Burn Me Like the Sun

“You’re in a cheery mood.”

Fran glanced at me over her shoulder. “Why do you say that?” she mused, focusing back on the slice of French toast that was sizzling on the skillet.

“Well, for one, I think we probably have enough French toast to feed every last student at Met twice over. And I know you only make breakfast when you’re feeling especially chipper. So spill.”

“Spill what?” she repeated dumbly, not even chancing a look back at me. I could still see the blush prick at her ears, though. She’d have to do a hell of a lot more than hide her face if she wanted to fool me of all people.

“How was your date? Must’ve been well good if you’re willing to risk your life standing near an open flame just to make yourself something to eat.”

She pursed her lips, shooting me another glance, before staring back at the stovetop. “He was an alright bloke, I suppose. Not a great date, though. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”

I hummed and leaned against the island, crossing my arms. “Alreet, cut the shit. Did you shag him?” I laughed to myself when she snapped off the gas before she busied herself with slipping the last slice of toast onto a plate as she frowned to herself. “Have a nice snog before he dropped you off last night? Oh, god, you didn’t give him a hand—”

“No!” she screeched, rounding on me. She pointed her spatula straight at me, her expression harried and pinched and her cheeks flushed red. “We got dinner. We took a walk. Then he dropped me off, and that was it. Sod it all to hell, that was it.”

I gasped for air as I laughed. Fran just stood there, mildly shocked, as her face fell.

“Oh, fuck. At least let me know when you’re taking the mick so I don’t get all angry for no reason, yeah? God,” she groaned, biting back a laugh of her own. She reached over and pinched my arm, and I yelped, smacking her away as she finally gave in and smiled.

I pouted. “But that defeats the entire purpose, Fran.”

“Ah, yes.” She pointed the spatula at me again, narrowing her eyes. “The purpose of riling me up? Getting your jollies off of teasing your best friend? Despicable, Blake. Absolutely appalling.”

“It’s just too easy. Gives me a right good laugh.” I pushed myself off the island and leaned against the counter, watching her as she added powdered sugar to her own plate of French toast. “He must be quite the dirty little secret if you’re so keen on being Little Miss Tightlipped.”

She gave me a fleeting look. “I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“Sure,” I sang. “So, really? That was it? Yous didn’t get a tash on, now did you? Did you at least give him a kiss on the cheek goodnight? Oi,” I laughed, “bless the poor chap’s soul, all that work for nowt but a tease.”

She shrugged, carefully blasé, and I gasped, reaching over to smack her shoulder as another blush warmed her cheeks. “Francesca Jane!”

“We may have had a little bit of a snog before I came inside,” she finally admitted, choosing her words carefully.

I squealed, pressing my lips against the back of my hand as I stomped my foot. “Don’t you dare lie to me, you naughty, naughty girl.”

She bit back a coy smile, side-eying me from under her bangs as she zipped the plastic bag of sugar back up.

“Oi, I’m gonna fuckin’ keel over any second now. Quick, I need all the details before I turn this flat into a crime scene.”

“Patience,” she cooed, licking the sugar off her fingers.

“Fuck that, mate! Tell me everything. What was he like? Was he fit? Where did he take you? Are there going to be any more snogs with this mysterious blind date in the near future? Wait. Wait, let me think.” I pressed my middle and index fingers to my temple, closing my eyes and humming once. “My psychic powers are telling me yes, along with a whole slew of activities that would make your parents and every last headmaster you had as a frivolous Catholic schoolgirl blush even harder than you are right now.”

She laughed once as she circled around the island, then set down her breakfast and plopped down on the stool.

“You’re going mad.”

“I’m going mad because you won’t give me any damn details! So you can either let me rot in a padded cell in a straight jacket or give me the nitty gritty while I make us some tea. You can tell me all about this bloke while you make a dent in the disgusting amount of French toast you’ve cursed us with.”

Her sculpted eyebrows pinched considerately. “Are you not hungry anymore?”

I shook my head, reaching for the kettle next to the cooker and taking one giant step back to the sink. “Nah, I ate too fast,” I lied, refilling the pot with warm water as I ignored Fran’s curious gaze. “Didn’t go down right.” I offered up a dismissive shrug.

She made a dissatisfied noise, watching me as I set the kettle on the stove and turned it back on, the silence that followed the click of the now functioning burner reminding me once again who I had just kissed not five minutes ago.

If I was completely honest, it was brilliant. Different, but still brilliant. Just thinking about the kiss made my lips tingle as I recalled the sensation of his stubble scratching against my skin. I winced then, trying to wipe the thought from my head, but it was no use, as the memory was already stamped on my brain like a bug on a windshield. I felt so guilty just thinking about kissing Louis, never mind how much I actually enjoyed it. I didn’t need to keep reminding myself of that fact.

“You alright? You seem more agitated than usual, love.”

I peered at Fran over my shoulder, pressing my chin into my shirt, the same paint-stained tee from the year Newcastle United nearly clinched the title from Man U. Surely some overpaid gossip columnist was already coming up with some obnoxious headline having a go at the two of us for wearing matching football shirts.

I swallowed back the thick lump in my throat when I realized that it was only a matter of time before Fran would see the papers. Valenti would undoubtedly come across an article before lunch would roll around, as the amazingly odd bastard had special phone alerts for both Hello! and the Daily Mail. The both of them would either faint on the spot or confront me head on before I’d even get a second to explain myself, and neither outcome had a chance of ending without a bloodbath.

The only way to soften the blow would be to tell the both of them before they found out on their own. But I was about to sidestep the same sort of disaster I had brewing in my head as the result of keeping mum – a smug look on Valenti’s end as he struggled to keep from bursting at the seams with excitement, with Fran talking a mile a minute, purple in the face and her eyes wider than a communion cracker – when my mobile went off in the living room just as I opened my mouth to speak.

“Oh, go on then. It’s probably just your little boyfriend calling to thank you for nursing him back to health.”

I stopped short, shooting her a disgruntled look over my shoulder, before I speed-walked into the living room, my steps light, and grabbed my mobile off the coffee table.

“’Lo?”

“Bambi.”

I smiled instantly, my muscles straining like I hadn’t properly used them in ages. “Hey, Poppa. What’s up?”

“Just got home from a walk with yer grandma. She asked how you were doin’, so I thought it was proper time I gave you a ring, like.”

I smiled even wider just as the whistling of the kettle picked up. I shot off the couch and scrambled back into the kitchen right as Fran was finishing off her plate. “Aye, you don’t say.”

“So.”

I heard the floor creak and glanced to my left, watching Fran as she grabbed another piece of French toast. “Yes?” I practically sang.

“Your dad?” Fran quietly asked, dousing her plate with more syrup.

I nodded, switching off the stove.

Dad sighed. “How are you doin’, Bambi? We haven’t had a proper chat in ages. I miss having a gab every now’un, yeah?”

I hummed, ignoring the curious look that Fran was busy burning on the back of my head. “I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I’ve just been right busy. Uni’s kicking me arse.” I chuckled once, low and quick. “Not that you would know, you salty old sailor.”

He laughed at that, his voice crackling through my mobile, no longer deep and warm but flat and full of static. I felt the want of feeling his laugh shake through my chest and thrum through me like wind against dead leaves, and for a moment, the pull of home jerked at my heart, creating a dull ache behind my ribs that could only be soothed by a day at the beach in Tynemouth or full night’s sleep in my childhood bedroom.

So I settled with the next best thing and headed for the fridge.

“So, em, there might’ve been another reason I called, other than to check up on you.”

I made a surprised noise and yanked the fridge open, snatching up a lonely bottle of Newcastle Brown. Even with my hands wrapped around the frosted glass, a warmth spread over the rest of my body, familiar and welcome. I switched my mobile to my other ear and glanced at Fran, who was too busy getting syrup all over her face to notice the abrupt shift in my conversation.

I cleared my throat, suddenly aware that I hadn’t told my father a thing about the past two months – meeting Louis, becoming friends with the rest of his band, the paparazzi, Margaret’s sudden but deserved jump in popularity, my classes, none of it. I’d lost myself in everything that had happened, including my mum tiptoeing back into my life, that I had forgotten to include the one person that was always in it. I felt all at once even more guilty than I had all morning and unbearably wrong, like a bent and chaffed puzzle piece thrown in the wrong box.

I reached for the cupboard under the sink and fished for the bottle opener between the mismatched chopsticks and spatulas, but I couldn’t find it. “Oh?” I finally offered, my cheeks warm as I slammed the drawer closed with my hip. I saw Fran jump in her seat from the corner of my eye, and I didn’t even have to take a second glance before I felt the hefty stink eye she had aimed straight at the back of my head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a call from an 020 number in me natch. I had to look it up. Care to explain why some magazine in London is ringing up little old me?”

Shit, I thought. They finally figured out who I am.

“Well, who was it?” I chuckled lightly, but it sounded forced even to my own ears. “I might actually be able to help you out if I knew what they were calling for.”

“They left a message, but I think I might’ve deleted it. Accidentally, of course. I can’t figure out—” There were a couple of beeps, followed by my dad’s distant voice. “—how exactly this bloody mobile works. Bollocks.”

“Gift horse, Poppa. I’d trade phones with you in a heartbeat if I could.”

He grunted once, and I could just see him picking at his beard as he huffed in the corner of the kitchen. “Don’t see why they have to make these bleedin’ things so complicated.”

“It’s a smart phone. It’s not supposed to be simple.”

He only grunted in response, then his voice became louder as he pressed his mobile back to his ear. “Some magazine asked for you. About you, even. What’s that all about, Bambi?”

I steeled myself, setting down my beer on the counter as I reached for the kettle, which had finally settled to a quiet whistle. I busied myself with grabbing a pair of mismatched mugs and two tea bags as I thought over an excuse, any excuse to keep my dad as far away as possible from the truth.

The truth was that I hadn’t just left him, but I had left him out, and I never hated myself more up until the moment I realized this.

“Work experience,” I finally breathed, sliding a mug over to Fran as I pressed my hip into the counter. I pulled open the drawer in the island where we kept the utensils, hoping to steal a bite of Fran’s food, but when I looked down, I spotted our rusted bottle opener half-buried under the butter knives. The guilt that was clawing at my conscience was too much, and I closed the drawer with a pronounced smack, a frown twisting my lips. I suddenly decided I didn’t deserve a beer.

“Work experience?”

“I’m reading media and communications, Poppa. What better place to start than a gossip magazine, yeah? They’re still alive in the digital age and bloody rich to boot, like.”

“Gossip magazine, huh?” He laughed. “Why did they call me, then? I’m not the least bit interesting.”

I shrugged. “Must have gotten your number from the school. I don’t think I changed it when I moved with in with Fran.”

“Oh. How is Fran, by the way? Still getting on?”

I nodded, ignoring the disappointed look that had darkened Fran’s usually perky features. Her brows were knit together in a straight line, and she chewed her food slowly, her eyes focused entirely on me. “She’s graduating after summer term. Got a nice job set up with Met, actually. They really like her in the research department.”

“Is she thinking of—hey, Coop! Where you think you’re goin’ so early on a Sunday?”

I swallowed once, my throat parched all of a sudden. I took a long pull from my hot tea, pretending I didn’t see the distraught look on Fran as she watched on. I turned around and snatched my unopened beer from the counter, my throat burning but finally wet, and pressed my mobile between my cheek and shoulder as I fought to distract myself from the invisible claw pinching my heart.

I knew what he would say next, but it still made my heart jump up in my throat like a bullfrog.

“I’m on the telephone with your sister. Don’t you want to give her a shout?” He paused, and then spoke up again, his words quick and eager. “We’re not even close to being done talking. I’ll give you a ring later, alreet? Here’s your brother.”

I could hear some shuffling, and then a heavy sigh. “’Lo?”

I bit back a smile. “Hey, Coop. Missed ya.”

He only hummed in response, and even from almost three hundred miles away, I could still see him roll his eyes dramatically.

“How’s dad holding up?”

He hummed again and sighed, then finally spoke up, his words leaning on each other in a Geordie accent stronger than my own. “He’s doing alreet, I suppose. Yesterday’s match kind of knocked him on his arse.”

I offered up a weak chuckle. “Yesterday smacked all of us around. Even Arsenal walked away with a win over Man U. Bollocks, yeah?”

“Since when do you keep up with Manchester United?” he asked teasingly, his tone suddenly bright and easy. Even through my mobile, I could tell his voice had deepened since the last time I talked to him, and the thought of missing anything else while away from home made me wince. “Don’t tell me it’s actually possible to take the Geordie out of the girl.”

I returned my unopened Newcastle Brown back into the fridge door and turned around, shutting it with my bum as I leaned against the refrigerator. “Bloody impossible,” I twittered. I pinched the nape of my neck, still ignoring the curious look Fran had aimed at me like a drone. Her food was going to get cold if she paid more attention to me than her breakfast. “So where you heading off to so early on a Sunday? Trust me when I say you’re gonna regret not sleeping in every chance you get once you’re in uni.”

He sighed, and the stretch of nervous silence on my brother’s end made me smile. He was never one to hold back, much like myself. It was just one of the few things we had in common.

“Go on, then. I won’t take the mick, I swear.”

“Alreet, then. No need making promises you can’t keep. I’m, em… I’m visiting me girlfriend.”

I squeaked, then pressed the back of my hand to my lips, grinning like a madwoman. “Oi, you twat, you didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend! What else have you been hiding from me?”

Fran actually choked on the rather large bite of French toast she was working on, her eyes bugging as her fork clattered against her plate.

Cooper cleared his throat, his voice hushed. “This only happened like a week ago, so don’t act all butthurt over missing out, yeah?”

“What the—“ I sputtered, tripping over my words until I finally settled with a challenging, “I’m not!”

“Right. And it’s not like you’re ever here long enough to even properly catch up with your dear old family to begin with.”

I was quiet for a moment, and I could feel my cheeks grow warm. “Well, let me apologize for wanting to get an education! God, why are you always such a little twit?” I finally snapped, my voice sharp and brusque as the hair on my arms stood up on end. “Stop overreacting or you’re gonna burst a blood vessel.”

“Then stop acting like your mother,” he shot back, his voice on the edge of a whisper but still jagged and hurt.

I was seething, practically barring my teeth as I clenched my jaw. “Don’t forget, she’s yours as well.” Then I snapped my mobile shut, hard enough that it almost came off its hinges, not wanting to let my brother slip in with the last word.

Fran jumped when I slammed my flip phone onto the counter, the piercing crack just enough to jolt me to realize that I was overreacting just as much, if not more, than Cooper. And not only that, but I also had just hung up on my brother after talking to him for the first time in five months. I could expect the award for Sister of the Year in my letterbox any day now.

I grunted and slipped my mobile into my pocket then, ignoring the disappointed look Fran hid as she stared at her breakfast like it was a nice bum hugged by a tight pair of trousers.

“Well?” I challenged, my voice rising. “You’re just dying to say something, I just know it, so spill.”

She watched me for a moment, her ears pink and her lower lip stuck between her teeth. “What happened?”

I scrunched up my nose, stealing my mug of tea – no longer warm to the touch – from off the island. “With what?”

“You.”

My face puckered even more, and I brought the mug to my lips, hoping I’d be able to stall some before I’d be forced to answer. Not like I’d have an answer anyway, because I was convinced there was nothing different about me, nothing at all. Except, of course, the obvious.

“It’s your mum, isn’t it?” Fran sighed, shaking her head as she watched me sip my disgustingly cool tea. “Of course it is.”

“No, Fran—”

“Did she call you earlier? Say something weird? Is that it? Or—no, wait. Wait.” She shot off the stool and rounded on me, so fast that I stumbled backwards, my tea sloshing over the edge of my mug and spilling on my hands. “What happened between you and Louis last night?”

I instantly blushed, and I shook my head, a string of incoherent syllables falling from my lips as I was backed into the corner of the kitchen.

“You didn’t tash on, did you?” she accused, failing to perfectly capture my Geordie accent as she grinned. “Please tell me I wasn’t the only person in this flat to have gotten a nice smooch last night, Blake, I’m begging you.”

I sighed stiffly, brushing past her and stealing her seat behind the island, never a big fan of being backed into a corner. “I need to tell you something before you find out from someone else.”

“Find out?” She laughed, full and bright. “Find out what? What happened? You didn’t kill anyone, now, did you? Because if that’s the case, I’m sure Val has a shovel and—”

“I kissed Louis.”

Fran tilted her head, her eyes wide. “Sorry?”

I looked down, suddenly embarrassed, and sucked in a huge breath as I played with a fraying thread from the seams of my jeans. I concentrated on my words, pronouncing each one carefully and slowly, each syllable hitting Fran harder than a bitchslap.

“I kissed Louis. And not only that, but I kissed the git in front of a swarm of paparazzi to boot.”

Fran slouched against the island, her shoulders hunching forward and her eyes wide.

I groaned, sick of the uncomfortable silence that followed, as the stillness in the kitchen was starting to make me antsy. “Say something, please, before I’m forced to call an ambulance. You look like you’re about to blow syrupy chunks everywhere.”

“I was just joking before,” she finally breathed out, planting her hands on the counter and standing up straight. “But I’m kind of in shock, okay, so give me a second to… to wrap my head around this.”

I scoffed, and I could feel a scowl tug at my lips. “Says the woman who’s been solo captaining this ship since the beginning? What a shame.”

The pensive expression on Fran’s face melted into a dark glare. “Don’t you start. I just want to know why you did it. Can you tell me that, love?”

I peeked at Fran from behind my bangs, then stared back at my mug of tea in front of me. “It’s what he wanted.” I shrugged, somewhat satisfied with my reasoning.

“What do you mean ‘it’s what he wanted’? Because the last thing I want to hear is you giving in and going along with this fucked up plan of his because you can’t handle losing him,” she shot back, her words hot and sharp.

I looked up at Fran as her chest caved with heavy breaths, clearly livid and not even considering holding back. I was so confused by her sudden outburst that I couldn’t help the sour taste that crept up my throat and cemented my words before I could force them out, too hung up on the fact that she thought so little of me to think I wouldn’t be able to handle Louis walking out of my life now that I’d already served my purpose.

I stared back at my hands as I spoke, my fingers curling tightly around my mug, achingly white. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I’m not—Jesus, Blake, I’m not angry with you.” She sighed, then slouched forward against the island, reaching out her hands and wrapping her fingers around my wrist. A small warmth spread across my skin, and I could feel my muscles relax. “I’m confused. And, okay, maybe I’m a little frustrated, but that’s just because I’m so lost right now. I haven’t a bloody clue what’s going on in your head, and all I want to do right now is help you, but I can’t, and it’s driving me mad. I’m a big fixer, you know that.”

I stole my hand back and buried my fists in my lap. “It wasn’t his idea,” I finally dragged out, ducking my head as I couldn’t force myself to look at Fran. “I offered.”

“You offered to snog Louis?”

“No, no, no.” I shook my head, then looked off to the side, catching sight of my old hotplate that I’d yet to pack back up since getting the stove fixed. “I offered to help him out. To give the paparazzi something to eat up. Something that would embarrass Vic, Fran, not make her jealous. He wanted to get back at her for cheating on him and tossing him aside so easily.” I sucked on my teeth, stalling as I let my breath catch up to me. “He could’ve easily gone out and pulled a new bird from some club, but he didn’t, because he needed something Vic would believe. And a new girlfriend – someone like me, someone she’s met – I’m the perfect front.”

“I honestly think you’re doing this for all the wrong reasons. You don’t need to do this to keep him—”

I clenched my jaw, staring down Fran until she stopped the beginning of her speech mid-sentence. “I’m not doing this because I’m afraid of losing him. That’s absurd. I’m not. I trust him. I’m doing this because he’s my mate and I want to help him out.”

“Blake, I’ve got to be honest.” I rolled my eyes, and she narrowed her gaze at me, licking her lips. “I’m saying this because I care about you. God, I do.” I scoffed at that, then got up from the stool, pushing it back and reveling in Fran as she winced at the sound of the legs squeaking against the kitchen floor. “Just listen to me, Blake. Please.”

“No,” I bit out. I picked up my mug and spun around, aiming straight for the hall behind me. My bare toes just touched the edge of the carpet when Fran let out a frustrated sigh, her voice tight.

“I don’t think this will end well. For either of you.”

I only glowered at Fran before I thundered down the hall and back into my room, where I slammed the door shut behind me and sulked for the rest of the morning. I didn’t emerge from my bedroom until after I finished off my tea, started studying for my Digital Media exam, and took a nap in my bed, the sheets of which were still ruffled and smelled faintly of Louis – ginger and deodorant, mixed in with the scent of mouthwash and my cherry soap, all distinctly boyish in nature.

I woke up from my nap a little before noon with drool at the corner of my mouth and my hair a tangled mess to the sound of my mobile going off with a new text. With my face half-buried in my pillow, I reached for my mobile on my nightstand and flipped it open, blinking my eyes until the fuzzy sight of the screen evened out and I could see Val’s name flashing in block letters, along with his sloppily typed text.

Im not even gonna talk about why your snogging Louis. Its an emergency ducks they kno who u are and where your from and everything

“No shit,” I muttered, slowly typing out my response.

Collateral damage.

His reply came almost five minutes later, when I had finally peeled myself from my sheets and sat up in bed, massaging my temples and willing the headache I could feel clouding up my thoughts to go away.

So the snog was worth it then???? By the looks of it Id wager a resounding yessssss!!

I scoffed and tucked my mobile back into my pocket, then took another look around my room. I glanced at the family photos that stood on top of my dresser, then let my eyes travel down to my desk. I’d left my textbook open with a notepad on top, which was jam-packed with my chicken scratch handwriting. My eyes traveled down and I noticed a basket of laundry that Fran hadn’t gotten to hidden under my desk, filled with a handful of knickers and shirts.

I stood up from my bed, my mattress groaning, and started for the laundry basket when my foot hit something soft, dragging it along for a step until I stopped. I looked down, and there, wrapped around my ankle, was Louis’s white t-shirt from last night.

I picked it up carefully, and even in the dim light of my room, I could still make out a reddish stain near the hem. It smelled awful, too, like sweat and piss and stale beer. I pulled a face, then tossed it into the basket with the rest of my dirty clothes, making the rare and spontaneous decision to actually do some cleaning. After all, I’d always heard it was the quickest way to a clear mind.

When I poked my head into Fran’s room, she was at her desk, rifling through a worn maths textbook that she’d had since college. She looked up when I knocked on the doorjamb, the basket tucked under my other arm.

“Where’s the detergent?”

She perked up one fine, challenging eyebrow. “Do you even remember how to use the washing machines downstairs?”

My face fell. “I checked under the sink, but I couldn’t find it there. That’s the only reason I’m asking you.”

Fran pursed her lips, then turned in her chair and reached around the corner of her desk. She pulled over a laundry basket piled with neatly folded towels, on top of which was the detergent.

I reached out to grab it from her, but she held onto it tightly, giving me a hard look.

“What?” I snapped, letting my hand fall back to my side.

“Two-thirds for that load you’ve got there. No more, no less.” She offered the detergent again, her eyebrows shooting up, and I took it, tossing it into my basket. “And Blake…”

I turned around, already in the hall, and looked at Fran expectantly, my patience already dwindling.

“Make sure you turn Louis’s shirt inside-out before you wash it. I’m sure he’d hate for it to get ruined.”

I scoffed. “I’m sure that not only could he afford a new shirt, but the entire company that makes them.”

With her eyes downcast, Fran nodded, then turned back around, burying her hands back into the mess on her desk.

The washing machines in the basement of our building were probably the only upside to living in such a rundown flat like ours. Unlike the rest of the building, with its peeling paint and exposed, cracked brick walls and broken lift, the washing machines were almost all nearly brand new – top-loading, burly, stainless steel machines that washed quietly enough that the few times I’d ventured downstairs, I’d even brought my coursework along with me while I waited for my clothes to dry.

But this time, since I only had the one load, I felt like going back upstairs to continue my nap. After climbing down five stories just to reach the laundry room in the first place, napping felt like a better way to waste my time on a Sunday afternoon than watching my delicates get washed. As bristled as I felt going back upstairs where Fran would be, just a few inches of cheap plaster separating the two of us, I knew she would give me my space. She at least knew me well enough to know that if I was pissed off, I would keep being pissed off until I waited it out. And I still had plenty of waiting to do, alone, in my room, back under my duvet that still smelled faintly of ginger.

I had just screwed the cap back onto the detergent and tossed it back into my empty basket when my mobile started screeching the Star Wars theme. I flipped it open and brought it to my ear, expecting Valenti on the other end with a proper speech planned out, as well as a list of a whole slew of gossip magazines that had posted photos of Louis and me and his take on each and every article, down to whatever ridiculous portmanteau they had made out of our names.

But instead, I got my mother in full freak-out mode.

“Would you please explain to me why one of my cashiers just burst into tears over a photo of Louis Tomlinson?”

I sat up a little straighter, my legs swinging to a stop over the edge of the picnic table I had been occupying. “Mum?”

“Yes, of course it’s your mum. Who else would it be, now honestly, Blake.”

I hopped down off the picnic table and switched my mobile to my other ear just as my mum’s voice crackled with static. It was a miracle that I even had a signal in the basement to begin with, considering there were no windows and the walls were packed tight with dusty cinderblocks.

I sauntered up the stairway to the exit, then sat down, plopping my bum onto the cold concrete steps, a dull pain shooting up the base of my spine.

“It’s not like I’m a hermit,” I grumbled, burying my chin into my hand.

“You could’ve fooled me, darling,” she said, her voice carefully light. “You haven’t rung me in weeks, my love. I’ve been worried.”

I chewed on my upper lip and picked at the hem of my shirt, stretching out the fabric and trying as hard as I could to distract myself from the sudden drooping sensation in my stomach.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to.” I dragged out a sigh, pushing my fingers through my hair as I worked at my lower lip, chewing the skin until it started to hurt. “I’ve just been really busy. You wouldn’t believe it.”

She hummed once, like she knew something I didn’t. “You don’t say.”

I made a curious noise, my back stiffening as I pressed my mobile closer to my ear. “What’re you on about?”

She hummed again, then I heard some shuffling on her end before her voice came back, strained and crackling. “Well, you see, the papers are keeping me well informed about you and your famous friend, but I’ve hardly heard a word from the girl herself.”

I groaned. “Mum—”

“And I thought, as your mother, that I would at least hear from you first before—” She paused, and I could hear her shuffle through some papers. “…Diana George from Hello! that my daughter’s been running around kissing well-off pop stars with posh purple cars and more cash than they’ll ever know what to do with in the middle of the day for everyone and their cameras to see.”

I frowned, the hurt in my mum’s voice making my throat clench up on the snappy retort I wanted to shoot back at her for prying so brazenly in the first place. After all, this was what I’d wanted – for everyone to think Louis had found himself a new girlfriend.

I just didn’t think far enough ahead to realize that everyone included my family as well.

“Did this Diana what’s-it call you?” I finally asked, my voice muffled by the fabric of my jeans as I pressed my lips against my knees. “Because Dad said he got a message from some magazine, too. I hope you didn’t tell her anything or I might as well just start learning a new language in preparation for my move to East Jesus Nowhere.”

She started to speak, but stopped suddenly, gobbling her sentence right back up. “In the middle of the lunch rush,” she finally revealed. “I thought you had landed yourself in the hospital at first. I nearly had a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry, Mum,” I whispered, my voice shrinking pitifully. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

“Love, you barely talk about Louis as it is.”

For good reason, I thought.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just mates. That’s what you keep telling me. Just mates. But I had a hard time believing you when my cashier showed me all those photos from this morning.”

The breath I’d been holding whooshed out of me, and my cheeks burned at the thought of my mum seeing me kiss a boy, never mind seeing me kiss Louis of all people. “Things… change,” I tried. But I could still hear the lie in my own voice as it quivered pathetically.

“I’m worried, Blake.”

She sighed sadly again, the sound fizzing through my mobile’s tinny speaker. She was doing that a lot – acting like she was worried and absolutely knackered by my shit, laying it on thicker than frosting. But I bought into it anyway, my chest straining as she spoke like she was sitting me down to tell me that she was dying of some rare incurable disease. And even though she was exaggerating, she was still worried, and it made me feel guilty for upsetting her like that.

“Please, love. I’m trying to be here for you as best as I can, but you have to let me in or this won’t work. I can’t be there for you if you don’t let me.”

“I just… Ugh!” I let out a frustrated groan, ripping my fingers from my hair as I sat up. She cooed, and I felt even more embarrassed, even more exposed for deciding to be honest about something I’d never in a million lifetimes be honest about, especially with my mum.

“I’m not going anywhere, Blake. Tell your mum what’s been going on. It makes me feel like I’m not so far away from you.”

I swallowed once, my throat tightening up. I blinked a couple times, my eyes burning, and cleared my throat, pressing my mobile so close to my ear that I could hear my mum breathing on the other end.

“It was staged.”

Her breathing stilled, and I strained to hear her say something, anything. She was always so quiet.

Then finally, “Blake?”

“The kiss was staged,” I said, shaking my head. My face burned with shame, and I pinched my temples between my fingers as the blood rushed to my brain. My head spun, and it took all my concentration to focus on the scuff marks on my trainers. “I’m doing a favor for Louis. His girlfriend—his ex-girlfriend cheated on him. Treated him like proper shite. He wanted to get back at her. And I… I offered.”

“Oh, Bambi.”

I instantly bristled at the petname. It felt like sandpaper against my eyes or a snowball packed into the bare palm of your hand, the ice so cold that your skin burns until it eventually slips into numbness. It was so foreign and so completely wrong, and the sensation gripped me tighter than a vise, hiccupping my thoughts as I willed the slimy feeling away.

“But why couldn’t he have just found himself another girlfriend? I’m sure all sorts of girls are falling over themselves just to meet the chap. Seems like he does well for himself, what with that flashy purple sports car of his and all.”

I rubbed my lips together, my thoughts finally slowing down. “He’s still hurting. I wanted to help.”

“He has a funny way of showing it, my love. I can’t imagine the lengths he had to go to just to get you near the paparazzi in the first place.”

“No, you probably couldn’t,” I muttered sourly, my jaw tensing up.

“All this sudden media attention is making me worried, Blake. If you’re not busy next week, I was wondering if I could—”

Something hit hard on my lower back, and I spun around when I realized it was the door to the basement. My spine buzzed as I twisted around, a scowl on my face as I looked up to whomever had opened the door.

“Hold on, Mum,” I said as I locked eyes with Fran. “Can I call you back?”

She sighed, clearly frustrated. “Of course. We can talk later.” She paused, then said, “I love you.”

I rubbed my lips together, letting my gaze fall from Fran, who had her eyes trained on her socked feet. “Right,” I said, then without thinking, I added, “Love you, too.”

“You alright?” Fran asked a moment later when I still hadn’t moved from my spot on the steps.

I nodded, then finally got up. Fran stumbled inside, a small mesh bag of knickers in one hand.

“Did you have any extra room? I forgot I have some stuff to wash.”

I nodded and pointed to the washing machine, the top hatch of which I still hadn’t shut. “Go ahead. I just started it.”

She rushed down the steps and took a look inside the machine before emptying out her sack. I followed, my arms crossed, and watched as she worked her clothes into the water.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her back still facing me. She shut the hatch then threw her mesh bag into my empty laundry basket. “I know you care about Louis. I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around how quickly you two have become mates.”

“He makes me want to work for it,” I admitted, shrugging once. “It’s not that difficult to grasp.”

She scoffed derisively. “You shouldn’t have to work for a friendship, Blake.” She spun around and folded her arms, leaning against the laundry machine. “It makes it sound like you don’t trust him not to leave.”

“You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Her eyes slipped shut and she pursed her lips, blowing out a breathy sigh from her nose as she ran her fingers through her bangs. “I’m trying to keep from getting angry. Because right now something’s going on, and I haven’t a clue what it is because you’re always so closed off. And usually, I don’t mind. I don’t.” She opened her eyes and watched me as I fidgeted in place, my fingers fumbling over my mobile still clenched in my hand. “But there’s so much more going on and all I want to do is help you. I’m your best friend and I love you. It’s why I’m still here.”

I tried to swallow the lump that had been building up at the back of my throat, but everything was suddenly so dry. My words crackled out from my lips like a firecracker, hoarse and thick. “Would you believe me if I said that I trust you more than anyone?”

She nodded.

“Then believe me when I say that I’m working on being the same with everyone else.” She made a noise like she was about to mow me down with another argument, but I just shook my head. “I need to change, Fran. And helping Louis isn’t just some fucked up last attempt at keeping him around. I’m doing this for him because I can believe him when he tells me he’s not going anywhere.”

She watched me for a moment, her eyes flicking over my face as she pinched her lip between her fingers. “Do you trust him?”

I nodded. “I think I can.”

She pushed herself off the washer, and before I could even step aside, she had me in her arms, pressing her face into my shoulder as my hands flailed at my sides. She laughed a little, pressing me closer as she hummed, her breath ruffling the hair at the nape of my neck. My arms stilled, then snuck around behind her back, settling there as Fran held me against her.

“As long as you’re sure, I believe you.”