I do my best to ignore Beewolf's nagging as I wait outside Diwa's door. But I rang the bell several seconds ago and no one's come so what if–?

The door opens. Mrs Atangan's face twists the moment she recognises me, a flash of amber in her eyes warning me away.

But I don't cower. I've prepared for this.

'Hello, Mrs Antangan.' I hold up an old ice cream container. 'I brought you empanadas I made with my brother. Colombian ones... I were hoping I could talk to Diwa.'

'Diwa's grounded.' Her clipped tone is more than sufficient but, just in case I'm too dumb to add two and two together, she adds, 'And I don't want her around you.'

After I bribed her with empanadas and everything?

I rack my brain for summat to convince her that I'm not here to turn Diwa into a reprobate but I do look like I could belong to a pyromaniac cult.

'Cece?'

Both I and Diwa's mum look to see her rush down the stairs. She dodges her mother's scolding stare to squeeze into the doorway, gaze raking my frame to check that it's solid.

'I'm so happy to see you,' Diwa says, and I don't think she's lying. 'Please, Nanay, we're just gonna talk.'

They bicker in Tagalog before Mrs Atangan lifts a hand to silence her.

'Thirty minutes. Then I want you home.'

'Okay.' Diwa throws her arms around her mother. 'Thank you, Mama.'

She grabs her coat and shoves on the mary janes she used to wear before her, I suppose, makeover. At least one pair of eyes nails to the back of my head as we walk down the front garden.

I follow silently beside her with my hands stuffed into my pockets until we're out of Red Bricks and I realise we're probably not going anywhere. There's nowhere near here we could go less we wanna hang out on the side of the motorway like roadkill.

We stumble into conversation and exhale laughs when we interrupt each other. Diwa gestures for me to go first.

'How are you?' I ask, not un-awkwardly. 'Did you manage to sleep fine and stuff?'

Her focus lingers on the road before she ventures to look at me. 'I'm okay. Glad to see that you're okay.' She attempts a smile.

My fingers itch to light a cigarette but Diwa hates the stench so the only thing I've got to ease my anxiety is counting my steps. Whatever speech I tried to prepare is lumpy under my tongue.

Get it together. I've got thirty minutes.

'I'm sorry for making you deal with that,' I say, exaggerating the yo-yoing of my voice in an unfortunate go at humour. 'I didn't mean to, like, freak you out. Or be a complete wanker all week.'

We drag to a standstill on the patch of grass outside the Brooks Building of Manchester Metropolitan.

'Um...' My fingers lift instinctively to my teeth only to remember the gauze. 'I know I've been especially shit lately. It's not an excuse but... it were the anniversary of my parents leaving on Wednesday.'

'I'm sor–'

I smack away her sympathy before she can offer it. 'That's alright.' I hope I sound as reassuring as Nicolás does.

I allow her to study and observe and prod so she knows I'm being honest and not bandaging a wound in duct tape to appear tough. It really is alright: that's not where I'm bleeding.

'That's the issue... I forgot.' Hanging my head, I pull at the frayed edge of gauze on my pointer finger. 'Nicolás reckons it's a good thing. Don't feel good, though. Makes me feel like shit.'

My throat cinches. I screw my eyes shut as heat creeps up my cheeks. I am not going to cry in front of her. I can show her my wounds, but I won't cry about them—especially those that are self-inflicted.

'How can I complain about them ditching me if I don't even miss em? You don't have to say owt. Just wanted to offer you that explanation.'

Diwa watches me, centipede-brown eyes void of vitriol. 'All parents do is make you feel rubbish.'

The statement is followed by ringing silence. Then we collapse into laughter.

It overflows, like soap bubbles from a bathtub, and I screw myself into knots in a vain attempt to shut off the tap. Soon, I surrender. As much as it makes my body ache, it feels so good to laugh. I don't fight it. I don't have to fight it: I'm not in the company of anyone who'll use it against me now. 

Diwa drags in crisp winter air to settle herself and backpedal in the conversation. 'It's okay. I'm sorry too. For assuming the worst. I didn't know that– I mean, I just thought that–'

'It's fine.'

Our eyes reunite.

I roll mine. 'It's just... People don't treat us the same. It's all always my fault, I'm always the bad influence. And I know I did that to myself but, like, it winds me up.'

I shallow, trying to soothe the cracks in my voice. 'Well, at least we've not got to worry about that anymore.'

'Why not?'

'Cause we're not mates anymore,' I say. 'So you can go back to being perfect and I'll be a disruptive influence alone.'

Her voice serrates. 'What?'

'What d'you mean "what?"'

'What d'you mean "what do I mean"? Why are we not mates anymore?'

Is she actually fucking joking?

'Cause I'm a horrid person.'

Brown flashes into yellow as the vulture glare reclaims its realm. 'You said teenagers can't be good or bad.'

'Well, I'm different. You can't seriously wanna be my friend after all that.'

'Well, I do.' She twists her words like a hot poker in an open wound. 'You helped me when I got drunk at Sakda's party.'

I scoff. 'That's different.'

'How's it different?'

Diwa sighs. Whatever mantra about calming down and not strangling me she's repeating to herself works well enough because when she resumes, her whisper shrivels only a little.

'D'you know why I phoned you? Why I would phone you of all the people on this planet?'

I shrug.

'You're the one person I knew wouldn't judge me. Sure, you're abrasive, but you're never conceited. And you dropped whatever you were doing to help me in the middle of the night. I didn't even have to ask you to do that.'

'Yeah, you did.'

'No, I didn't. You just volunteered,' Diwa presses. 'None of my own brothers would've helped me. My parents would've killed me. But you came. To a house that were clearly emotionally difficult to be in, with Sakda, who– well, I dunno what exactly that's all about, but he don't seem to be someone you're eager to be around. All that just to help someone who had insulted you that same day.'

Her stare arrests me.

'You know who does that? A kind person.'

I bark a laugh. 'Well, now you're just taking the piss.'

'No, I'm not,' Diwa says, entirely unaffected by my ridicule. 'D'you reckon without you, I'd dare to dress like this? D'you think I'd dare to consider doing owt that won't please my parents? You're the first person outside my family who I've come out to and you immediately made me feel accepted and safe even if I'm not ready to embrace it myself yet... You've got your thorns but you're a good friend.'

I sniff and drop my gaze to the grass as if it'll make the tears in my eyes any less noticeable.

'Fine then.' Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I resume our walk. 'I'll find a way to make you hate me again eventually.'

Diwa giggles as she rushes after me. 'D'you wanna bet?'

We loop the Brooks Building's grounds and start our journey back to Diwa's. I suppose we're gonna have a proper go at this friendship thing, I reckon I should try not to get murdered by her mother.

'I'm really thankful that you helped me on Friday,' I say once we're back in the privacy of Leaf Street. 'I usually try to hide until they're over.'

She leans into me for a few steps in an imitation of a hug.

'Your brother gave me his number. Next time I'm gonna phone him right away. Don't bother complaining,' she says, cutting over my complaints. 'You know he wants to help.'

'He's got enough trouble.'

'He wants you to trouble him.'

My glare cuts to her. 'Why don't you solve your own brother relationships so, next time you're drunk, you can phone one of them?'

Diwa scowls, prodding me in the ribs so that I jolt. My cheeks burn. The next second we're laughing again.

Notes

Nanay: (Tagalog) Mum.