by A. E. Murphy
I like my hair too when it plays fair, which isn’t often.
“Get your arse in my car now!”
“I’m walking,” I respond as I descend the stairs. Today is a new day. I will exercise.
“You look beautiful.” She smiles, stepping out of the way and handing me my jacket as I pass.
I ignore her and pull open the door. “See you later.”
“What do you want for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll sort it myself,” I respond and close the door behind me.
I’m going to the gym today. I’m determined this time.
I’m eating a banana on the way to school for the first time since I was nine. That’s progress.
“Hey, wait up!” Dalton, my enthusiastic, bouncy fourteen-year-old neighbour who attends the same school as me calls. “What’s the rush?”
“I have Mr Beacon this morning.”
“Yikes.” He cringes and then pulls a packet of cigarettes from his front pocket. “Smoke?”
I have considered it in the past. I heard that smoking makes you eat less but I just can’t stand the smell or the thought that I’ll die of lung cancer before obesity claims my joints. At least with food I’ll have a longer life span. I think.
My way of thinking is fucked up.
“No and I’ll ask you to fuck off across the road with your stinky cancer stick,” I say haughtily, but he only grins and lights the tip of the fag between his lips.
“You’re so uptight.”
“And you’re weird for hanging out with a seventeen-year-old.”
“I want my friends to think I’m dating an older woman.”
“Jesus,” I whisper. “I’ll tell them that your mum makes me
walk with you to keep you safe from bullies.”
“Fuck,” he laughs and darts across the road, almost killing himself in the process. “I don’t know you, yeah?”
“Sounds good to me.” I grin, giving him the middle finger.
I do like him; we used to play together when we were little. We’re just at awkward ages now.
When I arrive at my school I expect an onslaught of abuse from my peers for throwing Dillan out of my house. It doesn’t come. In fact, everyone seems normal. Dillan included, who keeps his face buried in his book at the back of the classroom.
I listen to Mr Beacon drone on until the bell rings. I hang back, giving Dillan a chance to escape before me. He takes the opportunity, completely ignoring me as he goes.
So, things seem to be back to normal. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
Maybe I should apologise. I think I overreacted. Who am I to turn down free help? Dillan clearly knows what he’s doing.
He certainly didn’t go about it the right way, but I’m not entirely convinced there’s a right way to go about something like that anyway.
Shit. Is this my conscience speaking? I didn’t know I had one of those.
“Dillan,” I call, slinging my bag over my shoulder and chasing him from the room. He’s with his friends but I don’t care. Years of peer abuse can do either of two things to you; make you shy away from them with fear or make you just not give a fuck about whether they notice you. I’m the latter.
He doesn’t stop. I don’t think he’s heard me over the hustle and bustle. His main buddies, Leroy and Carl, flank him, their voices louder than anyone’s in this hall.
Bugger.
“Dillan!” I call again, squeezing past two couples snogging in the hall. I grab the back of his jacket and make a mental note to rub my breast with that hand later.
That’s not weird at all.
He stops and turns towards me. When his friends see who I am, they look as excited as starving wolves around fresh meat. He however looks almost ashamed and bashful. He also looks worried and I don’t like that.
“Hey, Tyler. I was going to call you later.”
“And why were you going to call her?” Leroy jokes. His spiky blonde hair and menacing black eyes harshen his look. He’s good looking but I’ve always found him to be dangerous. “You all right, Triple?”
“Fine thanks, Lee. Can I have a minute, Dillan?” I ask Dillan softly, who looks at his buddies and then nods.
“Why do you want a minute with this loser? I’m the hot one,” Leroy jests, stepping towards me just as Dillan shoves him back and snaps, “I’ll catch you up.”
“Whatevs.” Carl shrugs and pulls Leroy away.
“Come to my party this weekend,” Leroy yells. “I don’t bite!”
“Doesn’t he have a party every weekend?” I ask Dillan as we stand in the middle of the hall.
He nods. “Basically, yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I have something for you,” he says, pulling a cuboid shaped gift box from his pocket.
I notice the eyes of the people around us drifting our way. “Shall we… go somewhere quiet?”
“Right, erm…” He looks around and leans back to peer through the glass door of a nearby classroom. “In here.”
I’m surprised when he takes my hand in his and pulls me into the room, closing it behind me and moving us out of the way of the door.
“You’re very hands on, aren’t you?” I comment, though I wish I hadn’t because he releases me immediately, leaving my hand feeling void of warmth.
“It’s a habit, my Dad… umm…” He rubs the hint of stubble under the line of his jaw. “Long story.” I take the box and stare at it while turning it in my hands.
When I open it, I see him tense and wonder if he’s nervous.
He can’t be any more nervous than I am as I pull the perfectly folded handkerchief from the box, admiring the dark blue embroidered ‘DW’ in the corner. I assume it stands for Dillan Weston, his full name.
“Umm… thank you?” I smirk, loving the weird gift probably more than he knows.
“It’s stupid but I felt bad for making you cry and then your make up smudged on your sleeve and I didn’t want to replace your clothing. My Gran, she tells me to always carry a handkerchief and I didn’t listen.” He’s rambling. It’s adorable and also weird, like his gift. “If I’d had it, I might’ve been able to apologise there and then.”
“With a handkerchief?”
“You’re laughing.”
My grin broadens. “Well, at least I’m not crying.”
“Ah, but if you were, you’d have the handkerchief.”
He no longer looks nervous and I suddenly feel lifted, like a glowing spirit, shining its brightest.
“I actually love it.”
His relief is as charming as his sudden vulnerability. Maybe I had him all wrong.
“And if you want to turn me into some stunning model with thighs as perfect as your biceps, I wouldn’t say no.”
Blinking with surprise, he blurts, “You don’t have to do that. It was thoughtless of me to ask you when we hardly know each other.”
Go for it, Tyler! Say it! “Maybe we can get to know each other?” He hesitates and seems to freeze so I add, “As friends, while you help rid me of this winter blubber.”
“Tomorrow morning, six-thirty. I’ll be at yours. Be up and ready to go.”
“What now?”
He beams, looking happier than ever. “I’ll need before and after pictures and a dedicated mind.”
“Okay… let’s slow this down a bit.”
“I want you to detox today. Just water, fruit and veg.”
“I’ve never been able to do that for more than five minutes.”
“I’ll know if you don’t.” He winks and snatches the handkerchief from my hand. I think he’s going to take it back but he doesn’t. He folds it as neatly as it was when it was in the box and tucks it into the breast pocket of my school shirt. He just touched my boob. Does he realise that he just touched my boob? “Six-thirty.”
“I haven’t been up before eight since… probably birth,” I cry, wondering if being skinny is really worth it.
“I’ll need your weight in the morning t
oo.”
“Holy shit.”
“Don’t swear,” he cringes, crinkling his nose. “I hate swearing.”
“Are you a Martian?”
Checking the heavy watch on his wrist, he whistles a high note. “I have to go. Tomorrow. Six-thirty.”
“Right, class.” I mutter, checking the thin digital band on my own wrist. “Dillan?” I look up, ready to tell him that there’s no way in hell I’m getting up at six in the morning, but he’s already gone and students are already piling in.
Darn.
My alarm rings. I am so tired.
I press snooze for the final time, knowing that he’ll
be here in less than five minutes. I can’t help it. My body slithers out of bed like gloop. I roll onto the floor and groan into the rug. That handkerchief is definitely going to come in handy. I’m literally seconds away from crying.
Standing on wobbly legs, I make my way to my en-suite and brush my teeth, wash my face and tie up my hair. Then I dress in baggy jogging trousers and an even baggier hoody over a vest. It’s September. It’s cold.
My phone rings and I know he’s here. What the hell is wrong with him? How far did he travel to get to me?
Shortly after the phone stops buzzing, there’s a light tap on the front door.
I am going to cry.
I rush to the door and open it, looking severely dishevelled and grumpy. He looks cheery, happy and too excited for so early in the morning.
“I saw you at lunch yesterday. You got a salad pot and an orange,” he whispers and brushes past me as though he suddenly lives here. There’s a rucksack on his back. He takes it into the kitchen and rests it on the counter.
“My parents are sleeping,” I hiss and quickly close the door behind him.
“Relax. I’m making literally no noise.”
“No, but they’ll think we’re a burglar. Nobody has been up in this house this early for years.”
His brows hit his attractive hairline. “Seriously?” Nod.
“Wow.” Emptying the bag, he slides a tub towards me. “Your lunch for today, so you aren’t eating crappy canteen salad.”
“Which was basically a few leaves from the school field and chunks of questionable tomato.”
“Exactly.” He cringes. “This salad makes it so easy to eat healthy. My mum’s recipe, though I improved it.”
Yay. Not. “Your mum?”
“She’s a big shot chef. Her food is the best.”
“But yours is better?”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Sometimes, though she’ll disagree.”
“My mum burns beans.”
We laugh together as he finishes emptying his bag. He hands me some kind of stomach wrap and moves towards me as if to help me put it on.
“Hands to yourself,” I squeak, taking it from him and grabbing a bottle of water.
“You need to wear it under your clothing, but not yet. I need pictures.”
“Yeah,” I snort. “That is not happening. I’ve taken pictures for myself.”
“You don’t trust me.”
I give him an incredulous look. “You’re a teenage boy in sixth-form. I’d be an idiot to trust you with such personal photos.”
“Fair enough.” He raises his hands defensively. “No touching or taking pictures.”
“That just sounds so much like it isn’t.”
“Right?”
“Give me a minute to strap on my new belt.” I leave the kitchen and lift up my top, carefully placing the thick and stretchy material around my waist. This is going to make me sweat. Maybe that’s the point. I tighten it to a comfortable position and breathe in to make sure it doesn’t constrict anything.
“Ready?” He whispers, hiding behind the kitchen door. “No,” I grumble and open my water. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Let’s do this,” he cheers quietly and we step into the cool air. “We’ll warm up with a few stretches.”
I follow his actions, moving my legs and arms in the ways he does. “Where’s your car?”
“I biked here.”
“Biked?”
“Yeah, I put it just behind the gate in your back yard.”
“You’re mad. How far away do you live?”
He begins to walk so I follow, keeping my hands tucked into my pockets. Already I want to drink and all we’ve done is warm up. “About three miles. It’s faster to bike here. The traffic drives me crazy.”
“Hence the fact I don’t drive yet. I’ll probably learn at the end of the year, before I go to uni.”
He looks impressed, “You’re headed to university too?
Which one and what course?”
“Probably De Montfort. It’s not too far and they have some of the best programs in the UK.” I bite my lip and slowly begin to jog beside him. We go at a steady pace and I’m grateful for that. “I want to be a midwife.”
“That’s actually amazing,” he grins, looking down at me as we trot along like human horses in sportswear. “My dad delivered me, with the help of my godmother.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh yeah, he reminds me about it all the time.”
“That’s insane.”
“Snow storm blocked them in,” he explains, crinkling his nose. I love it when he does that.
“So, what about you?” Holy crap I can’t breathe. I’m trying to play it cool but fuck me I’m dying. Make it stop. Everything burns.
We slow to a walk again and I wonder if he can sense my thoughts.
“I want to be a personal trainer.”
“I figured as much. Is that why you’re trying to transform me into a healthy beast?”
“Yup. But there’s no trying, only doing.”
I cock my head to the side. “You’re going to do me into a healthy beast?”
“I just…” He shakes his head, grinning. “You’re shameless.”
“I’m hungry,” I murmur and we start to jog again.
“Drink some water.”
I frown but do as I’m told, although I have to stop while I drink. “Do you typically starve yourself before a morning jog?”
“You have very little trust in me,” he chuckles and we get straight back into jogging. “Thanks for agreeing to this, by the way. It’s really important to me.”
“Me too,” I mutter and we leave it at that.
We get to my local park and stop at a metal picnic table. I collapse on the bench, having only been jogging on and off for less than five minutes. I need the break.
Dillan pulls more containers from his bottomless bag and opens one in front of me. Inside is half a boiled egg and a few orange segments.
“This is breakfast?”
“This is breakfast for now.” He opens his own container and eats his in less than two mouthfuls as I prod mine with my fingertip. “What?”
“Did you run out of eggs? Why do I only get half? And you got more yolk.”
He rolls his eyes and commands, “Eat.”
I chew on the egg and swallow before tackling the few segments.
“Drink some more water. We’ll pause for a couple of minutes and do some more stretches.”
“I feel as though you’re going easy on me.”
“I can’t just dive into the hard stuff headfirst. I want to see what you can handle.”
“Oh.” Fun! Not. “So, what got you into personal training?”
“I love to exercise. I love to exercise with people. I want to study nutrition too.”
“I bet you know a lot already.”
He nods. “I’ve learned so much from my mum.”
He seems in awe of her and it’s charming. I’ve never known a guy of his age to be so impressed by their parents; it makes me want to know more.
“Doesn’t your dad own a bunch of jewellery stores too?”
“Yeah.”
“So, no pressure to take on the business?”
“We haven’t really spoken about it; my dad just wants me to be happy. I think m
y sister Emily will probably go down that route. She’s got an eye for that kind of thing.”
He’s so interesting. His life seems so perfect. Could it be? Or is the grass greener?
“Let’s get back to it.” He puts the containers away, forces me to drink some more and we start walking again. “You’re moaning less than I thought you would.”
“Only because it’s our first time.” He caught the cheeky innuendo like I knew he would. I laugh at his shocked expression and try to keep up with his long strides. “Don’t worry, maybe next time I’ll moan more.”
Am I sexually harassing him? Probably. Oops.
“So, what’s the point in this stopping and starting exercise?” I ask, curious as to why we keep jogging and walking.
“One, so I don’t burn you out before we hit the next corner…” Speaking of corners, we turn around one and almost bump into an old guy walking his little dog. “…two, it’s fat burning exercise. Short sharp bursts of intense action with short breaks is perfect for burning fat as opposed to a long steady cardio. We’ll tackle cardio later.”
Later?
“And weights will be introduced either tomorrow morning or the next. It depends on how well you do today.”
Tomorrow?
“I thought this would be a one-time-a-week deal!” I squeak, wanting to go home and hide under my bed.
“One day a week?” Why is he looking at me as though I’m the crazy one here? “How do you expect to lose weight only exercising one day a week?”
“I don’t exercise at all, so I imagine it’ll work just fine for now. I won’t be able to move tomorrow after this anyway!”
“You’re underestimating your body.”
“Or you’re overestimating it.” I kick a stone and watch it roll across the pavement and the road before coming to a stop in the middle. “Fine. I’ll try tomorrow too.”
“And after school.”
“I can’t after school.”
“Do you work?”
I stare at his profile and frown. “No, but I have coursework to do.”