The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

9. rue for you, and some for me

TWELVE MONTHS AND THREE WEEKS PRIOR TO THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

Oliver has only felt this specific brand of heedless hope a handful of times. One of them was in the days leading up to their sixth-form study trip to London.

In hindsight, the whole affair ranks within the highlights of Oliver's hilariously short stay on the mortal plane.

He'd never been to London before then which, to him, seemed like some kind of cosmic mockery. He'd spent the last decade being passed around England, learning his way around tiny towns with names unpronounceable to anyone outside the UK, soaking up all sorts of accents like a particularly language-savvy sponge, without once setting foot inside the capital. Now that he was finally sitting on the bus, an ancient Oyster card that Daniel had borrowed him tucked in his coat pocket, he thought he might vibrate out of his skin.

Of course, he was careful not to show too much of his enthusiasm on the outside—sitting alone in the back of the bus, earbuds in and a pen cap jammed between his teeth as he scribbled into his well-loved copy of Hamlet, one would have never suspected that he'd spent the last two weeks frantically reading every travel guide he could get his hands on.

The one exception sat a few rows ahead. Oliver took a brief break from reading—he was one of the unfortunate souls cursed with the inability to read more than two pages at a time while in a moving vehicle without getting violently sick—to study him. They weren't required to wear their school uniforms on this trip, so Finn was once again dressed in washed-out jeans and a sweater that looked either incredibly soft or terribly scratchy. Right now, the sleeves were pushed up his freckled forearms as he played some sort of card game with the football team twins, his shoulders shaking as he laughed at something one of the other boys said.

Something about the sight made Oliver's stomach twist in a most unfortunate way.

He blamed it on his motion sickness and closed his eyes.

The next time he opened them was three and a half Joy Division songs later when a hand tapped his shoulder. Oliver was ready to level whoever dared to disturb him with a glare, only for the expression to slide off his face when he found himself almost nose-to-nose with Finn.

Finn gestured at his ears with a lopsided smile.

Shocking even himself with his uncharacteristic display of obedience, Oliver took out his earbuds. The overwhelming cacophony of an entire busload of sixth-form students crashed over him; sugar-high laughter, YouTube videos played at full volume, someone's Bluetooth speaker blasting some infernal pop song.

"Hey," said Finn.

"Hey," Oliver repeated, lifting one eyebrow. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just thought I'd come over. D'you know how much longer until we're there?"

"Around thirty minutes, I reckon," Oliver distractedly said. His brain was still trying to comprehend the fact that Finn had voluntarily ditched his card game and too-loud friends to sit next to him.

Judging by the look on the twins' faces as they peered at them over the back of their seats, he was not the only one confused about this turn of events.

Finn, oblivious to the stares they were attracting, made himself comfortable in the aisle seat. From his pocket, he procured a bag of Maltesers that he offered to Oliver with a questioning hum.

With some vague thought about accepting food from fairies and thus inevitably binding oneself to them, Oliver held out his palm to accept the half-melted sweets. He had already been part of this dance for too long; now seemed a little too late to worry about the consequences.