Scott Kellerman

Our year group spills out into the hallway, chatter and laughter bouncing off of the walls, their heads too quickly emptied of the contents of the assembly. As my swarm leaves the hall, I sling my backpack over my shoulder with one hand, and reach up with ease to slap the top of the door frame with the other.

"Ah, fuck off, Mr. Six Foot One, we get it," my mate Gordon grumbles with an accompanying scowl. I squat as I walk alongside his shorter frame just to piss him off.

"Sorry, little G. This better?"

I get a burst of laughter from the rest of the group, who ruffle Gordon's hair, ribbing him about drinking all his milk so he grows up big and strong. I laugh before my attention turns to navigating the crowd.

Almost instantly, my eyes locate Evangeline on the stairway with her friends. I blame it on the adorably bright pink sweater she's got on today. That and the strawberry blonde waves of hair that tumble down her back. She has it clipped back, so every time she turns her head to address one of her friends, it swishes behind her like a waterfall.

Part of me hopes she'll look back for a moment, and I'll get another sweet, shy smile. When we locked eyes in the hall, I could see her hesitation – her tentative hand in her lap, uncertain of whether to say hi or stay still. So, I took the leap and waved a hand, clear and high. The smile was somewhat involuntary on my part, and for a second, I panicked that I'd made a tit of myself and looked way too eager for a guy who could barely get a text back. But she smiled back. She waved back. I gave Jimi shit for not paying attention in the assembly, but if I'm honest, after that, my head was in the clouds too.

She's intent as she speaks now, although I can't hear a word of what she's saying over the hubbub of the mob. Everyone's abuzz with the back-to-school feeling.

I'm snapped out of my trance when Jimi claps his baseball mitt of a hand against my back with a school spirit of his own, although I don't think it's the kind the teachers would approve of.

"Kellieee," he grins with a Cheshire gleam, "party in Aldwych this Saturday night. We're going."

I side-eye him as I let out an amused sigh. I've known Jimi since we were just kids trying to make mates at Scouts – long enough to know that when Jimi Coker tries to convince you of something, he'll convince you no matter how long it takes.

"You didn't hear Madison?" I point at the double doors we just left, although I know for a fact he was preoccupied with Snapchat for the better part of the assembly. "Exams are in 3 months, mate. I'm studying Saturday."

Jimi frowns dramatically, and the mitt on my back becomes an arm slung roughly around my shoulder,

"We're naturals, mate. We could ace them things with a week to prepare. Besides, all work and no play makes Scott a very boring bastard indeed."

In his dramatic insistence, he doesn't notice when his backpack collides with an innocent bystander's handheld stack of textbooks. The spectacled girl shoots a glare at the back of Jimi's head, and rolls her eyes when she spots the rest of the group, all jostling and carrying on with the air of arrogant youth. I don't blame her. They're good lads deep down, but on the surface, they can be right pricks, meaning I try to make up for it most of the time with apologies to innocent bystanders and sizeable tips to patient restaurant staff.

"Sorry about him," I say, kneeling in the rabble to help her regather the books, "he's got the manners and peripheral awareness of a bull."

"Oh, no worries, it's totally fine," she insists, her glare easing as she blushes, "Chemistry's a pain anyway. Thank you."

She smiles, holding my gaze, and I smile with a nod before catching up with Jimi, who, unsurprisingly, is still beaming with the promise of the party.

"Mate, what are we doing at a party in Aldwych, anyway? Isn't that, like, an hour on the train?"

Jimi waves a dismissive hand,

"It'll be chill, man. A bunch of the Eton guys are coming up, and we're all pregaming on the train. It'll feel like it lasts 2 minutes."

I really did plan to study Saturday night. God knows I need it. But God also knows Jimi's persistence. I snicker a low-down joke that I hope will get him off my back,

"I bet you know all about lasting 2 minutes."

Jimi lets out a raucous guffaw, evading the librarian's stare as we pass by,

"Nah, Kellie, I'm a marathon man – just ask your mum."

"Prick," I snort, tripping him up with a firm foot stuck out in front of him. Jimi lands ingloriously on his back, scowling, and I put my hands up in innocent surrender when the librarian's frown intensifies.

"Don't try changing the subject, Scott," he points a knowing finger at me from the ground, "we're going to that party."

I extend a hand down to help him up, and give him the answer he wants for now,

"Yeah, yeah, alright, what's on your timetable for today?"

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Occasionally, being able to see the penthouse from the library window makes me feel like a bit of a rich prick. But living within walking distance from school definitely has its perks, and with everything going on now that we're counting down to final exams, today, I'm particularly grateful that the safe haven of my sofa is a stone throw away.

Being so close to school also means that Jimi takes it upon himself to invite himself over on most days, but he's my best mate and his company makes for a great end to any shitty school day... Except on days like today when his chosen topic of discussion is... less than ideal.

"I'm telling you, Scott, it's foul," Jimi cackles, spurred on by my grimace, "I've got to show you when we get to the house. It's, like, different colours all over and shit."

To his continued amusement, I shudder as I look over at him,

"What the fuck gives you the impression that I want to see your athlete's foot for the third time this month? Get that thing checked out, man."

"I have! Footie's been keeping it alive, but doctor says I've just gotta let it breathe and keep putting the powder on it. I'll put it on when we get upstairs," he says when we stop outside the revolving doors of my building so I can fish my key card out of my bag.

"Remind me why you can't go home and do this rank shit at your own house?"

"Because I have a very generous best mate who has very kindly opened his luxury home to me," he beams, his grin widening when I roll my eyes. "Plus, mummy and daddy dearest still think I'm doing chess club after school – to expand the expanses of my cerebrum." He puts on a laborious Nigerian accent to mimic his father's, cracking us both up.

"You're the biggest bullshitter I know, Coker," I laugh, shaking my head as we walk to the elevator across the marble floors of reception. "Alright, Tony?"

Tony, our moustachioed doorman, lifts his grand top hat in salute as he greets,

"Afternoon, Mr. Kellerman! Good first day back? Alright, Jimi?"

"Better than ever, T. Athlete's foot's back again, though."

"Again!" I hide my low chuckle at his reaction as turn to I press the button for the 50th floor. "You didn't try my apple cider vinegar recipe, did you? I'm telling you, mix some ACV with a little tea tree oil – Bob's your uncle."

Jimi winks a pointed finger as he backs into the lift,

"You're the man, T. I'll keep you posted."

Once the doors are closed, he's fluffing his hair in the crystal mirror, but soon catches my disappointed stare.

"What? If you don't want to hear about my pressing health issues, Tony's always got my back."

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"I'm home!" I call out into the high-ceiling home, although I don't really expect anyone to answer. As expected, nobody does.

"Aw, no Thea?" Jimi pouts, referring to our housekeeper as he kicks his shoes off so forcefully that they land on the other side of the living room. He begins making his way to his favourite part of my house – the kitchen – but I yank him back by his tweed jacket before he eats me out of house and home.

"Hey, hey, Thea or not, we're not animals," I point at the smart shoes strewn by the window, "shoes by the door." Once he obliges, I loosen my tie, and start up the spiral staircase to my bedroom. But a note on the kitchen counter catches my eye first, and when I jog back down the steps to glance over it, I'm left unsurprised.

Hi darling! Hope you had a good day! I'm out for drinks with the girls for the evening, so don't wait up. Have some friends over if you want! Thea will be in at 6 to make dinner, but I know you can take care of yourself. See you later, Mummy xxx

P.S. Check your desk xx

I sigh, shrugging off my bag before I start up the stairs again. Divorce throws everything up in the air, and they say the dust settles soon enough, but ever since the settlement, Mum's been frantically filling her social calendar with mimosa mornings and new husbands. I've lost count of both.

But I'm good. I have my solace, and I pick up a big pile of it with an eager grin when I get up to my room. Every weekend, I travel around London with my film camera, snapping pictures of every scenic view I stumble across – the view from the Sky Garden; crowds on Primrose Hill – and Mum, with the aid of her big-name photography contacts, gets them developed and supersized for me to add to my bedroom wall portfolio. Her way of making up for being too busy to come with me, I guess.

I rifle through the fresh stack on my desk, and the familiar acrid smell is a welcome bitterness as it permeates the air. I waste no time tacking them, putting my favourite in the centre: Lola by the London eye – an unevenly speckled Australian Shepherd puppy, who flashed me a panting smile as soon as she spotted my camera. Taken with her owner's permission, of course.

I stand back satisfied once it's up, admiring my growing collection.

"That's some beautiful shit, Kellie," Jimi's voice comes from the door, startling me.

"Jimi, get the fuck out." I say, shoving him out myself, slightly embarrassed to have been caught. But, insistent as ever, Jimi lodges the door open with his foot.

"It is! You should enter that shit into contests or something, for real."

"Stop calling it shit then," I laugh, forcing the door shut, "and get out."

"But I'm hungry," he says in a small voice from behind the closed door. "And I was hoping a certain someone might make his world-famous grilled mango sundae."

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"Ow!" Jimi cries when I whip his hand away from the mangos on the grill with the dish towel over my shoulder.

"You wanted it – no touching 'til it's done," I scold as I shield the mangos from his grabby hand. "It's almost done anyway, get the coconut ice cream from the fridge."

He scowls as he stands from his stool and heads to the second freezer, knowing the house just as well as I do.

"So, Saturday. Where do we stand?"

I drop my head and groan. I should've known better than to think he'd forget.

"Same place we did this morning, Jimi," I shrug, "studying." By 'studying' I mean another photo session, but studying's a shorter excuse, and a less private one. "Whose party is it, anyway? I don't know anyone in Aldwych."

Jimi fishes his phone out of his pocket with one hand, as he places the tub of ice cream down on the counter with the other.

"Barbara," he reads, "from your Econ class, actually."

My heartbeat speeds up so fast, I place a flat palm on the counter to steady myself.

"Oh, her?" I answer as nonchalantly as I can.

Barbara. As in 'never seen without Evangeline' Barbara. As in, if she's throwing a party, it's 99.9% sure that Evangeline will be there too. No big deal.

I keep my eyes down, focused on scooping ice cream, but Jimi knows me too well and clambers over the counter to grab me by the shoulders.

"Careful!"

"Don't 'oh, her' me – I know for a fact you're fucking buzzing right now, and I know for a fact that we are going to that party. No way you'd pass up the chance to be at the same party as EFC."

It takes all my strength not to match his grin when he uses the acronym we've used for Evangeline since I first developed a schoolboy crush. 'EFC': Evangeline Flippin' Channing. We weren't allowed to curse then.

"Stop bloody calling her that – we're cool now, it's just Evangeline Channing. Or just Evangeline, I dunno."

"Mhm, whatever you say, pal. As long as we're going to that party, and you don't chicken out at the last moment, you can call her whatever you like. Now stop blushing and hand over the sundae."