Free Drop by Katie Everson Page A

on me, but unlike that horrible first day, this time I’m not bothered. I’ve never been late for a class in my life. It’s kind of exhilarating.

CHAPTER 14
    The initial excitement of Finn’s invitation dissipates and I get a nagging earworm saying maybe it’s a bit soon to be going to his house and also, what does he imagine we’re going to do there? Talk about the weather? Catch up on homework? How many other girls has he lured to his room by telling them they’ve stolen his strawberry tart? I fancy him, sure, but I don’t want to look like a desperate, skanky, ho-bag. Still, I get this fluttering in my stomach when I think about being there, lying next to him on the bed…
    After school I dash to Finn’s house. My earlier apprehension has become nervous excitement and I guess I’m enjoying the kick because my pace and pulse quicken on the way. Finn lives nearer to school than I do, on the other side of the park. And when I say on the other side of the park, I mean ON THE PARK. 66 Buckingham Road is a four-storey end-of-terrace townhouse, its overgrown front garden laid with decorative paving stones; a flight of chunky steps leads up to a glossy red front door with stained-glass panels. Finn’s family must be absolutely Lotto-winning-private-jet-fifty-foot-yacht
minted
.
    Standing on the top step, I inhale, then breathe out my nerves. I imagine I’m with Finn, sunning myself on our own personal island like Richard Branson, sipping piña coladas…
    Reaching for the door knocker, cast like a cat with a mouse dangling from its mouth, I notice a set of buzzers. I press the one labelled MASTERSON .
    A super-suave, SAS, 007 type opens the door. He looks like he could have trained police officers, slept with beautiful women every night for the last thirty years, and probably keeps a gun in his sock drawer.
    “Um, hi. I’m looking for Finn,” I say to the sergeant. “Is this the right house?”
    “Hi, you’re Carla, right? Come in.” He speaks in tones the colour of Merlot, deep and smooth.
    “Yeah, thanks.” Mr Masterson Senior leads me to another door off the hallway. I head into the house.
    I’m beginning to register my surroundings – the ornate Indian lampshade, Hockney prints on the wall, the tiled floor – when Finn comes careering from the living room, dodging his dad like the Stig taking the Hammerhead on
Top Gear
. He grabs my hand and pulls me upstairs.
    I follow Finn into his room. His blue-checked duvet is crumpled at one end of the bed and there’s still a dent in the pillow where his head has been. I let myself daydream about resting my head there, what it would be like to breathe in his sleepy scent. I imagine lying down next to him, his arm coiled around my waist, his hot breath on my neck.
    I force my thoughts onto something else. Otherwise I’ll get lost there.
    “Nice house.”
    “Maisonette. Rental. There’s a family in the basement and another above us. We’ve got the garden though, pretty sweet for summer parties.”
    OK, maybe I won’t be on that island any time soon. Not loaded after all. No matter. It’s still a gorgeous maisonette.
    “Your dad looks like a right hard man.”
    “He was a marine. Seen a fair bit of action.”
    “And now?”
    “Runs a catering business. He’s always liked cooking. He told me this story about when the ship was sailing home – the cook had been killed along with a good chunk of the crew, so he made this meal for the rest of them, the lucky ones. He brought it into the mess and someone had put on the film
Chariots of
Fire
, then that song “Jerusalem” came on and everyone was singing and he just burst into tears. So he’s not so hard, really. He was only, like, twenty then. I guess being in a war’s a lot to deal with. He’s been cooking ever since.” He looks at his feet, contemplating.
    There are piles of
Board Mag
on the floor
.
His mountainboard leans against the clothes rail, its wheels caked in mud.
    I pick up his helmet, and