a magical poppy field threatened to make the protagonists sleep forever.[4]
~~~
~ in a small cafe, on the south side
"We ought to be at school."
"Shut up. Since when did you go to school anyway?"
I begin to respond, but close my mouth as an afterthought. I have not been to school in two weeks now. The term holiday is in one week. It is a Friday, and Andy skipped school to take me to 'dine' with him in a cafe. We are sat at the back, next to a radiator and a plant pot.
"What would you like?"
"I'll pay for my own drink -"
"Shut up, I'm paying."
"Don't tell me to shut up," I murmur.
"What drink do you want?"
"Black coffee, please."
"How can you drink that stuff? It's vile."
"It isn't," I lie.
He shrugs and gets me the drink. He buys himself a hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sauce, as well as a bacon and cheese panini and an extra large raspberry and white chocolate cookie. I watch him enviously before staring into the black depths of my cup.
"Can I ask you something?" He says.
I shrug. "Depends."
"On?"
"Doesn't matter."
He sighs. "Do I annoy you?"
I glance at him in confusion. "Huh? Why would you annoy me?"
"I just... I worry sometimes, you know. I don't let it show, but it does bother me. I just wonder if I'm too overbearing, or if I'm annoying. You'd tell me if I was, wouldn't you?"
It's with this sudden confession that I realise that I'm not alone. "I worry if I'm annoying as well."
"Yeah, I know you do," he mutters, breaking off a bit of his cookie. "I mean, I know you worry. You're not annoying. But you're so worried about what people think about you. You're so worried that you don't even want to speak sometimes, in case you say something wrong and you screw up. I'm right, aren't I?"
I stare at him, and he smiles sheepishly.
"How did you... Yes, you're right. You're completely right."
"I know," he says, sipping his drink. To anyone else his last remark may have sounded big headed or arrogant, but to me it doesn't. He knows, because that's just the kind of person he is. Andy is perceptive and empathetic, and perfectly flawed.
We finish our drinks and we talk about vision. His vision of himself. I make up a load of junk about how I view myself, because he doesn't need to know the truth, but he doesn't believe me anyway; he knows me too well, or knows what he knows about me too well. Really, he knows next to nothing about me, but I like to fool him all the same.
"I feel like I can tell you anything," we both say at the same time, and we both blush as well. He blushes with pride. I blush with embarrassment and guilt, because I'm lying.
~~~
