Falling Fast - L.S

15

Half-term slid slowly by. By the last weekend the weather had changed completely. After the mild, still days of earlier in the week, the temperature dropped and it started raining - not hard, but off and on, all the time.

It was too cold and wet to sit outdoors in the park. Especially for Harry - who either didn't have a coat or only possessed one he was ashamed to be seen in. I hadn't plucked up the courage to ask which yet.

On Friday I forced him to let my buy him a coffee at the café we'd gone to that very first time. He agreed - after all it was only fair, even he could see that, as he'd bought the last one.

But just talking about money seemed to put him in a bad mood. I knew he was embarrassed that I had more than him. I suppose I still didn't really understand why it was such a big deal - after all, it wasn't like I was rich or anything.

I kept waiting for him to ask me round to his house. But he didn't. So in the end we agreed to meet on Sunday afternoon at mine. I would rather we'd gone to a cheap café, but I was too scared of us having an argument over who was going to pay.

I hadn't told Mum very much about Harry - just that we'd met up a couple of times and that he was coming round so we could test each other on our lines.

This, of course, wasn't even remotely true - Harry had been word-perfect from the first rehearsal, while I knew half the entire play off by heart.

Lottie was staying over at Dad's all weekend and I knew Mum would be out until about five. Harry said he'd come round at four.

It was all going to work, I told myself nervously. He'd have an hour to get used to the place before having to meet Mum. She'd teased me to no end when I told her Harry was playing Romeo.

"So you still want to be Juliet, then?" she'd said, nudging me like she'd said something hilarious.

I'd looked forward to him coming round all day, but as soon as I opened the door and saw him standing outside, I knew it was going to be a disaster.

His arms were crossed and his face was all clenched up. I could practically feel the anger pulsing off him as I took him through the hall into the kitchen. We had a can of Coke and some biscuits.

The curly boy said nothing. I chattered away about seeing Taylor and Gigi the night before. I just wanted to keep the conversation light and easy. But I guess it was hard for Harry to hear how we'd  all gone out to the pub while he'd been working. How Tay and Gigi had spent the evening with Luke and a new boy (who Gigi had met there called Zayn). How all these other boys had been there too.

I stressed I'd only had one drink, then I tried to say something about missing him, about nobody last night being half as interesting as he was, but he cut me off.

"Can I see your room then?" he said aggressively.

I took him upstairs feeling deeply uneasy.

I'd spent ages tidying my room, them messing it up a bit so it didn't look too neat and ordered. But Harry didn't take much notice - he glanced round at the wooden wardrobe and the little desk and the blue-and-green check duvet and the table covered with pots and bottles.

Then he strode over to the window and stared outside. I walked up behind him. He was gripping his drink so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Harry?" I said. "What's wrong?"

He turned round, this vicious look in his eye. "You're never going to understand, are you?"

"Understand what?" My heart pounded.

"What you have." He waved his arm around, as if to indicate the whole house. "All this. All this amazing wealth. You take it all for granted, don't you?"