Free My Map of You by Isabelle Broom

you’d be more likely to run in the opposite direction if you heard anyone coming up behind you than stop for a nice chat. She obediently dabbed a few spots of the cream on to her face.
    ‘Bravo!’ Kostas nodded in approval. ‘Tomorrow, no spots – all vanished.’
    What the hell had he given her, miracle cream?
    They were interrupted by a squealing of brakes, and a ramshackle bus groaned its way round the corner towards them. Holly, who had not quite reached the stop, went to start running, but Kostas was already standing in the road, his hairy forearm stretched out. The bus stopped. Mumbling her thanks in Greek, first to Kostas and then to the driver, Holly handed over a two-euro coin, then eased herself into one of the cracked leather seats and rested her head against the glass.
    According to her guidebook, which she’d surreptitiously taken out of her bag to consult on the journey, Laganas was the first resort they would reach. She remembered what Aliana had told her about it being one of the biggest party places in the whole of Greece, and wondered just how touristy it would be. The limited bits of the island she’d seen so far had been beautiful, colourful and unspoilt, and it was with a certain amount of apprehension that she descended the steps of the bus after the driver yelled, ‘Laganas!’
    She was standing at the circular end of a very long road that stretched away from her inland. Immediately in front of her, beyond about six metres of sand, was the sea, and the accompanying beach lay in each direction, forming a ‘T’ shape with the main road.
    Holly turned so she was facing the road, her back to the ocean. To her left was a series of bars and to her right a restaurant. She could see a few holidaymakers tucking into a late breakfast, and her stomach rumbled with envy. She really should start remembering to feed herself properly. There didn’t appear to be much of interest on the street – all she could see were bars, souvenir shops and fast-food restaurants. Squinting into the distance, she spotted the telltale golden arches of the McDonald’s sign and shuddered. Aliana had been right about it being touristy. It already felt so different from her secluded little house up on the hill, and Holly wondered what her Aunt Sandra had made of it, and whether or not she ever bothered to come down here.
    According to the map in her book, if she turned left along the beach then she could walk all the way along the seafront to the next resort along, which was called Kalamaki. This place was, the guide assured her, much smaller and far less spoiled than its bigger, messier neighbour.
    Laganas beach was in no way like the white sandy slices of paradise that came up on the internet when you searched for ‘Greek beaches’, thought Holly, as she averted her eyes from where two girls were lounging on plastic sunbeds, their exposed nipples roasting in the sun. For as far along as she could see, the beach housed a variety of bars and restaurants, all crammed next to one another and all with their own collection of sun loungers available to rent. Music was filtering down from each venue, and seemed to vary from traditional Greek to popular UK chart hits.
    ‘Hello, pretty lady!’ A Greek teen wearing cut-off jeans, a bum bag and a sun-faded baseball cap stepped into
Holly’s path. He was smiling and looked friendly enough, but Holly could sense she was about to get the hard sell. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, as she went to step around him.
    ‘Kalamaki,’ she told him, pointing along the beach.
    ‘No? Kalamaki? Why? You stay in Kalamaki?’
    ‘That’s a lot of questions,’ Holly told him. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, she decided. The skin on his chest was smooth and the colour of a freshly popped conker.
    ‘We have very nice sunbeds here for you,’ he continued. ‘Very good food. I make for you, cocktail on the house!’
    ‘Maybe later,’ she tried, but he wasn’t about to give up