Free Drop by Katie Everson Page B

run my finger over the stickers. I hover over a four-leaf clover.
    “Isaac gave me that one before my first race, for luck.”
    “Did you win?”
    “Didn’t come last.” Finn shrugs. “You can sit down.”
    I sit cross-legged on the bed. “So why am I here?”
    “I’m not sure I’m equipped to answer such probing questions about the nature of existentialism. Why are any of us here?”
    I roll my eyes.
    “You know what I mean. Why did you invite me over?”
    “I thought maybe you could help me with my Art. You’re pretty good at it.” My heart sinks. He only wants to study. “That, and I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Whoa.
    The walls are covered in mountainboard posters and photos of him and Greg, Georgia, Fat Mike, Slinky and, ugh … so many pictures of him and Violet glossy-coat Brody. Sienna told me her diet is entirely vegan. Seems to me she’s been at the Pedigree Chum. No, that’s cruel. I don’t even know her. I think I’m just a little intimidated by her. I mean, why isn’t
she
with Finn? Clearly, there’s some history – all these photos…
    Look at that hair. Who am I kidding?
    He points to a ticket stub Blu-tacked to a mirror. “This is from the Freestyle Board Jam Series, where I got injured last year.”
    Next to the ticket stub is the drawing I gave him. Here, among all his treasures.
    “You’re really talented, you know, Carla.”
    “Shut up.”
    “You are.”
    “I want to be an artist, but it’s not exactly well paid. Unless you’re dead or Damien Hirst. And I don’t plan on being either.”
    “You could be the exception.”
    “Well, even if I was ever good enough, I can’t imagine my folks would be thrilled. Maybe my dad would be OK, but – not that she’s said it outright, I mean, she’s hardly ever around to say anything – I get the impression my mum would rather I become a geneticist or work at CERN or something wholly boring like that. Nuclear research is so
not
my bag.”
    “It’s not about her though. It’s about you, doing what you want.”
    “Do you always do what you want?”
    “Pretty much.”
    I think about Finn turning up late for classes, sometimes skipping them entirely, and the way he talks back to teachers. Is it doing him any long-term favours? He’s obviously intelligent, but will this do-what-I-want philosophy come back to bite him on the ass come the end of school when he’s got minimal qualifications and just a dream of professional mountainboarding to pursue?
    What am I going to do if I don’t make it as an artist?
    “Do you ever wonder what’ll happen if we fail our exams?” I ask.
    “Not really. I’ve got my board and I make enough money.”
    “You’ve got a job?”
    He shrugs. “I don’t worry about it.” He goes over to his sound dock, slots his phone into place and presses PLAY . I guess that’s the end of that conversation.
    I point to a picture of Violet. “Did you two use to go out?”
    “You ask a lot of questions.”
    “Sorry. Mum’s a journalist. I guess I inherited her inquisitive nature. So, did you?”
    “Violet? No way. We’ve been friends since for ever. She’s just a mate.”
    I nod. “Who’s this with you and Greg?”
    “That’s Dave Compton – one of my ultimate boarding heroes – met him at XBP Mountainboard Centre in Surrey. Soon I’ll have another photo for the collection. Tom Kirkman’s going to be at the UK Board Battle. Can’t wait to meet him. He’s a legend. I’ve been practising the sweetest new trick to show him.”
    “I see. Cool,” I say, widening my eyes.
    “Are you making fun of me, tiger?”
    “I wouldn’t dare. It’s cool. You have a passion.”
    “It’s more than a passion. It’s my life.”
    I can’t help but laugh out loud then.
    Finn sits down on the bed behind me, grabs me around the shoulders and pulls me backwards so I’m lying on his chest. I look up at him.
    “The warm-up comp I told you about is tomorrow. You should come. Greg’s racing too and