I’ve changed?’
I laugh. ‘Definitely! You’re loads more confident. You used to be really self-conscious, but now you’re chatting away to Mum, driving in LA, ordering in cafés…’
He wrinkles his nose. ‘I don’t know. I think I just grew up a bit, maybe. Stopped worrying about what everyone thought about me. Working at the Wok definitely made me more confident, and busking…’
‘Busking? You…busk?’
He’s blushing again. ‘I didn’t mean to mention that, it just slipped out. Yeah. I do a bit. That’s my other job.’
‘What do you do? You sing?’
‘Yeah. Just stupid stuff I’ve made up, mostly. And I play the ukulele.’
‘Show me!’ I say, bouncing up and down in my seat.
‘Hells no!’
‘Oscar! Show me!’
He shakes his head. ‘You’ll see me one of these days – I do it on the Boardwalk – but I’m not doing it now.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘Too shy,’ he says, in a tiny voice, looking up at me from under his red fringe.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘And I’ll say no more about that,’ he says. He mime-zips his lips, locks them and pretends to throw away the key.
Grinning – he’s such a dork – I look around the garden. There are orange and lemon trees and I’m about to ask Oscar if you can eat the oranges when I see him ‘unlock’ and ‘unzip’ his mouth, before swigging his Coke.
‘Did you just unlock your mouth?’ I ask him.
He blushes again and then nods.
‘Ha! That’s fantastic! I’ve never seen anyone do that before.’
‘Well, you weren’t meant to see,’ he says.
I laugh. ‘I’m sorry to have intruded on a private and not at all mental moment.’
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes and then I blurt out, ‘So what’s going on with you and Tabby?’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Nothing! What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on,’ I say, laughing. ‘You flirt like mad!’
He shakes his head. ‘We just mess about.’
‘She fancies you.’
He frowns. ‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so. It’s really obvious. You really didn’t know?’
‘I don’t think she does. She’s just like that. You know, ruffling my hair and stuff. Sam does it too – do you think he fancies me as well?’
‘Maybe. I haven’t seen enough of him to know. But Tabby definitely does. I don’t think she thinks much of me either.’
‘What? Why?’
I shrug. ‘Call it female intuition. I think she thinks I’ve swooped in and she’s got her nose pushed out.’
‘I think you’ve got an overactive imagination.’
I shake my head. ‘We’ll see. But I think she’s warm for your form.’
He laughs. ‘Oh, god. Never say that again. About anyone. Ever.’
I grin at him.
He swigs the rest of his Coke and says, ‘Do you want to go out? The beach?’
‘I don’t know. How about a house tour?’
‘You just want to see my bedroom,’ he says, raising one eyebrow.
‘You’re right. I’ve been dying to get you up there since I saw you were invisible from the waist down.’
Oscar’s bedroom in his old house was so tiny that he made a sign for the door with a picture of Harry Potter’s owl and the words THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS . It was mainly built-in storage – which his bed fitted into – and hardly any floor space at all. It was kind of cool. I coveted it when I first started hanging out there because everything had a place – there was a cupboard that folded down to make a desk for him to do his homework on, and he had everything he needed within reach of the bed and a TV mounted on the wall, like in a hotel.
His room here is about ten times the size. One wall is covered with posters and cuttings of the planets, the moon and constellations. In his old room he had those glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and that was it.
‘So you’re really serious about this astronaut thing, then?’ I say.
He nods. ‘It’s my life’s ambition to see the earth from space.’
‘Do you want to walk on the moon?’ He’s got a framed poster
I laugh. ‘Definitely! You’re loads more confident. You used to be really self-conscious, but now you’re chatting away to Mum, driving in LA, ordering in cafés…’
He wrinkles his nose. ‘I don’t know. I think I just grew up a bit, maybe. Stopped worrying about what everyone thought about me. Working at the Wok definitely made me more confident, and busking…’
‘Busking? You…busk?’
He’s blushing again. ‘I didn’t mean to mention that, it just slipped out. Yeah. I do a bit. That’s my other job.’
‘What do you do? You sing?’
‘Yeah. Just stupid stuff I’ve made up, mostly. And I play the ukulele.’
‘Show me!’ I say, bouncing up and down in my seat.
‘Hells no!’
‘Oscar! Show me!’
He shakes his head. ‘You’ll see me one of these days – I do it on the Boardwalk – but I’m not doing it now.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘Too shy,’ he says, in a tiny voice, looking up at me from under his red fringe.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘And I’ll say no more about that,’ he says. He mime-zips his lips, locks them and pretends to throw away the key.
Grinning – he’s such a dork – I look around the garden. There are orange and lemon trees and I’m about to ask Oscar if you can eat the oranges when I see him ‘unlock’ and ‘unzip’ his mouth, before swigging his Coke.
‘Did you just unlock your mouth?’ I ask him.
He blushes again and then nods.
‘Ha! That’s fantastic! I’ve never seen anyone do that before.’
‘Well, you weren’t meant to see,’ he says.
I laugh. ‘I’m sorry to have intruded on a private and not at all mental moment.’
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes and then I blurt out, ‘So what’s going on with you and Tabby?’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Nothing! What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on,’ I say, laughing. ‘You flirt like mad!’
He shakes his head. ‘We just mess about.’
‘She fancies you.’
He frowns. ‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so. It’s really obvious. You really didn’t know?’
‘I don’t think she does. She’s just like that. You know, ruffling my hair and stuff. Sam does it too – do you think he fancies me as well?’
‘Maybe. I haven’t seen enough of him to know. But Tabby definitely does. I don’t think she thinks much of me either.’
‘What? Why?’
I shrug. ‘Call it female intuition. I think she thinks I’ve swooped in and she’s got her nose pushed out.’
‘I think you’ve got an overactive imagination.’
I shake my head. ‘We’ll see. But I think she’s warm for your form.’
He laughs. ‘Oh, god. Never say that again. About anyone. Ever.’
I grin at him.
He swigs the rest of his Coke and says, ‘Do you want to go out? The beach?’
‘I don’t know. How about a house tour?’
‘You just want to see my bedroom,’ he says, raising one eyebrow.
‘You’re right. I’ve been dying to get you up there since I saw you were invisible from the waist down.’
Oscar’s bedroom in his old house was so tiny that he made a sign for the door with a picture of Harry Potter’s owl and the words THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS . It was mainly built-in storage – which his bed fitted into – and hardly any floor space at all. It was kind of cool. I coveted it when I first started hanging out there because everything had a place – there was a cupboard that folded down to make a desk for him to do his homework on, and he had everything he needed within reach of the bed and a TV mounted on the wall, like in a hotel.
His room here is about ten times the size. One wall is covered with posters and cuttings of the planets, the moon and constellations. In his old room he had those glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and that was it.
‘So you’re really serious about this astronaut thing, then?’ I say.
He nods. ‘It’s my life’s ambition to see the earth from space.’
‘Do you want to walk on the moon?’ He’s got a framed poster
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