I'd Fall For You

Chapters 7-9

Chapter 7


“Oh, so they fixed the wall finally,” Mama remarks. I nod, my cheeks bulging with carbonara and garlic bread. I swallow, practically inhaling my food.
“Tryouts are next week for team, but for us that’s just to get a feel for the new wall,” I say rather  confidently, high fiving Maya across the table.
“Ah, ah,” Mama says, “ you have haven’t got a spot yet, you never know.” But her face is a dead giveaway that she is just as certain we’ll ace it.  “And Maya. You. Clap. Have. Clap. To. Clap. Turn. Clap. In. Clap. Your. Clap. GCSE. Clap. Choices.” She was very consistent with her claps. Really got the message across.
“All. Clap. Right.” Maya emphasises right in Mama’s face.
“Oh and Kayla. You’re not getting off the hook either. You. Clap. Have. Clap. To. Clap. Turn. Clap. In. Clap. Your. Clap. Psychopathology. Clap. Assignment.”
“Ha,” Maya smirks under her breath. Mama gives her the biggest side eye.
“Don’t even remind me- Adrian is so irritating it’s not even funny. He’s all ‘Kayla this, Kayla that’ and it drives me up the wall. And his poor maid deals with him. Why am I always with him? We don’t even like each other.” I rant, passive aggressively gesturing my knife.
“Mhmmm, you’re so annoyed and you hate being put with him. You say he is constantly talking about you and you AREN’T always talking about him. I think you are a little off Kayla. You seem to have a lot to talk about and some strong feelings for him,” Maya says, raising her hands above her head in a don’t blame me way.
“You hear her Mama,” I object “she’s talking actual dog poo.” Mama just stares at the table and acquires a sudden interest in her carbonara, hastily bundling some into her mouth. She gestures in a totally unhelpful way, proclaiming her mouth is full, like she didn’t just fill it to avoid disagreeing with Maya.
I  angrily squeeze a blast of excess sudsy water from the sponge into a pan coated in bacon grease and egg. I curse blatantly rude words under my breath as I scrub the interior of a jug.
“You’re this plate Adrian,” I mumble, attacking it with such force, water sprays across the countertop.
“And you wanna be that sponge, getting ALLLL over him,” Maya taunts in a just audible singsongy way. I threaten her with a heavily saturated sponge with soapy water. She continues with the stint, and I can’t restrain myself from flicking her with a shower of water. She scoffs in remark, her thick blonde eyebrows raised in a preposterous manner. She grabs a J-Cloth, dunks it in the big bowl full of dishwater and proceeds to spray me with it, soaking me.And. Just. Like. That. We’re in a battle to the death brandishing our weapons, gallivanting around the kitchen squealing, drenched but happy. Mama is looking pretty smug, and dry, in the hyggekrog, her hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile, the infamous cookie jar resting on the window ledge.
The infamous cookie jar is history. My history. Every week, the cookie jar would be restocked by a different member of the Katz posse. I reconcile being 4, hands caked in crinkle cookie batter and icing sugar dusted on my nose and the counters, and my hair, me and Mama in matching aprons. It is a long-standing legacy, Mormor and her mother started long back. (Mormor is Danish for grandmother- mum’s mum).
And as Maya grew up, it became a competition as everything in our house does. We would go all out, catching the bus to markets and stores an hour way, to come back and make ALL sorts of treats. I remember being super annoyed at Pappa one time when I made caramel brownie truffles and he topped me with lemon poppyseed macarons with a white chocolate drizzle.
Me and Gracie literally cooked for 7 hours trying to perfect my Lagkage inspired meringue cupcake nests. I was taught by her to make the meringues and everything. I cooked. And hey, Pappa was really at a loss for words when that happened. And he was yapping alllll day long when he made his stuff.
I guess the half Danish, half German sides of me are pretty conflicting. I definitely showed my pride  But I did so with humble grace. But I still showed him.
Torpedoes of boiling water hammer and rain down on my skin, each one penetrating my flesh with such raw force, the brutal pain refreshing. Steam curls and writhes like a snake, wrapping itself around me like a deadly blanket.
I step onto my bath mat, cruising my hands routinely through my soggy tendrils of hair. Brushing my waves out, I think…
Why does Maya constantly nag and tease me about Adrian? Why do her words, despite my futile hate for him, seem to make something in my stomach. I mean, when he’s around, I do recognise him. Like the teasing undertone in his voice and the way he purposely messes his hair up when he sees me cause he knows I hate that but maybe, just maybe......















Chapter 8


I tie up the laces on my thick walking boots, double my scarf around my neck and pull on my gloves. I trudge through the snow from last night’s cloud sick. My ear pods are blasting some Rihanna, and it’s Tuesday- best day of the week.
But it can’t be. It’s not physically  possible. For anyone. And I’m a hard core optimist.
Because of little ray of sunshine Charlton Malsey-Whitton. The twelve year old, double barrelled little wrench of a child is mine for a whole 2 hours. To tutor. Rich little fungus has a chancellor for a father, and an influencer for a mother. Mummy has a cushy Tiguan and some karat diamond rings. Daddy has a share of apple and a conveyor belt of women flowing into his house every week. But poor little Charlton, the divorce was so hard on him and his drones and his jet-skiS. And he’s afraid of water. But I’m afraid of losing my salary. So I do as I’m told.
S’pose that’s what 9 A* and an A get you. And £50 an hour. Good thing his parents are also just as bad as maths and being a normal person to know what an acceptable salary for a 17 year old is.
I tuck in my chair, sat on my jacket. My cashmere sweater is the only thing stopping me from freezing to death- oh my days it’s cold. Time for psychology.
A freezing pair of hands suddenly clamp down on my shoulders, enveloping my neck. I shudder, the icy tingle running through my veins. The hands push down on me, launching themselves forward in front of me, before I can turn around.
Two eyes which have uncanny resemblance to an owls are sparkling, the honey gold and brown radiating off them in amused waves. Gracie laughs, and I roll my eyes at her theatrically. She loops her arm through mine and we walk out to the courtyard.
The deceiving bittersweet sun bounces of the  softly trampled snow, the maple trees bare of colour and dressed in their frosty winter coat. The air is crisp and stark, breathing each breath feels like the smell of new book pages, or the warm sheets out the dryer (I have an unhealthy obsession with those).
I’m taking in the beauty of this rundown red brick building as a bullet sears into my jeans, the soaking wet patch stinging like hell.
“GRACIE!” I scream, the sound echoing the empty space. I crouch down, preparing for a battle to the DEATH. The cold seeps through my gloves’ fingertips, etching tiny marks with each fistful I add to my ball. The snow is as soft as a mother’s kiss as she tells you she loves you to the moon and back as she tucks you into bed.
Feeling a bit poetic today. Can you tell?
I come out of my free period, soaking in freezing cold with a high chance of getting a cold and a high spirit. Gracie veers off to the left to go tackle the fiery Madame Vivienne and her somewhat concerning take on reality in an hour of Français. I have yet another free period to dilly dally. And I’ve worked up an appetite being a 5 year old again. We must have drunk a lot o juice boxes when we were younger.
I peel off my gloves, my hands thawing the heat off the fire, and I sigh in content. My back sinks into the folds of the fuzzy sofa I wait patiently for my brunch to arrive,  knees tucked up to my chest, reading glasses on, book in my hands. Perfect. Until this.
“Err, I’ll have a skinny latte with a matcha donut and, um a bacon sarnie.”
I humph. Adrian. I inhale deeply, open my eyes and swivel round. We lock eyes and I swear to God, he transmits this wave of utter Britishness, and his brain molecules must have latched onto mine because he smirks, and, and… yeah.
Oh no. He walks over to me, a strut and a swagger vaguely noticeable to me.
“Oh my days. Katz- I swear you have an obsession with me or something. Your eyes were so far out on stalks earlier I thought they were about to go to Mars. Like, chill.”
“Ok, first of all, if I had an eye mask I would have put it on. And we were in Maths and you were strutting up to the front, putting your answer on the teacher’s desk, and I was copying notes. I’m not obsessed. And both me and my eyes were about to RUN to Mars, thanks.”
“Ok, stroppy, but it’s not my fault I finished before you. Rah, little firecracker is jealous.”
“I had already. Finished. You are actually dumb I swear. On. Your. Life.”
Adrian has shifted himself in to the other space on this rather small two piece sofa, and I can feel his arm brushing against mine as he grabs his latte, wrapping his navy gloves around the cup, the fingertips poking out like little heads. He sips at the steaming beverage, and he masks a yelp, as he starts incessantly fanning his mouth. I laugh- I mean, it is karma.
He hears my laugh, and jostles me, my hair catching on his face, and I blush as I touch his cheek, trying to retrieve my hair. I quickly turn away, and he follows suit, burning red. I’m saved by the petite waitress, with mousy brown hair and dimples, carrying my breakfast. Or so I think. She rests the tray with fresh avocado on sourdough, runny sunset yolks, and bacon. Agh, my stomach growls at me.
“Enjoy your food!” she smiles, a bounce in her step, “And you guys make such a cute couple, you know.” She strides away, humming along to the background music.
My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. The tips of Adrian’s ears are a hot pink, and I feel my cheeks tingling with warmth, and I fill my mouth hurriedly with a pile of food.
“Um, I gotta go.” He threads his arms back into his jacket sleeves, grabs his coffee and hurries out, his ego caving in on itself with each self-conscious step.
I take a long slug of my mango juice, and feel my heart rate ease back into a walking pace. I finish up my food, pull on my gloves and walk out, leaving a tip. I don’t know why...
Even chem seems a drag- but I guess I’m thinking about some different chemistry. Not geochemistry- that is an ick I tell you.
“Kayla?” Miss O’Callison snaps me back from planet sleepy.
“Huh?” I murmur, still asleep, my mind rewinding over and over to the last bit of the film called my life.
“The properties of bismuth compared to polonium please?” The rash edge to her voice prickles inside me, sour and sharp. I answer, and squeeze my finger to stop my eyes from leaking any rogue tears. A tiny pool of blood surfaces on my finger, and I dab at it with the edge of my scarf. How was I so reckless? I wasn’t listening to her. I imagine the scene between the utter me and current me playing out.
“How dare you let us ignore Miss O’Callison?” FM (future me) snarls, brandishing a hot iron tong at me passive aggressively.
“I-I didn’t mean to, I was just-”
“Just what?! Failing out of school I expect. You’re a terrible me.” She waves the sizzling ghost pepper hot metal at me and I sink into the ground, swallowed whole by my pain inducing mistake.
I would have been great in an English focused career.
“Charlton. I’m not going to tell you again. There are 3 steps- not 4. And no. It’s not 3 Ohio rizz sigma alpha steps. Long division is 3 normal steps.”
“You’re skibidi.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Ugh. You’re such a millennial.”
“3,2,1,” I whisper inaudibly “Ok see you next week. Finish the sheet and do the extension. Bye.”
He didn’t hear that. He already had his AirPods in, scrolling on TikTok dismissively on his phone. In the library. Next to the poster saying ‘This is a No Phone Zone.”
I suddenly realise that tomorrow is the try outs, and gladly saunter out.




Chapter 9


“Let go, lean back,” I hear for the umpteenth time today. This is time it came out the Oliver’s mouth, a drawling gurgle. He has been icy to me ever since the party and I don’t blame him. The new ship names between us are vile, so it’s best we keep our distance. Though, I do think maybe his opinion of me was different at the party. As though he wished there was no distance. But never mind that. I’m 99% certain that I’m overthinking this.
The old door to the gym has been replaced by a new one so now every time it opens it doesn’t sound like Uncle Kenneth’s groans when he stands up. It swings open whilst I’m chalking up my hands to do the 7b on the overhang. I turn round to see if Maya has come back from filling her bottle. I stop short.
It’s Lancaster. His hands in his pockets, eyes flickering, searching the room. And then he catches my eye. The air feels so thick I couldn’t cut it with a machete. He pulls down his hood, strides up to me, not breaking his gaze.
“You’re here. I swear you are stalking me,” I direct at him, the caramel of his eyes facing me square on.
“Can’t I just show I’m better than you? Just like everything else?”
“Hah, no chance,” I scoff adamantly.
“Bet. You try beat my time on this purple. You have a practise while I put my harness on. You’ll need it.”
He strides off again, and I mutter under my breath that he probably doesn’t even know what grade it is.
“Ooh, someone’s got a new climbing bestie,”  trills Maya from behind me. When did she even get here?
“I do not.”
“Mhm. You so do. And check out Mr Muscles over there on the slab.”
Adrian was climbing up the wall at an alarming rate. Oliver can barely belay fast enough.
“Get practising. You’re gonna need it Kay,” she chirps, bouncing away.
I’m floating down in my harness from the climb, and he comes over, big ego and all.
“Bet you’re little arms are all worn out,” he says in a sappy voice. I go to protest but he steps closer, so I can feel his breath on my cheeks.
Without missing a beat, his hands clasp mine, pull them off the and Adrian begins untying my knot, his eyes flitting up and down me. I try hide my little gasp and his gaze doesn’t stray from my direction as he unties my knot with fluent and casual ease and knowledge. I match his confidence, staring right back into them. And then he’s done, but he’d doesn’t step back. I feel like Maya is just watching us. She always is. I don’t know how I’m got go argue my way out of this one. He’s so annoying. I think?
And I didn’t realise but he’s already finished his knot. He goes over to the wall, and I feel cold again. Funny thing is I wasn’t cold before. He glances at me expectantly and I babble out the climbing calls. He place some foot on the hold and I lose all my words.
Again.
He has perfect fluidity, perfect technique and wow. He’s done. I spent too long ogling the surprisingly fit bad guy and I realise I’m screwed to beat him.
My turn starts and well, he’s supportive. But I can’t match his unspoken finesse. Although he is speaking it. But he has a soft lull to his voice as he teases me: it’s odd.
Given the height difference (I’m looking at his shoulders) I climb well. But I still feel a bubbly twang in the pit of my stomach when I realise Maya was right. Why is she always right?
The tick tick of the clock plays like the backing of my soundtrack and I feel my cheeks heat. It’s a stupid affect of mine and it’s so awkward and petty. I blush at the thought.
The slow clap laces itself around me, but it’s Oliver who’s doing it. And Adrian looks like he wants to knock his teeth out of his jaw and thread them on a bracelet and sleep with under his pillow. Not that I’m imagining Adrian sleeping. I’m going rosy again.
“Not bad. Better than anything Oliver here could do,” he practically snarls at Oliver, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a like smoke billowing from his ears and the snake tongue uncoiling . I feel a wave of mixed feelings for Adrian suddenly. But it dissolves as quickly as Oliver’s smug smirk.
‘“But obviously I beat you,” he says, just to drive it into my head.
“Duh,” I retort, punching him playfully in the arm. The tips of his ears go a rosy pink like my cheeks and he runs a hand through his glossy, inky hair. The type you want to plunge your hands into. Just in case you didn’t understand. (Not that I want to). Hem hem.
“Da hour is u’. And da team sheet wi’ be pu’ u’ ‘morrow fo’ y’all,” lilts Carson, the rough Jamaican edge to his voice both threatening and comforting. Climbing instructors are something I tell you.
I pack up my harness and shoes, and Adrian comes over, bumbling with his dimple indenting his left cheek, deepening when I say hey.
“You did good today. Sorry ‘bout Oliver. He’s just sour cause of-” he begins, cut of by me.
“-yeah, we all know. ‘Kayliver Hatz’. And since when where you friends with Oliver...” I finish, but stop when I see the hurt in his face.
“What’s wrong?” I query, trying to unpick his torn expression.
“I never shipped you, -just for the record.  And I didn’t want you guys to be together. Oliver isn’t my friend. I’m team Kayla,” he mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
Team Kayla? Since when was there a team Kayla. And why is Adrian on it? Why does he not want us together? Agh. It’s like a go-kart track in my head, each car keeps crashing into my head as they race round and round. Tante Josefin (or mainly known as Aunt Josie) is a psychologist and has been teaching me and Maya the tricks on like, psychology- hence me not failing psychology. So I’m trying to put them to good use now, but I think Adrian thinks my thinking face is pissed off at him face; which are similar (I’d know).
“I gotta, um, go, but I’ll see you later,” he says, and I think he’s going to mope away all sad, but his fingers brush my arm, lingering as he grabs his jacket. I feel my stomach swoop. Catching my eye, he hurries away, stumbling over a bundle of ropes.
I smile to myself...