IT'S HERE. THE FINAL CHAPTER. Maybe listen to "Starstruck" to get yourself in the mood, because that's exactly what I'm doing right now.

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            Several days later, I was lying on my bed with my iPod earphones blasting in my ears.

            Really, it was a miracle that I even realised the phone was ringing; I couldn’t hear anything but the latest Taylor Swift track at full volume in my ears, but there was a vibration on the mattress that had me sitting up after a couple of seconds, wondering what was going on.

            After eliminating the possibility of a miniature earthquake that was hitting my bed and not the rest of my house, I realised the source of vibration was my phone, lying on top of the covers just next to my head. An incoming call was displayed onscreen, but it was from an unknown number.

            I was expecting it to be a cold caller: someone trying to sell me a mortgage or something, regardless of the fact I was only seventeen. Needless to say, I was a little surprised to press the phone to my ear and be greeted with the voice of someone who sounded like they’d just finished running a marathon.

            “Coraline?” the voice said, in a hushed tone forced out between gasps for air.

            “Um, yes,” I said, slightly warily. “Who’s calling?”

            As it turned out, I hadn’t really needed to ask; the moment the voice spoke again, a shot of recognition went through me, sending my heart leaping into my throat. “Meet me at the Viewpoint,” Leon forced out. Once I’d come to terms with the sound of his whispered tone, it was difficult to shake the image of him out of my mind.

            “What?”

            “The Viewpoint,” he repeated, even though I’d heard him the first time. “I need you to meet me there.”

            “Why?”

            “There’s no time to explain.” I wondered where he was, and exactly what strenuous activity had caused him to sound so out of breath. “Can you meet me there in an hour?”

            “I…” My voice trailed off of its own accord; I didn’t really know what to say. I couldn’t even work out whether I wanted to see Leon again. On one hand, there was a part of my heart that was pulling me towards the slightest mention of him – the same part that had enjoyed the first few weeks of summer to such an overwhelming extent – but this was countered by its own resistance. I’d been through hell and back over the past couple of weeks, and that was down to him as well. Seeing him had the potential to ruin my plans to get over the whole experience as quickly as possible.

            Before I could get any more words out, Leon’s voice sounded again. “Please, Coraline. I really want to talk to you. Just give me a chance.”

            And this, it seemed, was enough to break through that resistance; my heart swelled, still pounding with anticipation. “Okay,” I breathed, though I wasn’t sure why it came out so quietly. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

            He barely had time to utter a goodbye before the phone line went dead. I fell back against the bed, my breathing shallow, wondering how on earth I was supposed to make it up the hill to the Viewpoint when I already felt ready to pass out.

***

            He was already there when I arrived.

            I’d timed it to the minute, a perfectionist by nature, so it was an exact hour after the phone call ended that my first footsteps landed on top of the Viewpoint. He was leaning on the railing, his back to my approaching figure, staring out to sea with surprising intent.

            It was only when I stopped in my tracks, and dared to let my voice ring out across the empty space, that he turned on the spot. “Hi.”

            Our eyes locked, and I felt it throughout my entire body; a cold shiver ran right through me despite the pleasant sunshine overhead. His eyes remained as striking as ever, that shade of blue that always popped straight off a magazine page, and ended up doing the same in person. The sea breeze battered his still brown hair, so that it was being ruffled wildly atop his head in a way his previous blond swoop certainly wouldn’t have.

            “Hey.”

            I took a step closer, slowly broaching the distance between us. “You managed to throw off the paparazzi for a while, then?”

            I watched as a small smile curled the corner of his lip, merely twitching, like it was only threatening to turn into something more. “I could say the same to you.”

            Despite trying to make a joke of it, he was right, of course. With photographers developing an unnerving ability to track my every move, a feat only made simpler by Walden’s tiny size, it had only been a streak of luck that saw me able to escape my house without any of them on my tail. I was certainly coming to terms with the art of it all; dodging paparazzi was a skill easily developed through a bit of practice. I’d managed to find my way right up to the Viewpoint – the entrance to which was thankfully secluded – alone.

            “What do you want?” I dared to ask. The challenge in my voice came out unintentionally, and I wasn’t sure whether I regretted it.

            “Obviously, I wanted to talk.” He looked down at me, all traces of the smile vanished from his face, eyes full of something deep and sincere instead. “Or, more specifically, to apologise.”

            “For what?”

            He shook his head. “You know,” he began, gesturing wildly all around us, as if the explanation had us surrounded, “all of this.”

            I was aware of the way my heart felt like it was slowly turning to lead, sinking to the pit of my stomach in a nauseating manner. “It’s not really your fault.”

            Before the words were even fully out of my mouth, he was already making to interrupt. “Of course it’s my fault. I’d be a dick to do anything other than take full responsibility for everything that’s gone on here. I should never have dragged you into it.”

            “I let myself be dragged into it,” I countered. “It wasn’t all you.”

            “I should’ve known better,” he said. “I should’ve thought about it properly. This kind of stuff is standard with me, you know? I barely notice it anymore. I should’ve remembered this isn’t something normal people have to deal with… and yet I forced you into it anyway.”

            “You didn’t force me into anything. I could’ve walked away at any point.”

            “You don’t know how bad I feel about all of this,” he told me. “I’m not even supposed to be here right now – Allison’s going to have a fit when I get back – but I had to come see you. I couldn’t leave it on that note.”

            I forced myself to shrug, in a way that was meant to come out nonchalant, but probably looked anything but. “We both knew it was going to come to this eventually, didn’t we?”

            “I know, but that doesn’t mean any of it is acceptable.” He sighed, shaking his head, and reached up to run a hand through his ruffled hair. It was already so dishevelled that there wasn’t really a visible change. “I’m sorry, Coraline. I’m sorry for the way all this had to turn out. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be somebody different, someone other than stupid Leon McCarthy with paparazzi following my every move. You deserve someone who doesn’t give you all that hassle.”

            “What if I don’t care who I deserve?”

            “Then you should,” he told me, taking my hands within his own. We were standing a little too close now, but neither of us seemed inclined to move away. “The whole fame thing sucks. It sucks because I can’t have people like you in my life. Every time I get too close it ends up wrecking everything. Do you know how hard it is to have to distance yourself from everybody you care about?”

            “I don’t want you to distance yourself,” I whispered. “I don’t care. This summer’s been the best of my life, and I don’t want it to end.”

            “But that’s the thing about summers, Coraline,” he said. “They have to end. And they always do. Especially the best ones.”

            He seemed to notice the way my eyes were glistening, my vision swimming before me underneath a glaze of potential tears, because he squeezed my palm. “You know this has been the best summer of my life, too,” he told me gently. “You have no idea how much I wish things were different. If I could find a way to keep you without making you deal with all this crap, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But that’s not how things work. I’m sorry. I’m not going to let myself do this to you.”

            “What are you saying?” I breathed.

            “I’m saying I’m sorry,” he said, a little too definitively. “And I’m saying we have to stop this. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you’re going to be heading off to university next year, and I’m… well. I’m Leon McCarthy. That’s a full-time occupation in itself. You don’t want to be caught up in that.”

            “So this is it?”

            “We’ll still keep in contact,” he said firmly. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m not losing the friend who was crazy enough to break into a public pool with me in the middle of the night. Those don’t come around every day, you know.”

            I managed a watery smile. “I’m going to miss you.”

            “Hey, I’m going to miss you too. And who knows? When I’m planning my next European tour, I might have to incorporate Walden into my list. Maybe straight after Paris?”

            I laughed. The tears were beginning to subside; despite the weight of the conversation, it was a relief to feel the light undertone, giving off the much-needed impression that all hope wasn’t lost. Just because Leon and I couldn’t be together, in such an intense relationship, didn’t mean we had to break off completely. Bearing this thought in mind, I wrapped my arms around his back, pulling him in for a hug.

            Seconds later, when we pulled apart with matching smiles, he spoke again. “I feel like I kind of owe you something, though.”

            I frowned. “What are you talking about? You don’t owe me anything.”

            “After all the shit I’ve put you through these past two weeks?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Of course I owe you something. And I happen to have an idea I believe you’ll consider the perfect payback.”

            I couldn’t lie. He had me intrigued: a feeling which didn’t let up as he reached over and dug his hand into the front pocket of my jeans, retrieving my phone. When he held it out to me, all I could do was give him a strange look.

            “You owe me my phone?”

            Smirking knowingly, he shook his head. “Nope. Get up the camera.”

            Still confused, I followed his instructions, pulling up the camera icon onscreen and letting the image focus itself. He took a step backward, towards the railing, the view behind him serving as a backdrop. “You get to take one terrible picture of me,” he explained, “and upload it to the internet. But make it a good one. I’ll only feel like we’re even if it goes viral.”

            The surprise must’ve shown on my face, because he laughed. “Allison is going to go crazy when she finds out you’re giving me permission to do this,” I said, shaking my head, but raising the phone all the same.

            “I know. But YOLO and all that, remember?”

            I laughed, remembering the conversation he was referring to. “Okay. Do your worst. I want the worst picture of Leon McCarthy the world’s ever seen. Give me something I can sell for thousands.”

            “Now that,” he said, with a mischievous grin, “is something I can do.”

            And then, all at once, he was doing perhaps the thing I’d least expected. In a flash, he’d dropped his trousers, leaving those same Union Jack print boxers I’d glimpsed some weeks ago on full display. Dropping his hip, and pulling a ridiculous face with one hand in the air, I barely had time to press the button on my phone before collapsing into hysterical laughter.

            “So how’d it turn out?” he asked a minute later, once he’d pulled his jeans back up, and I’d recovered from the worst of the laughing fit. Though the grin was still on my face, spreading almost uncontrollably, I was at least sobering up to the point of speech.

            “Hands down, the best picture this phone will ever take,” I said, waving it in front of his face.

            He caught my wrist, steadying the screen long enough for him to take a look, at which he broke out into a grin of his own. “That is terrible,” he said. “Okay, we’re definitely even now. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you might even owe me a little bit.”

            “Hey. You posed for the picture.”

            “True. And I feel like that’s something I might regret for the rest of my life.”

            I slipped the phone back into my pocket, stepping closer to Leon again. “You’re a right case, Leon McCarthy,” I told him, my mind echoing the same thing he’d said to me, all those weeks ago, back when I’d been so unsure of the nature of the statement. Now, there was no question.

            “Right back at you, Coraline Hart.”

            He pulled me in for another hug, which I gladly returned, squeezing him a little more tightly than necessary. It was strange: even though this was almost certainly a goodbye of some description, it no longer felt sad. Pressed up against each other, enclosed in the warmth of his arms around me, I felt like things were finally falling into place.

            Of course things were never going to work out like that with Leon McCarthy. I’d known that all along.

            But the promise of a friendship with the funniest guy I’d ever met was the next best thing.

            And as I turned away from Leon, setting off on my journey back down the Viewpoint trail with the feel of my phone tucked into my front pocket, I realised he may have just given me exactly what I needed.

***

            “Rosemarie?”

            After knocking several times on her door, I hesitated; I couldn’t be sure whether she’d heard me or not, which came down to the Leon McCarthy track being blasted at full volume inside her room. A few seconds later, however, and my question was answered: her bedroom door was pulled open, and there she stood, meeting my gaze with an inquiring look.

            “Hi,” I said, all other words seeming to have evaporated from my head in the past couple of seconds.

            “Hi,” she returned noncommittally.

            “Can I talk to you?” I asked, in a tone that came out slightly more confident than I was feeling. What I was facing was hardly a lethal challenge – my twelve-year-old-sister didn’t even come close – but the way my heart was pounding could’ve fooled anybody.

            There was a moment’s pause, in which I wasn’t convinced of her answer either way, before the door opened a little wider. “I guess.”

            As I stepped over the threshold, following her in, my eyes couldn’t help but catch on the Leon-related merchandise that covered every square inch of her room. At least twenty two-dimensional images of him stared back at me from her walls, wearing that priceless peppy smile, the effect likened somewhat to being inside a house of mirrors. As she passed her stereo, she reached over to twist the volume dial and the track quietened significantly.

            “So,” she said, once she’d lowered herself onto the end of her bed and left me hovering awkwardly on my feet, “talk.”

            I didn’t know why, but my throat suddenly felt like sandpaper, like I was about to deliver a speech to thousands instead of one twelve-year-old sibling. Clearing my throat, I tried to suppress the growing sense of nervousness. “I want to apologise.”

            It seemed like she’d been expecting it; she didn’t flinch, but there was an expectation in her expression anyway, like she was willing to hear me out. That had to be a good sign.

            “I want to apologise,” I said again, “for acting like a really shitty big sister. I’m sorry for keeping all this from you. I just got carried away with the whole thing, and I didn’t stop to think about how it would look from your point of view. I know you love Leon, and you probably feel like I betrayed you, but you’ve got to believe me when I say I’m really sorry, Rosemarie.”

            She was quiet for a few seconds, which seemed to stretch a lot longer than they actually were, before finally speaking. “Are you two dating?” she asked.

            “No,” I told her. “No, we’re not. We’re just… we’re just friends. I promise.”

            This seemed to surprise her a little; I could see it in her eyes. What she had to say next, however, meant it was my turn to be caught off guard. “Was he nice?”

            I frowned. “Sorry?”

            “Was he nice?” she repeated. “Leon, I mean. What was he really like?”

            That had to be a good sign – or at least that’s what I told myself as I tried to swallow over any doubt. “He was really nice,” I told her truthfully. “Down to earth. And funny. Really, really funny.”

            She nodded slowly, as if taking it all in. “I thought he would be.”

            “I really am sorry, Rosemarie. I know how much you like him.”

            Her gaze flickered up to meet mine, and I realised I’d subconsciously stepped closer, putting us now close enough for me to really inspect her freckled face.  “It’s okay,” she said eventually. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

            “You’re not?”

            “No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I know I was acting stupid. You didn’t really do anything wrong. I was just so caught up in the fact you’d been hanging out with Leon and I didn’t know…” She trailed off, picking at one of the bracelets threaded on her wrist. “I was being selfish.”

            The relief I felt was almost overwhelming; the realisation that Rosemarie wasn’t going to be mad at me forever had come crashing over me with all the force of a tsunami. It had been such an uncertainty over the past few days that to have it in front of me, the prospect of a real resolution, had me verging on elation.

            “So we’re okay?” I asked.

            She met my gaze for a silent second or two, before the corner of her lip curled into a small smile. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

            And as the distance between us dwindled, with me closing the gap to pull her into a much-needed hug, the thought I’d been sitting on all the way home occurred to me. “Hey,” I said, releasing my sister from my grip and looking at her once more, “I’ve got something for you.”

            Her brow furrowed a little; she hadn’t been expecting it. “You have? What is it?”

            With my arms retracted from around her, I dug into my pocket for my phone, pulling it out. It only took a couple of swipes and taps with my thumb for my action to be completed; then, I lifted my head to catch her gaze. “Check your text messages.”

            As if on cue, I heard her phone vibrate on the desk, the noise audible throughout the whole room. She was still peering at me curiously, frozen in her original spot, not daring to move. “Go on,” I urged her, cocking my head toward where it lay on the tabletop. “Go look at it.”

            A little warily, she leaned over to retrieve it, opening up the message that had just been delivered. A few seconds, and it happened: she caught sight of it, and burst into laughter. “What is this?” she asked, clasping a hand over her uncontrollable grin.

            “That,” I began, with a smile of my own, “is a world exclusive picture of Leon McCarthy, that’s just asking to go viral on the internet.”

            “What are you doing sending it to me?” she asked. “I mean, it’s hilarious and everything, but what do you want me to do with it?”

            “Well.” She was studying my expression, and I couldn’t control the grin that had spread across my face. My sister’s was more infectious than I’d anticipated. “I thought you, Rosemarie Hart, would maybe like to have the honour of being the first person to post this on Twitter.”

            For the first few seconds, she just looked at me, incredulous. “Are you joking?” she asked. “Are we really supposed to be putting this on the internet?”

            “I happen to have permission from the man himself,” I told her, though that didn’t exactly do much to clear up any of her confusion. “He insisted, in fact. And I thought you’d be the right person for the job.”

            “Seriously?” she said, to which I nodded. “I’ll get thousands of followers if I post this!”

            “What are you waiting for, then?” I gestured towards the phone in her hand, which was still poised in midair, her thumb hovering over the button. “Get posting. You’re going to be internet famous.”

            The look on her face was nothing short of cute; she couldn’t contain any of her delight, like the thought of an influx of new Leon-loving followers was the best thing in the world. Then, all of a sudden, she ducked her head, and her fingers began violently tapping on the screen like she couldn’t get all her thoughts out fast enough.

            And as she typed away furiously in the corner, I turned my attention down to my own phone, and began tapping out a message of my own.

            You ready for the whole world to see your hideous boxers? it read.

            A minute later, and Leon’s reply came back, exactly the type of thing I’d been expecting.

            I’m always ready, Coraline. Bring it on.

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AND THAT'S IT. I can't believe this story's over. It was intended to be a short story for last summer, but it actually ended up taking me over a year to finish. Better late than never, right?

Thank you so, so much for sticking with me through this whole thing, because I know the updates have been ridiculously sporadic. You're among the most patient fans in the world, and I'm very lucky to have you.

So, for the last time, love you guys. Until next time (on whichever project I decide to work on next) <3