Falling Fast by Sophie McKenzie Page A

sitting in some office, wearing a suit, poring over boring law books.
    ‘No.’ Flynn sighed. He let go of my hand and picked at a blade of grass on the ground between us. ‘Not really. But I want a profession . . . something that people have heard
of. Something that’ll make people respect me. And I want to earn a lot of money. So I can look after my mum.’ His voice was very low. He sounded cross, but I was pretty sure he was just
embarrassed again.
    ‘What about your dad?’ I asked timidly. ‘Doesn’t he help with money?’
    Flynn snorted with derision. I waited a second, hoping he’d say more, but he didn’t. I wanted to push him, but his face looked so thunderous I didn’t dare. I decided to get
back to the earlier part of the conversation.
    ‘Why d’you want to be a lawyer?’ I said. ‘Why not a doctor? Or . . . or an accountant?’
    I wanted him to say something noble – about wanting to fight for people’s rights or keep criminals off the streets or something.
    Instead, he just sighed. ‘Well, I can do maths, but I don’t really like it. And science is boring – at least the GCSE courses were,’ he said. ‘A lawyer’s just
easier. And there’s lots of money in the commercial stuff.’
    I sat there, trying to get my head around this – I had never thought about work like that. I had thoughts sometimes of being a journalist or a therapist, maybe. And I suppose I had an idea
that they would both be quite well paid. But I couldn’t imagine picking a career solely on how much money I could make from it.
    ‘How many people know?’ I said.
    He glanced up at me. ‘That I want to be a lawyer?’
    I shook my head. ‘ Why you want to be a lawyer?’
    ‘Just Mum and Siob.’ His eyes bored into me. ‘And you.’ He looked down at the blade of grass he’d picked up, then split it with his thumbnail. ‘I don’t
know why, but I seem to keep telling you things.’
    I took a moment to savour this – to let it flow through me, warming me – then I asked him about his previous girlfriends.
    Flynn shrugged a bit, then admitted to a few meaningless (he said) one-nighters, and two girls he’d gone out with for a couple of months each. He said he couldn’t even remember their
names.
    I guess it wasn’t really that much, but compared to my track record it felt like a lot of experience. I’d done plenty of disappointing kissing over the past two years, but I’d
only really had one proper boyfriend before. Oliver Brown. I’d met him at a party last year and talked to him because he had nice eyes. We’d gone out for three months, but all
we’d done was kiss and fumble about a bit. I dumped him in the end because I knew I didn’t love him and liking and fancying him a little just wasn’t enough.
    Flynn and I met up for a few snatched hours most days that half-term. We talked more – about school and the subjects Flynn had chosen for his AS and A levels. He was
doing history, English, French and geography. As I was planning to do the first two of those next year, I asked him lots of questions about what books he had to read and what he thought of them. I
soon realised Flynn viewed books completely differently from me. I loved getting lost in the stories, the world of the characters. For him, they were simply a means to an end – a means to a
qualification that he hoped would bring him status and money. I don’t mean he didn’t ever enjoy reading. But he never seemed to care about stories like I did.
    I learned to avoid mentioning the things that made him angry. It was quite a list. In addition to drunks and money, he had already snapped at me when I’d asked about him being
Catholic:
    ‘I’m not Catholic. Not any more. It’s hypocritical and hard-faced and totally up its own arse. I got out of it as soon as I could. Okay?’
    He got angriest of all when I asked him questions about his home and his family, especially why he was so protective of Siobhan. Once or twice he shouted at