Candy [MCCARTNEY]

ELEVEN

FIGURATIVELY AND LITERALLY

✟

I'd never done this before.

The jitters in my hands and knees grew as outside crept into further darkness, turning from purple to black. I lay in bed, my eyes closed without any intention of sleeping. I was waiting for mum to check on me. She does so, infrequently, but it was better to be safe than sorry tonight. Especially after the phone incident.

I'd thought about putting something in the bed to make it look like I was still here, Ferris Bueller style, but decided against it. Mum's eyes probably have night vision — or it seemed like it, anyway.

I kept checking my phone after every passing minute, watching 9:57pm turn to 10:00pm like a mad man. Eventually, the stairs leading to the second floor creaked gently as mum apparently went to bed and. . . didn't stop to check up on me.

Perhaps she felt awkward — dinner was bad enough. I had avoided eye contact, turning that stupid text message over in my brain like some mutant insect while pushing peas around my plate. I knew she was doing the same and I knew it made her feel queasy. The idea of her precious, little baby girl receiving 'vulgar' messages from unknown numbers was probably enough to make her faint. Her actions didn't make much sense, but I wasn't complaining. She was giving me ample opportunity to go against her wishes. Whose fault was that?

Throwing off my sheets, I waited for the sound of her shower to turn on and then sprung into quiet action. Taking off my pyjama top, hastily brushing my hair, and throwing on a hoodie, I went to my window and laid my hand flat on the screen, trapping me inside. I'd always been envious of those kids in movies whose windows were screen-less.

There was no way I could sneak out the front door — it was far too risky. It had to be this way. Silently annoyed at my own impulsive decision-making, I struggled to pop out the window screen and placed it underneath my bed. Then, hauling myself out of the window, I gently dropped onto the tiled roofing that stood only a few feet below. It was high enough to stand on and have my windowsill meet my waist; it should be easy enough to climb back through once I had done my bidding.

I pulled the curtains across, closed the window's glass almost all the way shut, and then peered over the edge of the tiles. The end of the backyard fence ended below me and with the last bit of luck left in my bones, I stepped onto the fence, holding my balance against the bricked wall of the house.

Over the sound of my blood pulsing, I could still hear mum's bathroom fan going. I knew she would not be able to hear much outside the house, so I jumped down from the fence and thudded down onto the damp grass. None of that was as easy as I just explained it.

After wiping the grass off my palms, I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the time: 10:09pm. Shit! I glanced up at the window I had just sneaked out of and felt a pang of fear. How the hell was I going to get back into my room?

I took a breath. I'd figure something out. But right now, I was going to meet Paul.

My stomach flipped and my knees felt weak — I'm really doing this. He wants to see me. He wants to see me.

Trying not to look sketchy or too much like a girl in the walking down the street, I instead focused my head downwards and took shortcuts that George and I had sought out over the last few weekends. Thankfully, It was a quiet night; no cars, lights off in every house, no sketchy pedestrians. The world had given Paul and I one night to ourselves.