The school yard is deserted when Charlotte and I arrive at the gate, the silence soon disturbed by the muted sound of the lunch bell echoing in the distance. Within minutes, the calm sea of tarmac floods with students, most of them heading for the cafeteria.

"Only one year left," Charlotte murmurs, nudging me with her elbow.

We stand off to the right of the gate, visible through the chain-link fence so Bailey can see us when she steps outside.

It's the first time Charlotte's spoken since our talk about Alex, the remainder of our journey painfully silent. From the tense curve of her smile, I can tell she's still not happy.

She's just trying to hide it for the sake of Bailey's birthday.

"One year left..." I repeat, staring out at the school beyond the fence, the sound of voices growing louder around us.

The words send a jolt of excitement down to my stomach, an encroaching sense of freedom that I'm desperate to achieve.

There's only one year left before I'm finally free of this place – this town.

The thought makes my heart sing, stuttering only a moment later as a new feeling of nostalgia washes over me. Amongst the crime ratings and crappy memories, I start to consider what else I'll also be leaving behind. My family, my friends, Wilson's... the more I think about it, the longer the list becomes.

I haven't let myself dwell on it much before now.

"You stopped having my back the moment you decided to leave me behind..." Bailey's words bite into my brain hard enough to leave teeth marks, chewing at my guilt.

But I'm not leaving her behind, I'm simply moving forward, and I have one year left to show her the difference – because there is a difference.

Right?

I can finally move forward. I can be free of the past that this place weighs me down with.

And that makes it all worth it. It's what I've been working towards for years.

Besides, it's not like I won't be coming back to visit. I'll still have my family; I'll still have my friends. It's just Greencliff I'll be leaving behind.

"Do you ever miss it?" I ask Charlotte, glancing over at her. "This school? This town?"

Charlotte leans back against the fence, turning her back on the school with a sarcastic snort. "Nope. Never."

I try not to let that hurt. It's a dumb thing to feel upset about, especially when I'd already known the answer. Only a crazy person would say yes.

"Aren't you excited?" Charlotte asks, confused by my expression.

Yes. I am excited about leaving – more than I've ever been about anything – but, as always, it's more complicated than that. It's too complicated for me to even try to explain, and I don't think Charlotte would understand even if I could.

So, instead, I try and deflect the question.

"I haven't even gotten into uni yet."

"You will," she states, not an ounce of doubt in her voice.

I open my mouth to respond, pausing as I hear someone beyond the fence yell out, "Holy shit! That's fucking awesome!"

Surprised, Charlotte pushes off from the fence and turns to face the school. Together, we peer through the fence at the group of students to the left of the gate, the cluster becoming a crowd as more gather close to the shabby bike shed.

"Something's kicking off," Charlotte says curiously. "I wonder what they're all staring at."

Beyond the crowd, I notice Bailey being spat out of the main building further down the yard. Her blazer is scrunched in her hand as she shrugs on a black jacket over her shirt, her backpack dangling from one shoulder.

"There she is," I say, nudging Charlotte.

Bailey spots us immediately, her stride gaining momentum as she looks down at her backpack. She stuffs her blazer inside it so haphazardly, I doubt any amount of ironing will be able to salvage the wreck. Then, finally looking up from her bag for longer than five seconds, she halts in the middle of the yard.

I watch curiously as her eyes widen, her mouth dropping in shock when she spots the same thing everyone else is staring at. She doesn't move, her focus fixed on the bike shed.

"Alright, I'm going in," Charlotte announces, curiosity getting the better of her as she heads through the school gate.

Following close behind her, I turn towards the bike shed and gasp.

The wall of the shed – what should be an empty canvas of plain brick – has been spray painted with artwork that would put even Banksy to shame.

But it's not the obvious talent that shocks me into silence – it's what's been painted.

The image of Freddy Krueger stares back at me, grinning maliciously from behind a clawed hand. The details are impeccable, from the pinks of his scarred skin to the dark creases of his fedora, splotches of red paint splattering the wall like blood around him.

Holy shit.

Now, I doubt there are many here who will understand the depth of the reference, but I do. One glance is all it takes for me to know who did this.

Alex.

Turning away from the shed, I look back to find Bailey still standing in the same spot. From the way her mouth curves into a disbelieving grin, I can tell she knows it, too.

Ignoring Charlotte and I completely, Bailey turns to scan the area for the inevitable appearance of–

Yep. There he is.

Alex stands near the entrance to the main building, smirking as he surveys the chaos. Although the sight of him doesn't surprise me in the slightest, the sight of Bradley standing next to him, dressed to the nines in his school uniform, does.

Bradley's last exam was weeks ago. He's on summer break; he shouldn't be here.

Confused, I stare at them both as they lean against the outer wall of the main building. Their mutual nonchalance holds steady even as the first teacher arrives on the scene, demanding answers from the unruly crowd around me.

How the hell did they pull this off without being seen?

When the boys realise that Bailey has seen them, their smirks turn twice as smug, with Bradley even going so far as to offer her a two-fingered salute. Then, before anyone else has the chance to realise he's somewhere he's not supposed to be, he strolls away towards the sports field and out of sight.

Meanwhile, Alex's smirk transforms into a boyish grin. He waves at Bailey and, even from this distance, I can make out the words as he mouths, "Happy birthday, B."

Although they're not allowed near each other, Alex clearly had no intention not to celebrate Bailey's birthday with her in some way.

Sweet? Yes.

Stupid? Yes.

And not to mention, completely fucking illegal.

Alex's eyes flicker from Bailey to me, widening in horror when he notices me standing a few feet behind her. It takes all of one second for his grin to drop into a sheepish wince, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. Another second later and he's gone, disappearing inside and out of sight.

"Well," Charlotte pipes up, missing nothing as she, too, watches him leave. "A liar and a vandal. I see what you mean, Jade. He really is such a good kid."

The sarcasm that drips from every word makes me sigh as we wait for Bailey to join us. As good as Alex's intentions might have been, there's no defending him on this one.

But there's also no way to deny the extra bounce in Bailey's step, or the ear-splitting grin she wears as she greets us. For all the surprises we have planned for Bailey today, this will be the highlight of her birthday.

And I have to admit – although I'd never admit it to Charlotte – if I were Bailey, it would be the highlight of my birthday, too.

Because that painting really is fucking awesome.

***

You barely have to walk three steps into The Nest to understand why it's Bailey's favourite place to eat at. As an 80s rock-styled diner, the walls are plastered with images of all the greats: Guns N' Roses, AC/DC, Metallica, Joan Jett & The Blackhearts... the list goes on.

The floor beneath our feet is made entirely of old vinyl records, each held in place by a clear resin finish that reflects the lights overhead. It's just the right amount of showy to be considered niche, but not so overbearing that it could be classed as tacky.

Over the babble of chatter from the tables around us, I can just about make out the lyrics of The Cure's Boys Don't Cry as it plays through the speakers. Bailey has already pointed out the picture of Robert Smith, the band's lead singer, where a photo of him live in concert papers the wall by the entrance.

Dissecting the wallpaper seems to be Bailey's idea of fun as we wait for our food, Charlotte and I nodding along to every random fact she spits out. There's not a single band on these walls that Bailey doesn't know.

"Thank fuck. I'm starving," Bailey says when the waiter eventually arrives, a plate of food in each hand and one balanced on his forearm.

"Language," Charlotte and I both reprimand at the same time, sharing an exasperated glance across the table. The waiter chuckles.

"What my sister means is thank you," I tell him as he places the chicken burger down in front of Bailey, who merely shrugs next to me and takes a bite.

"No worries," he replies with an amused smirk, serving me my own burger before rounding the table with Charlotte's.

With the dark sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, the dragon tattoo curled around his forearm is on full display as he relinquishes the final plate.

"Cool piercings," Bailey compliments him, swallowing her bite of burger.

Surprised, Charlotte and I share another look across the table. 

It's not often than Bailey willingly talks to people. This is new.

Before the guy can reply, Bailey asks, "Did the snake bites hurt?"

Likely used to being quizzed on the abundance of metal decorating his face, the guy grins. "Not as much as the septum," he admits, wrinkling his nose and tapping the piercing with his finger. "This one took three attempts. There was a lot of blood."

"Yikes," Bailey replies, appearing otherwise undeterred by the concept of facial piercings – much to Stella's future chagrin, I'm sure.

"Yikes, indeed. Never went back there again," the guy agrees, laughing. "If you're after a recommendation, I'd go with Ink & Steel down on Oakwood Lane. Blake's a little pricey, but the dude knows what he's doing."

Then, with a fist bump for Bailey and a flirty wink in my direction, he leaves us to our meal.

"Snake bites?" Charlotte asks as Bailey takes another bite of her burger, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Bailey shrugs. "I'm sixteen now," she mumbles around her food. "I've been thinking about getting it done for a while."

Swallowing her bite, Bailey looks back and forth between Charlotte and I, the burger clutched between her hands. There's a defensive glint to her eyes, like she's daring us to say no just for the sake of arguing back.

If an argument is what she's after, she'll be sorely disappointed.

Charlotte shrugs, picking up an onion ring. "Your face, your choice."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

"Seconded," I agree, sprinkling my chips with salt.

Bailey's eyebrows lift in surprise. She clearly hadn't expected such easy acceptance from us. With a smile, she digs back into her burger and mumbles, "Cool."

We spend the next twenty minutes catching up on life, starting with a discussion on Bailey's English exam. We all take turns sharing Mr. Harden war stories, like the time he balled me out in front of the whole class for correcting his grammar. The bellend wrote the wrong 'whose' on the board three times and had the gall to give me detention because he didn't like my attitude.

My attitude was fine. It's his masters in English that should've been put into question.

From there, the conversation turns towards Charlotte. She tells us about her life at university, her job at the pub she works in, and mentions how Toby – her boyfriend – is driving her up the wall with his obsessive gaming tendencies.

"Oscar would love him," Charlotte laughs, rolling her eyes.

Bailey, who has grown increasingly quieter since Charlotte started talking, snorts a derisive laugh and leans back in her chair. "Not that he'll ever get to meet him," she mutters under her breath, folding her arms. She breaks from the conversation completely, returning her attention to the diner's décor.

Charlotte's smile falters and she throws me a look across the table. It's one that says, 'See what I mean?'

I do see. Bailey is acting a little different with her than normal. It's not a massive difference – barely noticeable, in fact – but it's there.

"So," Charlotte starts, pushing her plate forward in front of her so she can rest her arms on the table. "What's new with you, Bailey?"

Something in Charlotte's tone tips Bailey off. Her head swivels slowly, meeting our older sister's stare straight on.

One beat of silence passes, then two.

Then, Bailey turns to look at me.

"You told her."

I press my lips together awkwardly, ill-prepared for the sudden turn of topic. I hadn't been expecting to hash this out today, on Bailey's birthday of all days.

With a loud sigh, Charlotte jumps in. "Bailey. Don't be mad at Jade."

"I'm not."

The confession surprises all three of us, but Bailey quickly recovers. Turning back to Charlotte, she glares daggers and repeats, "I'm not mad at Jade."

Well, that certainly makes a first.

"Charlotte," I speak up before this can escalate any further. "Please. Can we not do this today? It's Bailey's birthday."

Charlotte and Bailey both look at me with equal expressions of disbelief, probably because me siding against Charlotte is another first. Charlotte and I have never been on different wavelengths before. It's unnerving.

"Look, I'm not trying to start anything," Charlotte replies, lifting her hands with her palms out in defence. "I'm just asking what's new with Bailey."

But it's a loaded question and Bailey knows it.

"Well..." Bailey drawls sarcastically, contemplating her answer as she picks up her napkin, shredding it into thin strips. "I bought myself a new villa in Spain last night with the money from my latest bank job. Oh!" She snaps her fingers. "And there's that new glue sniffing addiction I've got."

Goddammit, Bailey.

"Bailey," I sigh, nudging her foot with mine under the table. "Rein it in."

"Oh, great! I've always wanted a holiday in Spain," Charlotte replies, shocking me by stooping to Bailey's level of sarcasm. Rolling her eyes, she adds, "Maybe I can use your villa while you're in rehab."

"Charlotte," I exclaim, appalled, but I'm interrupted before I can say anything else as the empty chair next to Charlotte is pulled out from our table.

I feel the colour drain from my face as a guy plops down into the seat, the snake tattoo on his neck partially hidden by the collar of his leather jacket.

"Now, now, girls," Donnie Wheatly chides, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. He stretches his legs out and kicks one ankle over the other, a gesture far too casual for the way my stomach threatens to reject the food I just ate. "Not interrupting anything, am I?"

His words, although seemingly harmless, give me chills.

Instinct tells me to run but I can't. My sisters are here; I'm not leaving them.

Lucas promised me this guy wouldn't be a problem again. He certainly seems like a problem right now. And, from the dangerous gleam in his eyes, he seems like a problem with an agenda.

Not good. Really not good.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bailey demands.

I kick her under the table again – much harder this time – in a silent plea for her to shut up. One glance at the expression on my face and Bailey gets the hint, pressing her lips together and looking back at Donnie as he appraises her from across the table.

If anything, the prick looks amused.

Meanwhile, Charlotte inches away from him as subtly as she can, all but perched on the edge of her seat. She doesn't need a kick from me to get the message. Much like me that night outside the chippy, she can tell that this guy is trouble.

She looks at me, her eyes wide, but neither of us say a word.

"A friend of Jade's," Donnie replies eventually, his eyes meeting mine across the table.

The smugness in his expression makes my skin crawl. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

"What do you want?" I ask, finally finding my voice.

It's a strange situation to be in, facing down a psycho who tried to knife me on a housing estate while the bustle of the diner continues around us. The table behind me erupts into raucous laughter. My bones turn to ice.

"Might want to tell Lukey boy that it'll take a lot more than a few broken ribs to keep me away from you, sweetheart."

Donnie winks. I try not to gag.

Our table falls captive to suffocating silence, my sisters and I waiting for his next move.

I really wish they weren't here. I wish he never had this chance to lay eyes on them. I wish they would run.

"And, while you're at it," Donnie sighs, as if as an afterthought. "Give him another message for me, would you?"

He reaches for a chip off Charlotte's plate and bites into it, pulling a face when he realises it's cold. Spitting it into his hand, he drops it back onto her plate with a shameless, "Whoops. Hope you're finished with that, Barbie."

My stomach turns to lead when I see the way he smirks at her.

"What message?" I demand, wanting his attention back on me, on this little power trip he seems to be enjoying so much – anywhere but on either of them.

"Ah, yes." He knocks on the table with his fist as he returns to our conversation, the sound hitting me like a bullet. Leaning back in his chair again, he turns that smirk back to me.

"Tell him Madmax says it's time to make the call."

And, with that cryptic bullshit, Donnie stands and walks away. I watch him to the exit as he passes by Robert Smith in all his greyscaled, wallpaperd glory, leaving through the door without a backward glance.

The tense silence remains at our table long after he's gone, the three of us barely breathing. Adrenaline laces my veins like the purest of heroin, my mind reeling.

I had actually believed when Lucas assured me Donnie was dealt with – how fucking naïve of me.

Charlotte speaks first.

"And that," she says, pointing a shaky finger at the recently vacated seat, her eyes moving between Bailey and I, "is why we don't make friends with drug dealers."

Although, naturally, if there was ever someone who could argue against such a well-crafted point, it would be Bailey.

"How'd you figure that one?" Bailey asks, snorting a humourless laugh. "The Coleman's seem like exactly the sort of friend's I'd want to have, what with the likes of him lurking around."

"You can't be serious," Charlotte scoffs in disbelief.

Oh, but she is.

I sit silently as the pair break out into the same bickering match I'm so familiar with. Vaguely, I'm aware that I should be more involved as Charlotte raises every concern I've raised over the past few weeks, but I can't focus as Bailey bats each one away with the refined skill of a pro baseball player.

My thoughts are still on Donnie's words, trying to decipher them without having the context to understand. Worry sinks my gut like a stone, because he had looked far too pleased with himself as he walked away – almost gleeful, in fact – and I don't like it one bit.

Is Lucas in trouble? Is he in danger?

The thought doesn't sit well with me, at all.

What the fuck does Donnie Wheatly know that I don't? Why did he look so... smug?

Suddenly, my chest feels too tight.

"Are you forgetting that Lucas Coleman has been to prison?"

I tune back into the conversation as Charlotte hisses the words across the table, staring at Bailey in disbelief – as if she's never seen the girl before.

The revelation doesn't surprise me; I've heard the rumours. Assault charges, I believe. Or was it possession? Now that I think about it, it could have been both.

It was years ago.

"I mean, think about that for a second," Charlotte continues, her voice filled with challenge as she glances between Bailey and I like a mother scolding her two, unruly children. "In a town where the police force is so crap, where the legal system is so loosely abided, Lucas Coleman managed to get arrested. What does that tell you?"

Bailey shrugs, unfazed. "That he got on the wrong side of the right people."

Charlotte gives up and looks at me, widening her eyes as if to say, 'Feel free to join in at any point!'

The best I can manage is a shrug.

Breathe. Just breathe. You're fine.

But my chest doesn't loosen.

Charlotte starts to list things off on her fingers. "He deals drugs, he owns a gun, the whole family is full of thieves..."

Bailey sighs and stares up at the ceiling as Charlotte continues. Glancing sideways at me, she mutters, "You literally left nothing out, huh?"

But she seems more disappointed than angry.

"Relax, Charlotte," Bailey then says louder, interrupting our sister mid-list.

Charlotte ignores her and keeps prattling on, now out of fingers to count on.

Under her breath, Bailey says to me, "And I thought you were dramatic."

The prospect of Bailey calling anyone dramatic might be laughable in any normal situation – but nothing feels normal right now.

I try for a smile but can only achieve a grimace, the constriction of my chest now affecting my throat, too.

I can't breathe. There's no air.

Bailey gives me no time to compose myself at all before then saying, rather loudly, "Luke won't do anything that would risk hurting, Jade. Everyone can see the crush he has on her."

There she goes again with that talent of hers, diverting the attention away from herself by making me the prime target. Like a puppet on a string, Charlotte shuts up and focuses her gaze solely on me.

She looks horrified.

"That's not true," I deny, although the way I have to choke the words out makes them sound less than convincing.

Why is it so goddamn hot in here?

"Oh, wake up, Jade," Bailey half sighs, half laughs. She shakes her head at me like I'm the dumbest person alive, and I struggle to focus on the conversation as she says, "It's so obvious."

"Lucas Coleman does not have a crush on me," I snap, fed up of hearing those words. The restricted air in my lungs makes the words come out harsher than intended but, honestly, I'm past the point of caring.

"Oh, no?" Bailey says, raising an eyebrow. "Because he never had to help you that night you got attacked." She says the words, completely unaware that said attacker was sat with us mere minutes ago. "But he chose to."

I open my mouth to argue but she carries on before I get the chance, listing things off on her fingers like Charlotte.

"He never had to let you sleep off your concussion at his place, either. Or help you find Oscar at the bowling alley. Or stop Alex from seeing me when you decided that was for the best. Again, these are all things he chose to do."

I blink, trying to think around my asphyxiation.

"I mean, he's Lucas Coleman – the devil incarnate," Bailey continues sarcastically, motioning at Charlotte's horrified face for emphasis. "Do you really think he'd help just anybody like that? 'Cos I don't – and his brother's don't, either."

Huh?

"Jade," Bailey groans, laughing at my perplexed expression. "For someone so smart, you really are dumb. Alex, Brad, Finn and Drew all have bets on how long it'll take before their brother grows the balls to ask you out."

What?

"And don't go acting like the crush isn't mutual. You're literally blushing," Bailey states, wrapping up her little speech. Overall, she seems quite pleased with herself.

"I..." My words trail off. I have no idea what to say and so, for some reason, I look across at Charlotte for help.

"Well," Charlotte mutters, pursing her lips. "You are blushing."

Am I?

Yes – because it's so fucking hot, and I can't fucking breathe, and I can't fucking think.

"Um..." Again, I have no clue what to say.

Bailey's smirk falters as she watches me, and I think she finally sees the black hole wreaking havoc inside my chest, stripping me bare of all basic functionality. Chewing her lip, she wields her magic again, this time setting the focus on Charlotte to divert attention away from me.

"And don't you go acting so horrified," Bailey snaps at Charlotte, her voice turning to ice. "It's not like you actually care, anyway."

The diversion is extremely successful.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Charlotte demands. Her brow creases into a confused frown. "I don't care?"

I watch the conversation take place like a car crash I'm helpless to stop – Bailey's anger versus Charlotte's indignation. They barrel towards one another, their rev counts increasing with each word spoken. Meanwhile, I stand in the middle of the road with no breath left to yell stop.

"It means exactly what I said," Bailey replies scathingly, leaning forward across the table. "You. Don't. Care. If you did, you would've come home at Christmas."

"Seriously? That's why you're mad at me?" Charlotte asks, chortling in disbelief. "I told you girls I had to work. I had no time or money to visit!"

"No?" Bailey replies, her voice rising as she says, "Well it seems you had enough of both to spend two weeks at your boyfriend's parents' house!"

CRASH!

The cars collide, glass goes everywhere. I get caught in the middle, squished between two crumpled bonnets. There are no survivors.

"What?" I ask, confused. Charlotte lied to us?

The betrayal cuts deeper than even Megan's.

Charlotte's frown smooths into what can only be described as a look of guilt, her eyes wide and mouth struggling to form words as she stares at Bailey. "I... How did you...?"

"I overheard Stella and George talking about it," Bailey says, her voice dripping with the venom I'm so used to having thrown at me.

Charlotte, however, has never been on the receiving end, not like this, and the way she winces proves it.

"You didn't come back at Christmas because you didn't want to. So, yeah, that's why I'm pissed." Bailey glances at me and sighs, suddenly looking extremely fed up. Looking back at Charlotte, she says, "I was trying not to bring it up, but then you just had to get all high and mighty about things happening in my life – as if you in any way care enough to know."

"Bailey," Charlotte whispers, all trace of anger gone. Instead, she looks... lost. When I see her eyes fill with tears, I feel mine do the same. "That's not true. I do care."

But Bailey's having none of it.

"You're a liar and I hate you," she spits out, pushing her chair back and standing up. "I'm done. Happy fucking birthday to me. Come on, Jade. Let's go."

Then, without waiting, Bailey picks up her bag and walks out.

"Jade..." Charlotte says, her expression pleading – but I'm struggling to look at her.

"I don't care that you went to Toby's for Christmas," I mutter, the tightness of my chest settling into a numbness that might actually be worse. "But why did you lie to us about it?"

"It was – I just – I..." Charlotte filters through the words, trying to find the right ones, searching for a way to explain herself.

But it soon becomes clear that she hasn't got one and, in all honesty, I think I've reached my maximum bullshit capacity for one meal.

"I'm going to find Bailey," I mutter, standing up.

"Wait!"

I follow after Bailey and I don't look back.

*********

Well, what's a birthday without a little bit of drama?

I haven't had much time to write recently because... life. As it stands, my update schedule will be working on an 'as and when' basis, so apologies for that!

For once, though... I've actually written a chapter I don't hate. In fact, I'm pretty happy with this one. I've had this talk with Donnie and fallout with Charlotte planned for AGES, so I'm glad that it's finally out of my head and typed up.

Also, thoughts on Alex and Brad's birthday present for Bailey?

I hope you guys enjoyed reading the chapter! Until next time, happy reading!