabbed?” I demanded.

She raised an eyebrow. “Come on. Am I seriously going to get stabbed just because I go to a grammar school?” She rolled her eyes incredulously. “You’re so overdramatic. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Sure," I said reluctantly. "Guys, this is Tory. Tory, this is-"

"Kyle," Kyle stepped forward, smiling in what he obviously thought was a flirtatious way. "I'm delighted to meet you." I noticed he'd deepened his voice quite a bit.

Hassan elbowed him aside. "I'm Hassan."

Tory turned to Jordan. "And you?"

"Jordan," he said in a bored voice. "Don't mind them. They're not used to beautiful female company."

Tory blushed, and I felt a surge of jealousy. "Thanks."

"So," I put in with forced cheerfulness. "What are you really doing here?"

"Well, I wondered if you wanted to go to the park with me," she replied. “And I thought I’d surprise you.”

Well, I was definitely surprised. "I can't," I said reluctantly. "I'm playing football with the guys."

"I'll go with you," Kyle said immediately.

"No, I will," Hassan insisted.

Before they could fight over her, I interrupted. "Why doesn't she just come to the park with us?"

"She can't," Kyle said dismissively.

Tory arched an eyebrow challengingly. "Oh yeah? And why can't she?"

"Well, we're playing football," he mumbled uncertainly.

"And? I'm not amazing, but I can definitely kick a ball better than Beckham," she snorted.

"You can play football?" Hassan asked incredulously.

"Yeah, and don't be so surprised," she chided, folding her arms.

"It's settled, then," Jordan said. "You're coming with us."

I opened my mouth to object, but before I could, she'd turned to me and turned her brilliant smile on me.

"That's okay, isn't it?" she asked.

I smiled helplessly. "'Course."

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"Pass the ball, Hassan!" Jake yelled.

Hassan passed the ball to him and he effortlessly kicked it into the back of the net.

"Where were you?" Kyle yelled at Aaron. "I want you to stick to Jake for the rest of the game!"

I raised an eyebrow. Kyle took this shit too seriously. It was just a game.

I ended up with the ball and powered down the pitch to where Kyle's team's goalie, Harry, was standing. Jordan was in front of me, his bulky body obscuring my shot at goal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tory. She really was quite good at this. I crossed the ball to her; she was metres away from goal.

A piercing scream ripped through the air and I ground to a halt. Tory. I sprinted over to where she was sprawled on the floor, clutching her ankle, her face contorted with pain.

"What happened?" I demanded, stooping down to her level.

"Kyle tackled me," she grimaced, wincing slightly.

"Fouled you, more like," I muttered, glaring at my so-called friend. He at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"I'm fine," she assured me. "Give me a hand, would you?"

She draped an arm round my neck and I pulled her up. Gingerly, she tested her foot on the ground and winced.

"Is it broken?" I asked anxiously.

She shook her head. "Just sprained."

"You sure?" I asked sceptically.

She smiled humourlessly. "Believe me, if it was broken, I wouldn't be able to walk. And I'd probably be screaming in agony."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. I think I'll sit out the rest of the game."

"I'll stay with you if you want," I offered.

"Thanks," she smiled.

"Sorry," Kyle apologised.

"It's okay," Tory assured him as I helped her over to a park bench.

"You sure you're okay?" I asked her concernedly.

She sighed. "Yes, but you won't be if you keep asking."

"Sorry."

She smiled, and leant her head on my shoulder. My mind was cleared of everything except how nice it felt.

"Your friends are nice."

"They fancy you," I pointed out.

"Really?" she exclaimed. "I wonder why."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, me too."

"Oi," she protested.

"Sarcasm, Tory," I said, rolling my eyes.

"You know sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, right?" she informed me playfully.

"The person who said that lacked the basic skills of wit, creativity and intelligence to think of a sarcastic comeback," I retorted.

She pulled her head up to look at me and smiled her turn-your-knees-to-jelly smile.

"You practised that, didn't you?" she said knowingly.

I nodded. "Yep. Every word. In front of the mirror. Every night before I go to bed."

She rolled her eyes and looked at the pitch. "Hey, I think the match is finished."

"Hope we're not interrupting anything," Kyle said knowingly as they walked over. I glared at his blatant insinuation, but he just shrugged innocently.

“Well, it’s been great hanging out with you,” Tory said, “but I have to go.”

This was met by protestations from pretty much everyone. Me included.

“I’ve got a family dinner thing tonight,” she explained apologetically. “Bye guys! Bye Fletch.”

She hugged me quickly and ruffled my hair roguishly. I would’ve slapped anyone else who’d tried that, but not her. She started hobbling away, wincing with pain.

“You are so going to pay for hurting her,” I hissed to Kyle, before heading after her. “Tory! Let me help you.”

She draped an arm around my shoulders and leant on me. “Thanks. I’m fine, I am. It just hurts a bit.”

“Are you sure it’s not broken?”

She looked at me. “Fletch, my dad’s a doctor. I know a broken bone when I see one.”

“So? My dad’s an alcoholic; it doesn’t mean I know everything about alcohol.” I bit my lip as I realised what I’d said.

She looked at me intently. I gave her a look that said ‘what?’ and she sighed. “Fine.”

I wrapped an arm around her waist and we started down the road, slowly, so as not to hurt Tory too much.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she informed me.

I shrugged. “I want to. I get to spend more time with you.”

“You’d think I was special, or something,” she muttered. I bit my lip to stop myself correcting her; she was. “So how was your day? I never asked.”

“Okay, I suppose,” I shrugged.

“Do anything interesting?” she asked.

“In P.E. we were doing athletics,” I informed her. “We were doing the 200m. It’s my best event. That and 100m. And probably the rest of the running events.” I blushed; I sounded like an arrogant git.

She chuckled softly. “Fletch, it’s okay. You don’t sound like an arrogant git.”

I started with surprise. “How did you-”

“It’s written all over your face,” she told me with a teasing smile. “You’re so sweet sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

She grinned. “Okay. Most of the time.”

I blushed with pleasure. “So how was your day?” I asked. “Was it… oh, what was the word?”

“Fan-dabby-daisy?” she provided, smiling. “No. This time it was just okay.”

“Why’s that?” I asked curiously.

She sighed. “Matt keeps bothering me. He thinks if he keeps nagging me to go out with him, I’ll wear down eventually. He’s right. I just can’t say no to people.”

“Stupid twat,” I said supportively. “Do you want me to beat him up, or something?”

“No offence, Fletch,” she grinned, “but you're not exactly beating-up-asshole material.”

“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed. “I am very offended! I am exactly beating-up-asshole material!”

She raised an eyebrow and squeezed my biceps. “Ooh. Not bad. Harder than I thought. You’re just… skinny, I suppose.”

“It’s all this running,” I informed her. “I’m built like a truck.”

She laughed. “Whatever you want to believe.”

“So, is anyone else giving you a hard time? Because I will beat them up for you,” I said seriously.

“Really?” she asked sceptically. “Would you really beat someone up for me?”

“’Course,” I replied without hesitation. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She grinned. “Yeah. I’m glad I met you, Fletcher Sutherland.”

“And you, Victoria Pearson,” I replied honestly.

“There’s my house,” she told me, indicating the one directly on our left. “Thanks for walking with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” I replied.

She reached up and kissed me on the cheek. “See you in the park tomorrow.” It wasn’t a request, it was a statement.

“Bye,” I called, as she hobbled up to her house. She stopped at the door and waved at me, before ringing the bell.

I turned and walked home, whistling. I was never going to wash this cheek again.