Mirror, Mirror (Book 2)

Chapter 10: Gargouille Lane

As the bus pedaled across the road, the laughter and talking of eager children never ceased to annoy Oliver: Max and his friends snickered jokes behind the bus driver's back, juniors trade Pokemon trading cards with each other, and lastly, there was Harriet and her friends conversing about a bake sale.

"You okay, mate?" asked Amelia.

When Oliver nodded, she ruffles his hair and tells them that everything is going to be okay.

"How?" he asked in exhaustion. "You'll be exposed in the sun, I have to make coffee to get you motivated, and I have to carry this shitty bag—he points his finger to his suitcase—with me everywhere."

The vampire cautiously takes her left hand off of her handle and places it around Oliver's shoulder, which feels a bit tense.

"Stop worrying, Olly," Amelia advised. "And besides, I hear that worrying can give people stomach ulcers."

Oliver gives her a puzzled look.

"You think I am going to get stomach ulcers because I worry too much?"

Amelia nodded.

"And have anxiety," she adds with a smirk. "It can be a bitch sometimes."

"Amelia—" Oliver begins to explain.

But the vampire gently pinched both his cheeks in silence.

"Hush now," she pouted. "I think it's the anxiety talking."

Her cold fingers gathered the flesh of Oliver's cheeks, stretching as if it was a mound of sticky, wet clay.

"Stop pinching my cheeks." Oliver pouted. "I'm not eight anymore!"

But the pinching continued.

"Nonsense!" she laughed. "I don't care if you're eighty-three, you are always going to be my Olly."

The minute she said that Oliver's cheeks turn bright pink. He fears that her embarrassing gestures would make him be a laughingstock of the century.

Regardless, he exacts his revenge by poking his fingers at her forehead.

Believe it or not, touching her forehead was Amelia's weak spot—he discovered it when he was trying to put concealer makeup on her face when he was eight.

"Hey," Amelia whined. "Cut that out!"

"I will," Oliver sneered. "If you stop pinching my cheeks like a baby!"

"In your dreams," she sneered back.

"Shut up," he teased, poking Amelia's face.

"You shut up."  Amelia teased back.

They continued bickering each other until  Amelia finally releases Oliver's cheeks, and stare at the window.

The once bright sun was engulfed suddenly, by a pack of soft, gray clouds eating away its raw power.

Because of this, the seemingly warm atmosphere became as bleak and cold as Amelia herself, who is discarding the black hoodie, and hands back it to Oliver.

"Here," she says, offering the coat to the boy.

But Oliver shakes his head.

"Keep it," he insisted. "You need it more than I do."

Amelia wanted to refuse, but she knew Oliver wouldn't take no for an answer, and so she places it on her lap.

"Fine," she grumbled. "I'll keep your sweaty jacket."