Scott Kellerman

The Channings' house might just be the coziest I've ever seen.

And not 'cosy' in the 'I'm trying to call your house small without offending you' way that posh people mean it, but genuinely cosy.

The kitchen isn't massive: it's big enough for a lively family breakfast and no bigger. Family holiday photos hang and/or stick to every surface they can, from the fridge to the corridor walls. There are fuzzy rugs under thrifted lampshades, and it couldn't feel more like a home if it tried.

When Evangeline opened that front door, looking oh-so-cosy in an oversized hoodie and the cutest little pink pyjama shorts, and the weak golden porch light lit up her freckled ivory skin, it all clicked. Of course...

Of course she came from the kind of home with a witty welcome mat, and a loving little sister, and a mother that was a mother but knew how to have a little fun.

Evangeline's always had this fire about her. I'd often wondered where it came from, and what gave her that little light that she takes with her everywhere she goes.

But I watched them all; their faces bright with laughter as August helped their mum up the stairs to bed, and Evangeline helped mine find the bathroom. Before she disappeared up the stairs, Evangeline turned back to me for a moment, her twinkle alive in her eye as she shot me a bright grin and a mimed 'be right back!' In that instant, I couldn't help but think yep. Now that's a family full of light.

"Is she ready to go?" I stand to my feet and ask Evangeline when she re-enters the living room.

"Umm," she sings with her head tilted and eyes wandering suspiciously.

"Oh no. What's she done?"

"Nothing! She's just... she fell asleep in my room."

Before I can march upstairs and haul her out of Evangeline's bed and into the car, Evangeline grabs hold of my jacket sleeve, tugging me back.

"Scott, it's fine!"

"It's not, Evangeline. You shouldn't have to go without a bed just because my mother got piss drunk. I'll go up and get her."

Wait. She's sleeping in Evangeline's room.

"Uh, I mean, may I go and get her?"

"No you may not," Evangeline teases, and this time she grabs my whole arm to yank me down onto the cushion beside her.

"Scott, seriously. We have a guest room and an array of lovely sofas for me to choose from," she says, with a robotic hostly smile as she gestures to the chairs.

I can tell she means it when she settles into the sofa, her legs crossed comfortably beneath her. "Plus, I'm sure she'll be up soon enough. You can just chill here if you want, until then?"

"Chill here? Like, with you, you mean?" I ask stupidly. Smooth, Scott.

"Duh. It'll be like a sleepover!" She cheeps. "Come on – we can play Knock Down Ginger, braid each other's hair, tell our deepest, darkest secrets..."

I don't even know if it's a good idea, but my heart rate picks up and I give in to her adorable little grin before I can stop myself.

"Alright. You've sold me," I smile, with no clue what I'm in for.

"Wonderful."

***

"...Are you sure these are for cereal?"

Evangeline hands me a gigantic bowl, piled high with Coco Pops, and I can guess her answer from the mischievous grin she's got on as she hops onto the kitchen counter.

"I am positive," she says, handing me a spoon identical to hers, "that they are not. Now sit down and eat up."

"Yes ma'am."

I take a seat at one of the stools tucked under the table she's sat on, and attempt to pretend that I'm not consciously and obsessively trying not to stare at her exposed legs that are swinging less than a foot away from me. I attempt.

"So what's this about then? Do you make a habit of having obscenely large bowls of cereal at ... 1am?" I joke, glancing down at my watch.

She nods, looking rather proud of herself.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I don't know, there's just something about having cereal after midnight that makes it taste better, you know?"

"Hm."

As I dig into the bowl, I realise she's right. The taste of chocolate-y toasted rice things hours away from breakfast is surprisingly comforting.

"Hey, since when were our mums friends? They've been in the PTA together forever but, like, never spoken to each other."

It's a good question, and one I was considering too. I shake my head.

"No clue. I was just as surprised as you when my mum asked me to pick them up. Or in her words..." I open up the text message on my phone, and squint in my best attempt to read the gibberish. "Piack up me + friend."

Evangeline laughs when she leans over me to read the message, her jasmine and vanilla scent, and a hint of a chocolate-y aroma, filling my nose as she does.

"Wow. Who knew the PTA was the place to find a drinking buddy, hey?"

"I know," I nod, surprised in equal measure. "Especially since my mum isn't really the kind to find friends at PTA meetings."

Evangeline raises a quizzical brow, and once she's finished her mouthful, her tone is playful as she asks,

"No? Where does she usually find her friends?"

There's really no way to answer the question without giving at least a little insight into the sort of family I come from. I take a deep breath and dig around for a spoonful of cereal before answering.

"People like my parents don't really 'find' friends," I shrug. "You throw massive parties and walk the red carpet at Cannes and you pick from the lot that flock to you."

It's the truth, but once I hear it aloud, I clench my eyes shut in embarrassment.

"Oh shit, that makes her sound stuck up as hell, doesn't it?"

"Don't worry," Evangeline laughs, probably just to ease my regret.

"If it makes you feel any better, my mum can be sort of stuck up too."

"Right; you're just trying to make me feel better."

"I'm serious! Look, can you keep a secret?" She extends her milk-dowsed spoon towards me with utmost seriousness. Naturally, I raise mine to meet hers, and she glares at me as she clinks the two together, as though the chocolate-y milk binds me to secrecy.

"My mum kind of hated yours."

"Pardon?" I cough. "She hates her?"

"Hated!" She assures me, laughing at my horrified expression. "It's past tense, I promise. You remember that time I went for a play date at your house in Year 2?"

Like it was yesterday. "Uh yeah, I think that rings a bell," I squint.

"Apparently, when my mum came to pick me up, she didn't like how your mum had butlers running around the house, and chauffeurs picking you up from school and stuff. She just kind of assumed your mum was a snob and wanted me as far away from that as possible."

It's understandable really. Most people come to the same conclusion about Mum. The only difference is that they look past it because she has money and status. In all honesty, I kinda respect the fact that her mum didn't do the same.

"You're not mad, are you?" Evangeline pouts, and it's at times like these that I wonder if she knows how I feel about her. She knows that I couldn't be mad at her even if I tried.

"I don't know, Evangeline," I say, folding my arms exaggeratedly. "I'm truly, deeply hurt. I don't know how I'll ever get over this. I mean, will our friendship ever recover from 11 missed years?"

She giggles when I shake my head forlornly. Playing along, she puts a dainty hand to her forehead in distress.

"Oh, I don't know. How will we ever make up for the time lost? Who knows where we'd be if we'd known each other all along!"

That twinkle in her eye spurs me on, and before I know it I'm grinning along at all the stupid possibilities with her.

"I reckon we could've been big: the next Batman and Robin, even!"

"Or Cory and Topanga! What if we would've been childhood sweethearts, Scott?" She sighs dramatically, clutching at my arm all damsel-in-distress-like.

That one's my favourite, and the fact that she said it makes me feel dizzy: before I even know what I'm saying, I blurt like an idiot,

"God, what if. At least then that prick Macklin wouldn't have had the chance to break your heart."

And just like that, our little bubble of excitement and ease pops, and her gleeful expression drops instantly.

"Shit," I gasp. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Fuck. Evangeline, I'm so sorry, I- didn't mean to just... say it like that."

"Ouch," she laughs softly. She puts a hand to her heart when she laughs, but I can tell she's genuinely hurt, and fuck, why did I say that?

"I'm such a dick, I'm so sorry," I say again. I should have been the last person to bring that up.

"It's alright," she says, even though I don't think it is. "Besides, you're not wrong."

I'm an idiot for saying it. A colossal idiot.

But she's right: I'm not wrong. If I'd been as close to her then as I am now, Macklin wouldn't have had the chance to do what he did. He wouldn't have come anywhere fucking near her.

When she looks up from her lap to my face, the same sad smile still plays on her lips, and I know she's speaking from her heart before she says anything.

"You're not wrong at all; I'd have had a much better time with you." She lets out a little laugh, and I do too, just out of sheer relief that she isn't furious with me.

"I don't know, I guess I just felt so much like an adult with him, you know? I thought that having to lie to people I loved meant that I had something special. Some stupid part of me liked that I was willing to bend over backwards for him.

Like, I genuinely thought 'oh, we must be soul mates, or else why would this be so hard? Why else would there be so many things in our way?'"

I watch her for a moment or two, her lip quivering as she thinks, and all I want to do is hold her, hug her, tell her how sorry I am that that asshole ever even met someone as amazing as her.

"It's whatever, it doesn't even make sense." Her head lowers and her posture shrinks, and I can feel her regretting opening up.

"No, it does!" I say, a little too eagerly, almost knocking my bowl of milk over in the process. She doesn't catch it, thankfully.

"It does make sense," I try again, with a bit more nonchalance.

"I think it's 'cause we're young. We think that anything worth feeling or having or knowing will come when we're older, but we want it now. So we settle for things we don't really want, and put up with pain and bullshit because we think it's the cost of getting the good bits early."

I take a breath, ready for her roll her eyes or change the subject, but Evangeline, she's got this look – fixed, frank eyes as she bites at her lip – and I have no clue if it's a good sign or not, but she hasn't told me to shut the fuck up yet, so I keep going.

"But we've already got the good bits, you get me? Like, we've got love and friends and hope and a future, and that's the real stuff. But we miss it 'cause we're chasing after heartbreak and adulthood and shit. The good bits are as good as we let them be – we just have to pay attention. You know?"

I scratch at my thumb awkwardly, and being this honest makes you feel kind of naked. Being around Evangeline seems to bring out the honesty in me.

"Damn. Look at you, Kellerman," she marvels, impressed. I can only crack a shy smile.

"Talk about a fount of wisdom, hey?"

"Nah, I'm just waffling."

"Mhm."

With her sassy hum, she hops off of the counter, fitting my milk-filled bowl into her empty one, before taking them both off to the sink. She shushes me when I try to help.

"Go on then; tell me about it."

"It?" I ask, confused. I can't see her face as she rinses the dishes, but the lilt in her voice lets me know she's amused.

"Your love life," she shrugs. "Whatever or whoever it is making you so knowledgeable about all things romance-related."

"Not much to tell. There's nothing going on," I say, dodging her compliment swiftly. She disappears behind the fridge door for a second, and hands me a gleaming green bottle of Heineken when she reappears. Her head is tilted incredulously.

"Oh, as if. The famous Scott Kellerman has 'nothing going on'?" She scoffs, taking a sip from her bottle. "I don't believe it for a second."

I shrug, and I hope the deepening colour of my face isn't giving away how ironic this line of questioning is.

"I don't know," I laugh, "I'm just... going with the flow for now, I guess."

Until I figure out how to tell you how I feel.

"Going with the flow, huh? What about Bonnie?" This time, she takes a seat on the stool directly next to me. "You guys went out a few years back, right? I've heard the guys talking about how she's always giving you eyes and all that."

In case her implication wasn't clear, she pokes me in the side with a slight smirk, and I can't help but look away, even though I know it'll give her the wrong idea.

"Y'know, you're the second person to ask me about her today..."

"Ooh, so there is some truth to the rumours..."

"Well. Bonnie and I barely dated; it was just... Year 10 shit, you know?" I stretch languidly, scratch my head, take too big of a sip of my beer – anything that'll make it clear that Bonnie's not the one I'm interested in.

"I don't know, Kellerman," she says, and her voice lilts with its teasing tone. "Word in the changing rooms is that you and Bonnie are an on-and-off item..."

The teenage prick in me wants to lie and grab the opportunity to make her jealous. Yeah, Bonnie and I hook up now and again – better act fast if you're interested.

It's fucked up, I know. It appeals to some warped, spineless part of the adolescent brain that makes you see people in a different light; that makes you want people you never really wanted just because someone else wants them. But I don't want to play any games when it comes to Evangeline.

I shake my head.

"Nah. I don't what she's saying, but we definitely aren't a 'thing' anymore. I think she just makes up whatever she feels like saying to be the centre of attention."

"That sounds like Bonnie."

"Mhm. Last I remember, she was telling people she dumped me because I was a shite kisser," I snort.

"Are you?" Evangeline asks, one corner of her mouth raised.

"Am I what?"

"A shite kisser." She repeats my parlance unflinchingly.

"Um," I splutter, almost choking my sip of beer.

"I don't think so. I mean, no, I'm not. I'm a goo- decent, um, kisser, I guess. I mean, what is a 'good kisser', anyway? Not that I'm not one, of course, I just mean th-"

Evangeline's cheeks are bright red with amusement as she tries to hide her laughter behind clasped hands, although it's no use.

I feign offence with a wide-eyed blink.

"Excuse me, I'm trying to bare my soul to you here, and you're laughing at me?"

"No! No, I'm not!" She says, indeed laughing so hard she can hardly catch her breath.

"I just wasn't expecting that."

"No?" Something about her reaction makes me feel involuntarily charming.

"What were you expecting then? That I'd be some kind of Don Juan kissing expert?"

"Considering how the girls in that school worship you, I was thinking you'd at least have written a handbook or something."

Her tongue digs into her cheek as she teases me, dragging her stool closer to mine until she's so close that I can smell nothing but jasmine, vanilla and beer.

"No handbook yet, I'm afraid," I smirk. "Still working on that one."

"Aw, how disappointing."

"Why, were you hoping for some pointers?"

Evangeline scoffs.

"From you? According to Bonnie's review, I'd be better off without."

"Ouch! So, what, are you the expert, then? Should I be coming to you for advice?"

"You just want to know if Bonnie was right or not."

"I know for a fact she wasn't."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word over hers, am I?"

"You know, Evangeline, if you want me to kiss you, you can just say that. It's understandable."

When a loud laugh escapes her, she leans away from me and smacks a hand over her mouth. It's her move now. I don't know what's gotten into me, but the same thing is in her and she eyes me as she tips the base of her beer bottle to the ceiling and takes a long swill.

"Okay, then." Her glass clinks against the countertop. "Do it."

"...What?"