Free Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

reckless cyclists, men and women sweating in suits, desperate to get home, ferries and tugboats passing below. Gravel crunches underfoot as we cross the large, empty expanses between the glass office buildings, past the luxury apartments that stack their way high into the sky. It is so sunny that the world feels like a blank of light, a stil whiteness. I toss Lochan my bag, take a running step, skip and hop, and do a cartwheel, the grainy path rough against my palms. The sun momentarily disappears and we are plunged into cool blue shade as we pass beneath the bridge, our footsteps suddenly magnified, bouncing off the smooth arch of the supports, startling a pigeon up into the sky. A few paces to my left, keeping a safe distance from my antics, Lochan strides along, hands in his pockets, shirtsleeves roled up to the elbows. A light thread of veins is visible on his temples, and the shadows beneath his eyes lend him a haunted look. He glances at me with his bright green gaze and gives one of his trademark lopsided smiles. I grin and do another cartwheel, and Lochan lengthens his stride to match mine, appearing faintly amused. But when his gaze shifts away, the smile fades and the lip-biting starts up again. Despite his loping presence at my side, I feel there is a space between us, an indefinable distance. Even when his eyes are on me, I sense that he doesn’t quite see me, his thoughts somewhere else, out of reach. I lose my footing coming out of a forward walkover and stumble against him, almost relieved to feel him solid and alive. He laughs briefly and steadies me but quickly goes back to sucking his lip, his teeth chafing the sore. When we were young, I could do something sily and break the spel, pul him out of it, but now it’s harder. I know there are things he doesn’t tel me. Things he has on his mind. When we reach the shops, we buy pizza and Coke from a takeaway and head towards Battersea Park. Inside the gates, we wander out into the middle of the vast expanse of greenery, away from the trees, aligning ourselves with the sun, now lying westward and losing its briliance. Cross-legged, I examine a bruise on my shin while Lochan kneels in the grass, opening the pizza box and handing me a slice. I take it and stretch out my legs, lifting my chin to feel the sun on my face.
    ‘This is a milion times nicer than hanging out with those dorks from school,’ I inform him. ‘That was a good move, leaving when you did.’
    Munching solidly, he shoots me a penetrating look and I can tel he is trying to read my mind, seeking the motive behind my words. I meet his gaze ful on, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards as he realizes I am being completely honest.
    I give up on the food before he does and lean back on my elbows, watching him eat. He’s clearly starving. I open my mouth to tel him he has tomato sauce on his chin, then change my mind. My smile, however, doesn’t go unnoticed.
    ‘What?’ he asks with a brief laugh, swalowing his last mouthful and wiping his hands on the grass.
    ‘Nothing.’ I try to reel in the smile, but with his red-streaked chin, tousled hair, untucked shirt and grubby cuffs flapping loosely against his hands, he looks like a taler, dark-haired version of Tiffin at the end of a busy school day.
    ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he persists, regarding me quizzicaly, a touch self-conscious now.
    ‘Nothing. I was just thinking of what Francie says about you.’
    A hint of wariness touches his eyes. ‘Oh, not that again . . .’
    ‘Your dimples are apparently very cute.’ I bite back a grin.
    ‘Ha ha.’ A little smile and he is looking down, puling at the grass, a flush creeping up his neck.
    ‘And you have arresting eyes – whatever that means.’
    A grimace of embarrassment. ‘Piss off, Maya. You just made that up.’
    ‘I didn’t. I’m teling you – she says things like that. What else . . . ? Oh yes: your mouth is apparently very snoggable.’
    He chokes,