Girl Saves Boy by Steph Bowe Page B

and alone. Does that make sense?’
    Sacha nodded. ‘You’re not necessarily going to become that, Jewel.’
    ‘But those people—the desperately lonely ones— were kids at some point, weren’t they? I think they were like me.’
    ‘Would you rather be desperately lonely or stuck with someone you hate?’ Sacha said.
    ‘Oh, I hate playing “Would you rather?”’ I said. ‘Anyway, you’d just leave someone if you hated them.’ Our knees were touching.
    ‘Not if you were old,’ said Sacha. ‘You’d be afraid of being alone again. But I think you’d be better off a strong person alone, rather than dependent on someone else. People can be happy on their own.’
    I recalled how I’d found out that first night by the lake that Sacha’s mother was dead. ‘Is your dad single?’
    He smiled. ‘Are you planning on hitting on my father?’
    I laughed out loud this time. ‘No.’
    Sacha smiled wider then said, ‘He’s got a partner. But I’m not happy about it.’
    ‘You know that’s completely classic, right?’ I said. ‘It’s in every second Disney movie made. Kid objects to father’s new girlfriend.’
    ‘Not girlfriend,’ said Sacha. He had—unconsciously, I think—leant closer to me. He smelt nice. I could make out every tiny blemish on his face. Instead of this being ugly or unattractive, it was simply imperfect.
    ‘What?’ I asked.
    He paused. Maybe it was for effect, or maybe he was reluctant to say it out loud. Perhaps a bit of both. I wasn’t sure. ‘Mr Carr, our Art teacher.’
    ‘Holy shit!’ I laughed, unbelieving. Then I caught myself. ‘I’m sorry.’
    What was it Mr Carr had said? ‘I know his family from outside school.’ I didn’t know what to think. Or say. Or do.
    Sacha smiled. ‘It’s okay.’ He looked at my hands too and said, ‘I like your gloves.’
    You know that intentional touching you do when you first like someone? Brushing against their arm, accidentally-on-purpose touching their hand, putting your hand on their shoulder? I hadn’t done it, because I’d never felt that way about someone. I’d never allowed myself to. But I knew about it.
    I wanted to touch Sacha, and the way I was feeling was kind of scaring me.
    Sacha picked up my hand in his and my breath caught in my throat and he asked, ‘Did you make them?’ He was touching the wool, and I knew that he was touching the wool because the wool was soft, but all I was thinking was that my skin was underneath the wool and that he was stroking my hand.
    I shook my head. ‘My grandma did. She died. A little while ago.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’ He nodded and looked at me and smiled, then the teacups whirled slower and he rested my hand back in my lap. I stared at my hand, and I was buzzing with a sort of nervous energy.
    We were quiet until the teacups slowed to a stop, and we both sat frozen, each of us waiting for the other to get out. Sacha laughed and said, ‘You first.’ I smiled and stepped out, trying not to brush against him as I passed.
    Little Al and his sister were waiting for us.
    ‘Are you coming with us?’ Sacha asked.
    ‘We’re going to ask to have our faces painted like Spider Man,’ Little Al said. ‘It’s going to be awesome.’
    Without the forced intimacy of the teacups, I suddenly felt awkward. ‘I’d better catch up with Mum.’
    For a second, Sacha didn’t respond. Then he said, ‘All right. See you later on, Jewel.’
    They walked off towards the face-painting stall, and I went in the opposite direction, trying not to look back over my shoulder.
    My grandma died at home.
    Everyone always says they want to die at home, surrounded by family and friends. That’d be nice enough for the person dying, but pretty distressing for the family and friends present, watching somebody you love slowly die.
    Add to that the fact that no one ever dies at a prearranged time. So odds are everyone will have to hang around all day and night to fulfil your dying wish, but some people still