by Angel Devlin
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright (c) 2017 by Angel Devlin
All rights reserved.
Cover by Lianne Cotton. Photo from Adobe Stock.
This book is dedicated to Tammy Clarke
Whose cover designs spark my writing mojo.
This book would not exist without you
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
Also by Angel Devlin
stupid rules and calculations
July 2007
Evan
I'm supposed to be unpacking, but instead, I'm staring at the brunette in our next-door neighbours’ garden. She's sitting on the back step with her head engrossed in a book. I'm engrossed in the fact that I can see down her top from up here at my bedroom window. We've been in the new house for a whole day now. I like that my bedroom's bigger than the one I had before. I do not like the fact that my father refuses to let me have my Xbox up here because he says I'll spend all day in my room. If I'm going to spend my time looking down this girl’s top I'll be spending all day in my room anyway – if you get what I mean.
God, I'm starving. I hope my mum's been shopping. There’s never enough food in this house, well nothing I want to eat anyway. She’ll tell me to get an apple because I’m growing and need vitamins. What I need is a large number of burgers. Time to raid the fridge and cupboards to see if I can find anything that might fill me up.
I go to the kitchen and find my mum and dad having one of their boring conversations. I try to ignore them but then I hear the word neighbour.
"I’m aware you know her from school, Hazel, but don't encourage her too much or she’ll be round all the time."
My mum has her hands on her hips so Dad needs to tread carefully. "Just because she's a single mother it doesn't mean she's desperate for friends, Jim."
"Yes, love, but we moved here for more room and to get away from bad neighbours, so let’s just keep a healthy distance, alright?"
Interesting. My mum knows the brunette girl’s mum from school. Surprised she can remember that far back. Joking. I love my mum, but hey, I'm fifteen, I need to act cool, okay? The best thing about this year so far is that I've grown six inches taller than her. She hates it when she's telling me off and I stand up straight and look down at her. Sometimes, when she's in a good mood, I stand and pat the top of her head for a laugh.
Of course, what actually happens, despite my dad’s warnings, is that my mum and Sally next door become what they term — I'm going to puke — BFFs. Best friends forever. My dad ends up getting on well with Sally's partner, Adam, and they often all go out to the pub together on a Friday night. Both me and the brunette girl, who I discover is called Rachel, stay at our respective homes on our own. We're both only children. She's a year younger than me and fourteen.
"Can you take this parcel next door, Evan? The neighbours weren't in earlier but I've just seen Rachel go to the bin."
My body stiffens. "Can't you take it? I'm tired." I cannot go next door and face Rachel. I’ll die.
"Don't be ridiculous, Evan. You've just spent twenty minutes in the back garden practising with your skateboard. You were perfectly all right then."
My shoulders sag. "That's why I'm tired."
"If you don't take it round I'm banning you from your phone tonight and maybe all day tomorrow as well."
"God. Alright." I snatch the cube-shaped parcel from her hand.
It's always the same. 'I'll take your phone’. Blackmail. I can't wait until I live on my own and can do what I like.
I check my hair in the mirror. It's dark brown, shorter on the sides and longer on top, with a bit of a quiff I keep gelled in place. It seems okay in the three seconds I get to fix it. My mother rolls her eyes at me. "You're only taking a bloody parcel next door."
I close the door behind me with a little more force than is necessary and drag myself around to next door’s front door.
I ring the doorbell.
Nothing.
I bang on the door.
Nothing.
I wait a couple of minutes but it seems she's not coming. Thank God. I can avoid the potential humiliation.
Just as I've turned away from the door I hear it open. Shit.
"Hey, Evan." It’s Rachel’s voice alright. Don’t know how to describe it other than it makes my stomach feel funny.
What I'm not expecting as I turn back, is her standing there rubbing her hair with a towel. Droplets of water have run down her neck onto her pale pink-orange coloured vest top. I can see her nipples through it.
"Evan? Is that parcel for us?"
I seem to have lost the use of my body. "Sorry, yeah, here." I want to leg it, but at the same time, I can't stop staring. Eyes up, Evan, eyes up.
"Sorry I was late to the door, I was washing my hair. Thanks for bringing this round. It’s a CD. At least I think it is. They must have wrapped it in a lot of bubble wrap so it doesn’t get damaged. That will be why it didn’t fit through the letter box. Anyway, I can't wait to play it and then I’ll be able to pop the bubble wrap. Bonus!"
"Right." I nod. "See you." I turn around.
"It's ‘The Feeling’."
I turn back around. "What feeling?" I don't know what she's talking about but I can have another look at her now I’ve calmed down a bit. She's got nice lips and nice teeth, and freckles. Her ears are pierced. She's got silver studs in them.
"The Feeling. That's the name of the band. My CD." She waggles the parcel at me.
"Oh. Good. Well, enjoy it then." Evan. Stop! That's a conversation ender. "Erm, which one do you like best?"
"I don't really fancy any of them. I just like the words of the song."
I look blankly at her. What is she talking about?
"Oh. Did you mean which song did I like best? My favourite is Fill my Little World. Absolutely love it."
I stand there nodding. I can't think of anything else to say.
"Well, see you."
I go back home and throw myself down on my bed for five minutes, where I have a go at myself for acting so uncool.
Rachel
Diary entry from July 2007
The boy next door, Evan, is so hot. I'm naming him Heavenly Evan. He's got dark hair and reminds me of Harry from McFly. He came round to drop off a parcel and I told him about that song from The Feeling cos in class I made up a pop video for the song in my head, and in it, Evan realises I'm totally his perfect girlfriend. I'm not telling anyone I fancy him, even Tori, my bestie, because she might tell Mum. What am I talking about, she's the biggest gossip ever, of course she'd tell Mum, and Mum is friends with his Mum and she might tell him. So, it’s my big secret, diary.
I'm going to do the math
E V A N H A L E
LOVES
R A C H E L A L I C E S U M M E R S
L's = 3
O's = 0
V's = 1
S's = 3
3 0 1 5 2
Add up to the numbers next to them.
3 1 6 7
Then 4 7 1 3
God, this takes forever. I should do it in maths class instead of thinking of my pop video.
1 1 8 4
2 9 1 2
This better be fucking worth it. I'm missing One Tree Hill for this.
1 1 1 0 3
2 2 1 3
I've had Rihanna's Umbrella play four times now.
Oh, I can’t be arsed. Our love is obviously infinite. Infinite!
Or I'm crap at maths.
Ahhhh. Just like in maths, I've decided to us a calculator to help. The love calculator!
I typed in Rachel Alice Summers and Evan Hale.
77%!!!! That’s fantastic. Well, in the nineties would be better but 77% means more than a three-quarter chance of things working out.
Maybe he has a middle name for better results?
Evan
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
I can never show my face again. EVER.
Or anything else. I’m scarred for life. I want to stay in my room forever, except I can’t or she’ll think I’m…
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
I need to rewind time. Superman can do it. Why can’t I?
Earlier this afternoon my mum barged into my room. She totally forgot her own rule, that she would knock on the door before entering.
She walked in, and I was looking out of the window at Rachel.
I had my hand down my shorts.
I wasn't actually wanking when she came in. I'd been about to though.
She walked in and I froze like an ice pop. Well, actually, it was like I froze with an ice pop, a large one down my shorts.
My mum looked at the general direction of where my hand was resting and got a bit flustered, dropped my freshly laundered washing and ironing onto my bed and rushed from the room shouting sorry.
I threw the clothes onto the floor and then threw myself face down on the bed, my cheeks burning and my knob most definitely no longer hard. I don't think it'll get hard ever again now.
But that wasn't the most mortifying experience. Oh no.
I’m downstairs now, and I need the ground to swallow me up because the most mortifying experience ever is happening. My mother likes to talk about everything. She wants us to be honest and open and to have no secrets. I think she's scared I'm going to get a heroin addiction if she doesn't check in with me regularly and talk about every single subject that could lead to my early death or prison.
"So, I must apologise to you, Evan, for not knocking on your door before I came in. I had a chat with your dad earlier and we agreed it's time to put a lock on your door so you can have some privacy."
"Muuuum," I groan.
"Evan, it's perfectly normal behaviour for a teenage boy. You'll not stop you know? It doesn't wear off. Your dad still does it."
"Oh my God, Mum. STOP. NOW."
"Oh dear, I'm trying to apologise and making it worse."
"Apology accepted. A lock would be good. Not for that reason, but so I can keep you all out all the time."
My mum sighs.
"Now, Evan. I expect you to take your laundry upstairs when it's done. It’s been on the conservatory sofa for five days which is why I'd brought it upstairs. I was sick of seeing it."
"Yes, Mum."
"Also…"
I tilt my head. "What? What have I done wrong now?"
"Rachel. You know, Rachel next door."
"Oh, that idiot.” I apologised in my head for dissing her. “What about her?"
"I noticed she was outside when you, er…"
"Was she?" I shake my head. "I didn't see her."
"Well, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear to you, that Rachel is off-limits. I don't want to interfere in who you date, but basically, you can ask out any girls you like but not Rachel."
"Ugghh. I don't fancy Rachel. Yuk, Mum."
"Oh, well that's good. Because she lives next door."
"Duh."
"Don't be cheeky, Evan." My father tells me off.
I close my mouth and sigh.
"And, as you know we're good friends with Sally and Adam. I wouldn't want anything turning sour because you two decided to go out for two weeks and then have a major falling out. Or you get her pregnant or something."
I put my head in my hands. Maybe if I hide underneath my fingers she’ll go away and this conversation will end.
"Oh, that reminds me. Here.” She taps on my hands so I raise my head to look at her again. “I went out this afternoon and bought you some condoms, because you're obviously getting to that age."
I feel my cheeks burn. Like I might need a fire extinguisher burn. Please, God, if you are there, just kill me now. "I'm not having sex, Mum. Christ."
"Well, you might want to soon, so just in case, here are a couple of packets. Keep a couple of condoms in your wallet and the rest in your room. A baby at this age would ruin your life, Evan. You don't want to be tied down and some girls around your age...Well, they don't want to work so they try and find lads to use to get pregnant."
"Can I go now?" I ask, mortified and ready to kill myself.
"Yes." She nods. Then she picks up the packets of condoms and hands them to me.
"I'll get your dad to fit the lock tonight. I’ll send him to B&Q in a minute."
My dad winks at me. “Yep, and I’ll make sure to knock before I open the door to fit it.”
I walk out of the room at a brisk pace and climb the stairs to my room. God, I don't even want to spend time in here now, cos my mother will think I'm beating off all the time. I stare out of the window. Rachel is in the back garden again. She must love it outdoors.
She peers up and catches me at the window, and raises her hand in a wave.
I back away in shock. Now I can't even spy out of the window.
Can't spy.
Can't wank.
Can't date Rachel. Like EVER.
Life sucks. I might as well do my bloody homework because my whole life SUCKS.
proposals aren’t a mixer with alcohol
March 2017
Rachel
"Oh my God, his dick is huge and he knows just what to do with it."
This is what I have to put up with hearing all the time. Constant chatter about Evan Hale's monster member. I want to tell the women crowded around the bar to sod off, but Dan, the landlord, wouldn't appreciate it. I've worked at the Nag's Head for six years now. It started off as a temporary job while I went to college but I enjoyed it, so I stayed. Can't say I've ever had any high career aspirations. The bar isn't far from home which is another bonus. Yes, I'm twenty-five and still living with my mother and her husband, Adam. I receive many, many hints about getting my own place and they're ecstatic that I spend half the week staying at my boyfriend, Callum's, house.
I've been dating Callum for almost a year now. So, he's about to get dumped. Sorry, did you not hear that? Almost a year and bye bye, boyfriend. He's a great guy, with a good job. He's good looking, okay in bed. He's just...he’s not Evan Hale.
I know, I know, I know.
Yes, I’m wasting my time and my life but I still have a goddamn crush on the manslut. Believe me, I have tried everything possible to get rid of it. He moved out of his parents’ house when he was eighteen and you’d think that would have been the end of it, but no. I used to hang around my bedroom window like a sad loser on a Sunday to catch the 3.2 seconds of him walking up the path and into his parents’ house for lunch. Then once I got the job here, I saw him quite a few nights of the week and every weekend. Always at a distance though. He'd always walk to the opposite end of the bar from where I was to get served, so I soon got the message not to bother.
I don’t know what I ever did to him.
My sensible side knows he’s a complete tosser. No, that’s a lie. I don’t have a sens
ible side.
Regrettably however, although he avoids me, he does not avoid other women.
Not in the slightest.
So, more often than not, I find myself standing here in between serving, overhearing some poor bitch's tale of woe as she pours out to her friends how the best shag ever went south.
Take tonight for example, it’s just more of the same.
"So, what happened next?" Her best friend is eager to hear but has a narrowed eye. I can see she wishes it went bad for her friend. How charming.
"So, it was all over and I thought, god, I can't wait for him to wrap me up in those fine arms, and he said, 'the bathroom's downstairs. Let me know when you're done and I'll call you a cab'.”
I snort and disguise it with a cough, then serve a bloke at the bar while still listening in.
Evan's shags are like a carefully rehearsed military operation.
Seduce.
Shag.
Send out on their arse.
He never veers from his plan and there's one major rule that he never, EVER, breaks.
No one gets to stay the night.
What amazes me is none of these women are ever pissed off with him. They hunger for more, giving him doe eyes when he walks into the bar and perform resting-bitch-faces in the direction of the next object of his affection.
I really, really should hate him. The bloke is a twat.
Instead, what I want to know is, why has it never been me?
He's punched above my weight and he's punched far below it. Skin colour, hair colour, body shape and size - you name it, he's nailed it.
I'm probably the only person in Waterthorpe who hasn't bonked the Heavenly Evan. Yep, my teenage nickname for him became the name his conquests call him. Because they reckon that's what the experience is like — heavenly.