Candy [MCCARTNEY]

FOUR

A COLD, STONE WALL

✞

Paul never called. He never came knocking on my door after tracking me down to confess his deep attraction.

It wasn't an expectation, but now I felt like I couldn't show my face in church without my stomach lining bursting into flames of embarrassment.

At school, I felt the day drag on. Another Friday had arrived, and I was swamped with assignment work for the weekend, which I hoped I could use as an excuse to skip church, like I had done all year before I learnt of Paul's presence.

"You got a second?" George's voice came from beside me, his footsteps catching up with mine as we walked out the school gates.

"You can have a few, if you want." I grinned half-heartedly at him.

"Cool," he replied. "Listen — I don't know if things are weird between us or not, but my Mum is sorta laying into you quite heavy."

"Huh?"

"Is your Mum doing the, uh, same?"

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, George, what is your Mum doing?"

George ran a hand over his face. "She keeps talking about you to me all the time. Kind of like she's trying to set us up."

Rolling my eyes, I nodded. "Yeah, my Mum's doing the same."

We fell silent, our footsteps falling into sync, and again, Paul flashed across my mind. I wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand as we walked down the street or feeling his breath against my neck.

"Have any money for fags?"

Without skipping a beat or raising my eyes from the sidewalk, I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Reaching into my skirt pocket, feeling around for some cash just to make sure.

"Is John's stash low?" I joked.

George raised an eyebrow. His vampire-like teeth peeked out from his lips and I remembered how cute he was. "Aw, nah, he's just being a bitch lately."

Understood — John Lennon could be a bitch. He was a few years older than us and was one of the 'cool kids' before he graduated at our school: I imagine George felt a part of the pack. He was so aggressive and vulnerable, sometimes I worried for him.

"So, we'll share?"

George hitched his bag further up on his back. "Yeah, c'mon."

School kids had already beat us to the plaza, filtered through the crowd of adults attempting to ignore the laughter and chatter. George and I quickly slunk off to find the only convenience store which he knew would hand cigarettes to the right school kids.

"How do you even know he's working today?" I asked, making sure to avoid eye contact with other kids in case they followed.

"He always works Friday," George reassured me, pointing to the door of the store. "See? He's right there. Go."

I frowned — again. "Why do I have to go alone?"