The Dutch Boy [BxB]

T H R E E

"Luca!"

I groaned, rolling over to bury my face in my pillows, yanking the duvet over my body. I cowered away from my Mother, standing over me with her hands on her hips, wearing a stern, unimpressed expression. "I'm getting up." I drawled sleepily, snuggling into the covers. She was clearly not convinced and proceeded to pull the duvet off the bed, revealing my bare chest. "Mama!" I complained loudly.

She rolled her eyes, and started yelling at me in Dutch, and I eventually rolled out of bed, groaning tiredly.

My Mum finally left me alone to get ready and I resisted the urge to crawl straight back into the comfort of my warm bed. I pulled on a pair of baggy jeans, my football jersey - a bold number seven printed on the back - and a pair of boots. After running my fingers through my dishevelled black hair, and brushing my teeth, I headed downstairs.

My Mother started shouting at me in Dutch again, scolding me for being late as I pretended to listen. After stuffing some toast into the toaster and promising my Dad I'd drive my sister to school, I left.

Vera was my ten year old sister. She looked a lot like me, sharing the same silky black hair and copper eyes. But she smiled more. She rambled on about a random movie the entire car journey and I - like always - ignored her. After pulling up outside her school, she scrambled over, gave me a peck on the cheek and clambered out.

I waited until she disappeared past the gates and into the school building before driving off, heading round the corner towards my own school. The car park was almost full by the time I arrived, cars sleeping in their spaces and bikes whizzing past to secure a spot in the bicycle rack. I noticed just how late I was upon glancing at my watch,
and quickly grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder.

I made it to English just in time, sighing in relief as I slid into my seat and plucked my books out of my backpack. "Congratulations, your Mum didn't slaughter you this morning." Tommy scoffed from beside me as he annotated his copy of 'The Tempest', highlighting quotes.

"She was pretty close." I whispered back. "I always forget how much better swearing in Dutch is." I chuckled, flicking the play open to the right scene as I scanned the text quickly to try and catch up.

I used to slip into Dutch a lot, unable to help it with my fuzzy mind, a murky mixture of two languages. Eventually, I managed to grasp onto English a lot better, shoving Dutch into a dusty corner of my mind. Now, my thick lingering accent was my last remaining tie to the language I once cherished.

"Hey, Daya said her parents are gonna be away for the little longer." Tommy muttered quietly in my ear, his eyes glued to the teacher to avoid suspicion.

"Okay?"

"She's throwing a party tomorrow night. You gonna be there?"

Friday night was never a question of what to do, but rather, what party to go to. And Daya knew how to throw pretty awesome parties. "Yeah, sure. But promise me something?"

His brows twitched up in surprise, "What?"

"Just make sure I don't sleep with Sam? I can't be going back to that fucking clinic."

"You can't control yourself?"

"When I'm drunk, it always seems like a better idea than it is." I shrugged.

Tommy rolled his eyes, his lips curled up into an amused grin, "Just try and shove her towards Phoenix. She might actually consider him."

The lesson dragged by agonisingly slowly, full of yawns and a desperate longing to return to my cozy, warm bed, waiting patiently for me at home. Eventually, lunch rolled around, but it felt like a blur around me. We ate, talked, discussed Daya's party and then headed to our afternoon lessons.