Playing With My Heartstrings

by Chloe Brewster

  "Luke Arnold Avery," Luke corrected, taking a leaf out of my book.

  I almost jumped off the log in surprise. "Arnold?" I inquired out loud. "Where did that name come from?"

  Luke smiled, stiffly. "It's the name of one of my dad's great-uncles, who passed away around twenty years before I was born."

  I mocked a sigh of relief. "Good," I said. "I feared that your parents were die-hard fans of Commando."

  Luke split his sides, howling about my alleged 'fear'. In fact, I would've found it pretty weird if Luke's parents had given his middle name from an actor who starred in an 80s' action movie that my dad once bought on tape in a second hand shop located at the bottom of the high street. Just me, though.

  "Anyway," I stated, steering the topic into a different direction, "I want to thank you, Luke Arnold Avery, for your kindness, your hopelessly stunning smile and giving me my life back, with added gifts which I treasure each day." I placed my index finger over my half-open mouth, trailing off with my over-descriptive words. "Was that a little cringe-worthy?" I asked Luke, which set him off into another laughing fit.

  "Not really," he declared, in between wolf-like howls of amusement, "because it revealed everything you felt." Luke straightened up, coughing audibly, and wiped off his pouting smirk with a stroke of his hand. "Whenever we've got each other, we are happy, complete and safe - that is what makes us who we are, right?"

  I nodded.

  "So, I don't care whether the blues are getting you down or the sun isn't shining where you live - happiness is at home when you are beside me," Luke affirmed, lovingly, which detonated a sensational array of fireworks inside my rapidly pounding heart and I danced as though I'd taken a trip to heaven, feeling as light as a flawless white feather.

  "And I couldn't have asked for more, Luke," I said, each inner truth rising to the surface. "Instead I can only give."

  A puzzled expression clouding his face, Luke opened his mouth into a half-pout, ready to question, until I slammed my lips against his, instantly being energized by the warmth spilling out of his, completely taking him by surprise. But I didn't think he minded, though; despite being able to tell that he was as much as a novice as I was at the spectacular skill, Luke still moved his lips gently and somehow revealed an entire story during the few minutes we connected, body and soul, fire playing with fire. Happiness, wrapped around a sprinkling of longing, flowed between each other and I craved for more, like a cat begging to devour another plate load of fish after eagerly finishing one.

  Eventually, however, Luke and I ripped away reluctantly, our breaths still shallow as we gasped for fresh air, but we - I couldn't have been wrong in saying it - felt ecstatic, as though a million shining stars had shot through the night sky, creating a spellbinding moment.

  "Wow, that was brilliant," I gushed, the warming fire still thumping in my heart, spreading into my veins, which shone an aquamarine blue.

  Luke put on his Hollywood-beautiful smile, engulfed in joyous jubilation, and got up from the log, strolling over to his backpack, zipping it open.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Lighting up a fire," he grinned, letting me into his perfectly concealed joke.

  And I got it, just moments after setting my body with an invisible flame, burning brightly without the campfire tickling my toes.

  Bliss had welcomed me with open arms; but, most importantly of all, I was elated that I'd discovered it when the thought of never having it horrified me to my utmost core. Happiness was mine, and Luke's, too.

  Epilogue

  A few weeks later

  As summer neared an end and a crisper, cooler September arrived around the sunny corner, my six weeks of freedom from high-nosed teachers, iPhone-texting students and legendary sloppy school dinners that made a can of fishy Felix cat food seem more appetizing had come to an abrupt end, leaving me sighing sadly as I wished that my fairy godmother (OK, OK, Cassie put on the old Cinderella film the other day and I did get a bit carried away by the pumpkin carriage and darling white heels, which had definitely stood the test of time in comparison to Louboutins) would grant my longing to go back in time and re-start the summer, beware of not making the same mistakes or nearly allowing my precious mind to slip through my fingers.

  Unrealistic wishes had never worked in my favour, had they?

  But, as school had started and I was faced with the prospect of spending at least five days without catching a glimpse of Luke's nicely tanned complexion or smelling a whiff of his David Beckham cologne (amusingly, he was reluctant to confess to wearing the aromatic scent, which my protruding nose immediately found appealing), I started to become increasingly stuck in my thoughts, replaying the previous, suspenseful weeks - which were almost as jam-packed as a thrilling action film - because then I was desperate for summer to not come to an end, not just yet, anyway.

  Still, no amount of begging to the stars or sitting cross-legged on my feet alongside the little bundle of fur, Tinker, purring loudly as he rubbed his fluffy face on the tips of my toes, resulting in a breathless tickling fit. Yet, during my rare bored-out-of-hell behaviour, I closed my eyes, ignored the pleas racing through my mind, and sat down at my wooden table, which had turned a darker, tanned shade due to the sun protruding from the window, gritting my teeth as I finished my summer homework. The time-consuming effort called for a mega celebration (i.e. pouring myself a glass of calcium-enriched milk with a few crumbly Oreo biscuits lying on the side; an all-too-limited treat).

  However, one of the many positives I encountered after Luke and I's camping trip was his long-awaited meeting with my parents, both of whom took to his kind and caring nature almost as soon as he turned up on the doorstep. He was holding two heart-warming bouquets of delicate red roses, one of which he gave to Mum who nearly dropped her cat-designed mug of Yorkshire tea and the other to my stunned self, who had never been given a beautiful bunch of freshly picked flowers in my entire life.

  Although over-cautious Dad had shared a few quiet words a while before Luke's planned appearance at home, sparking fears that he wasn't going to succumb to Luke's irresistible personality, even he had to admit that he fell for Luke's delightful charms, instantly bringing up the topic of Chelsea beating age-old rivals Man United at home the previous weekend and all of Luke's visible nerves vanished from his face, as did mine.

  Cassie finally believed the extravagant descriptions I'd been using when she galloped as noisily as a bolted house down the stairs when Luke's tall, broad form stopped outside the stained-glass door, knocking the door loudly, panting like she'd just raced around the Olympic Stadium for half an hour. And she was almost knocked off her feet after Dad opened the door and Luke looked in her direction, offering a reassuring smile that would definitely define him as a new-age heartthrob.

  "Luke!" I squealed, albeit a little too excitedly in front of my gazing-like-a-flock-of-hawks family. "How are you doing?"

  He smiled, still holding the bouquets of flowers which had only just caught my attention. "Fine, thanks," then he extended his smile to Cassie and my parents, saving me the hassle of presenting an awkward introduction to my spell-struck family.

  The rest of the easy-going dry Sunday afternoon flew by without my realizing as I never remembered to glance at the shoe-shaped clock hanging on the taupe wall near the TV, which, unsurprisingly, had been switched on the sports channels, turning my kit-wearing dad and white tee-, jean-clad - in my opinion, the plainest, more simple clothes were the very best - Luke into enchanted zombies, placed under the captivating spell of a muddy ball being kicked on a ridiculously green pitch.

  Meanwhile, Mum gathered Cassie and I into the roasting kitchen, which strongly smelt of peppered roast potatoes, delicious cabbage and pork that made my mouth water in longing - within moments, Mum was chatting ecstatically about how much she adored Luke and that she was so (a particular emphasis was placed on the word that I wondered whether she would burst with glee out of her short-sleeved leopard print dress) pleased I
'd chosen such a wonderful 'lad' (I cringed slightly) to go out with.

  I mumbled thanks, nodded my head every now and then, and placed a mega-watt smile on my off-red lipstick-coated lips, utterly euphoric about Mum's well-known approval for my boyfriend - really, why had it been necessary to feel nervous when I secretly believed that Luke would get along with my family without a single hitch? I assumed that all couples experienced similar emotions, one way or another, so it was kind of a relief when it occurred to me that I probably wasn't the only one.

  Cassie - stunningly dressed in a floaty peach-shaded pussybow blouse, teamed with a bargain-priced red mid-length skirt, which displayed her accurate hazel eyes for tremendous trends - spouted her unsurprising excitement to me, squealing eagerly about how lucky I was to be blessed with such a fantastic boyfriend (was it just me, or had my whole family bought the new edition of the Oxford dictionary? Strangely, they were using such dashing adjectives to describe Luke, which turned my already blush-applied cheeks scarlet).

  "I just wish I could have one as great as Luke," Cassie finished, mixed with a solemn tone.

  "Of course you will!" I promised, wrapping my increasingly growing sister into a muffled bear hug, whispering quickly, "I didn't wake up with a wonderful boyfriend overnight, Cassie. These things take time to work."

  Cassie pulled her head away, surprise dawning on her face. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed. You and Luke make everything seem so... easy."

  "Well," I muttered, glancing in Mum's direction, who was taking a peep at the roasting goods inside the oven, "it has taken long enough for me to achieve that."

  "I'm glad," Cassie said, earnestly.

  And I was glad to hear it, too.

  Later on, everybody (apart from Tinker, who was gobbling the last crumbs of his beef-flavoured food in his blue fish-patterned bowl underneath the cool radiator) gathered around the long, wooden table inside the dining room, which was mostly used for special occasions, such as Christmas, birthdays or achieving an A* in dull-as-a-blank-wall History by pure chance.

  To my lack of surprise, Luke and I were seated together, with Cassie on my right, and Mum and Dad picked the seats on the other side, leaving another and the two head chairs secluded (on a very rare occasion, a few of my older, city-living cousins would drive through town and spend the whole evening chatting about the damning negatives of cleaning up oil inside a McDonald's kitchen for a living).

  "Cassie!" Mum called, waving her hand over to the empty chair beside her. "Give Sadie and Luke some space; you can sit here instead."

  On the verge of picking up her empty plate and stainless steel fork and knife, Cassie put on a toddler-style sulk and reluctantly got out of her chair, then I reached for her arm, begging her to stay.

  "It's fine, Mum, really," I protested, as Cassie sat back down, smiling once more. I was not in a position to be able to not afford for Cassie to move to another chair, otherwise there wouldn't have been anybody else to share my loathed peas with.

  Luke shared a dashing smile with me as he picked a few roasted parsnips, sweetened by a few spoonfuls of rich honey, onto his plate, somewhat amazed by my display of kindness to my sometimes beyond-annoying sister.

  Once Mum and Dad began to hold a conversation between themselves about the many pastries disasters featured in the latest episode of The Great British Bake-Off, Luke muttered, in between massive mouthfuls of sliced pork, "I would never have allowed my little sister to sit beside me at the table, if I had the choice."

  This truthful comment grabbed my fluttering attention. "Why?" I asked, scooping a dollop of apple sauce on top of the pork.

  Luke grinned like a mischievous five year old. "Charlotte refuses to eat roast dinners - and as I'm always asking my mum for an extra amount of cash to fund my collection of Xbox games, I'm usually the one who is forced to clean up after her!"

  I giggled in response, looking like a total moron in front of a demure Cassie, who was unable to figure out the cause behind my outburst of laughter.

  "What's so funny?" she wondered.

  "It was about Luke's little sister," I replied.

  Cassie's ears pricked up like Tinker, as though she'd just caught wind of a Justin Bieber sighting at Claire's Accessories. "How old is she?" she asked, eagerly.

  Luke sniggered, placing a hand to cover his gravy-stained lips. "Although she's only six, she'd love to make a new friend like you."

  Cassie's face fell. "Ha ha, very funny," she replied, sarcastically. "I don't hang out with six year olds, for the record."

  "Don't blame you," Luke said. "You wouldn't stand five minutes with her in the same room at dinner time." He mocked a shiver slivering up his spine. "All of my nightmares are based around Charli; who would've believed that a fifteen year old teenager would wake up in a cold sweat, terrified of having a sprout hit in his face?"

  A loud snort escaped my nose, as I snickered uncontrollably.

  "Sadie!" Mum barked, nearly causing me to jump out of my chair.

  I stared down at my half-eaten plate, biting my lip to prevent more laughter bursting out. "Sorry, Mum," I said, "but Luke told me a really funny story."

  Luke still had his childlike grin plastered on his lips, which wooed Mum over within no time, and she returned to her discussion with Dad, exaggerating over her 'professional' baking skills. Cakes were always the hot topic inside the bustling Thompson household.

  "I like your family," Luke murmured, leaning his head over to mine so only I could hear him. "They are..."

  "Eccentric?" I offered, placing a spoonful of vivid green cabbage into my stretched-open mouth, which was probably able to glow in the dark.

  "No, not exactly," Luke admitted. He pressed one of his fingers onto his temple, pondering over his thoughts. "Your family are... homely. Just the way a family should be."

  Spiriting pride appeared in the form of a massive, delighted smile, which made both of my cheeks ache momentarily. "Thanks," I gushed, an elated warmth quickly warming my whole body. Or was it the mouth-burning roast potatoes?

  Underneath the table, Luke and I found each other's hands, both nicely warm like a freshly baked loaf of bread, happily entwined for a moment until Dad remarked that the last half of the football would be on air in ten minutes.

  "Hurry up!" he exclaimed, heartily.

  There would be more time for holding hands later, I happily thought.

  ************

  Alongside dreading the near-end of the summer because of an increased lack of time I'd be able to spend with Luke (and the fact he attended another school several towns away, which added the pile of problems), my legs shook terribly as I wondered how I would be able to face my school friends, who, unlike myself, hadn't made the effort to pick up their phones or iPads to respond to my many messages over the six week period. Were they truly my friends or foes?

  My one-and-only BFF, Tara, offered me a slice of wise, good-natured advice when I turned up at her house a few days ago, misery washing over me like an downpour of gloomy afternoon rain.

  "What the heck can I say without turning them against me?" I whined, pouring my troubles over a steaming cup of seriously strong black coffee.

  Tara lounged on a taupe-shaded leather sofa, deliberating over my demanding dilemma, taking tiny sips of her Pepsi every so often.

  "Sadie, I can't see why your friends ought to turn against you when you clearly are not in the wrong," Tara said, propping herself against the million floral pillows cluttered on the soft sofa. "Tell them the truth about how you feel and take it from there."

  "But what if they no longer want to be my friends?" I questioned. "I hang out with nobody else at school."

  Tara winked, like she was aware of a secret that I hadn't been let in on.

  "What was that for?" I wrinkled my nose, suspicion gathering in my mind.

  "Why do you ask, Sadie?" Tara put on a horrified expression, as though I'd put on her favourite Parisian red pumps and walked through a muddy field. "A wink is perfectly innocent.
"

  I rolled my eyes. "Tara, I'm not stupid," I said. "Tell me what you know - otherwise I'll tickle it out of you!"

  Terrified at the possible prospect of being tickled on her dreaded area - her size 9 feet - the truth streamed out of Tara's mouth in a frantic rush. "OK, OK, I'm going to your school!"

  WHAT?! I-I t-thought that Tara was enduring another ghastly term at her snobby, rich-as-caviar boarding school - what had provoked a change of opinion? Oh, her mother. "How did you persuade your mum to listen to your pleas?" I asked.

  Tara shrugged, shaking her head. "Mum didn't explain her reasons, though I suspect that it was related to the other mums at the school." She chuckled, in the manner of an evil witch. "Dressing full-out in Louis Vuitton and Celine at the beginning and end of the school week was becoming too stressful for her - as if she could wear any of the clothes at her bakery!"