One More Year 2 ~ Nifty

One More Year

by Bradley Scott

**Note:

This is a rewrite of an older story of mine on here called Another Day, which I never finished, and no longer really like, but I'm hoping to redeem it.

This is written in British/South African English, although almost all similar media I consume is American, so that will probably have its influence, but not on spelling. For the purposes of keeping this note short, I'll include specific non-common words I use in a list at the bottom.

**

**Disclaimer:

No underage sex happens between any of my characters. I tend to make that quite clear in the narrative, but just in case it isn't, I state it here. (This is also more Romance than Erotica, so the sex doesn't happen right away, but when it does, everyone is 18.)**

Chapter 2

I was very quickly reminded of the first reason why I didn't like going to parties. The waiting. Maybe it was just me, but once I had gotten ready, I couldn't really do anything else or relax until it was time to go. Maybe I should just be one of those people who only starts getting ready really late, but I'd be too nervous that Ellie and Jamie would get annoyed with me if I made them wait. But now I was the one waiting for them, and once I was at the party I'd probably be waiting for something interesting to happen, or waiting for it to be over. There was so much waiting involved. Maybe I wasn't doing parties right.

I'd also spent the whole day frantically cleaning my room, so I was already worn out. I'm not exactly messy, and my room is huge, so it never really looks cluttered, but my mess felt very personal. Usually, I'd leave the books I'd been reading strewn around, and I'd just cycle through stacks of clean laundry without putting them away. The books were basically a series of hints about what I'd been thinking about over the last several months, and the laundry stacks had my underwear casually sitting on top. It was a weird juxtaposition that felt far too private, especially for Jamie's eyes.

So I'd frantically tidied things away, dusted and wiped down surfaces, and then I'd progressed from doing that into getting ready. Which was a mistake. I'd finished far too early, even though I spent much more time getting ready than I usually do. So not only was I anxious and at a loss for something to do, I was annoyed at myself for being too concerned about my appearance. I usually never cared this much, and I didn't want to admit to myself what exactly was making me put in all the extra effort. I had nothing left to do except mull that over, so when my phone buzzed with a message from Ellie, it came as a relief.

Are you ready?

Yes. Why?

I'm coming over

In about 5 minutes

I need to use your bathroom

Is something wrong with your bathroom?

She didn't respond, so I just went in to my bathroom to check that it was clean enough, and I quickly looked in the mirror on my way out, to make sure I hadn't already done something stupid like mess something on my shirt or get something in my hair.

My hair was the only thing I was still really worried about. Well, that and my personality, but I couldn't really do anything about that. Not that there was much I could ever do about my hair. I usually relied mostly on luck. My general approach was to put in some hair product — gel or mousse, whatever I had lying around — and just randomly tousle my hair until I could generate a pleasing effect. Except it wasn't really going well today. Hair as curly as mine made managing it an ongoing war with chaos, and chaos often won.

At least I was fairly happy with my clothes. One of the benefits of being a teenager around here, and specifically a guy, was that the range of what you were supposed to wear to a party was pretty limited. A nice button down shirt, a pair of jeans that weren't too stylised, and whatever shoes you wanted, provided they weren't too obtrusive. I usually don't like structure — I hated wearing a school uniform — but parties were far enough out of my comfort zone that I could appreciate the fact that dressing for them never became one more thing to worry about.

I checked my room one more time to make sure I hadn't left anything lying around. As rooms go, it's fantastic. I think it was meant to be a pool-house or a servants quarters, originally. I'd lucked out majorly when we'd moved in, because there was one more child in my family than there were available bedrooms. It wasn't a small house, there were just seven of us — it was a yours-mine-and-ours kind of situation, with my mom's three kids, my stepdad's two, and then the twins they'd had together. We were a big family.

When we'd moved in my brother Brian was already at university most of the time anyway, but my sister Candace and my step-sister Dan still had a few years left of high school. So to prevent a civil war between the two of them, it was decided that I would be the one who got the room. There were a few conditions attached, naturally. When Brian was back home, he slept on the sleeper couch, and it essentially became 'Our room', which I didn't mind, because we got along pretty well. On the rare occasions when family stayed with us, I'd also have to sleep somewhere else.

It was a small price, and I was happy to pay it. I loved my room. It was set up like a studio apartment, with one big open space, a reasonable bathroom, a decent sized closet and even a small kitchen area. We'd put a sleeper couch in there for Brian's visits, and over the years I'd managed to scavenge various other things — a big desk, a cafe table and four chairs, a fridge and a microwave for the kitchen, and even my own TV. I'd put in a lot of effort to make it nice, since I spent so much of my time in there.

Another great feature was that it was also semi-detached, only connecting to the main house through the laundry room and garage, which resulted in a lot of privacy and protection from the general chaos of the rest of my family. I even basically had my own private entrance — a small garden path around the back of the house, with a metal gate that opened out onto the street. Which is where I went to unlock the gate for Ellie.

"Hey, I hope you don't mind," she said quickly, gliding past me down the path. "I just need to do a few things here before we go."

I left the gate unlocked, since Jamie would be here soon, and followed her inside. She walked over to the cafe table and put down a bottle of rosé wine with a pink bow on it, and hung her bag off the end of the chair. Then she took off her jacket, followed by the t-shirt she was wearing to reveal a slightly more adventurous sequinned, sleeveless top underneath.

I suppressed a comment about how weird it was that she'd come into my room and immediately started stripping, and she pulled some makeup out of her bag and headed to my bathroom to start applying. I stepped up awkwardly to the bathroom door, looking over her shoulder. She finished dusting some glittery powder on her eyelids and picked up a pencil, which she began running around the edges of her eyes.

"What?" She looked out at me through her reflection.

"Most people get ready in their own homes."

"Yeah, well." She put the pencil down and started putting on some mascara. "Most people don't have my mother."

She wasn't wrong. Her mother had been a teacher at the primary school we'd both gone to, halfway across the country. While she wasn't exactly oppressive or overbearing, she certainly had many opinions on how 'young adults should conduct themselves'. She was an English teacher, so she also had some pretty biting ways of expressing those opinions. She was also warm, witty, and great, but she did sometimes make me grateful for my mothers more hands-off approach to parenting.

"Yeah," I was suddenly feeling vaguely nostalgic. "Hey, remember when we were in year six and instead of letting us quietly read the set-work book she gave us a twenty-minute lecture on how boys can properly clean their foreskins."

"UGH!" Ellie nearly poked her eye out. "Don't remind me. I still have stress dreams about those impromptu life advice sessions. That wasn't even the worst one."

"There were more?"

"Forget I said anything."

"Uh-huh." I grinned.

I stepped back and paced around my room. Eventually, Ellie came out of the bathroom, and packed her makeup back into her bag.

"There, how do I look?"

"Good." I shrugged.

Ellie was usually constrained at school — as were we all — by the very strict uniform and dress code. She also did ballet, which meant on any given day she usually had her hair up in a very functional, practical bun, and wore very little makeup. You didn't want one of the teachers or administration staff at the school to drag you aside and give you detention for 'looking like the whore of Babylon' or something like that. I'm exaggerating, of course, but not as much as you might hope.

"Seriously? Good?" She shook her head. "Can I at least have a multi-syllable adjective?"

I rolled my eyes, and looked at her. I'd learned by now, from my mom and sister, if you say something nice without looking you'll just get in more trouble. Ellie was beautiful, I could be fairly certain about that. I hung around enough gross straight guys to know that she was the main person most of the guys — and probably some girls, actually — were always lusting after, and that was when she looked like a God-fearing ballerina. With her perfectly styled hair, clothes and well-applied makeup, she took it to a new level. My fake crush on her had, at least, had a very believable target. I didn't want her to get the wrong idea though, given our history, so I didn't feel like I could tell her she looked 'Beautiful'.

"Um... Glamorous?"

"Thank you!" She perked up. I seemed to have landed on the right word. "You look great too. I like that shirt. Just... come here a sec."

I obediently wandered over, and she began poking and pulling at my hair. The shirt I was wearing was red, and it was one of the nicest pieces of clothing I owned. I go to parties so rarely that I'd had to do research — looking at photos on social media to make sure I hadn't worn the same one last time.

"Ow!" I said, when she gave a particularly sharp tug at my hair.

"Sorry. Just... there. How's that?"

She stepped back, and went over to the kitchen sink to rinse my hair gel from her hands, while I went to check it out in the bathroom mirror. It actually looked pretty good. She'd managed to get the messy, casual look I was going for, but what she'd done looked much more organic and effortless than anything I thought I could ever achieve. I could never get my hair to give off the impression that 'I just woke up like this', but somehow she'd done it.

"Huh. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She sat down at the cafe table, pulling out her phone.

My phone started buzzing next to my bed, so I went over to check it.

Hey, it's Jamie

Ellie gave me your number

I'm here, how do I get in?

Do you know which house it is?

"Jamie's here." Ellie said.

"I know, are we going right away or..."

"No, we can't go yet." She checked the time. "It's only just after seven."

"The party starts at seven, doesn't it?"

"Oh Jay, sweetheart..." she flashed a grin. "Just tell him to come in."

"Okay."

Do you know which house it is?

Yep

Around the corner

On Richmond road

There's a side-gate

It's unlocked

Cool 😉

In a minute or two Jamie was standing in front of the glass door that led from my room to the pool area, holding what looked like a bottle of vodka. He was wearing basically the same outfit as me, the only difference was that his shirt was grey, and his hair had not needed Ellie's help to look perfect. I bet he did actually wake up looking like that. I cleared my throat and slid the door open to let him in.

"Is this your room?" He said, stepping in and looking around.

"Yes." I slid the door closed behind him.

"Nice, man!"

"Did you seriously get Caitlyn cheap vodka?" Ellie wrinkled her nose. "That's a mortifyingly bad present."

"What?" He looked down at the bottle. "Oh no, this is for us. Pre-drinks. I haven't got Caitlyn a present in like five years. She doesn't notice."

"Oh. Well if it's between that and nothing, nothing is literally the better choice." Ellie indicated my kitchen, "Jay has glasses. Just in there."

"Nice, man. You have everything in here."

He wandered over, got out three glasses and poured out generous portions of vodka. I sat down at the table with Ellie.

"I have orange juice." I offered, sincerely hoping he wasn't going to make us drink neat vodka.

I'd recently learned I had a better tolerance for the burn and bitterness of spirits than most people, but Ellie was right about this vodka. It didn't even look like a real brand. The label looked home-made. I couldn't imagine drinking that, on its own, would be pleasant.

"Fancy." Jamie looked back at us. "Do we need that?"

"Yes," Ellie said. "I'm not drinking just vodka. Gross."

"I also wouldn't mind." I said, rather diplomatically, I thought. "It's just in the fridge door."

"Okay," he shrugged, grabbed the orange juice and topped up the drinks, then brought them to the table.

"Wait," I said, turning to Jamie. "Aren't you only seventeen?"

"Only for like another month." Jamie shrugged, and smiled.

"He's so naive." Ellie patted my hand patronisingly.

It wasn't news to me that most other people my age had been drinking illegally, and for a while. What was new was that I was involved. I sighed and just picked up my glass without saying anything. At least Ellie was also eighteen.

"To illegal drinking!" said Ellie, raising her glass.

Jamie laughed, and we all took a sip. Ellie began sputtering.

"Oh god, that's so incredibly awful. Orange juice and drain cleaner." Ellie made a face. "Where'd you even get that?"

"My mom has a pallet of them in the garage." Jamie shrugged. "My dad bought it off a buddy for next to nothing. She uses it to disinfect stuff."

"So we are LITERALLY drinking cleaning fluid." Ellie said, scrunching up her face. "I need more orange juice."

I shrugged, as Ellie went over to the kitchen counter to dilute her drink with more orange juice.

"Jay or I could have bought something nicer, if we knew you wanted to do this, you know." She said to Jamie, sitting down again.

"Oh, I would have turned you into the authorities. So fast." I said, taking another sip.

Jamie laughed at that, and I felt my stomach flutter. Pre-drinks hadn't even occurred to me, but it seemed like a very efficient idea. I could show up at a party for once already capable of enjoying it, or at least capable of tolerating it. We had one more round of vodka and orange juice, then I locked up, and we headed to the party. Once we were on the street, I messaged my mom.

Hey.

I won't be home for dinner tonight.

Going to a party.

Have already left.

Oh no, why didn't you tell me before you left? I would have taken photos.

That's why.

Rude!

My older sister never would have gotten away with that, just in case you're thinking my mom's too relaxed. She just handles my social life differently — on the incredibly rare instances where it actually exists. Maybe it's because of the rarity, or because I'm her third child, or because I'm a boy. It could also be my personality. I was the kid who never wanted to go on roller coasters. The guy who had firmly told his dad 'No' when he offered to get me a motorcycle last year. My mom wasn't an oblivious parent — she just knew her kids well, and treated them accordingly.

Rude!

Where is it?

Caitlyn's house.

Do I know her?

Probably not.

Who are you going with?

Ellie and Jamie.

Who's Jamie?

Someone I know from school. He's in AP maths with me.

K. Is the number I have for Ellie still right?

Yes.

And you have your keys and your phone and wallet?

Have my keys and wallet, think I forgot my phone.

Oh right. Hahah. Okay, text me when you're back

Don't drink and drive.

Use protection.

Don't do drugs.

Don't leave your drink unattended.

So many rules. Should I not go?

Don't be silly. Have fun.

Thanks. Love you.

Love you too.

or I will track you down.] "Jay, who are you texting?" Ellie asked.

"My mom," I said, putting my phone away. "Just letting her know where I'm going."

"Only now?" Jamie asked. I nodded.

"I wish I had your mom." Ellie said. "I basically have to get approval a month in advance."

"Same." Jamie said.

"Your dad's cool though." Ellie pointed out.

"Yeah, and that's why 'but Dad said I could do it' only gets you in more trouble in my house." Jamie grinned. Ellie and I both laughed.

Caitlyn's house was only two streets over, so we were there almost instantly. It was a gigantic modern construction halfway down the hill from my house, facing the sea. It seemed built for one purpose, and that was to flaunt wealth. Which was fair enough, since we knew they definitely had the wealth to flaunt. In case there was any doubt that this was the right house for the party, thousands of bunches of balloons in violent pinks and purples dotted the front lawn, blowing in the breeze, which had calmed down since that morning.

Ellie, Jamie and I made our way inside. Ellie dropped off her bottle of wine on a table right inside the entrance that had a very aggressive and demanding 'PRESENTS' sign. We sidled up to the buckets of ice, to take advantage of the free drinks. Say what you want about Caitlyn — and people do — but her family had the kind of money that always resulted in amazing parties.

There was a real, light-up dance floor, with an actual DJ in an actual DJ booth. There was a pool table, and an air hockey table, which were probably just always there. Of course, there were buckets and buckets full of ice and every sort of drink a teenager could want. There was also good food, but no one here was really interested in that. She was a real modern-day Gatsby, just not self-made, and with less redeeming qualities.

"Ellie!" Ellie's best friend Sara came up to us, her golden blonde hair painstakingly curled in a way that made her look like a beauty pageant contestant. "Hey Jamie. Hey Jason. Can I steal her for a second?"

You weren't really supposed to disagree with girls when they asked that, and Sara didn't even really give us a chance. She immediately dragged Ellie off into the crowd. One down already, and we'd only just gotten there.

"What now?" I asked Jamie.

"Let's go play pool."

I nodded, and we made our way over to the pool table. It turned out to be a good choice, since most of the guys from our school were hanging around there. The only guy I really got along with there was Matt, but with Ellie already gone, it was a relief to see him. He wasn't really part of my 'crowd', insofar as I even actually had one, but we'd been partnered up for an economics project a few years ago that had gone so well, we'd developed a standing joke that we planned to go into business together one day. Matt looked like a quintessential bad boy — dark hair, dark eyes, bulky — but he was one of the nicest people I'd ever met. I was definitely a lot more comfortable around him than I was around Jamie.

Jamie got his turn at the pool table first. Either he sucked at pool, or it just wasn't his night. He barely managed to beat someone who was clearly unskilled, in a game that dragged on forever. I moved on to a second beer while waiting for my turn. When Jamie eventually won, and I got to play against him, I'd basically wiped him off the table in a few minutes. He was not a graceful loser, which I found pretty amusing, and kind of adorable. Matt challenged me next, and I held my own, but it was clear I was up against one of the greats, and he inevitably won.

"You're damn good at pool." I said when we stepped back from the table.

Matt had declined to go for another round, so two of the guys who'd been waiting had taken over. I noticed Jamie was no longer hanging around, and I felt a bit annoyed. I'd ignored him when he started pouting about losing, just focusing on my game with Matt, and at some point he'd slipped away without me noticing. He and Ellie had dragged me here, we were barely two hours in, and I'd already been abandoned.

"Thanks," Matt said, grinning. "You too. You play a lot?"

"Just with my brother, and my dad, sometimes. He has a table at his house." We were barely ever there, but we spent a lot of time playing it when we were.

"Nice." he leaned casually against the wall. "My uncle had a bar with a pool table, when I was little. I used to hustle people. Everyone wanted to bet money against the scrawny little kid. Then, bam, pocket money."

"Sounds fun." It was kind of difficult to imagine Matt ever being scrawny.

"It was." He shook his head. "Probably not good that I was running around a bar and gambling as a kid."

"You turned out alright." I shrugged.

"Thanks." We clinked our drinks together.

"So what are you doing at Caitlyn's party? Doesn't she hate you?"

"She doesn't know I'm here." I smirked.

"Right, right. Jamie bring you?"

"Yeah, and Ellie."

"That's a weird combo."

"Is it?" I asked.

"Yeah. Are they dating again?"

"No."

"Are you dating her?"

"No." I shrugged. "We were just all at AP maths this morning."

"Oh shit. I completely forgot." he frowned. "Fucking Saturdays, right? Can I borrow your notes?"

"I'll email you a copy."

"Thanks man, appreciate it."

"No problem."

"Anyway, speaking of our boy Jamie." Matt pointed his bottle at the dance floor. "Looks like he's about to get some action."

I looked up, and he was right. Jamie was dancing very close to a girl with long, curly, light brown hair, which was held against her head at the top by a garland of flowers. She wore a floral, flowing dress, and smiled sweetly at Jamie as she danced fleetingly towards him and away from him. I felt an irrational surge of annoyance at her existence. Did she seriously have flowers in her hair? Were we at a fucking music festival?

It felt like it only took seconds after us noticing them for them to close the gap and begin kissing. Matt seemed pretty happy that his friend was getting to make out with a hot girl at a party, but I was just trying not to give away how crushed I was suddenly feeling. I'd plastered on what I'd hoped was a convincing grin, and took maybe too big of a sip of my drink, which was running a little low.

I forced myself to rationalise, telling myself that I had no reason to be upset. Jamie being into girls was obviously no surprise, Jamie being into me was unlikely to happen, and I had no claim on him. We weren't even really friends — we'd spent about half an hour together, and with Ellie, before a party. Once. I hadn't lost anything, because I hadn't HAD anything. But the cold hand clenching my insides refused to get on board with that argument.

"Nice!" Matt said, nodding enthusiastically.

I just kept drinking, quietly.

"I think Jamie's got the right idea." He downed the rest of his drink. "I'm heading over. Her friends are probably lonely. You coming?"

"No, I'm going to need a few more drinks before I'm willing to dance."

Probably more than someone could drink and still live. But, aside from that, I was going to need a few more drinks in general.

"You do you, man." He laughed, and gathered a few other guys from the group to join him.

Now there was no one left at the pool table who I really knew or liked, so I finished my drink and went to get another one. On my way there, I saw Caitlyn flitting around from group to group, playing the gracious host, in a fluffy pink dress that made her look like a disney princess who was on her way to becoming an evil stepmother. I got a bit nervous that I'd end up in her path, so instead of heading to the drink buckets, I made my way down the hallway that led to the guest bathroom. I didn't need to use it, so when I got there I just casually walked past, looking around the house. There wasn't really much to see. Mostly just a big, empty hallway with lots of closed doors. Pretty disappointing.

The hallway eventually turned a corner, and part of the way down there was a big, industrial door that must have led to the multi-doored garage I'd seen from outside. I thought it might be kind of fun to have a look at what I assumed would be an unnecessarily expensive collection of cars. The lock was one of those things with a knob that you could turn to open. I wasn't sure I had the nerve to go in, but then I heard voices behind me, too close to be someone going to the bathroom. Somehow, I didn't think it would be convincing to say that I'd gotten lost, so I made a snap decision.

I quietly opened the mechanism and squeezed in, not opening the door further than I had to. The room I'd gone into was actually a separate, narrow section at the back of the garage. There were long rows of shelves running along the wall on either side, and they were packed with boxes of varying sizes. I couldn't make out in the dim light what any of the labels said. There was a door at the far end that I assumed I'd have to go through to get to the main garage. I stood off to the side of the door, trying to listen at the gap to determine if the voices or footsteps were coming closer. Then I heard a clicking sound.

I jumped back. My mind had immediately assumed that they had come this way and I just hadn't heard them, and now I'd have to explain why I was in here. After a while the door still hadn't moved, and I realised what had happened. The door had one of those pneumatic mechanisms that makes it automatically swing itself shut. I exhaled, and grabbed the handle to try to open it, even though I knew — and dreaded — what I was about to find out.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The lock must have gone back into position. This was a very awkward place to be stuck. I messaged Ellie immediately. No response. I paced nervously for a few minutes, and I considered messaging Jamie, but I was fairly sure that wasn't a viable option. It was doubtful that he'd be looking at his phone right now, anyway. Not that Ellie was, and who knew what she was even doing.

I walked over to the other door, wondering if there was maybe a way I could get out on that side. If I could, then maybe I could open the garage doors, start closing them and make a run for it. But unfortunately, that door was locked too, with a proper lock that needed a key. I looked around to see if it was maybe hanging somewhere, but it was nowhere obvious. I looked up at the windows. There was a ladder in the room, so I could get up to them, but I didn't know if they even opened. They were definitely high up though, and I had no way to get down on the other side. Hopefully Ellie would respond, and not leave the party before she could help me.

Before I'd come up with a satisfactory escape plan, or gotten a response from Ellie, I heard the door handle turning, and I briefly contemplated hiding. But the shelves lining the walls didn't leave much space to hide in, and I was too close to the door to the house to get behind them quickly. It also seemed unlikely that I'd be able to sneak around whoever was coming into the room now, and hiding just to end up stuck in here again seemed suboptimal. I just had to hope that I'd manage to convince whoever it turned out to be that I wasn't up to anything sinister — and that it wasn't Caitlyn, which would obviously be a nightmare.

Fortunately, it was not. It was a guy in a blue t-shirt. I immediately assumed he was a North Grove student. He looked about my age, but his hair was golden blonde, and more importantly, was long enough to curl down around his ears. Every nearby school except North Grove had uniform codes that didn't let guys have long hair. Sure, he could have been in university or something, but he didn't look that old, and I vaguely remembered seeing him at the joint sports day our schools had hosted last week to 'kick off the year'.

I couldn't be entirely sure though, because I generally tried not to stare too much at fit guys with amazing jawlines, because it could become difficult to stop. He was definitely someone I could drift off while staring at, although at that moment I was more worried about how I was going to explain being in this room. His vividly blue eyes widened as he spotted me, but his face quickly settled into an amused grin.

"Did you get locked in?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly.

He nonchalantly turned back and fiddled with the door's lock, and then let it close — the lock, now fixed in the extended position, caught on the outside of the door frame, holding it slightly ajar.

"I got stuck in here for half a day once. No one heard me yelling — it was awful."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Yeah." He grinned at me.

"Sorry," I blurted out. "I wasn't being nosy or anything, I was just-"

"Oh no, it's fine. I get like that at parties too. Looking for rooms that don't smell like vodka and desperation. It's okay."

I just nodded, and smiled gratefully.

"So," He stepped into the room. "Are you one of Caitlyn's friends?"

"No," I said, maybe too quickly. "Definitely not."

He burst out laughing, and I shifted nervously.

"Yeah, she has a lot of those."

My grin widened. Honestly, I was no longer really invested in the Caitlyn rivalry. It was such a stupid high school thing, and after the year was over I'd probably never see her again. But it was always funny how many people you came across who didn't like her, and were happy to admit it.

"I'm Eric, by the way. My mom is married to Caitlyn's dad."

"You're her stepbrother."

I don't know why I suddenly felt the need to state the obvious. It did confirm my suspicions that he was a North Grove guy. I don't know why I knew it — probably Ellie's gossip — but I knew that Caitlyn's stepbrother was her age, and that she'd freaked out at the possibility he might start going to school at Elohim.

"We don't use that word." He laughed, and his mouth twisted into a wry grin. "We're more like unwilling housemates."

"Right. I'm Jay. Caitlyn and I are in the same school."

"Sorry to hear." He said. "Wait, Jay as in Jason?"

"Yes, but I don't generally go by that."

"Oh, sorry. There's this guy she's always complaining about. His name's Jason. Is that you?"

"There are two Jasons in our year." I hedged.

He probably meant me, but it wasn't impossible that Caitlyn didn't like Jason Harlow.

"Oh. Well, are you the one who always gets better grades than her?"

"Oh. Yes." That definitely wasn't Jason Harlow. He'd nearly failed English last year.

"Well then it's an honour to meet you." He made a mock bow.

"Thank you." I laughed.

"Since you're here," he said, moving past me to the other end of the room. "Help me? I need something from that shelf up there, and this ladder is rickety and awful. Can you hold it steady for me?"

Eric pulled the rough-looking wooden fold-out ladder off the wall. It did look unsafe. Good thing I hadn't tried escaping with it.

"Sure," I said, stepping back, letting him move the ladder into place.

I stepped up and braced myself against it, trying to hold it as rigidly as possible.

"Thanks."

He made his way up, putting a hand on my shoulder as he climbed the first few rungs. He reached the top, and steadied himself, then began to move boxes around, and picked up a small one that looked heavy, holding it against his chest.

"Crap."

"What?"

"I just got dust all over my shirt." The ladder creaked as he shifted around. "It's fine, I can change in a second. I might as well just dust this off now. Don't look up."

I tilted my head down, holding on tightly to the ladder, and I heard some rustling as he put the box down and dusted it. A light cloud of dust drifted down, and I lightly blew some air out of my mouth to keep too much of it from getting on me — I was pretty sensitive to dust, and the last thing I needed to be right now was a sneezing, snivelling mess. I'd already embarrassed myself enough.

"Sorry about that. I think it's clean now. Can I pass it to you?"

"Yeah, sure."

I let go of the ladder carefully, and slowly took the weight of the box as he lowered it to me. It was heavy, but relatively small and manageable. I couldn't avoid it touching my shirt, but it did look as if he'd gotten the dust off. I put it down gently on the ground, and braced myself against the ladder again so that he could descend.

He rubbed his dusty hand on his shirt, and then started down the ladder slowly, gingerly putting his feet down on each step. It was incredibly unstable, despite my best efforts to hold it still. When he was on the last step, he gripped my shoulder firmly and stumbled slightly as he dismounted, leaning on me and pressing his chest against my arm.

I'd still been a little distracted, and my mind was stuck on Jamie and his flowery make-out partner, but that contact was like an electric shock that set sirens ringing in my head, alerting me to the fact that right next to me — pressed up against me, actually — was a boy who was very attractive, and smelled like sandalwood soap and tonic water. It kind of short-circuited my brain for a second, and I was honestly happy to have the ladder to divert my attention to. I folded it up and handed it to him, and he set it back against the wall.

"Thanks." He crouched down, and reached into another box on a low shelf to pull out a bottle of gin. "Will you grab that for me?"

He nodded towards the box we'd gotten down from the shelf.

"Um, sure."

I was just happy to have something to do. I grabbed the box, and followed him as he stepped out of the garage, holding the door open for me.

"Freedom!" He mimicked the roar of a crowd, and I laughed nervously.

He flipped the lock and let the door shut, and led me down the corridor that went further into the house, to one of the many closed doors. We went in, and the room was clearly a bedroom, although it looked overly designed for a teenagers bedroom — like something from a magazine. Like everything in this house, it was huge, if not quite as big as my room. But there was room for a desk, a couch and a TV, and it all looked out through a wall of glass to a quiet, private garden area.

"Just put it there, I'll deal with it later. Thanks." He indicated a blank stretch of wall next to the door.

I quickly put it down, and Eric set down the bottle of gin on a desk. As he was walking across the room, he just casually pulled off his shirt. My eyes flicked briefly down to his very defined torso, before I forced myself to glance away and around the room, then back at his face, in a way that I hoped was casual. He didn't seem to notice.

"Just give me a sec." He said, heading into what seemed like a pretty huge closet.

He emerged a few seconds later with a t-shirt that was a slightly darker blue. I didn't know what to do, other than trying not to occasionally peek at his torso while he shrugged his way into it. He took an annoyingly long time to put it on, so I wasn't that successful, but he probably didn't see me looking. Once it was on, he quickly stepped in front of the mirror and brushed his hair back into place, and then grabbed the bottle of gin and smiled at me.

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Terms: (Not necessarily appearing in this chapter)

• Matric - Final year of schooling in South Africa. (Senior year is the American equivalent, I think.)

• Moderation - Sort of an educational audit, where external moderators check up on the school's standards.

• Prelims - Mock finals, essentially mid-terms, but specifically geared to prepare you for finals.

• Maths - Self explanatory, of course, but I just want to make the point that the are MANY mathematics, so calling it Math is bizarre. Get your shit together, America.

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