Free How To Be a Boy by Tony Bradman Page A

said.
    “Nowhere. Gone,” she mumbled, looking down between her knees, looking at the ground, the tangle of dead leaves and grey slush, the lost snow. I wanted to lift her head very gently, get the little Pikmin to move her remotely, use the joypad to settle her. I could almost feel my thumb move the stick, to turn her head to look at me, to give me the neon smile.
    “He’s a bastard,” she said. “Like the rest of you.”
    I got nearer, crouched down.
    “You cold?”
    “Course I’m cold. Whaddya think?”
    “I could get you warm.”
    “Stay right away.”
    “You were going to kiss me that time at the party.”
    “What kiss? What party?”
    “The other week, over in Dalston.”
    “Oh that, yeah. You were with that knob Meado, and he was dancing on the train.”
    “I could take you home.”
    “Not going home.”
    “You gave me your number.”
    “Did I, posh boy? Why was that, then? I must’ve been mad.”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Didn’t call me, though, did ya?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Scared.”
    “Bet your friend Meado wouldn’t be scared.”
    “No, he wouldn’t. You could come to my house, to get warm, I mean.”
    “Wherezat, then?” She looked up at me, and she didn’t smile her neon smile.
    “Not far,” I said.
    “One of the big houses?”
    “No, small,” I said.
    “You should cut your hair shorter.” She stood up, shuffled and wriggled herself, her back to the tree. “It would look good short.”
    And then she leaned her head back against the trunk and looked up through the tangled branches.
    I just stood there and looked at her, and my heart exploded. I ruffled my hair and planned to get it cut. I looked at her profile, at her nose, which tilted up – she looked like Christina Applegate. I took my jacket off, and the hoodie from underneath. I held the hoodie out to her and she took it without moving her head and shrugged it on over her black dress.
    “You even smell posh,” she said. “DKNY?”
    “Better than DK,” I said.
    “DK?”
    “Donkey Kong.”
    “Oh that,” she shook her head.
    I handed her my jacket. “Nah,” she said. “You need that, you’ll freeze up.”
    “Now we have to get out – the gates are locked.”
    “I thought that my posh boy would have a key.”
    “No key,” I said.
    She said MY posh boy.
    “You’ll have to boost me back over,” she said, and then she did smile, her neon smile.
    At the wall I put my hands out, locked together. She stepped forward. “No looking up my dress.”
    She put her shoe, all cold and muddied, into my hands and I pushed her upwards. She hung at the crest of the wall for a moment and I looked at her legs hanging down in their torn black fishnets, and her lovely skin showed through in bone-white patches like light, as if she was electric in the dark.
    I heard my phone signal a text.
    She put my hoodie right over her head, and we walked back past the pub and down the side road. There was no sign of Pimsa and Meado. They weren’t in their usual place, which was lurking on the low pub wall by the entrance to the new flats. There was no one out at all, it was cold and late.
    I approached the front door and using level four acquired stealth power, I turned the key as slowly as possible, felt the soft click and release, and opened the door.
    Into the short hallway, where trainers were piled up, coats, low voices.
    Watching the television late…
    Watching anything…
    Waiting for me.
    “Hello, darling. That boy Meado telephoned. He said …oh…”
    She had turned and stopped at the sight of the girl standing, head bowed, giggling softly behind me, her face well hidden in shadow under my hood.
    “Is that all he had to say: ‘OH’?” I said, walking to the stairs holding the girl’s hand.
    “Aren’t you going to introduce me, darling?”
    “Need to get warm. We’re just going to my room.”
    “I am sure, but who is your friend? I…”
    We went up the stairs and I shut my door firmly.
    My room was a