Free When Dogs Cry by Markus Zusak

transport), and I knew that things would have to go right today. I felt like I’d earned it.
    My thoughts veered with the train.
    My heart held itself back.
    When Hurstville came, I stood up and made my way out, and to my amazement, I found Octavia’s street without any problems. Usually when it comes to directions I’m an absolute shocker.
    I walked.
    I looked at each house, trying to guess which one was number thirteen Howell Street.
    When I made it, I found the house to be nearly as small as where I lived, and red brick. It was getting dark, and I stood there, waiting and hoping, hands in pockets. There was a fence and a gate, and a close-cut lawn with a path. I began wondering if she’d come out.
    People came from the station.
    They walked past me.
    Finally, when the same darkness as the previous day overcame the street, I turned away from the house and faced the road, half-sitting, half-leaning on the fence. A few minutes later, she came.
    I could barely hear the front door open or her footsteps coming towards me, but there was no mistaking the feeling of her behind me when she stopped and stood within reaching distance. I could feel her and imagine her heartbeat . . .
    I shiver even now as I remember the feeling of her cool hands on my neck, and the touch of her voice on my skin.
    â€˜Hi Cameron,’ she said, and I turned around to face her. ‘Thanks for coming.’
    â€˜It’s okay,’ I spoke. My voice was dry and cracked open.
    I smiled then, I remember, and my heart swam in its own blood. There was no holding back any more. In my mind, I had gone over moments like this a thousand times, and now that I was truly in one, there was no way I could blow it. I wouldn’t allow myself.
    I went along the fence and into the gate, and when I made it over to Octavia, I picked up her hand and held it in mine.
    I raised her hand to my mouth and kissed it. I kissed her fingers and her wrist as gently as my clumsy lips could, and when I looked at her face, I could tell this had never happened to her before. I think she’d only been taken forcefully, and my gentleness must have surprised her.
    Her eyes widened.
    The expression on her face came that little bit closer.
    Her mouth merged into a smile.
    â€˜Come on,’ she said, leading me out the gate. ‘We don’t have long tonight,’ and, close to touching, we moved onto the path.
    We walked down the street to an old park where I searched myself for things to say.
    Nothing came.
    All I could think of was utter crap like the weather and all that sort of thing, but I wasn’t going to reduce myself to that. She still smiled at me though, telling me silently that it was okay not to talk. It was okay not to win her over with stories or compliments or anything else I could say just to say
something.
She just walked and smiled, happier in silence.
    In the park, we sat for a long time.
    I offered her my jacket and helped her put it on, but after that, there was nothing.
    No words.
    No anything.
    I don’t know what else I expected, because I had absolutely no idea how to confront this. I had no idea how to act around a girl, because to me, what she wanted was completely shrouded in mystery. I didn’t really have a clue. All I knew was that I wanted her. That was the simple part. But actually knowing what to do? How in the hell could I ever come close to coping with that? Can you tell me?
    My problem came, I think, from being inside aloneness for so long. I always watched girls from afar, hardly getting close enough to smell them. Of course I
wanted
them, but even though I was miserable about not actually having them, it was also kind of a relief. There was no pressure. No discomfort. In a way, it was easier just to imagine what it would be like, rather than confronting the reality of it. I could create ideal situations, and ways that I would act to win them over.
    You can do anything when it’s not real.
    When