Freaks

6 • birthdays

❝growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional.❞
ｗａｌｔ ｄｉｓｎｅｙ

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   "ＳＯ... this is how you're spending your 17th birthday?" Andrew tilts his head to the side as he poses his question.

I could tell he personally didn't see the appeal of us sitting here, doing nothing in particular other than watching all the cars slowly pull out of their driveways and head to work.

I scrunch my nose in reply, "Well, it beats my last birthday."

We are sat at my front porch at the top of the wooden stairs, just before the end of the railing. It had sort of become our spot when we wanted to talk out of the house, but I didn't want to go too far.

"Oh, right. You were ill on your birthday last year," Andrew recalled, not knowing 'ill' was really a euphemism for 'coma'. "It was a good thing it was right after the accident at school unless you'd have missed a lot of lessons. I remember you were off for a while."

He is talking about The Fire. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it.

"Hey, Luce, you're looking a bit ill now, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," I assure him hastily, shoving a smile on my face to prove my point to him. Andrew accepts it willingly enough.

We've gone back to our old routine. The not needing to know anything about each other to still care one that we have adopted over the years in order to maintain our separate secrets. And maintaining our separate secrets we have. In the past few days since we made up, neither of us had gotten enough courage to discuss the reason we fell apart in the first place. And maybe we never will.

It was much easier to tiptoe around each other than to walk on the broken pieces.

Like Andrew, showing up at my door at 8 in the morning to wish me a happy birthday. Because a text or simply waiting till midday would never suffice.

"Have they planned anything yet?" Andrew asks, once again breaking the silence.

"It's weird," I respond, "they've been acting all secretive all morning. I'm not really sure if they are up to something, or if they've given up for this year."

"They might just be planning a surprise party," Andrew commented.

"I thought that," I counter, "but who would they invite? I don't think I'm that high up on anyone's priority in the school."

"You're high up on my priority list."

"So I'll have a dozen cardboard cutouts of you to fill up the empty spaces in the party," I say.

"Obviously," Andrew humoured. "Though maybe 2 dozen would be better. There's never such a thing as too much."

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the amused smile surging on my face.

I couldn't be bothered to think of a reply to that, so I don't. Instead for a while, the two of us are quiet, surveying the scene in front of us.

The only cars left are a quaint red Cadillac belonging to the Gallagher's at the end of the road, and old Mrs Thourn's hatchback which she hasn't driven for over a decade, as far as I knew.