The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

19. date night

ELEVEN MONTHS AND ONE WEEK PRIOR TO THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

It was the 1st of December 2020 when Oliver came over to Finn's place for the first time. Finn remembers the date because of how long he'd been staring at it on the calendar on the kitchen wall beforehand, the sacred five words noted in the tiny rectangle in his mum's neat handwriting: Saoirse & Arthur Date Night.

With his mum barely leaving the house and Oliver's foster parents usually staying in because of Milo, it was almost impossible to find one evening where they had a house to themselves.

Now the day had finally arrived, and Finn was so excited he felt like he was going to puke. It was probably the long build-up that made it feel like such a big deal. When he met Oliver at the library that Friday, both of them were barely able to focus on their schoolwork, too busy exchanging giddy glances and watching the clock hands move at a snail's pace. At exactly seven p.m., Oliver snapped his book shut and stood, starting the painstaking process of locking up the library.

Meanwhile, Finn stuffed his things into his bag and all but raced outside, to where his bike was chained to a tree. Oliver had offered to give him a ride home on his motorcycle, but Finn had politely declined. He didn't even want to imagine the rumours that would stir up. People in this town loved to run their mouths.

Instead, he rode his bike home like his life depended on it. As he carried it into the staircase of his parents' flat, he tried to see his home the way Oliver would view it. It... wasn't much. His family lived in a small flat on High Street, right above a chippy. The dimly lit staircase reeked of grease and fish. Did it always smell this much?

God. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, he slumped down on the bottom step. In the narrow landing, his own breaths ricocheted.

Ricochet. He'd learned that word from Oliver. There was a mental list he had: Oliver Sallow's Encyclopaedia Of Big Words. They were the kind that no other seventeen-year-old would ever use in every-day conversation, but that slipped into Oliver's sentences without a second thought. Sometimes, when he felt on the brink of a panic attack, Finn went through them in his head.

Ricochet. Ubiquitous. Plethora. Maudlin. Idiosyncrasy.

He was on dichotomy when there came a buzzing at the door.

Finn shot to his feet quickly enough to feel a little dizzy. With one hand, he tousled his hair before thinking better of it and trying to smooth it back into place. A second buzz echoed from the walls. Gathering all his confidence, he reached out and slowly pulled open the door.

Even though he'd been prepared for it, there was still something startling about seeing Oliver Sallow on the sidewalk.

"Fancy seeing you here." Oliver smiled. It was a crime, that. Oliver was stingy with his smiles, which only made their effect that much more devastating. They transformed his entire face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, slightly crooked teeth flashing. When a beat passed and Finn still stood frozen in shock, Oliver nodded at the staircase behind him. "Gonna let me in?"

"Oh. Y-yeah, sorry." Finn quickly stepped aside.

Oliver's shoulder brushed against his as he entered, footsteps echoing around the stairwell. The door fell shut behind him, shutting out the noises of the street. It was a strangely intimate silence that settled, both of them eyeing the other in the half-light.

Finn reached for Oliver's hand. "Come on, then."

Oliver gamely let himself be tugged along. If he noticed the chippy smell, he didn't comment on it. Or on the cracks in the stone floor. Or the water damage on the ceiling. Instead, all he said was, "I parked Lucretia around the corner, just in case."