“Oh, trust me, I never lose.”
And his hand was in mine, tugging me down the road. His fingers felt earthy, worn from years of guitar, rough, like a boy’s fingers should be.
I giggled. “Where are we going?”
“To my house, to get supplies for the duel.”
We were going to his house? Guy’s house? Like where he lived? His home? My heart kick-started its adrenalin-fuelled dance. He was taking me to his house!
He only lived two roads away, on a street that looked just like mine, with lines of sausage-factory townhouses, all identical, apart from when people showed off their identity by painting the door an unusual colour. Like neon green!
Guy’s front door was just a normal red. Was he going to take me to his room? Would I have to meet his parents?
BAD THOUGHT
His parents will hate me.
BAD THOUGHT
His room will be an atrocious mess and I’ll go off him.
BAD THOUGHT
What if I go to his room and he thinks that means we’re going to have sex?
He let go of my hand. “Wait here, I’ll be five minutes.” He disappeared through the Average Joe door.
“Oh okay,” I said, basically to myself.
WORSE THOUGHT
He didn’t invite you in. He’s ashamed of you and he hates you.
“Shut up,” I told myself out loud.
I pulled out my phone to waste time re-reading our messages. I counted the amount he’d sent me versus the amount I’d sent him. I’d sent exactly two more, which meant I needed to not reply to two in order for him to think I wasn’t too keen. I rubbed my toe in his gravel, drawing little swirls, covering them, and redrawing them.
Guy had changed clothes, into a navy-blue hoody that made his eyes jump out of his head and do a dance. Not literally of course. He held up string, a screwdriver and some scissors.
“To the nearest park.”
I giggled again, and covered up the heart I’d drawn with a swoosh of my Converse.
We discussed rules on the walk there. We were each to pick one conker and one conker only. “This is Sudden Death Conkers,” Guy said seriously. “You have to pick your soldier wisely. He will triumph or he will die.”
“My conker’s going to be female not male.”
He burst out laughing. “That cat lady club is rubbing off on you.”
I kicked him.
“I probably deserved that,” he said.
There are days in early winter when the sun forgets it’s supposed to be tucking itself up with a good book and hibernating until April. Though the ever-reliant earth obligingly turns leaves yellow and orange, the sun is occasionally a floozy. And when this happens, you’re rewarded with the most beautiful day of days – with the sun hitting all the different colours, giving everything a silver lining, even crappy parks in suburban towns like ours.
We could already see a flurry of kids under the park’s best and biggest conker tree.
“Race you,” Guy yelled and we both thrust ourselves in the direction of the sun, pulling each other back using the straps of our rucksacks, trying to laugh through our breathlessness. I dropped to the ground the moment we got there and started scouring – ignoring the looks of the children around me. Their pockets bulged with the brown conkers, the last of the season probably, their hands packed full of them, a conker wedged in-between each webbed gap of their fingers, cramming as much conker into their being as possible. They were amateurs though – all their picks were massive. Every conker champion knows big conkers are the weakest.
“You have three minutes to pick your warrior,” Guy yelled solemnly, from the other side of the tree.
“Who made you rule master?”
“The universe.”
I spotted a likely-looking conker nestled amongst a pile of browned leaves. It had been out of its pointy cocoon for a while by the looks of the skin. Nice and tough. I dived my hand into the pile of decomposing leaves and retrieved it.
BAD THOUGHT
Shouldn’t you be worrying about your hands, Evie?
Good thought
Nope. Bugger off.
I squeezed the horse chestnut between my fingers, checking it for weaknesses. There were none. I used to bake mine in the oven when I was younger to make them harder. But this game was hardcore conkers, vanilla conkers, conkers without the CGI.
“Found one,” I called in a sing-song.
Guy held two in his hands, inspecting them closely and muttering to himself.
“Are you the conker whisperer or something?”
He grinned and dropped his spare one to the ground. “I am the whisperer of many things.”
“Yeah. Bullshit. You’re the whisperer of bullshit.”
“Let’s play over there.” Guy led me to this copse-like bit, right at the side of the clearing. Some trees had grown in on each other, forming a circle. Half the leaves still clung stubbornly to the branches, surrounding us in dappled sunlight. A log provided a makeshift bench and a scorched mark on the ground was a sign of bonfires past.
“This place is so cool,” I said, looking up at the sky through the gaps. “It’s the sort of place I imagine an Enid Blyton story being set – you know? With goblins and fairies and such?”
Guy sat himself on the log and took his screwdriver out of his pocket. He held his conker up to the light, choosing the best place to pierce it. “Joel and I get stoned here quite often.”
I rolled my eyes. “Enid Blyton would be so proud.”
“Oh, she would. Her books are blatantly all about drugs. Who was that guy, Moonface? Blatantly off his tits. Chomping down all those pop biscuits – bet he had the munchies. And I bet the Magical Faraway Tree grew marijuana at some point.”
I was surprised he had read her books as a kid, though I guess Enid was pretty universal. “The problem with people who do drugs,” I said, “is that they think the rest of the world is taking drugs too.” I sat next to him on the log – just far away enough so our bums weren’t touching.
“You should do drugs, they’re amazing.”
“Trust me. My brain gives me enough of a rollercoaster ride without the aid of extra chemicals,” I said.
Guy nudged over so we were sitting cheek-to-cheek. He looked up from his half-pierced conker to give me one of his special smiles. “You know what? I can believe that.”
I blushed while he finished his conker off – threading the string through and tying a firm double knot at the bottom. I took his tools off him and got to work on my own conker.
“Hey,” I said, catching him trying to cook his over his lighter. “No cheating.”
Soon we were ready. We stood up, facing each other, our conkers braced for combat.
Guy cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is this weird? This is definitely weird.”
“Shut up, loser,” I replied, and I took aim and smashed my conker into his. It was a straight-on hit and it whirled round on his string. “Gotcha,” I yelled, delighted.
Guy bent over like he’d been shot. “Oooo, help,” he said. “She got me, she got me.”
I did a triumphant air punch and spun round, twirling through the air.
“Right, my turn. You hit me but you didn’t destroy me.” Guy faced me again and I suddenly felt a bit scared – worried for my conker, wanting it to be okay. I looked up at his face and found him staring right at me. I caught my breath and stared back. There were flecks of grey in his eyes, flecks I never saw because they were usually so bloodshot. But today Guy’s eyes were clear, intense, searching mine. I wanted his face nearer mine. I wanted the tip of his nose to brush against mine, nuzzling me gently, making room for his mouth.
Nobody’s mouth had ever touched my mouth before. Sixteen and never been kissed. And not because I couldn’t get a date for prom or whatever, but because the thought of brushing lips with another person had always horrified me… Until now.