Pre War - Nicole Lynne

PRE-WAR A WAR SERIES NOVELLA

NICOLE LYNNE STEVIE J. COLE LP LOVELL

CONTENTS Untitled Untitled Dedication Prologue 1. Connor 2. Poppy 3. Brandon 4. Poppy 5. Brandon 6. Connor 7. Poppy 8. Brandon 9. Poppy 10. Connor 11. Poppy 12. Brandon 13. Connor 14. Brandon 15. Connor 16. Poppy 17. Brandon 18. Poppy 19. Brandon 20. Poppy 21. Connor 22. Poppy 23. Connor 24. Poppy 25. Brandon 26. Poppy 27. Brandon 28. Poppy 29. Connor 30. Poppy Untitled Chapter 31

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to, or downloaded from file sharing sites or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of Stevie J. Cole and LP Lovell.

PRE-WAR

The War Series 0.5

A Novella of Childhood

Stevie J Cole and LP Lovell writing as Nicole Lynne

Dedication Dedicated to Jen. We love you. Thank you for all you do!

Prologue 10 years old I sit down underneath a tree and pull a piece of bubblegum from my pocket, checking to make sure the teachers don’t see me when I shove it inside my mouth. I watch the other kids play and a group of girls walk by and giggle. I think they’re laughing at me. No one wants to play with me, maybe, because they think I talk funny. All everyone’s done is stare at me when I talk. I guess most of them have never met an American before… It doesn’t natter though. I hate it here in Ireland. I didn't want to move here. I didn't want to leave my friends, but Daddy said he needed help taking care of me. I wish my mommy was still here to take care of me. I pick a dandelion and twirl it between my fingers. Momma loved it when I picked these for here. She was pretty. I miss how she used to always sing songs in the morning when she made me biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs. Sighing, I look up at the sky, wondering what it's like in heaven. I bet she has wings now, sitting up there with Jesus. I fight back the tears because if the other kids see me crying, they'll just laugh at me even more. A rock skips in front of me, rolling to a stop by my sneaker. I sniff back my tears and glance up. The blond boy from class—the one the other kids were calling “fatso” this morning—is standing in front of me with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, and he's dragging the toe of his shoe across the ground. "Wanna play pogs?" he asks. I look back down at my dandelion. "What are pogs?" "It's a game." I shrug and blow a bubble with my gum. "I'm Connor." "I'm Poppy." I smile because he's nice. Another boy runs up beside Connor. His brown hair is messy. I know the two of them are friends, and this one has already gotten in trouble this morning for spitting on the floor. "You're not allowed gum in school." He scowls at me. Connor punches him in the arm. "Leave her alone, Bran." I stand up, take my gum out of my mouth, and hold my hand out to the Connor. "You can have my gum..." He stares at it and I shrug. "But you have to put it behind your ear for later." I tuck it behind his ear. The other boy scrunches his face up and pretends to throw up. Connor shoves him. "Shut up, Bran." "Bran?" I say. "Like Bran Flakes?"

He rolls his eyes. "No, Brandon." He huffs before he turns and walks back toward the school. "Come on Connor!" he yells. "You can sit next to me in assembly if you like?" Connor says, smiling at me. His chubby cheeks turn bright red before he looks at the ground, scuffing his shoe back and forth over the dirt. "Okay. Thanks." I think he might be my friend.

1

Connor 10 years old Brandon sits next to me in the classroom like he always does, but now Poppy’s sitting on my other side. Her hair is shiny, and she smells like strawberries. Brandon elbows me in the ribs and I look at him. "Why are you talking to her?" he whispers in my ear. "Why not?" "Because she's a girl." Mrs. Brown shushes us, and Brandon stops talking. "Today, we have a new student. Her name is Poppy Turner. Everyone say hello to Poppy." "Hello, Poppy," everyone says at once, and Poppy’s cheeks turn pink. "Who would like to volunteer to be Poppy's friend while she gets settled in?" Mrs. Brown asks. I stick my hand up at the same time as Nelly Derham, so I wave mine around really fast. Mrs. Brown smiles at me. "Connor, thank you. That's very kind of you." I grin at Nelly and she glares at me. We end up having to read out loud. When Poppy reads, everyone looks at her because of her funny voice. Brandon can read, but he always pretends like he can't, so the teacher doesn't make him. He hates school. We finish reading and Brandon slams his head down on the table. Mrs. Brown sighs and walks out from behind her desk. "We're going to set our tadpoles free today," Mrs. Brown says. "So let's all go outside." The class gets up. We follow her outside to the field and down to the little pond. She puts the tiny glass bowl down next to the edge of the water. "Now they have their legs, they're nearly frogs..." Someone starts screaming. I turn around and watch Brandon chase Lola Stevens with a frog. He's laughing as he runs after her. "Brandon O'Kieffe!" Mrs. Brown shouts. "You put that poor frog down, right now. And apologise to Lola." Brandon sighs and puts the frog back in the pond. "So-rry," he huffs, sitting on the grass. Brandon is always in trouble, and I'm never in trouble. My Ma says he's a hellion, but he's my best friend. Sometimes she says he's a good lad really and it's not his fault he's a pikey. "I don't like frogs," Poppy says. "They're slimy and gross. Daddy says if boys are mean to me, I should kick them between their legs."

I wince because I once fell off my bike and the bar went right between my legs. I cried for hours. "That's mean," I say. She shrugs. "If Brandon chases me with a frog, I'm gonna kick him right between the legs." I laugh. I'd like to see that.

2

Poppy 10 years old Today hasn’t been such a bad first day, I guess. I made friends with Connor and Brandon at least. Brandon leans in front of Connor and narrows his eyes. "Why do you talk so funny?" Brandon whispers. "Shut it, Bran." Connor punches him in the arm and Brandon scowls at him before he glances back at me. I lean over the desk. "I'm American," I say, glaring right back at him. "But this is Ireland," he says, holding out his hands as though just being here would make me talk in sing-songs. "Yep." I narrow my eyes on him. "And, I'm still from America." "Whatever." He looks down at his notebook, scribbling on it so hard that his pencil tears the paper. His hair is sticking up in every direction and there's a dirty smudge down the front of his white polo shirt. He's cute and angry and I don’t know why, but it makes me laugh. Connor taps me on the shoulder. When I look at him, he's holding out a Milkybar. I shake my head, and Brandon reaches across me to snatch it. The bell rings and we put our stuff away before walking outside. “You coming to my place?” Brandon asks Connor. “Yeah.” Connor glances at me. "You want to come to the gypo camp with us?" Brandon tosses his head back and groans. "Gypo Camp? I ask. “Yeah, it’s where Brandon lives. They have a pony.” “Okay. I have to ask my daddy," I say. Connor shrugs. "Okay." We walk out of the schoolyard together and Brandon follows behind us. “I’m gonna eat your Milkbar, Con.” “I don’t care.” Me and Connor stay on the sidewalk, but Brandon keeps running off into people’s yards to chase their cats. One woman comes out on her front porch and yells at him. He comes skipping back over to us, smiling. It's a short walk to my house from the school, but Brandon's already complaining that his feet are tired. The house is quiet when we walk in. "Daddy?" I motion the boys inside and close the door.

"In the office, sweetheart." Connor and Brandon follow me down the hallway to my daddy's office. He glances up from the work spread over his desk and smiles before standing and picking me up, swinging me in his arms. "Hey, baby." "Daddy! Stop!" I giggle. He puts me down. "Who's this?" Connor stands in the doorway fidgeting and looking at the floor. Brandon's cramming the last bit of the Milkybar inside his mouth. "This is Connor," I say. Daddy's gaze swings over to Brandon. "And..." "Brandon O'Keiffe." He holds out his chocolate and dirt covered hand to my dad, smiling. "Good to see you've made some friends, Poppy." "I'm not her friend. I'm his friend." Brandon thumbs at Connor. "And he likes her, so... I don't like girls." Connor punches his arm and Daddy laughs. "Well, that's good to know, Brandon." He shrugs. "I gotta go. My ma will be fuming if I'm late again." "You coming, Poppy?" I look at my dad. "Can I go, please?" "Go where?" "The gypo camp," Connor says. Daddy rubs his hand over his chin. "I don't know, Poppy." "Please, Daddy. I want to play with my new friends." "They have a pony," Connor says. "And a sheep," Brandon adds. "And Sean, the posh-pikey dog." Connor grins. "It's just at the end of the block." I look up at Daddy, trying to make my eyes big and my bottom lip stick out. Daddy's face softens. "Okay, be back before supper." I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. "Love you." And we run out of the house and down the sidewalk.

3

Brandon 10 years old I normally race Connor home because he's fat and I always win. But today, he's walking with Poppy, smiling at her. Gross. Sean starts barking as soon as we walk up to the caravan. "Shut up, Sean!" I groan. He ignores me and I huff as I open the door. "Brandon!" Ma shouts. "Yeah, I'm here,” I say. I notice the empty chair in the corner. “Where's Dad?" "At the pub." That's good. I hate it when Dad's here. He's grumpy. "You and Connor want a snack?" Ma asks as she rounds the corner, wiping her hands on a towel. She looks at Poppy and smiles. "Who's this?" "Poppy.” I dump my school bag on the sofa and take off my polo shirt. “Connor likes her. She talks funny." "Boy, that was clean this morning! What do you do? Roll around in the mulch?” I throw my shirt on the floor. “Christ alive. It doesn't live there. Put it in the washing basket!" Ma swats me around the back of the head. "Ma!" Ignoring me, she smiles at Poppy. "Don't mind him. Boy thinks he was raised in a barn." "I, uh..." Poppy stands in the doorway with her hands clasped together. "I um, like your, uh...your..." She glances around the caravan. "Caravan. It's a caravan," I sigh. She smiles. "I like the scatter-cushions." "Why, thank you. Picked 'em myself." Ugh, my ma and those stupid cushions. I go to my room and put my Transformers t-shirt on with my tracksuit bottoms. When I go back to the living room, Poppy and Connor are both eating muffins. Ma shoves one in my hand and kicks us out the door. "What do you want to do?" I ask Poppy. She shrugs. "I like ponies." "Okay, well Shergar lives around the back." There are eight caravans here. At the back of the site is where the horses and some of the dogs are. We pass old man McGinty's run down caravan. It’s lopsided where it’s fallen off three of its wheels. He's passed out in a deck chair out front, an empty bottle of whiskey beside

him. Just as we go to round his trailer, Arnold the sheep comes running around the corner. "Ah, feck off, Arnold!" I say, shooing him. McGinty grunts and wakes up just as that stupid sheep tries to nab my muffin. I twist away from Arnold, but he chases me around in circles until I peel the paper off the muffin and feed it to him. "Why do you have a sheep?" Poppy asks. "Old Man McGinty won him in a card game,” I say. "But why…” her face scrunches, “would you want a sheep?" Old Man grumbles and spits on the ground. "It ain't about the prize. It's just about the winnin'." He winks at Poppy. "Arnold won prizes for being a sheep," Connor adds. "Yeah,” Old Man stretches, “used to be a stud, but then we had to cut his gnads on account of him trying to shag the dogs, horses, children..." "What are gnads?" Poppy whispers to Connor. His face goes all red and he starts choking on his muffin. I roll my eyes. "Come on." Arnold follows us out back. I kind of feel sorry for him sometimes. I think he's lonely without his sheep friends. Maybe that's why he tries to cop onto the dogs. Shergar’s eating the little bit of grass that’s left. He lifts his head for a moment, snorts, then goes back to feeding. Poppy walks up and pets him, stroking her fingers through his mane. "Wanna ride him?" I ask. Her eyes go wide. "What if I fall off?" "Well...don't." "How do I get on?" "Ya jump." Sighing, I go to Shergar's side. "Come here.” She looks at me for a second before she steps beside me. Girls sure do take a long time to do stuff. “Grab his mane and lift your leg up." She does as I say. "Okay, on three. One, two… three.” I grab her leg and push her up. She sprawls onto his back, squealing as she nearly topples off the other side. "Now what?" I throw my head back and groan. "How do you not know how to ride a horse?" "I don't think they have horses in America," Connor says. "We do, too." Poppy glares at him. I just roll my eyes at them both. "Well, it's kind of like swimming, you just jump in and figure it out." "What? No you don't. You drown," she shouts. I grin and unfasten the collar from around Shergar's neck. "What are you doing?" "Bran,” Connor starts, “don't..." I smack Shergar on the bum and he trots off. Well, the way she screams, you'd think he was at a flat-out gallop. She bounces around on his back and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. She only makes it a little way before she topples off the side. Poppy quickly stands up and dusts herself off. Her eyes set on

me, narrowing as she stomps toward me. "What's so funny? You didn't have to hit the pony." She stops in front of me and crosses her arms. "You're a meany-butt." She glares at me like that should hurt my feelings or something. "A meany-butt?" I fold my arms over my chest. "That isn't a bad word, Poppy." She arches a brow and huffs. "Butthole." Ma always calls dad a cunt, but the last time I said it, she washed my mouth out with soap and slapped my arse with a slipper. It was horrible. I cried. So, instead, I just say: "Bitch." Instantly, her eyes turn red and fill with big tears, her lip quivering and nostrils flaring. Connor rushes over to her and puts his arm around her. "Brandon! You arse." Tears streak down her face. Aw, shit. I’m going to get in trouble for this. "I'm sorry," I say. "It's not a bad word. Ma says it's a girl dog!" She sucks back a few tears and wipes her face with her sleeve, huffing as she takes a step toward me. Then...she kicks me in the shin and stomps off, her brown ponytail swinging. "Ow!" Connor goes after her, but stops after a few steps. "Ah, I think I stepped in dog poo," he groans. I roll my eyes and go over to Shergar, jump on his back, and kick his sides. He trots off towards Poppy. "Go away, Brandon," she says. "Aw, come on. I'll take you for a ride." She stops and squints up at me. "I don't want to ride with you." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine." I shrug. "You can stay here with Connor and his dog poo shoe." She glances back at Connor, then up at me. "Don't be mean to me." "I won't." "Pinky swear?" She holds out her little finger. I sigh. "Fine." Holding on to his mane, I lean down from Shergar and link my little finger with hers. "Now, do you want to ride or not?" "Yeah." “Well,” I shift back and pat the spot in front of me, “what you waiting for? Take a run and jump." She backs up and runs before vaulting at Shergar's back, landing on her stomach with an oomph. I try not to laugh as I pull her up. She almost kicks me in the face when she swings her leg over, and then I have to wrap my arms around her so I can grab a piece of mane. I don't like it, but I don't want to make her cry again. I click my tongue at Shergar and he walks forward for a second, then starts into a trot. Poppy tenses up. "You have to be relaxed, like a rag doll," I tell her. "I can't relax." "Look, canter is easier." I kick him into canter and she shrieks, so...I make him go faster.

Her hair whips around, smacking me in the face. I swat at it and cough when it gets in my mouth. It smells like candy and girly stuff. I kind of like how it smells, but I still don't like girls. They're gross. When she tips to the side a bit, I wrap my arm around her so she doesn't fall off. Nope. Don't like it at all. I kick Shergar back towards the caravans, and hop off before he even comes to a stop. Connor runs up, winded and holding the dog poo shoe in his hand. Poppy glances down from the pony, smiling. "Thanks," she says. And I smile for a split second, but quickly cover it and shrug. "Yeah, sure." "Can we get another muffin?" Connor asks. "Ma won't let you in with poo on your shoe." "I wiped it in the grass," he says. I shrug and go tie Shergar back up before I go back home. As soon as I step onto the deck, Sean lets out a bark from underneath the trailer. "Shut up, Sean!" I open the door. "Brandon! Feed the dog," Ma says. "Ma!" I whine. "Don't you give me lip. Feed the dog, or I won't feed you." "I'll do it," Poppy offers, smiling at me. I shrug, pull the bag of dog food out from under the steps, and hand it to her. She struggles to lift it up and I grin. "Watch he doesn't bite ya." She disappears for a while, and eventually I leave Connor eating a muffin and go check on her. Americans don't seem to be very good with animals. I find her at the back of the trailer, sitting on the ground with Sean lying in her lap. That dog smells like a rubbish bag most of the time, but she just smiles as she pets him. Maybe she isn't so bad after all.

4

Poppy 10 years old It's the last day of school, and I'm a little sad because I think it will be a boring summer. I'm sitting on the playground by the sandbox with Connor and Brandon. Connor's drawing pictures in the sand with a stick, and Brandon's got a magnifying glass, burning ants. I look at him and frown. "That's mean." He smiles. "They bite." I shake my head and go back to drawing pictures with Connor. A shadow falls over the sandbox. I turn around to see Davie Logan standing behind me. The sun makes the freckles on his face stand out. He’s is a bully. He's mean and spends most of his time in detention. "Go away, Davie," Brandon says without so much as looking up from the ant he's currently scorching. "What are you two twats doing with a girl?" My cheeks warm. "Leave her alone, Davie." Connor throws his stick and Davie tosses his head back, laughing. "Girls are gross. Especially this one.” Davie points at me. “My ma says I can't play with her because she's a measch." I glare at him. I don't know what that word is, but the way he said it…I know it's not good. "Go away, Davie," Connor says. "Or what? You'll shove a Milkybar down my throat?" He laughs again and then he yanks my hair so hard my head jerks back. I snatch my ponytail away from him, trying to stop myself from crying. "Alright! That’s it." Brandon throws the magnifying glass down and stomps up to him. Davie's taller than Brandon and meaner looking. Without another word, Brandon makes a fist, pulls his arm back, and punches Davie right in the nose. He grabs his face. My stomach turns when I see blood trickle through his fingers. "Don't mess with her," Brandon says, smiling down at me. Davie runs off crying. "Brandon O'Kieffe!" Mrs. Brown shouts across the playground and Brandon's smile fades. I turn around to see Davie cuddled against her side. "Get over here this instant!" Brandon sighs and mopes over to Mrs. Brown. I look over at Connor and he's

already gone back to drawing puppies and kittens. "He's gonna get in trouble," I say. He shrugs. "He's always in trouble." ***break*** I unzip my backpack and pull out my Barbies, setting them on the carpet. "Here's some cookies and milk." Connor's mom places a plate full of treats on the coffee table and smiles. I come over here every day after school until Daddy gets home. And I like it. Mrs. Blaine reminds me of my mommy, and she gives good hugs when you skin your knee. Connor told me she could be like a second mommy to me because he's sweet. "Wanna play with me?" I ask Connor. He shrugs and grabs the one boy doll I have. "Sure." Brandon groans and throws his head back. "Can't we play video games? Barbies suck." I glare at him as I comb through my doll's hair. "Video games rot your brain." "Says who?" He flops down on the sofa. "My daddy." I stick my tongue out at him. "What do you do with them?" Connor ask as he shoves the dolls hands over its head. "Run them over with your monster truck, like Grand Theft Auto," Brandon says, grinning. "Grand Theft Auto?" Connor asks. Brandon rolls his eyes and grabs his backpack. He unzips it, pulls out a video game, goes over to Connor's TV, and sticks it in before grabbing the remote. He takes the controller and tosses it to Connor. "I got it from Uncle Darren's caravan. It's awesome!” His gaze strays over to me. “Girls can't play this." And then he turns around to face the TV. I pretend like I don't care and keep brushing my Barbie's hair. The sound of horns and sirens blare from the speakers, but I still don’t look up. "What do I do?" Connor asks almost in a panic. "Just...” Brandon sighs, “walk around and rob stuff and kill people that get in your way." "Kill them with what?" "Your gun. God." Brandon yanks his controller to the left as he makes his person run to the side of the screen. "And...oh, oh run over that hooker. Run her over! Get her!" "What's a hooker?" Connor asks. "Old Man McGinty said it's a lady in a short dress." Mrs. Blaine comes rushing into living room gasping. "What on God's blessed earth? Oh my..." She blocks the TV with her large hips as she reaches behind her to shut the TV off. "Aw, Mrs. Blaine. I was about to kill me a hooker." Brandon tosses the controller down and sulks.

"Brandon O'Keiffe." She closes her eyes and I bet she's praying for Brandon's soul. She says she has to do that a lot. "Where did you get such filth?" He scratches his head. "Nicked it from Uncle Darren." "I shall be talkin' to ya ma." "Aw, Mrs. Blaine." He groans. "She'll smack my arse." "Someone needs to, boy." She wipes her hands on her apron before going back into the kitchen. "See," I say with a smile, "told you they were bad for you." Connor shrugs before he picks the Barbie back up. Brandon grabs one of the dolls and wrinkles his nose. "Does she have boobs?" He pulls her dress off, and I scream, jumping up and trying to snatch her back. Laughing, he holds her above his head, waving her around. "Bran," Connor says, "give her the doll back." "You're a sissy, Con. I'm going to tell everyone at school you play with dolls." Brandon says. "Whatever." Connor glares at him. "I'll tell them you still wet the bed." I stop jumping for my Barbie and giggle so hard my sides hurt. "Brandon Soggy Britches O'Keiffe." "Oh yeah? I'll tell them you still sleep with a night light. Little Poppy Scaredy Cat," he says. "I don't care. I'd rather be a scaredy cat than Mr. Pee Pants." Brandon folds his arms over his chest and I try to snatch the doll again, but he runs around the back of the sofa. "It's wee, Poppy, not pee," he says, trying to mock my voice. "And I don't wet the bed. That's Connor." "Give her back!" I shout. He smiles. "We can share." And then he pulls her head off and throws it at me. Closing my eyes, I scream until Mrs. Blaine comes running back into the room. "What's going on?" When I open my eyes she’s standing with her hands on her hips, already glaring at Brandon. "He..." I sniff back the tears. "He...he tore my doll's head off and threw it at me." "Brandon O'Kieffe! You're a scally, you are boy! Give her the Barbie back." He hands it to me and then crosses his arms over his chest. "I was just playing." "He's lying. He was not," I say staring down at my poor, headless doll. She was my favorite. Connor huffs, gets up, and starts feeling around underneath the couch. "Got it!" He stands up with a wide grin as he holds the Barbie head up. "I'll fix it, Poppy." His mom pats his head and walks off. "You kids play nice." Brandon's still sulking and rolls his eyes at Connor. I hand the doll to Connor. He looks at the body, then at the head before shoving it back on her neck. "There." He holds it up. Her head is shoved all the way down to her shoulders. "Here you go." He hands her to me and I take her, pulling her head

back in place as I glare at Brandon. "Here's her hooker dress," Brandon mumbles as he throws the sparkly pink dress at me. He's so mean and annoying. I don't know why Connor's friends with him. "Want to go swing?" Connor asks. "Sure." We stand up, but Brandon doesn’t move. "Want to come?" Connor asks him. "Nope." Brandon crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. "Okay." Me and Connor walk to the back of the house, through the screen door, and straight over to the swing set. I sit on the swing and push back with my feet. Connor sits next to me, dragging his feet over the ground. "Why are you even friends with him?" I ask, glancing over at him. "I dunno. I just am." "He's a butthole." "Yeah, sometimes.” He laughs. “But he can be nice too." "Well, he doesn't like me." "He doesn't like girls. He says they have cooties." I huff, kicking my legs out to swing higher. "I don't have cooties." "I know." He scuffs his sneakers on the grass. "I like you." He shrugs. "You're nice. He's not." I swing for a second before I glare back at the house. Brandon’s standing at the screened door, peering out. "Has he always lived in that gypo camp?" I feel bad calling it that. Daddy says that's not a nice word, but I don't know what else to call it. "Yeah, ever since we were little." Brandon looks so sad staring out at us and it makes me feel bad for him. He's mean, but all the kids at school make fun of him because he's a pikey. Now that I think about it, Connor is really his only friend. I drag the toes of my shoes across the grass, slowing down enough to jump from the swing. I stop on my way to the house, bending over to pick a dandelion. I hop over the pavers and stop at the back door, smiling as I open it. "Picked this for you," I say as I hand it to him. As soon as he takes it, I turn around and skip back toward the swing set. Sometimes you just have to be nice to people.

5

Brandon 10 years old "Be back for tea!" Mrs. Blaine shouts at Connor as he closes the front door. "Wanna go to the pikey camp?" Connor asks. "Nah, we're going into town." "Town? Why?" "I gotta get something. Come on." I walk down the road to the bus stop and sit on the bench. "You gotta pay to ride the bus," he says. I dig in my pocket and take out some money. "Where'd you get that?" "My dad was asleep, so I borrowed it." The bus pulls up and the doors open. I hand the driver my money and we find a seat at the back. Con’s sitting next to me, looking all sad. He sighs. "My ma will be mad if she finds out I went to town without telling her." "Don't tell then." Connor's ma is always asking where he is, telling him to be home be tea time. My ma doesn't care what time I come back. The bus drives into town and we get off near the toy store. "Okay, I have to go in the toy store, but you have to wait around the corner, okay?" "Why?" Connor frowns. "I want to come in and look at the new lightsaber." I sigh. "No. You have to stay here. Wait round the corner from McDonalds." I point at Mickey D's a few shops down. "Fine," he rolls his eyes, "but you owe me a Big Mac." He stomps off and I go inside the toy store, passing the Star Wars stuff and the action figures. I finally find the Barbie aisle. Everything is pink and girly. Why are there so many different types? Geez. How many Barbies can a girl possibly want? I quickly glance over the dumb dolls, snatching one with brown hair like Poppy's. My heart pounds hard as I walk back through the shop, and when I get near the till, I take one good look around and run straight out the door. Outside the store, I bump into a lady and nearly drop the doll. "Hey!" Someone shouts. I glance over my shoulder and there’s a security guard running after me. "Hey, kid. Stop!" I sprint around the corner and spot Connor. His eyes widen. "Run!" I shout at him. He turns around and starts running, but he's so slow, I catch up with him. I

grab his arm and yank him around a corner and into an alley. We duck behind a car and wait. Connor coughs and I slam my hand over his mouth. "Do you want us to get caught?" I whisper. "Caught?” He pants for a second, then swallows before he glances at me. “What did you do? Why are we running and hiding?" I lift up the Barbie box and grin. "For Poppy." "Ah,” he groans, “my ma is going to kill me when she finds out." "Don't tell, or I'll break all your video games." "You play them too!" "I'll still do it," I tell him. "Come on. I think they're gone." We creep around the corner and check that the coast is clear, and then, we run to the bus stop. My ma will smack me with her slipper if she finds out I nicked this doll, but it's worth it because I broke Poppy's Barbie and it made her sad. I don’t won’t her to be sad, even if she is a girl.

*** I knock on Poppy's door and wait. Her dad opens the door, blocking it. He’s tall and big and has a beard, and he’s staring down at me. "Hey, Mr. Turner.” I swallow. “Can Poppy come out and play?" He looks down at the shiny Barbie box in my hand and cracks a smile. "Sure." Turning around, he calls for Poppy. I hide the box behind my back, and a few minutes later, she's skipping out of her front door. Her hair is in pigtails and tied with bright pink ribbons. "Hey Poppy." I stare at the ground and swing the box back and forth behind my back. "I got you somethin'." I shove the box towards her. She looks at it for a second before she takes it and glances up at me with a smile. Then...she hugs me. I stiffen up. I just want her to let me go. "Thank you. Maybe you aren't a meanybutt." She giggles, clutching the box to her chest. "Where's Connor at?" "I didn't get him a Big Mac, so he went home for tea." "Do you want to stay for dinner? Daddy's making spaghetti with the sauce out of the can." Ma will be livid if I stay out, but I like spaghetti in the can, so I nod. She walks inside and I follow her. One of the ribbons in her hair falls out and I pick it up, putting it in my pocket. I don’t know why I do it, but I just want to keep it—in case it smells like candy.

6

Connor 12 years old Poppy looks so pretty in her purple dress. She stops in front of the tent and I bend down to hold the flap open. When Poppy crawls inside, I grab her present from behind the rosebush, then I follow her inside. She smiles when she glances down at the box in my hand and my stomach knots. "Happy birthday,” I say as I hand her the present wrapped it in pink, glittery paper with hearts. She shakes it as she sits up on her knees and tears the end open. She tosses the sparkly paper to the ground and opens the white cardboard box. My heart bangs against my chest. Sweat beads on my forehead. Poppy holds up the pink frame with a photo of me, her, and Brandon— the picture my ma took a few weeks ago right before Brandon got sent home for yanking the cat's tail. "I love it," she says. "Thank you so much, Connor." She gives me a tight hug and I take a deep whiff of her strawberry scented hair. I feel my cheeks heat. I hear the backdoor bang closed. I lift the flap of the tent and Brandon’s stomping across the garden. He was supposed to dress up for Poppy’s birthday, but he’s wearing his Iron Man t-shirt and jeans with a hole ripped in the knee, and his hair is sticking up everywhere. "Hey," he says, crawling into the tent and sitting across from Poppy and me. There’s a nasty bruise on his cheek. "Con, why are you wearing your church clothes? And possum, why do you have a dress on?" He started calling her possum because he always ends up carrying her around on her back. It annoys me. Poppy frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. "You were supposed to dress nice, Brandon. It's supposed to be a tea party." He snorts. "He looks like an idiot. I'm not wearing a tie." "You look dirty," Poppy says, snarling her lip. "Yeah, well, you look clean. I managed to get out of shower night on Tuesday." He grins, looking happy with himself. I nudge Brandon in the ribs and nod over to Poppy. "Have something you want to say to her, Bran?" "I didn't forget." He gets up on his knees and digs around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling something out. "Happy birthday, poss." I watch as he puts a little knot of bailing twine in her palm. "Made you a friendship bracelet," he sniffs. "Ma showed me how to make it. I told her you'd rather have a puppy, but she wouldn't

let me give ya one." Poppy smiles—bigger than she did at my present—and she nearly knocks him over when she hugs him. Now he's smelling her strawberry hair. "I love it. Thank you, Brandon." She loops it around her wrists and he ties it in a knot. "I'll wear it forever." He stares at the floor and shrugs. "Okay." "So what do you want to do now?" I ask them. Brandon smiles. "We could tell ghost stories." "I don't like scary stories," Poppy says, creeping closer to me. "Aw, come on, poss. Don't be a baby. It's just a story." "Yeah," I say, spotting a chance and putting my arm around her, "it's just a story, Poppy." Brandon rubs his palms together and grins. "So, there's this girl..." He glances at Poppy. "And she's left all alone at night. You know what? Now that I think of it, it was Blaire O'Brein, you know Connor, the girl that lived in Poppy's house before she moved in?" I nod because Blaire O'Brian did live in Poppy's house. "Anyway, she was all alone—and she told me this herself—she kept hearing this dripping noise. Drip. Drip." He leans in close to Poppy. "Drip. She got up and checked everywhere, but there was nothing. Every time she laid down she felt her dog, Spunky," he nods, "yeah, Spunky the dachshund, she felt him lick her hand. So she knew everything was okay. But it wasn't because that dripping kept going." Poppy's clutching my arm now, so I kind of want Brandon to keep going even though I feel bad he's scaring her. "She finally got up and looked in the wardrobe, and there was Spunky, hung." Brandon sticks his tongue out and makes a choking sound as he clutches his neck. "And that dripping was poor Spunky's blood falling on the floor." Poppy whimpers. "And there’s a note that says, 'Humans can lick, too'." Poppy screams and Brandon laughs so hard he topples over. "That's not true!" she says. "Is too." "Is not." "I mean," I say. "I never heard that." Brandon glares at me. "Blaire told me herself." "Blaire was a liar," I say, and Brandon shrugs. "Don't know, but I sure wouldn’t want to sleep in the room Spunky was hung in." "I hate you, Brandon," she says, huddling against my side. He laughs. "It's just a story, Poppy." Something rustles in the bushes behind the tent and she jumps. "What was that?" she whispers. "It's the crazy man from your wardrobe, he's gonna lick you, possum." She screams and I hug her. "Stop it, Bran!"

He laughs so hard he falls back, clutching at his stomach. "Oh, now I need to go pee." Poppy chews her lip, looking at the flap of the tent. "I'll go with you," I offer. She looks at me for a second and then over to Brandon. "Brandon, you take me because you'd punch the crazy man." She glances at me. "No, offense Con." Brandon laughs. "Sure, possum. I'll come and fend off the crazy fella for ya." I watch them crawl out of the tent, and here I sit, alone in my church clothes. I pull out a Milkybar from my pocket, unwrap it, shove it into my mouth, and tear off the first delicious bite. Why does Brandon get to scare her and then be the one that walks her inside? And why do I even care? Brandon is mean to her, and my ma says he's trouble. I'm nice to Poppy. I like her, but she's really nice to Brandon. I don't know why. Ma says that sometimes you have to guide a lost soul and that she prays for him. I don't know why. Brandon doesn't even go to church. Well, he used to, but after he drank the water from the altar that one time, he got kicked out. Ma said he's like a wild dog because he's from the pikey camp. I do love him. He's my best friend, and when the other kids at school all picked on me, he never did, because they picked on him, too. I just wish that Poppy liked me more. I throw my Milkybar wrapper on the ground and tug at my tie, pulling it off. Maybe if I was more like Brandon...

7

Poppy 12 years old The pikey dog comes running out from the overgrown field, barking. Hope jumps. "It won't bite you," I say. She looks nervously at it. "Why's it got that bailing twine wrapped 'round its fat neck?" "It's pikey dog..." "Pikey dog? That's its name?" "He doesn't have a name. He just hangs out at the pikey camp, so we call him pikey dog." She nods before pulling her red hair up into a high ponytail. "And the bailing twine?" "Old Man McGinty had him tied to his caravan for a while." Hope started at our school the week before summer break. I let her sit next to us at lunch on her first day, and we've been friends ever since. Although, she's not a fan of Brandon, but not many people are. "So this is a gypo camp?" she asks. "Like where real gypsies live?" I nod. "And you hang out here by choice?" I shrug. "Brandon lives here." "Of course he does…Explains so much." “Don’t be mean.” “Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes.” Hope's...a little stuck up. That's what Mrs. Blaine says anyway. Her daddy owns McGrath Whiskey and they have, according to Brandon, “butt-loads” of money. Brandon keeps trying to talk her into inviting us over to her house because he wants to nick stuff. He says it would make him like Robin Hood. Steal from the rich and give to the poor—himself being the poor. Pikey dog follows us to the entrance of the camp even though Hope keeps trying to shoo him away. We weave through the caravans. Hope’s holding onto my arm, I think she’s afraid someone’s going to pick her pocket, even though I told her they wouldn’t. We stop in front of Brandon's little blue and white caravan with the bunting tied to the front. "And, remind me, why are we here instead of your house or Connor's?" Hope asks.

"Because Brandon's parents are gone." "Oh, right." I knock on the metal door and the curtain pulls back. Brandon peeks out from the side before the lock clicks. The door swings open and a cloud of smoke pours out. Brandon's gaze darts over my shoulder at Hope, and he tosses his head back on a groan. "Agh, what did you bring her for?" Brandon says she's a soulless ginger, basically, the hate each other. "Shut up, Brandon." I shove him out of the way and walk inside. Connor's sitting on the bench seat, staring down at the smoldering cigarette in his hand. "Hey Poppy." Connor glances at Hope. "Hey Hope." Brandon shutd the door and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the table. He takes out three and passes them out. I look at it, rolling it between my fingertips. "I don't know. What's the point?" "Because it's what grown-ups do," Brandon says, cupping his hand and lighting his cigarette. He passes the lighter to Hope. "It's just badass." "Yeah, and Milkybar there looks like a real badass," Hope snickers as she points at Connor. "Shut it, McGrath." Connor takes a puff of the cigarette and immediately coughs. His eyes water and his cheeks go all red. Hope lights hers and takes a deep drag as she hands me the lighter. My heart pounds in my chest, my palms are sticky with sweat. "You don't have to do it," Connor says. "I know I don't have to," I say with a snip, and I light it, pulling the nasty smoke into my mouth and immediately blowing it out. That wasn't that bad. Hope's coughing. Brandon's coughing. Connor's coughing. And I'm not. I proudly pull another drag in and let it out. "Not that bad," I snicker. Brandon glares at me through his watery eyes as I take another drag like a champ. Then, he starts laughing and coughing. "What?" I ask. "Poss, you ain't even inhaling." "What? Am too!" I take another quick pull. "Nope." Brandon steps over to me, placing his cigarette to his lips. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then opens his mouth, allowing the smoke to slowly seep out. "Act like you're about to go under water. Take a breath like that, poss." And so I do. And I wish I hadn't. It burns and I end up bent over at the waist, violently coughing and certain I'm dying. Brandon laughs and slaps his hand over his thigh. I flick the ash into the paper cup and glare at him. "What are we doing? Other than sitting in your caravan and smoking?" I ask. Brandon shrugs. "Video game?" "No,” Hope groans, “let’s watch a movie or something." Still puffing on his cigarette, Brandon walks to the side of the caravan, picks up

a box, and dumps a mountain of DVDs onto the floor. Hope shakes her head and Connor leans over, sifting through the pile. "Die Hard...Monty Python...Titanic..." he says. "Oh," I squeal. "Titanic." "Yeah, I vote Titanic," Hope says. Brandon snatches the DVD from Connor and hurls it across the room. "I'm not watching anything with Leonardo DiCaprio in it, even if he does die at the end." Hope rolls her eyes. "He's a delight." "Die Hard, it is." Brandon picks the movie up. Me and Hope both groan and say no in unison. "Deep Throat," Connor says holding up a DVD, "what's that?" "Don't know. It's my dad's. He says not to touch it." Laughing, Brandon shrugs and grabs the DVD from Connor's hand. "Which means it's probably something we should watch." "It's something from American history, I remember hearing about it,” I say. “Something about some water with a gate or something." Brandon glares at me. "My dad wouldn't watch anything to do with American history." He shoves the disc into the DVD player and takes a seat next to Connor on the floor. Hope leans in next to me. "Is it safe to sit on the carpet?" she whispers. "Yes." “It just seems…” her nose wrinkles, “unclean.” The title rolls and, the next thing I know, a woman with a horrible perm is driving along in a blue car. She parks and gets out of the car, carrying a box with her. Boring. And then the camera pans to another girl sitting on the kitchen counter with a top on and nothing else and... "What!" I cover my face with my hand. "Dear God," Hope says, and I peek through the slit in my fingers just in time to see Brandon crawl closer to the TV. "Is that...?" he whispers. "Why does she have hair down there?" Hope sputters. "You don't?" Brandon asks. "No!" "Stop it. Stop the movie!" I scream. "I mean,” Brandon shrugs. “I thought that might be a girl thing or something." "Why would you want to lick that?" Connor asks, pulling a Milkybar out of his pocket and peeling the wrapper back, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. I stare ahead in shock. "This is gross. Turn it off." I say it because I feel like someone has to because this is wrong. "No! Keep going," Hope says. "I wanna see." "My ma’s gonna beat me," Connor manages with a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm gonna have to go to confession for this." He punches Brandon in the arm. "Thanks a lot."

"Shut up, Con. Your ma has hairy girl parts." "Shut your mouth." Connor glares at him. Brandon grins and inhales on his cigarette. "Make me." “Don’t…” Connor smashes his smoke out on the table, “talk about my ma." "What? And her hairy girly parts?" Connor growls and leaps across the caravan so hard it rocks a little. He pins Brandon down. "Get your fat arse off me." Brandon tries to shove him off. "Tell me you're sorry." "No." The music seems to grow louder. It sounds like the music that would go with an awful toothpaste commercial. Connor's face scrunches up. "I'll make you sorry." Hope grabs my arm. "Poppy. Poppy!" "I'll fart on your face, you turd," Connor says through a groan. "Poppy!" Hope grabs my face and turns me toward the TV, and I'm not sure what I'm looking at. It's wrinkly and hairy and making some smacking sound. "What. Is. That?" Brandon manages to turn his face toward the movie, his hands on Connor's butt as he's trying to get him off. "That's a ball bag." "It's coming," Connor whispers. “I’m gonna fart on your face!” "Don't do it!" Brandon punches him in the stomach. And then the loudest fart I've ever heard roars around the caravan. Brandon starts gagging and wildly punching at Connor. Connor falls off him, laughing so hard that he farts again. "Gross," Hope shouts as she clamps her hand over her face. "Boys are so disgusting. And now this..." She points at the TV. "It's a willy," Connor says. "What is it doing?" I ask, watching as it disappears....somewhere. "How should I know?" Brandon says looking at me. "They're touching...parts." "We're going to hell." Connor shakes his head. "I think she likes it," Brandon says, copying her face. "You look like an idiot," Hope tells him. "You would know," he says. The door flies open, banging against the inside. All of us freeze. My heart stops beating the moment my eyes land on Mrs. O'Kieffe. Brandon's frantically fanning the air like that will make all the smoke disappear. Connor grabs the pack of smokes from the table and hides it behind his back. And…the movie is still playing. Smiling, Hope waves and stands up. "Hi. I'm Hope." His mum looks at all of us and then glares at Brandon. "Brandon Patrick O'Kieffe!" Brandon winces. The music from the film is still playing in the background, and now the girl is licking his willy.

"Smoking and watching that...that filth.” Mrs. O’Keiffe closes her eyes and inhales. “I expect better from you Poppy Turner and Connor Blaine. Now, out with the lot of ya.” "Please don't tell my ma," Connor begs. She rolls her eyes. "What do ya take me for, lad? Now, off with ya." She opens the door and practically throws the three of us out. "Well, that was...something," Hope says as we start toward the exit. "Who knew hanging out with a pikey could be so much fun?"

8

Brandon 12 years old I follow Connor up the steps and pause outside the door. "I don't want to go in there," I whisper. "Well,” Connor turns around and glares at me, “I have to go and save my immortal soul, so you are coming with me." I roll my eyes. "Your, whatever is fine, Connor. Ya look grand." "My ma says I'll go to hell if I don't get forgiven for my sins. And smoking is a sin." My eyebrows shoot up. "It is?" "Yeah, we have to confess, Bran, or we'll go to hell." I shift on my feet and eye the doors of the church. "Fine." I follow him in. The smell of old people and candles hits me. He walks to the front of the church and kneels before Jesus on the cross. I stand here, not really knowing what to do. My ma is Catholic, but my dad isn't, so she doesn't bring me to church often. Also, she says I behave badly and embarrass her in front of God. Con finishes whatever he’s doing in front of Jesus and then he walks inside a funny looking cupboard. He's in there for ages, and I’m getting bored, so I go over to the shelf covered in little candles and blow them out. An old lady glares at me before she leaves the church. Connor finally gets out of the cupboard. "Can we go now?" I ask. "No, you have to go in." I groan and look up at the ceiling. "Fine." I stomp into the cupboard and sit on the little bench. "Speak, my child. God is listening," a voice says, making me jump. "Jesus?" "How many days has it been since your last confession?" "Um...I don't remember. But look, about the smokin'...I know it's a sin and all, but if you could not send me to hell, that'd be grand. Also, I did nick that Barbie, but it was for Poppy, and my ma says it's the thought that matters." There's nothing but silence. "Jesus? Where'd you go?" "God forgives all sins, my child." "Ah, grand.” I grin. “See, I knew you'd understand." I get up and leave the box just as an old fella gets out next to me. "Did you hear Jesus, too?" The man smiles and shakes his head, placing his hand on my head.

"Brandon O'Kieffe. Should have known." I shrug and walk over to Connor. "Okay, me and Jesus are squared away. We're good." He frowns and walks out. I follow him. "Okay, so now we did your church thing, can we go home?" "My house or the pikey camp?" he asks. "Camp. There's a fight tonight and my dad said I can watch." Connor takes a Milkybar from his pocket and bites off a chunk. "Why would you want to watch a fight?" "Because my dad says next year I'll be doing it. He's been teaching me." "I thought you didn't like your dad?" he asks. "I don't, but I want to be able to fight." My dad is mean to my ma, and he's drunk most of the time. He always used to ignore me, but now he wants me to learn how to fight. He says I'm good and that I'll make him proud. He smiles at me when I land a punch and pats me on the back. I like it. "Okay," Connor says. "But I'll have to be back before tea." "You won't be back before tea, Connor.” I roll my eyes. “Tell your ma you're having tea at mine." He groans. "She won't like it. She says you're a bad influence." Bad influence? "Look, tell her I'm sorry I broke her vase. It was an accident." "She says you're trouble and that you're raised with the dogs at that camp." I frown. "Do you think that?" He shakes his head and smiles, offering me the last bit of his Milkybar, and I take it. "Nah, I like the camp. It's fun. Besides, you're my best friend." I smile. "Okay, well let’s go and get Poppy, and we'll go watch the fight." Connor’s out of breath by the time we get to Poppy’s. Her dad’s car is gone. I guess he must still be at work. I knock on the door and Connor mumbles something about tea. Poppy answers the door. Her hair is braided. I like the yellow ribbon in it, it’s pretty…I guess. Her eyes shift from Connor to me. "Hey guys." "Hey. Wanna come and watch a fight?" I ask. She frowns and wrinkles her nose. "A fight?" "It's a pikey thing," Connor chimes in. "Oh, well then, yeah, sure. Hold on." She goes back inside her house and comes out with a jacket. I swear, we don't even get to the end of her road before she starts whining: "Slow down, Brandon. My legs hurt." Connor is huffing and puffing next to her. "That's because you're a midget." I laugh. "Am not.” She glares at me. “You're just a giant." Sighing, I drop onto one knee. She grins, runs around behind me, and hops onto my back. "Thanks," she says, squeezing my neck so tight I almost choke. "You're the best friend ever." "Uh-huh." I start towards the camp with Poppy clinging to me like the little

possum she is. "Come on, Con," I call back to him. "I'm not carrying your lard arse." "Don't be mean to him." Poppy bops me on the head. "Pair of you are bloody slow," I grumble.

9

Poppy 12 years old The leaves crunch under our feet as we walk through the woods. I keep looking around worried a snake's going to slither out and bite me. "Hissssssss." Brandon pinches my sides and I yelp. "Stop it!" He shrugs. I look at Connor, and on cue, he punches him in the shoulder without even glancing over at him. "What do you have in that backpack?" Connor asks. "Stuff." "What kind of stuff." Brandon picks up a stick and hurls it into the woods. "Just stuff. Leave it alone." He’s been in a bad mood ever since yesterday. He's got a nasty bruise on his face, and I don't want to ask him how it got it because I already know. He's dad is mean. I think he might be the devil. "Ma's making breakfast for dinner. Want to come over?" Connor asks me, and I nod. "Yeah." "What about me?" Brandon says. "Like I need to ask you. You're always there." "You think she’d make biscuits and gravy?" I ask, smiling. Dad's not much of a breakfast person and I haven't had that since my mom passed away. The thought of it makes my mouth water. Connor and Brandon both stop and stare at me. "Why would you put gravy on a biscuit?" Brandon asks with a snarl. "Why wouldn't you?" "Gravy doesn't go on biscuits. You have biscuits with warm milk. Gravy..." Connor fakes a gagging noise. "Yuck!" "What?" "And biscuits aren't for breakfast, poss." Brandon shakes his head. "They're for treat." "No. No...biscuits and gravy, you know, fluffy sandwich like things. You put egg and sausage in them and gravy." They both look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about. "Most be some American thing," Connor says. He shrugs and we begin walking

again. As we walk, I think about my mom. I remember how she would smile every day when she picked me up from school and how good her hugs were. I think about her singing Elvis Presley when she was in the kitchen. And how she always smelled like that White Diamonds perfume Daddy would buy her for Christmas. Before I know it, I'm so sad I can't help but cry. I quickly wipe the tears away because I don't want to talk about it, but Connor's already seen me. "What's wrong?" he asks. I shake my head. "You were crying." "No, I wasn't." Brandon stops walking and comes over to me, grabbing my cheeks and staring me in the eyes. "You were too." His eyes narrow and a sad frown sets on his face. "Did Davie Logan mess with you again?" "No. I’m fine. I had a gnat in my eye." I jerk away from him and stomp on through the woods, snapping branches as I go and throwing the tiny limbs to the side. I don't want to talk about it with them. They wouldn't understand. They have moms. "Alright," Brandon says, "this looks good enough." We all stop and watch as Brandon marches into a clearing and sets his ratty old backpack down. He opens it, takes a load of magazines out, and throws them on the ground. The top one has a picture of a girl with her boobies hanging out, the word: Hustler in bright yellow lettering on the front. "Brandon, why do you..." He looks up at me. "They're my dad's. He smacked me one for looking at 'em the other day," he points to the bruise on his face, "so I figured, if I can't look at them, neither can he." He digs in his pocket and brings out a pack of matches. "Bran," Connor says, "I don't think that's such a good idea." Brandon strikes the match, holding up the little orange flame as he grins. "Just saving his immortal soul, Con." And then he tosses the match down on top of the magazines, but the fire just goes out. "Ah, shit." He takes another match and strikes it. "God's trying to tell you something, Bran," Connor says, grabbing my hand and taking a step back. I hate his dad, so I want him to burn those dirty magazines. I watch as Brandon bends down and holds the flame to the edge of the pages. The fire catches and curls the cover back. Brandon rubs his hands together and walks over where the edge of the woods meet the stubble field. Rows of cut straw lay on the ground and he scoops some into his arms. "What are you doing?" I ask. He smirks. "Making a fire." Connor just shakes his head and drags me back another step. Brandon tosses

the straw onto the fire and it goes up in a bright red burst. "See, nothing to worry about, Con. You're just being paranoid." Brandon struts over to us and clasp Connor on the shoulder, and here we all stand, staring at the fire. A rush of wind blows through the trees, scattering the smoldering straw across the ground. Before we know it, the stubble field is going up in a blaze. "Oh, my god," I gasp. Connor crosses himself. "Now you've done it, Bran." Brandon stands, watching the fire for a second before turning and staring at us with wide eyes. "Now what?" Connor asks, panicking. "Run!" Brandon grabs my arm and starts running, dragging me through the woods. I stumble, but he catches me. "Come on, Con! Keep up," he shouts. I trip again and, this time, I fall, my knee hitting the ground. Pain shoots up my leg. I grab it and pull it to my chest as I hiss in a breath. Brandon’s tugging on my arm in an attempt to make me stand. "Come on. Get up." Connor catches up to us, bending over his knees to catch his breath. "Farmer McDowell is going to tell our ma’s." Brandon shakes his head. "How's he gonna know who did it?" I get to my feet and the three of us take off running again. We don't stop until we're right outside the pikey camp and Connor throws up in the bushes. "Brandon, you butthole!" I shout. He smiles and then bursts out laughing. "This isn't funny," Connor says, gasping for air. My leg is stinging I sit on the edge of his deck and inspect my bleeding knee. The wound is caked with dirt and grass, and even though it doesn’t hurt that bad, I feel tears prick my eyes. I sniff trying to keep myself from crying. When Brandon finally stops laughing, he crouches down in front of me. "It was just a little fire, poss. Don't cry." "My knee hurts." He looks at it, his forehead wrinkling. "I think you got a stone in it. Want me to kiss it better?" I smile, and my cheeks get hot. "Yeah." Sighing, he rolls his eyes before kissing my knee. Brandon O'Kieffe kissed my knee. My whole face feels like it's on fire, and when he looks up at me, he grins. "Are you blushing, Poppy Turner?" "No." I fold my arms over my chest. "You so are. Come on." Laughing, he stands and pulls me to my feet. "I'll give you a possum ride." He turns around and squats, and I hop on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. When he spins me around, Connor's glaring at us. He takes a deep breath, turns his back to us, and storms off. "Connor?" I shout.

"I'm going home." "But…wait on us," I say. "I'm fine." Brandon sighs. "He's probably pissed he threw up his Milkybar." I hope that's all it is. I don't like it when Connor's sad. "Connor!" I shout. His shoulders fall before he turns around. Brandon walks over to him with me still clinging to his back and Connor frowns. "Pinky promise we'll always be friends," I say, making a fist and sticking out my pinky finger. Connor stares at my finger for a second before he smiles. "Yeah, I pinky promise." He hooks his little finger through mine. "What about me?" Brandon asks. "You too." I let go of Connor's finger and pinky swear with Brandon. Next, him and Connor do it. "There. And now you can never, ever break it." "Or what?" Brandon asks. "Or you'll die." He laughs and starts walking to my house. "Okay, poss. Whatever you say."

10

Connor 12 years old I sit on the swing set, barely swinging. It's hot, and I'm sweaty. I reach in my pocket for my Milkybar. It's all melted so I chuck it across the playground. "What did you do that for?" Brandon asks. "It's melted." "So?" He hops off the swing, runs over, picks it up, and dusts it off. "Put it in the fridge." But, instead of handing it back to me, he shoves it inside his pocket. I look over to the side of the playground. Hope and Poppy are by the picnic tables, talking and giggling. Hope gets on my nerves. I liked it when it was just me and Bran and Poppy. "What's up your butt?" Brandon asks, his eyes following mine over to the girls. "Just tell her you like her." "Do not." He shrugs. "It's fine. My ma says it hormones." He leans down close to my ear. "You know what Davie Logan told Brad McGinty?" "What?" "That Suzie Brady will show you her girly bits for two quid." I stare at Brandon for a second. I love him and all, but he's known to throw a fib around. "No way." I shouldn't care. Who wants to see Suzie's girly parts, anyhow? "Yeah, and for a fiver she'll show you that and her boobies—and she's fourteen, Con, she's got real ones." Brandon smiles before he digs around in the pocket my Milkybar's not in. He pulls out five quid and shows it to me. "Fancy a walk over to ol' Suzie's house?" I glance back over at Poppy and Hope, then back at Brandon. His hair's in disarray, his clothes tattered and covered in grass and dirt stains. And something inside of me snaps. I know I shouldn't go see Suzie's girly bits. I know it will send me straight to hell, but I want to be like Brandon. I want to be a rebel, a pikey… because that's what Poppy likes. I jump down from the swing and yank my nice, clean shirt out from the waist of my trousers. I rub my hand through my hair and make it all messy. "Let's go to Suzie's," I say, glaring over at the girls. Brandon pats my back. "We're about to cross over into manhood, Con. Our lives are about to change." "Right." And we walk down the sidewalk. Brandon keeps kicking some old beer can, and

my stomach's in knots. All I can think about is how sad I'm about to make Jesus, but I'll just go to confession and be forgiven. I think… "Hey, guys!" Poppy calls from the playground. "Where are you going? Wait up." I hold my hand up. "Not now, Poppy," I say. "We're going to become men." Brandon glances over at me and smirks before placing his arm around my shoulder. "That's right, poss. You have to sit this one out. No girls allowed." "What the..." Poppy skips up beside us. "You are acting weird." "They're dumb boys, of course they are acting weird, Poppy," Hope says, running up beside her. "I'm going to follow you," Poppy teases as she loops her arm through Brandon's. We stop walking. "You can't go." Brandon narrows his eyes on her. "I can go wherever I want." "Aw, look it's the little pikey snot and his fat friend," a deep voice comes from behind me. We all turn around at the same time to see Darryn O'Sheehan and his two dumb friends, Matt and Jimmy, trotting alongside him. "What do you want, Darryn?" Hope says, placing her hands on her hips. "My brother says that ginger lasses have ginger pubes.” He laughs “That true?" "Well, my sister says your brothers are prize twats, and my dad says your family's a joke." Hope says with a smug grin. He steps closer to Hope, and Poppy shoves him in the chest. "You leave her alone, Darryn. You're a mean bully." "If it isn't Measach." He laughs and his friends join in. Brandon moves closer to Poppy. It annoys me. I want to help her. "You need to leave!" I shout. He stares at me with a grin. "Did you say something, fatso?" I swallow the lump in my throat. "Y...yeah. Leave." "Or what? You'll sit on me with your fat arse?" He laughs, and Matt and Jimmy join in. "Or maybe you'll chase me? Can you run as far as the swing set with all that fat?" They laugh harder. I pretend like I don't care, but I want to run away. It hurts my feelings. "Darryn O'Sheehan, you shut your stupid mouth, or I'm gonna punch it," Brandon says. "Oh, shut up, pikey. I was talking to fatso." "Ah, that's it. No one calls my best friend fat." Brandon punches Darryn right in the mouth, busting his lip. Matt and Jimmy hit Brandon, and I don't know what to do, so I just stand there. Hope knees Jimmy in the balls, and Brandon elbows Matt in the face. Poppy is screaming for everyone to stop. Darryn glares at Brandon. "I'm gonna get you, pikey." "You better run, or I'm gonna come burn your house down!" Brandon shouts. They run off and Poppy throws her arms around Brandon's neck. "Oh, Brandon…are you okay?" she asks him. "Yeah.”

"Thanks," I tell him. He shrugs. "Come on, let’s go."

*** Poppy and Hope go to Poppy’s house, and I go back to the caravan with Bran. His cheek is bright red and swollen from where Darryn punched him. And as soon as we get inside the caravan, his ma swats him with her dishcloth. "Brandon Patrick O'Kieffe, you been fighting again?" Brandon sighs. "He hit me first, Ma." "Doesn't matter." She grabs his face and inspects the bruise. "That boy’s mother called me. You told him you’d burn his house to the ground? What do ya think it makes me look like? Like you were raised by dogs." She shakes her head. "You're grounded for a week." "That's so fecking unfair!" "Boy!" The flimsy door to the bedroom at the back of the caravan flings open. Brandon flinches and I cringe as his dad comes stumbling out. "Talk to your mother like that again, and you'll feel my belt on your arse." "You do," Brandon mumbles. His dad storms up to him. Brandon takes a step back, and his dad smacks him across the face so hard that Brandon falls to his knees, clutching his face. "Des!" Brandon's mum grabs his dad’s arm. "Connor's here," she says quietly. His dad looks at me, and I scramble back towards the door. His dad shoves his boot against Brandon’s side and my heart starts banging in my chest. "Get on out of here, boy," his dad says. Brandon stumbles to his feet, turns around, and leaves the caravan. I follow him. I don't know what to do or say. I feel like it’s my fault his dad just smacked him. Brandon only got in the fight to stick up for me. He kicks a rock and it bounces of the side of Old Man McGinty's caravan, the sudden ping scaring Arnold. Brandon stomps around the back and sits down on an old, upturned wheelbarrow with the wheel missing. "You okay?" I ask. Sighing, he puts his head in his hands. "I hate my dad." I nod. "He's horrible." We watch Arnold trot over to the ponies. I scrape my trainer over the edge of the wheelbarrow. "Look, I'm sorry you got in trouble for fighting. Thanks for sticking up for me." He shrugs. "I'm not gonna let them say shit to you." "Yeah, I wish I could punch them." He looks at me. "You can."

"Nah,” I sigh. “I'm too scared, and they're right, I am fat." Brandon stands and slaps a hand on my shoulder. "I'll always have you're back." I don't want him to help me all the time though. I want to be like him. I want Poppy to hug me, and I want the bullies to stop picking on me. And besides, who's gonna have Brandon's back? "Can you teach me how to punch?" I ask. He grins. "Sure." "And then we can have each other’s backs," I say. He nods. "Friends forever, remember?" "Always."

11

Poppy 14 years old Me and Hope lie in the dark, in complete silence. My stomach's jittery with nerves. "Is he asleep yet?" she whispers. "Shhh." "Fine. Fine." I give it a few more minutes, then I climb out of bed and tiptoe to my door, opening it and peering down the hall. The lights are all out and I can hear dad snoring. I step back into my room and carefully close the door. "He's out," I whisper. Hope grins ear to ear and tosses the covers off. We quickly grab the dummy dolls we spent half the day making out of pillowcases and my old stuffed animals, and we shove them underneath the covers. "The Barbie hair was a nice touch," Hope says. I look at the hodgepodge of hair we tacked to the top of the teddy bear heads and I nod. There's a soft tap on the window and I hurry to it. Connor's face is smashed against the glass and I motion for him to back up. I open the window, step up on my dresser, and climb out, grabbing onto the trellis. Halfway down, I lose my footing and basically fall on top of Connor. He holds onto me, and I swear he’s breathing in my hair. "What are you doing?" I ask, pushing away from him. "Trying to catch you." Hope tumbles out after me, falling in one of the bushes. "Ow, cunt." "Where are we going?" I ask. "Shrimping." Connor starts off to the side of the house. "Sneaking out to go shrimping. We're the rebels, aren’t we?" Hope says as she dusts the leaves out of her hair. Connor rolls his eyes and heads toward the sidewalk. "Brandon's supposed to meet us at the end of the block." We get halfway down the street and then we see one headlight glowing from a rundown Defender. All three of us stop dead in our tracks. The engine sputters before the car comes barreling toward us. "Run!" Connor shouts, and we take off into Miss McGurty's garden. Bang! One of the aluminum trash cans rolling down the street. The engine idles. "Where did

you go?" Brandon shouts. I peek out from the rose bushes and see him sitting in the driver's seat, the interior light showing just enough of his face that I can make out his trademark smirk. My heart flitters for a moment and I scold myself. "What in the..." "Oh shit," Connor groans. "What's the cunt done now," Hope says. That's her new word. Her older sister Teagan says it all the time so Hope thinks its badass. We step out from the shadows and up to the car. "Bran,” I sigh, “what the hell are you doing with Old Man McGinty's car?" "Borrowed it." Shaking his head, Connor opens the door, the hinges creaking. "So, you nicked it?" "You say nicked, I say borrowed. Besides, he's passed out drunk in his lawn chair again. He won't miss it." Connor climbs in and I get in after him. Hope pulls herself up, eyeing the inside of the truck. "Dear God..." She sits down and points at the seat, "Is that grass growing out of the seat?" "Yeah." Brandon shrugs as he puts the gear into drive and pulls off, running over the curb. "Do you even know how to drive?" I ask. "Sure I do. I've had to drive my dad when he gets too drunk. Been doing it since I was twelve." "We're going to prison," Connor groans from the front seat. "No we're not." "What are you going to do if you get pulled over?" Connor says. "This car's not even road legal." Brandon glares at Connor. "Who are you? Road legal..." He snorts. "We're fourteen, they can't prosecute us." Connor face palms on a heavy sigh. "It's fine. We're fine," I say. I stare through the windshield, watching as we pass by all the dark houses. "I'll just tell them who my daddy is,” Hope says proudly. “They wouldn’t put a McGrath behind bars." Brandon turns around. "You couldn't pay them enough to put up with you." "Red light!" I scream and Brandon slams on the breaks, the worn pads screaming, and empty bottles of cider rolling around in the floorboard. "Look, if we get pulled over, Poppy, you just pretend you’re dying." Brandon nods. Connor chuckles. "What, why me?" "I don't know, you're a girl and Hope's a soulless ginger, so they wouldn't care if she died." Hope slams her palms against the back of his seat and he laughs.

Five minutes later and we've parked—right in front of a sign that reads: No Trespassing. "And trespassing..." Connor mumbles as he walks toward the iron gate. Brandon gathers the net, and we all climb over the gate, making our way through the woods to the lake at the back of the property. "Since when has Connor not been fat?" Hope whispers. I glance ahead at the baggy t-shirt hanging off Connor and shrug. Brandon's been teaching him to fight and he's stopped eating all those Milkybars. "Why are we shrimping again?" Hope asks. "Old Man McGinty said he'd chuck me a tenner for a bucket of shrimp," Brandon says. "And why are we tagging along for you to make a few quid?" "I don't know, ask yourself that. You're the one who wanted to sneak out. I already had my plans." "You could get more than ten quid for a bucket of shrimp," Connor says. "Yeah, but I figure ten quid's enough to go buy Polly McAdams some flowers. I bet I can at least get to second base for a bunch of Gerber daisies." I roll my eyes. Hope just groans and whispers cunt under her breath. We all huddle close together as we walk through the dark. A few minutes later, and I hear the waves lapping against the pier. The moon reflects off the water and casts enough light that I can see the peer as Brandon struts onto it. The rotten boards creak and pop under his weight. "Uh..." Hope and I both stop at the edge of the shore. Brandon keeps walking, dragging the net behind him. Connor follows him. "It's fine, poss," Brandon says. Sighing, Hope and I walk onto the pier. I try to tiptoe, hoping that may keep the entire thing from collapsing underneath me. Brandon and Connor kick off their shoes before tossing the net into the water. They both sit on the edge, dangling their legs over the side. I sit behind Brandon. Hope sits next to me and takes her phone out of her pocket. The screen lights up and the beeping sound from her game echoes off the water. "Really?" Brandon says. "Out in nature and you're gonna play some dumb game on your phone." "Shut up." Hope doesn't even look up. Brandon pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticks one in his mouth, and lights it. "Yep," he blows out the smoke, "second base at least." "Poppy," Connor turns around and smiles at me. "What are you doing tomorrow night?" "Dunno." "Want to come watch a movie?" "Sure." I shove Brandon with my foot. "We are not watching Die Hard." "I'm not coming, poss. Gerber daisies, remember?" "Oh...yeah." I feel my shoulders fall a little and notice Connor's still staring at

me. "I thought we'd watch Titanic," Connor says. "Yeah," I grin. "I love that movie." "I know. That's why I want to watch it." His smile widens and for the first time, I feel my cheeks blush when Connor looks at me. His eyes are still locked on mine and there's this fluttery feeling inside my stomach, that same nervous feeling I get when I look at Brandon. Connor always has been, and always will be, the sweet guy, and I guess I never paid much attention to it, but something about him seems a little different now. He's like a brother to me, I think. I guess. I guess the way I feel about him and Brandon are how you'd feel about a brother... "Come on, shrimp." Brandon tosses his cigarette into the water and grabs the end of the net. "Con, help me out, would you?" Connor grabs the other side of the net and they hoist it up, tossing it onto the deck and dropping the sides. There are tons of nasty shrimp in the net and they are jumping. Jumping everywhere! Before I can scramble to my feet, two land on my bare thigh and I scream, swatting the cold, crusty thing off of me. "They're going to get me!" I jump up, trying to get the slimy feel of them off as I run around. My foot catches on a jacked-up board and I trip, and the next thing I know, I'm falling off the pier. Splash! Freezing cold water surrounds me and my chest tightens as I sink beneath the surface. All I can think about is the tiny little crustaceans swimming all around me, ready to attack. I surface, and as soon as I do, I'm screaming. "They're going to get me!" Connor's laughing so hard he's bent forward, Hope's snorting, and Brandon's just smirking. "Help me!" "Alright, poss." Brandon grins before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side of the pier. The moonlight catches just right, settling in the ridges of his stomach. My heart, already hammering in my chest, thumps harder. Water splashes up when he dives in, and the next thing I know, his warm body is pressed against mine as he drags me toward the pier. "Just like a possum," he says, laughing. "I hate you." "Nah, I think you love me." "You wish," I whisper through my chattering teeth. We get closer to the pier. I don't want to get out of the water because I like him holding onto me like this. The thing is, I do love him. I always have.

12

Brandon 14 years old I glance over the shelves and then check to see if anyone's watching. I don't want anyone to see me looking at Johnnies. I thought I'd just come in here and pick up a box. Who knew there were fifty different types? Glow in the dark? I mean, I guess that might be helpful. An old lady walks around the corner and I panic, grabbing a box of glow in the dark ones and shoving them inside my jacket. I walk to the door as fast as I can and run out of the shop. "Hey!" "Ah, shit." Again? I run down the road towards the camp, but when I glance over my shoulder, some guy is chasing me. I can't go back there, so I run towards Poppy's house. Hope is coming through her front gate, and I nearly run into her. "What the hell?" she screeches. I wink at her and keep running, hooking around the corner and along the path that leads to Poppy's back garden. I vault the gate and climb up the trellis. Yanking her window open, I fall through the gap onto her floor completely out of breath. "Do you ever use a door?" Poppy asks. I glance up and her and Con are sitting on the floor. "Con, check out the window. Is there a fella in the garden?" "What?" He shakes his head. "Never mind, I don't even know why I'm asking." He stands up and walks to the window to peek out. "No, no man." "Good." I eye Poppy. "You two looked cosy." I wiggle my eyebrows at them. I want to be sitting close to Poppy, and I think I'd rather lose my virginity to Poppy than Polly, but Connor likes her. Anyway, I see the way she looks at me. Poppy thinks I'm a wrong'n. Mrs. Blaine always says I'm a wrong'n and that Poppy's a good girl. My dad says I'm good for nothing, and I think Poppy needs someone nice. She should like Connor. Poppy shoves me. "Shut it, Brandon. What did you nick this time?" She arches a brow. Connor chuckles. "A nudey magazine?" I grin. "Check this shit out." I pull the box out from under my jacket and throw it at him. "Glow in the dark Johnnies. I'm gonna pop Polly's cherry with a

lightsaber dick." The smile on Poppy's face falls clean off and she looks away. "What?" Con snatches them. "Glow in the dark Johnnies? Who would have thought?" He tosses them back. "You know you have to date her if you pop her cherry, it's a rule." He grins. "Might even have to marry her or something. Pretty sure that's what the priest says." I shrug. "I do not! I bought her flowers for Christ’s sake. Me and Jesus talked about it." "I think she's ugly," Poppy says, arms crossed and her gaze glued to the wall. "Yeah, but she has massive boobs," I say. Poppy just shakes her head. Connor's trying his best not to laugh. "It's the most important thing about a girl. Everyone knows that." She glances down at her chest and that frown on her face deepens. "Nice to know. I don't have big boobs." "Ah, poss, you don't count. You’re my best friend." "I like your boobies, Poppy," Connor says, his face turning red. I can't believe he just said that. I laugh. Poppy shoves him and he topples over on the floor. "You sure nobody's out in the garden?" I ask. Sighing, he goes back to the window. "No. No one's out there." "Alright then," I get to my feet and climb through the window, glancing back inside as I turn and grab onto the trellis. "Next time you see me, I'll be a changed man."

13

Connor 14 years old We're sitting in Poppy's living room with the lights out, watching Titanic. Poppy's right next to me, the smell of strawberries right under my nose because she's snuggled so close. Brandon must still be popping Polly's cherry because he hasn't come back yet. And that's just fine. I like it being just me and Poppy right now. This is the longest movie of all time, but I don't mind because she likes it. By the time we get to the end and that blond guy's dead and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, Poppy's balling. She buries her face in my shoulder and I pull her closer to me. "It's okay. It's just a movie." "But it's not. This really happened." She pops her head up and stares at me with tear-filled eyes. "People really died on that ship." I shift uncomfortably in the seat. "Well, yeah...but there wasn't a Jack and Rose." "Maybe there was..." "Maybe." The end credits roll and we sit in awkward silence with my arm still around her. "I'd have given up the door for you," I tell her. She pulls away from me and grins before pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. I stroke her soft hair. "You would?" "Always." I'm looking at her and she's looking at me and I want to kiss her. I've wanted to kiss her since I was ten years old. And I think I’m going to do it. BANG. The living room door smacks into the wall and Brandon struts in, a stupid grin on his face. "Behold." He spreads his arms wide. "I am no longer a virgin!" I don't know whether I should laugh or clap. Poppy huffs and hops up from the couch, shoving past Brandon and into the kitchen. He ruined the moment and she's upset. That's good. "Bran," I whisper. "Get out." Brandon glances over his shoulder towards the kitchen, then back at me, frowning. "Were you? Was that....?" He points at me and then hikes his thumb over his shoulder towards Poppy. "I don't know, you're the non-virgin now, you tell me." He smirks. "Well, she seems pissed I came in." "Yeah, so get your arse out, would you? Geez." He rolls his eyes. "You're my best friends. It's like a code. When one of us loses

our virginity, we have to tell the others. It's a thing." "Okay, well, leave and I'll tell you all about it." I smile for a second and then feel guilty for even talking about Poppy like that. Brandon huffs a breath. "You're not supposed to lose it with Poppy,” he whispers. "You have to practice with someone else." I stare at him for a second. "Why would I want to go stick my willy in some girl I don't like?" He grins. "Oh, you'll like it." Sighing, I roll my eyes. "Would you get out of here already?" "Fine.” He laughs. “I'm going." He digs around in his pocket and throws something at me. I catch it and look down at the little black square in my hand. "Don't be silly. Cover that willy," he says with a chuckle. "Leave!" I quickly tuck the Johnny in my pocket. Bran laughs all the way down the hall. I listen for the front door to open, but I don't hear it. Did he go out the window? I swear he just likes climbing or something. I walk down the hall towards the kitchen, stopping when I hear voices. "Don't be mad, poss. I just needed to see Con. It's a guy thing." "Yeah, whatever, Brandon." "I'm sorry. I know you love Titanic,” he says and I can tell he's trying not to laugh. "I'm going now, so you and Connor can get right back to it." Poppy huffs and then I hear the back door open and shut. Poppy comes stomping around the corner and into the hall. "He's so annoying," she says as she walks around me and falls back onto the couch. Clearing my throat, I head back over to the sofa and sit next to her. And here we sit. Next to each other. In the dark...I want to put my arm back around her, but she's not crying now, so I don't have a good excuse. What if she gets mad at me? What if she pushes me away? I inhale and swallow. My palms are all sweaty now, my mouth has gone dry. I can't kiss her with a dry mouth. And then Poppy leans into me, laying her head right on my shoulder. "Why does everything have to change, Con, huh?" "What do you mean?" My heart's thumping in my chest. I think I might throw up. "Brandon's gonna get a girlfriend. You'll get one. And then we won't be best friends anymore." "Aw, come on now. We'll always be best friends. You made us pinky swear, remember?" She shakes her head on my shoulder. "It won't be the same. I just wish we could stay little forever." "You can't stay a kid forever. That would suck." "I guess." She sighs. "If I tell you something, you promise not to tell Brandon?" I swallow. "Okay." "I think he'll end up leaving us and it will just be me and you one day." "Why do you think that?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "I just feel it." "My ma says he's going to end up in prison." "Probably." She laughs a little at that. "Just promise me you'll never leave me, Con, okay?" I put my arm around her and hug her. "I'll never leave you, Poppy. I promise." "Pinky promise?" I smile and hold up my pinky finger. She links her little finger through mine. "Pinky promise."

14

Brandon 14 years old I shoot Connor in the head and he falls down, blood splattering the screen. "Too slow." Connor throws his controller and leans back into the sofa cushions. His mum and dad are at work, so it's just us at his house. "I thought you were coming here last night," he says. "Nah, went to Poppy's." I grab the bottle of Mountain Dew from the coffee table and sip on it. "Huh..." There's an edge to the way he says it. "You like her or something?" Now, he won't even look at me. “What?” My chest squeezes with something that feels like panic. “No! Gross. It's Poppy." Truth is, I do like her, but I know Connor is obsessed with her. I wouldn't do that to him. "I always stay at her house,” I say. “You know that. She's like my sister." "Yeah..." He shrugs. I roll my eyes. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, just ask her out already, will ya?" "What? I don't—" "You pine after that girl more than a pisshead with a bottle of whiskey. Four years is a long time my friend." I take my pack of cigarettes from my back pocket and dab one out, but he snatches it from me. "Not in the house, ma'll have my arse." "Worried she'll think you're smokin',” I lift a brow, “golden balls?" "Fuck off." I laugh and fall back against the cushions. "Seriously though, you're my best friend, she's my best friend. Ask her. Anyway, if you go out with her then I won't have to keep beating the shit out of lads behind the gym. It's getting out of hand." "What if she says no?" He shakes his head. "I'm not a whore like you. I don't know how to do this stuff." I slap him on the shoulder. "You say whore, I say master." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, all you gotta do is kiss her." "That's all you do?" "Yep, just..." I clap my hands together. "In with it." He stares at me with this glazed over look in his eyes. "In with…what?" I cough, covering a laugh. "Okay, easy lad. Not that. Just, kiss her, okay?"

He sighs. "I've tried and it's just...I don't know. " "Fuckin' hell. Come on." I grab his arm and drag him off the couch. "Where..." "We're going to see Slutty Suzie." "Bran. Come on." He starts pulling away and I just tighten my grip. "No. We're going. She showed me her pussy last year and changed my whole fucking world. Look, you took me to confession when we were kids, now it's time for me to help you sin." He blows the smoke from his lips as he laughs. "You're fourteen, boy. And you won't even kiss a girl because you're so hung up on Poppy." I shake my head. "It's getting sad now." "I heard she's got herpes..." He pulls against me again. "Nah, a spot of the clap, but they got pills for that shit. And you'd have to, you know....give it to her, for that." "I'm a good Catholic boy." "Look, I'll take ya to confession right after." I grin. "No thanks, the entire cathedral would go up in smoke the second your arse walked through the doors." He sighs. "I guess it's better to have a shit kiss with Slutty Suzie than with Poppy, huh? And no one's going to find out, right?" "I happen to be baptized, thank you very much. But yes, get the rough patch out the way with Suzie, I won't tell." "I swear to God, Bran." He shoves me. "You tell anyone about this and I will let everyone know about that time we were having that farting contest and you strained so hard you shit yourself and threw your underwear in the bin at school, stunk up the entire locker room." "You'd never prove it." "Might would..." I glare at him. "Fine. I won't tell." I spit on my palm and hold my hand out to him. He does the same and we shake. "I swear if you ask me to pinky swear..." He sighs. "Come on, let’s get this over with."

*** Slutty Suzie lives about twenty minutes away on the better side of town. I knock on the door and wait. Connor fidgets nervously behind me before the door opens. Suzie smiles wide, propping her hand on her hip. She's wearing a cropped top and a pair of jeans that are riding low on her hips. "Brandon, and..." she glances at Connor. "This is my friend Connor." She eyes him up and down before looking at me again. "What do you want?" "I need you to kiss him," I say.

"What? No.” She flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Do you think I'm a slut or something?" Connors chokes and then coughs, and I try not to smile. "Noooo, of course not. Look, he's got a girl he needs to impress. I'll give you a tenner." Folding her arms over her chest, she stares at Connor. "Fine." She jerks her head toward the house and we follow her inside. When she heads for the stairs, I pause. "I'll just, uh....I'll wait here." "No." Connor grabs my arm and drags me towards the stairs with him. "Don't leave me alone with her," he hisses. "Con, she's not gonna rape ya," I whisper, grinning. I love the boy like my own brother but shit, he did not pick up any of my charm when it comes to the ladies. She leads us into her room and closes the door behind her, taking a seat on the bed and immediately holding out her hand. "So..." I roll my eyes and dig a tenner out of my pocket, slapping it down on her waiting palm. "Okay, so you kissed a girl before?" Connor fidgets. "No." "Sit down." She points at the spot in front of her, and he sits, perching on the edge of the mattress like he's about to make a run for it. "You're kind of cute." She smiles and he turns so red. I think he's going to catch fire. "Okay, so you have to look at her," Suzie says, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. "Then look at her lips, then back at her eyes." She points from her lips to her eye. "Then just lean in, slowly, and kiss her." "Uh, how?" he asks. She huffs and grabs the back of his neck, wrenching him towards her and crushing her lips to his. I want to air punch because my boy finally got his first kiss. After a couple of seconds, she pulls back. Connor just looks at the bed, his face beet red. "Okay, less stiff. And open your mouth this time. Use your tongue." Fuck, I wish I could take a photo of his face right now. I'm glad I came up here, because this shit is gold. She grabs him again, and this time, there's tongue. One of his hands lands on her boob and he jumps away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Suzie rolls her eyes and Connor jumps straight up, running his hand over the back of his head. "Uh, well, thanks for...that, uh," he shrugs, "you know." "Kiss?" Suzie says with a laugh. "Yeah, that." Dear God, he's something...before I can say a thing, Con's already out of her bedroom and halfway down the stairs. I glance at her and shrug, following him out of the house. Just as I close the front door, I hear Hope’s annoying voice off in the distance: "Tell him I said he's a cunt." She’s two doors down, talking on her cell phone as she walks this way. I glance at Connor and his face washes white. He jumps from the porch, crouching between the house and the bushes.

"What are you doing?" I ask. He holds a finger over his lip, shushing me, and there comes Hope, strutting through Slutty Suzie's front gate. "Well, Brandon O'Kieffe. I can only imagine what a cunt like you is doing over here at Suzy's house." She arches a brow as she steps onto the first step. "Well, they don't call her Slutty Suzie for nothing." She rolls her eyes and goes to shove past me, but stops and peers over into the bushes. "Oh. My. God. What the hell is he doing down there?" Hope points to Con. His hands are plastered to his face. "I can see you, Milkybar,” she laughs. Connor groans and slinks out from behind the bushes, his cheeks already bright pink. "Hey, Hope," he says, miserably. Her eyes go wide and she stifles a laugh. "You came to see Slutty Suzie, aw bless it." She ruffles his hair. "Get your wee willy wet, did you?" He shrugs away from her, blushing even more. "No.” "Well, as lovely as it is to see you, ginge, we gotta go." I grab Connor and shove him towards the gate. Hope shows me her middle finger, and I blow her a kiss before we leave.

15

Connor 14 years old I knock on Brandon's caravan. “It’s open,” he calls from inside. I open the door and Brandon's sat on the floor, smoking a cigarette. His eyes are puffy and red. "Where's your ma?" I ask. "At the hospital." "What?" "She got real ill last night. Throwing up and bad pains in her stomach. Dad thought it was bad meat." Brandon pauses, taking a heavy drag as he stares off into the nothing. "She alright?" I shift nervously on my feet. He shakes his head. "Cancer." "Shit. But she's gonna get better, right?" Tears fill his eyes and he swipes at them, shaking his head. "Dad's bringing her home tomorrow. He had me run by the store to get some herbs, but that shit ain't going to work." He hangs his head and stares at the floor. I run my hand through my hair. I don't know what to say. He loves his ma. I love his ma..."Might work..." Groaning, he stands up, walks to the door, and storms out of the caravan, slamming the door behind him. I chase after him, and by the time I stumble out, he's all the way over at Old Man McGinty's, repeatedly slamming his fist against the side of the beat-up caravan. "Bran..." I don't know what to say to him. "Want to come to my house for tea? Mum's making Macaroni." It's his favourite. I hope it's enough to cheer him up a little bit. "Nah, I'm just..." "Come on." I grab his arm and tow him towards the edge of the field and out onto the street. We walk in silence and it’s scaring me a bit. Maybe I should call Poppy? Her mum died. She might know what to say. We get to my house and Bran goes into the living room. He just sits there on the sofa. "Connor, that you?" My ma shouts. "Yeah!" I go into the kitchen and the smell of cheese hits me. "I brought Brandon for tea." She frowns. Brandon doesn't come over here as much as he used to. He's busy fighting and getting in trouble for nicking shit. She sighs and puts her

hands on her hips. I know she thinks he's trouble. "His ma's sick," I say, glancing over my shoulder to check he's not there. "Sick how?" "Cancer." I swallow around the lump in my throat. Her face falls and she pulls me into a hug. "Oh, the poor lad." "He's really sad, ma. I think...I think she's gonna die." She squeezes me tighter. "He's welcome here anytime. And...I'll pay his ma a visit at the hospital." "She's coming home tomorrow." I step back and she wipes her hands over her apron. "I'll take her a casserole." My ma tries to fix everything with food. "And make Brandon up a bed on your floor, lad." Nodding, I go back to the living room. Brandon hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. His hands are clasped together in his lap and he frowns down at them. "My ma says you can stay here tonight,” I say. "Do you think Jesus hears your prayers, Con?" I sigh. "God hears everything." He nods. "Can we...can we go to the church?" Brandon isn't religious. He lies, steals, fights...God only forgives so many sins, surely? But Mrs. O'Kieffe is nice. She's good. He wouldn't let her die, would he? "Sure. We can go to church." I tell my ma we're going and she says she's put tea in the oven to keep warm for when we get back. Brandon stays quiet the whole way there, and when we step inside the cathedral, he heads straight for the statue of the Virgin Mary. I try not to cry when he gets on his knees in front of it and clasps his hands together. "I never asked you for anything." His voice breaks on a sob. "But please, please don't take my ma from me. Please. I'll do anything." I've never seen Brandon beg, I've never seen him cry, and I've never seen him pray. Now I'm really scared.

16

Poppy 14 years old I'm sitting in the middle of my bed, staring at the picture Connor gave me a few years ago for my birthday. I place it back on my bed stand and tighten the knot on my friendship bracelet, fighting back the tears. Brandon's mom was buried two days ago, and none of us have seen him since he ran out from the funeral. Connor tried chasing him, but Brandon's fast. I'm worried about him. Scared about where he is and if he'll ever come back. I wonder, if I'd been this old when my mom died, would I have run off, too. I can't really blame him, sometimes I think it may be the best thing to do. Just run away from the things you can't change, take on a new identity. I flop back on the mattress and stare up at the Justin Timberlake poster hung above my bed. Brandon gave me such crap for hanging that up there, even though he has pictures of Britney Spears tacked up all over his room. I get up and go downstairs to get my book from the living room and when I step back in the room, I nearly have a heart attack. Brandon's lying on top of my comforter, his hands behind his head, staring up at that poster. "Brandon..." "Hey, possum," he whispers. Tears sting my eyes. Adrenaline shoots through my veins as I step beside the bed. "I'm glad you're back." I want to say so much more, but what do I say? "Nowhere else to go," he says quietly. I half-smile at him as I climb onto my bed and lean against the wooden headboard. I want to tell him how sorry I am, I want to tell him it will be okay, but I know better than that. I've been where he is and there are no words that make it better. Sighing, he rolls over, lays his head in my lap, and closes his eyes. He grabs my hand and places it in his unruly hair. "Make it go away," he whispers. I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to keep the tears from coming out, and I do the only thing I can think to do. I scratch my fingers through his hair and hold him, hoping he realizes I love him and always will, and that, if I could, I would take his hurt away. "I wish I could," I say. He grabs onto my leg and squeezes so hard it hurts, but I don't brush his hand away. I just grit my teeth and bear it because I know he needs something to hold onto right now, and I'm glad it's me. ***break***

"Why are we going to the pikey camp?" Hope groans. "Because it's Brandon's birthday," I say, holding up the present. "Well, why don't we go do something then?" Pikey dog comes scampering out from the field, barking. Connor tosses him a bone he brought with him. "He didn't want to go out." "Well, did he invite us over here?" she asks. "No." We don't see Brandon as much as we used to. I sometimes don't see him for days, and then he'll come through my bedroom window, his face all smashed up from a fight. He hasn't been the same since his mom died. He's angry all the time, and he hangs out with girls that are older than us. It makes me sad. I miss him. I miss him and Connor and me hanging out all the time. "What if he's shacking it up with some girl and we are just gonna ruin his fun?" Hope laughs. Me and Connor both glare at her. "Fine. Fine. Let's go hang out at the pikey camp." We walk through the entrance and weave our way through the run-down caravans. I stop when we reach Brandon's. I haven't been here since his ma passed away, and even from out here...it just doesn't seem right. Connor walks up to the door and knocks, but no one answers. He knocks again and still nothing. "See," Hope sighs, "off shagging some nitwit." Suddenly, there's a boom of cheering and clapping from the back of the camp. "Ah," Connor says as he turns around, "I bet his fighting again.” Connor starts off toward the noise with me and Hope tagging along behind him. We round Old Man McGinty's trailer and, behind it, there's a ring of men all shouting and drinking. In the middle stands Brandon and another boy, both in nothing but their tracksuit bottoms. Brandon's lip is already bleeding and the other boy's left eye is swelling shut. Brandon snarls angrily and punches the boy three times. He looks...he looks bad and angry. He doesn't look like my Brandon. The other boy falls on his back and Brandon jumps on top of him, hitting him again and again until someone finally pulls him off. I watch his dad walk up to him and clap him on the shoulder with a grin. Brandon frowns and shrugs away from him, pushing between the gathered men and walking straight toward us. He stops dead in his tracks and glares at us when he sees us. "What are you doing here?" "It's your birthday," Connor says. Brandon squeezes his eyes shut and he clenches his hands into fists. He looks so angry. "I can't hang out tonight." "We just...we brought you presents," I say, holding up the bag. He opens his eyes and our eyes lock. There's something different. Something about him is different and sad, and I don't think it's just because of his mom. "Thanks, possum." He smiles as he takes the present, but that smile seems fake.

"You going to invite us in, pikey?" Hope blurts. He frowns and shakes his head. "Not here. My dad's around. I'll get changed and meet you at the gate." He nods toward the entrance into the pikey camp. He never used to be like this. We used to wait in the caravan for him. He didn’t used to hide things from us… We walk to the gate and wait. Brandon joins us a few minutes later, and we start toward Connor's house. I smile when he stops and crouches down in front of me, letting me hop onto his back. "I've missed my piggybacks," I whisper in his ear. “They’re not piggybacks, they’re possumbacks, and, you know, Connor could give you piggybacks now. He's not fat anymore." "But I'm your possum," I say, adjusting myself on his back and kicking him with my heels. "Now, go!"

17

Brandon 16 years old I chuck the two empty bottles of whiskey in the bin and wash up the pile of dirty dishes that are cluttering the tiny kitchen in the caravan. "Keep it down, boy." My dad shouts from his chair in front of the TV. I drop a plate in the sink with a loud clatter. "You know what, you could wash your own dishes." "What did you just say to me?" He gets up, heaving himself out of the chair and walking towards me. "You know,” I turn to face him, “you were a piece of shit when ma was alive, but now..." "I put food on the table, a roof over your head..." I laugh. "The only money you make is betting on my fights. And a roof?" I gesture around the caravan. "You call this a roof?" "You think you're the big lad now, eh?" He takes a threatening step towards me and I brace. I know what's coming. I know I should just leave this shit-hole and never come back, but my ma would turn in her grave, and that's the only thing that has me stopping in every few days to stock the fridge and clean up. "Ma would be disgusted," I sneer. His fist collides with my face and I crash into the kitchen cabinet. He usually stops at one punch, but today he goes for a second, hitting the other side of my face. My old man used to be a bare-knuckle champion in his day and he throws a mean punch, but he's drunk and sloppy. He goes for another, and without thinking, I duck and swing—just like he taught me. He goes crashing to the floor and the entire caravan shakes. He's out cold. Damn it. I grab my leather jacket and a bottle of Jack, and I leave, slamming the door behind me. I could go to Poppy's, but I try not to do that. When my ma died, she was the only person who understood. When my dad started beating on me all the time, I always ran to her house. I still do. She always lets me sleep in her bed, never turns me away. Her and Connor are my best friends, but with Poppy, its...different. I see the way she looks at me sometimes. It's the same way all the other girls look at me right before I kiss them—sometimes sleep with them. The problem is, I want that with Poppy, and Poppy isn't a girl you do that with. I can't lose her because some days she feels like the only thing that keeps me going. So, I head to Lola's house.

She lives in one of the big expensive houses a few streets away, and her dad works late. I can go drinking with Poppy and Connor, but the pair of them are just so good. Lola though, she goes to private school and you know what they say about private school girls... I ring her bell and she answers, wearing her school uniform. My eyes trace over her tight blouse with the top three buttons undone and that Catholic school-girl skirt she rolls up enough that it barely brushes her mid-thigh. Those damn kneehigh socks are topped with ribbons, and god, those fuckin' socks do something to me. "Hey, Brandon." She bites her lip and twists a strand of her long blonde hair around her finger. I hold up the bottle of Jack and smile. "Fancy a party?" She shoves the door open and I brush past her, slipping my hand beneath her skirt. "Have I ever told you how much I like this uniform?" She giggles and closes the door.

*** "Oh my god. I think my dad's home," Lola says, yanking the duvet up to cover her naked chest as she waves her hand through the air in a piss-poor attempt to dissipate the thick cloud of smoke. It smells like Snoopdog just moved into her bedroom, and there's a roach still burning on the little clay plate sat on her bedside table. We are so fucked. "What? Now?" "You need to leave.” She grabs my boxers and throws them at me. “Right now!" I yank my underwear on and nearly fall flat on my face as I try to step into my jeans. The floorboard on the landing creaks. Damn it, where the hell is my shirt? "Shit. Gotta go." I give her a quick kiss, grab the roach and shove it between my lips before I force the window up. Screw the shirt. I swipe the near empty bottle of Jack and throw my leg over the sill just as her bedroom door flies open. "What the..." her dad’s eyes land on me and his face goes red as all fuck. "Aw, fuck." I jump for the garage roof and hit it hard, landing on my knees on the asphalt top. The bottle skitters across the roof and falls, smashing to pieces on the concrete below. "You get back here, you little fucker!" Her dad shouts from her bedroom window. Shit. By the time I get off the roof and make it around the front, he's at the front door, holding a—fuck, is that a shotgun? I have never run so fast in my damn life.

18

Poppy 16 years old There's not a cloud in the sky and the sun is unforgiving today. Connor and I walk down the sidewalk, arms linked. Chloe McMasters and a group of girls from school strut toward us, hips swinging. She winks at Connor. I glance at him, but he didn't even notice. "Hey, Con," she sings, and I roll my eyes. "I like that shirt. Blue looks good on you." "Thanks," he grins as they walk past, and they giggle. It's so annoying. Con's the captain of the rugby team so all of the girls give him attention—him and Brandon. Brandon’s always gotten attention because well, he's just a bad boy and he's Brandon. The girls fall over themselves for Connor because he's pretty and polite and smart. "You going to do your A levels?" he asks. "Yeah, think so. Think I'm going to do nursing," I say. "My mom was a nurse and her mom was a nurse, so I figured maybe I'd be good at it." "Aw, I think you'd be a great nurse. You're all smiles and good at making people feel better." He playfully pinches my side and I get those stupid flitter flutters in my stomach. "Are you going to do them?" "Don't know." I nod. "We both know Brandon's not," he says. "Yeah, no kidding. I'm surprised he didn't get kicked out. No college would take him." "Fuck,” someone shouts. “Fuck!" Connor and I stop right outside my gate. "Was that...Brandon?" Connor asks. "I think so." "Fuck!" Yep. That is Brandon for sure. "I'll beat your arse," some man shouts, "you fucking pikey." And there comes Brandon, rounding the corner of the street. No shirt. No shoes. And he's holding onto his unzipped pants as he books it down the sidewalk. There's a muscular man chasing after him with a—shotgun—and right behind him a girl is screaming: “Dad! Stop it. Leave him alone.” "For the love of God," Connor sighs and tosses his head back as we both step to

the side. "Going through your window, poss," Brandon huffs through his breathing as he whirls past us. He hurries down the street and hooks a left. The man stops a few houses down from mine and leans over his knees panting. His daughter—Lola Stevens—buries her face in her hands. He turns around and glares at her. "What the hell are you doing with that piece of shit?" "You've ruined my life, Daddy!" "Boys like him are no good, Lola. No good." He turns back to the street. "You come back 'round my girl again and I'll beat your arse, you little fucker." And then the man aims the shotgun in the air. Bam. Connor and I both jump when the man fires off the gun. "I mean it!" He shouts before turning around and snatching his daughter by the arm. "And you..." "Wow!" Connor says. "Just wow." I nudge him. "Come on, you wouldn't expect any less out of Brandon, now would you?" "Not at all." We open the little iron gate and walk into my garden. As soon as we get to the front porch, I see Brandon peeking through the living room curtains. I open the door and can hear his heavy breathing. "He's gone, right? Like gone, gone?" "Gone, gone?" I ask as I close the door behind Connor. "Yes, he left right after he fired off that shotgun..." I stare at him. "What in the hell, Brandon?" He falls back against the wall, clutching his bare chest and I fight to keep my eyes on his face. Damn him for being so hot. It's a sin, honestly, and makes me question my morals on a daily basis because Brandon O'Kieffe is nothing but bad news. Me and Connor go over to the couch and turn on the TV. Brandon comes and flops down next to me. The pungent smell of weed and whiskey and sweat nearly knock me over. "Dear God." I shove him away. "You smell disgusting!" "Aw, poss." He wraps his arm around my neck and head locks me against his arm pit. "Take a good long whiff." I punch him. "Get off. Get your nasty weed and Lola Stevens self off of me." Connor starts laughing. "Lola Stevens is not nasty. I mean, have you seen her socks?" He lets me go and glances at Connor. "I mean, you have seen those socks, right?" Connor shrugs. "The socks are...yeah..." Rolling my eyes, I grab a throw pillow and smack Connor in the face with it. "I expect more out of you." He grabs the pillow and tosses it to the floor. "Out of me, why?" "Look at that one." I thumb toward Brandon. Connor grins. "Yeah, well, it's Brandon, and he's....well, he's just Bran. Hell, he's been nicking shit since he was nine."

"Please, nabbing lollipops from the post office doesn't count." Connor sighs. "Yeah Bran. If you're in a shop and it's supposed to cost money, you're nicking it." He shakes his head and groans. "Aren't we supposed to go over to the evil ginger's house tonight?" "Hope. Her name is Hope..." I say. "She promised to show me the distillery, you know those big ole' vats of whiskey." He grins. Yes, exactly what Brandon needs—to go to a place that has enough whiskey to drown half of Ireland. "Yeah, yeah. We're going, but promise me you aren't going to steal anything from her house?" He grins. "You know the rules, possum. If it ain't nailed down." I groan and drag my hand over my face. "Brandon!" "Fine! I won't nick shit off the ginger." "Thank you."

19

Brandon 16 years old My head is still swimming from all the dope and Jack. We creep around the side of the factory and Hope holds out her hand, halting us. She leans around the corner. I can't help but look at her arse when her skirt rides up. Poppy catches me and swats me. "What?" I hiss. "You're a pervert," she whispers. Hope spins around and her lips kick up on one side. "Like what you see, cunt? Ain't never gonna have none of this ginger arse." She laughs. "I mean, I'd do you from behind, with your face in the pillow." "I'd fuck Poppy before I would fuck you,” she says. I grin. "Well, be my guest. We don't mind, do we, Con?" Connor chokes on a laugh and Poppy swats him, too. "Perverts," she mutters under her breath. "Come on, coast is clear." Hope hurries around the side, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. She unlocks a side door and we slip inside. The smell of fermented grain hangs thick in the air, but it’s dark as shit. There’s a click and the fluorescent lights buzz on. And there, right in front of me, are rows upon rows of huge wooden tubs filled to the brim with whiskey. "Fuck my life," I say and drag in a deep breath. "Yep," Hope says. "The crown jewel of my family." "Holy fuck." A slow grin pulls at my lips and I narrow my eyes at Hope. "Ever go swimming in whiskey?" "Why the hell would I do that?" "Why wouldn't you? Live a little, ginge." I wink at her and grab the bottom of my shirt, pulling it over my head. Her eyes go straight to my stomach, lingering there. "Like what you see?" "Brandon...what are you doing?" Poppy asks. "Don't ask him that, Poppy," Connor says. "Just don't ask him." I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my legs. "Okay, Bran, now what are you doing?" Connor groans. "No one needs to see your dick." I throw my head back on a laugh. "So don't look." Hope stares at me, cocking a brow. "You wouldn't."

I shove my boxers down until I'm bollock naked. "I would. I bet you all the weed I have in my caravan, and that's a fucking lot, that you won't get in here, ginge," I say. "Oh my god." Poppy hangs her head to her chest and shakes it. "He's naked. I just saw his penis, and I can't unsee that." I swing my dick around and it slaps my thighs. Poppy squeals. Connor just puts his head in his hands. I hoist myself up to the edge of the tub, and then I jump in. The whiskey’s warmer than I thought it’d be. "I'm fucking swimming in whiskey!" "Hey...” Hope exhales. “How much weed do you have in that caravan, cunt?" "Hope," Poppy glances up, "please don't tell me—" "Enough to get arrested." "Aw, fuck it." And before I can utter another word, the soulless ginger has grabbed the bottom of her dress and yanked it over her head. Even though I can't stand her, I still look at her. One, I haven't ever seen a redhead naked...and two, well she's a fucking girl. "No underwear," I say. "Not surprising. Always knew you were a sleazy whore." Hope glares at me. "Amazing!" Poppy says. "They are fucking mental." Connor shrugs, his eyes glued to Hope's ass as she makes her way toward the tub. She grabs onto the sides and throws her leg over, giving me a view I never thought I'd see...and then she falls in. "You even think about touching me," she holds her finger up, "I'll fucking murder you in your sleep and eat your soul." "I'm not into ginger bush," I say, slowly back stroking around the outside of the tub. "Come on, Con. It's whiskey! You can't turn down the chance to swim in it. You'll get to eighty years old, be shitting on yourself, and you'll regret that one time you could have soaked your balls in some McGrath whiskey." Connor sighs and tilts his head to the side. Poppy stares at him. "You cannot be serious," she mumbles. "You are not going to get in there with those two idiots?" He shrugs sheepishly. "He's right though." And then he's yanking his t-shirt over his head and dropping trou, although, he leaves his boxers on. He hops over the edge and falls in with a splash. Poppy just shakes her head, watching us. "Just you, possum." I'm not gonna lie, my dick gets a little twitch just thinking about her naked. She glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "I have no desire to swim in whiskey, Brandon O'Kieffe." "Aw, come on, possum." I grip the side of the tub and hoist myself up so the wooden edge is just covering my dick. I flash her the grin that always makes the girls wanna kiss me, and she swallows hard, her eyes dropping from my chest down to my stomach. I try not to laugh. I know I look good. Every girl I meet tells me so. If there's one thing fighting is good for, it's abs and girls.

Connor groans. "Get your ass and saggy balls out of my face." "Eww," Hope says with a snicker. "Come on, poss. Promise I won't look." That's a damn lie and I know it, but she doesn't have to. I cover my eyes with my hand. "See?" "I hate you," she mumbles. I make the tiniest slit I can in my fingers and peek through. She shimmies out of her jeans, then takes a deep breath before she pulls her top over her head. She's wearing white cotton underwear with a matching bra. I bite my lip, and my dick twitch turns into a full-blown hard-on. Damn, I’ve dreamt about Poppy naked so many times, and I always wake up feeling guilty because she's my friend…and Connor’s. There's a splash as she drops into the tub, underwear still on. I move my hand from my eyes and she hunkers down in the whiskey, glaring at me. "Happy now?" she huffs. No, because now I can't get out until this boner disappears. Which might take a while. Look at Con. I turn towards Connor and he's glaring at me. "What?" I ask. "Nothing," he mumbles. "I didn't look!" His eye twitches. Damn he's getting jealous when it comes to her. He needs to just seal the deal already. Problem is, everyone can see that he's obsessed with Poppy. Everyone except Poppy. I'm pretty sure she might still have a crush on me. God knows why. I mean, I've fucked half the girls in school, and I tell her about it! "If someone finds a pube in their whiskey, my dad is going to kill me," Hope says, splashing some whiskey at me. "Well, if it's ginger, yeah." I laugh. "You're a cunt."

*** Hope’s parents are away for the weekend, so we go back to her house and change after we finish swimming in her whiskey. I pull a bag of weed from my pocket and toss it to Hope's bedroom floor. Grinning, she lays on her stomach, reaching under her bead for something. When she sits back up, she’s holding onto a massive red glass bong. She grabs the bottle of water from the nightstand, fills the bong, then starts packing the bowl with weed. "You go first.” She hands it to me. “I don't trust you not to give me some pikey, laced shit." I roll my eyes and take out my lighter, holding the flame to the grass. It smolders. I press my lips to the mouthpiece and drag in a long breath, the water bubbling when I do. The smoke fills my lungs. I hold it, fighting back a cough. Hope watches through narrowed eyes as I finally let the smoke roll through my lips. I shrug. “See, you’re not going to die.”

"Potheads," Poppy says, laying across Hope's bed and putting her head in Connor's lap. I shrug. "Old Man McGinty says being sixteen is about smoking weed, fucking girls, and getting arrested." "And Old Man McGinty has four ex-wives and a gnadless sheep named Arnold..." Poppy laughs. "He has four ex-wives because he fucks a hooker every Friday night." I laugh. Connor laughs so hard he snorts. "Marla. The hooker with the short dress and no teeth." I take another hit from the bong. "She's all class," I say through a strained breath. Hope snatches the bong away from me and lights it, drawing in a breath. "Want a hit, Poppy?" Hope says through a cough. "Shit, that's strong." "Christmas tree," I say with a smile. "What?" "Burning the Christmas tree." "I'm pretty sure it's just called tree, Bran." Connor laughs. "Yeah, except this shit's so good it's like Christmas," I say. "You are such an idiot," Poppy says as she sits up and takes the bong from Hope. What the hell is she doing? I feel bad. Without me, I'm pretty sure Poppy would be the perfect good girl, with her perfect good guy, Connor, at her side, and I guess that's the way it should be. I think I corrupt her, and it bothers me. "You don't have to do that, poss. You're the good girl, remember?" I wink at her. "I know." She glares at me. "But I like Christmas." Giggling, Hope holds the lighter and Poppy sucks so hard her cheeks cave in. When Hope pulls the plug out of the bong, Poppy's eyes go red as shit and she starts hacking. Connor jumps up, grabs a bottle of water, and hands it to her. She damn near sucks it all down in one gulp. "Now," Hope says, patting her on the back as she continues to cough. "You're going to feel a little...weird." "Weird?" "Yeah, weird. Like your heart is going to start racing and you'll get all heavy and everything will be funny." Connor eyes the bong and I know he's going to do it. He's started toeing the line recently, drinking with me and coming to watch fights. He's actually pretty handy with his fists himself now. And when Poppy's not with us, he smokes, too. See, that's the difference between us—Con tries not to be bad around her, and I just don't give a shit. He grabs the bong and holds the lighter to it, sucking in a deep lungful and holding it like a champ. Poppy's sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes. She slams her palm over her heart. "I'm dying." Shit, the weed must have kicked in. She glances over at me with her teary, bloodshot eyes. "Don't let me die," she whispers and grabs onto me.

"Fuck me. This is why you don't give your pikey weed to the kid who's only smoked a cigarette one time," Hope says, laughing. "Don't let me die!" Poppy shouts at me. "I won't let you die, possum." She crawls off the bed and into my crossed legs, grabbing a handful of my shirt. Hope laughs so hard she tips over backward. Connor just frowns at me, smoke streaming from between his lips. One fucking drag, and it takes me the better part of thirty minutes to make her believe she's not going to die And now...now...shit... She moves about as slow as a sloth when she turns to face me. Her eyes are glassy as fuck. God, she is beyond stoned. "What?" She asks, then starts giggling. "Nothing." Then she slaps my cheek and giggles some more. "That's right, hit the cunt," Hope says. "Guys, guys..." Connor sits up and places his hands on my shoulders. "Guys." "Yeah..." "What if," Connor shakes his head and grabs it with his hands, "what if we are just this cell. A big blood cell in some giant's body, just, you know, floating around..." He holds his arms out like he's the Marshmallow Puff Guy from Ghostbuster. I drag my hand over my face. I can't work out if these two are just a mess, or if I smoke way too much weed. "Oh my God," Poppy gasps. "What if we are." Connor looks at her and nods. "Yes, and what if we're just like ants, like the tiny cell workers working on this one cell and we've built this entire infrastructure that means absolute shit. What if...what if... The end of the world is just when he shits us out?" Hope raises a brow at me and I grab the bong, lighting and inhaling again before I pass it to her. "Oh, no!" Poppy says. "What if—I have a better one—what if the color purple to me is actually the color brown to you? What if I actually look like a three-headed alien with wiggly tentacles, but just think I look like a human. How would I ever know?" Poppy makes a grab for the bong again, but I wrench it away from her, holding it above my head. "Nah, you just look like a possum." Her eyes go wide. "So you think I'm ugly? Those little beasts are so ugly." "Prettiest possum I ever saw." "We live in Ireland. You've never seen a possum," Connor says. "I have," Poppy says. "They used to come up on my back porch in America and eat my cat's food." She glares at me. "They. Are. Ugly." "So what you're saying, is a possum is like a fat, less cute hedgehog?" Hope asks. I shrug. "Why would you call her that, you cunt?"

Poppy tries to swipe the bong from me and I yank it away. "I call her a possum because I carry her around on my back like a little possum." Hope rolls her eyes. "So...you're a mother possum?" Connor laughs so hard he spits out his water. "Fuck off," I say, standing and heading to the bathroom...with the bong. I hear Poppy stumble and fall into the wall behind me and I turn around, walking backwards down the hallway. "Give it back, Brandon." I laugh. "Or what?" "Or I'll...I'll..." I stop and she walks straight into my chest, face first. "You'll what, poss?" I whisper. She grabs my cheeks, steadying herself as she pulls her face to mine. "I hate you." "I hate you more." I smirk. And then...she tries to kiss me. I squeeze my eyes shut and release a heavy breath, gripping her chin in my hand. Her eyes go wide. I can see the hurt swimming in her eyes. I kiss her forehead and smile at her. "You love me, really." I muss her hair and turn away, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. Shit. I swipe my hand down my face and take another drag of weed. She's just high. That's all. When I come out of the bathroom ten minutes later the weed is nearly gone and Poppy is passed out on Hope's bed, curled into Connor's side. "You smoked all the weed?" Hope whines. "And in the bathroom? God, I'm going to have to spray enough air freshener to kill a cat. I swear my dad is like a sniffer dog for weed." I snort. "Your whole room smells of weed." "Yeah, but he doesn't come in here. He went in Teagan's room one time when she was blowing her boyfriend." Hope laughs. "Poor Daddy nearly had a heart attack. He stays away now." "On that note, I'm going to bed," I say, getting up. "You can sleep in the spare room. I don't trust your wandering pikey hands." Little does she know, my wandering hands are more likely to nick her expensive whiskey than go near her ginger arse.

20

Poppy 16 years old "I'm telling you, Poppy. Silas is a grade A hottie." Silas is Slutty Suzie's older brother who’s just come back from war. I glare at her. "Hope, he's twenty. Twenty!" "And?" "That's..." I shake my head. "I don't know. Why wouldn't he date a twentyyear-old?" "Excuse me, but..." She waves her hand over her body like it's a prize on some game show, "why would Silas want a twenty-year-old hag when he can have all of this? Plus, he's military. Tell me that's not hot." "There are no words." She goes back to painting her nails. The window bangs open and she jumps, swiping nail polish halfway up her leg as she screams. I turn around just in time to see a very drunk Brandon fall to the floor. "What is that cunt doing here?" Hope says. "Poppy, I swear to God, if you're fucking him..." She kicks a brow up. "I mean, have standards. He's a gypo for Christ's sake." I snort, my heart clanging against my ribs. "No, give me a break." I can't believe I tried to kiss him the other night. "Possuuuum," Brandon sings. The smell of whiskey permeates the room. He's sprawled out on his back, a smirk plastered over his lips. "Why are you friends with that ginger bitch? You know they have no souls and eat babies and shit." "Brandon O'Keiffe, you know you're a cunt!" Hope chucks the bottle of nail polish at him. He salutes. "That I am." "Oh my god." I stand up and walk over to him. His jaw is red and swelling, knuckles bloody. "What are you doing?" "Well, I was drinking my whiskey—" "Standard," Hope snickers. Brandon glares at her. "...and then I thought: I should share with my possum. Sharing is caring." He holds up the whiskey bottle, brandishing it like a grand prize. "Wow..." I laugh, staring at him. He waves the bottle around and the hem of his shirt inches up his stomach. I swallow when my eyes drift down to the deep V cut into his sides.

There's a knock on the door and Hope opens it. Connor's standing in the doorway, his gaze slowly falling to Brandon sprawled out on the floor. "What the hell, Bran?" "Con!" Brandon cheers from the floor. "You came." "Yeah, and you look like you need an ice pack." Connor sighs. "Yeah, well I won. Shoulda seen the other guy." Hope fans her nails while she glares at him. "Neive'll love his face all bashed in like that." She snickers. "Yeah, she does," he says, laughing and tipping the bottle up. Whiskey spills everywhere and I snatch the bottle away. "Really? What doesn't Nieve like if there's a penis involved?" I shake my head before glancing back to Hope and Connor. "You two go ahead, we'll catch up with you." Connor rubs his hand over the back of his neck, his gaze drifting from me to Brandon and back. "We can wait..." "Nope." Hope links her arm through Connor's. "I'm not waiting around on that drunk cunt. Come on, Milkybar kid, let's get there before all the wine coolers are gone." "Stop calling me that, would you? I haven't had a damn Milkybar in two years." Hope grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks. "But it's soooo cute." He rolls his eyes and flashes me a pleading look before she drags him from the room. As soon as the door closes I turn to Brandon. "How bad?" "Well, I managed to duck and the old prick put his fist through the glass door. And then," he smiles a lazy, drunk smile. "I knocked his arse clean out." "You knocked him out, again?" He reaches for the whiskey in my hand so I set the bottle out of his reach before I drop next to him and lean against the bed. "Brandon..." "It's fine, poss." His eyes are lulling shut. He grabs onto my thighs and pulls up, resting his head in my lap. He takes my hand and moves it, forcing my fingers to scratch through his thick hair. "It's fine..." And here I sit, in my floor, brushing through Brandon's messy hair. The way his dad treats him makes me so sad. It's not fair because deep down, Brandon has the kindest heart. He's just so broken. I want to make him see that he is worth so much more than what his dad tells him. Brandon's my best friend, but I'd love him in a heartbeat if he'd let me, and that's a secret I'll always keep because I'm not the kind of girl he goes for. I'm not a Nieve Kirkpatrick or a Lola Stevens, and anyway, I'd rather be the girl he leans on than the girl who ends up with him between her legs. I'd rather keep his respect than lose it. I'm his possum. Always and forever.

21

Connor 16 years old Nieve's backyard is full of people. There's music playing and Davie Logan's already so pissed he's waltzing around in one of Nieve's bikinis, his ballbag on full display. I take a seat on the retaining wall by the fountain and Hope sits next to me. "They're not coming," Hope says before she polishes off her sixth wine cooler. "Yeah, I know..." "Why don't you just tell her you like her, Con?" I look at the full beer in my hands and pick at the label. "It's obvious as shit. Has been since I met you." I don't say anything. I don't want to say anything. I've tried three times to work up the nerve to kiss Poppy and failed each time. It's just...I've had a crush on her since I first saw her all sad and moping on the playground. It was nothing back then, I just thought her pigtails and accent were cute, but now...now, I can't imagine my life without her. And if I kiss her…if she kisses me back...what if I screw it all up? Mary Anne Wayford was best friends with Jimmy McAdams ever since they were kids. They ended up dating last year and now they hate each other. I don't want her to ever hate me, so sometimes I think it's just best if I sit back and wait for someone else to sweep her off her feet. "She's my friend," I say before I turn the beer up. "And besides, I think she has a thing for Brandon." I pull the label off the bottle and drop it to the ground. "Connor, every girl has a thing for Brandon. He's a heathen. A proper bad boy." "What the hell are you talking about? He's just Brandon." Hope rolls her eyes and groans. "Dear God, he's always in trouble, he nicked a car when he was fourteen, he fights dirty fights...and he's pretty. Brandon is the kind of guy girls with daddy issues date." She shrugs. "Well that and sluts." "What..." That makes no sense. "Trust me, it makes total sense. Poppy doesn't have any daddy issues—at least not that I know of. Girls like Poppy end up dating guys like you." Guys like me. Hope pats me on the back. "Look, you just have to make her see you. That cunt stays the center of attention." She stands up. "You're not that little fat kid anymore, Con." ***break*** I open the front door and Brandon's standing on the doorstep.

"Where are we going?" I ask as I close the door behind me. "To get a tat." "We're not old enough." Brandon just smirks as he digs in his wallet. "Well, these beauts right here say that we are." He hands me an ID with a crooked picture of myself glued on the front. I read over the info. "Twenty-one?" I ask. "Why the hell didn't you just put eighteen?" He shrugs. "Mine says I'm twenty-five. Plus, the older you are, the more girls you can pull. Trust me." He grins. All I can do is shake my head. "You going to get one?" "Dunno." He shrugs. "Well, you're coming with me anyway. I brought the car." I roll my eyes. "Nicked the car..." I mumble. "Same thing." I follow him down the path and hop into the beat-up Defender. How he hasn't been pulled over driving this, I do not know. The bonnet is tied down with bailing twine and a small garden is growing out of the seats. Not to mention the fact that black smoke belches out of it every time he starts it. Oh, and of course, he's not even old enough to drive. But he just insists that he's been doing it since he was twelve so that makes it okay. He drives across town, the car chugging and spluttering along until we pull up outside a shop with blacked out front windows. The sign is halfway hanging off and paint is peeling from the door and window frames. "Here. You're getting a tat here?" "Yep. Old man McGinty drinks with Big Bill." I glance up at the sign: Big Bill's Tats—only the ‘a’ from tats is missing so it kind of reads tits. "You're going to get hepatitis." "Nah, it'll be grand." That's his solution to everything...it'll be grand. We get out of the car and I follow him to the door. A bell tinkles when he steps through the door, and it’s even worse inside. A little wooden table serves as some kind of front desk and there's a ratty old couch pushed up against the window. The walls are covered in graffiti and pictures of tattoos. Yep, he's going to get HIV and die. A guy comes out of a back room and, judging by the size of him, I'm guessing that's Big Bill. "You here for a tat?" "Yeah, Old Man McGinty sent me." He smiles. "Ah, so you're the young'n. Come on back." We follow him into the room at the back and Brandon hops up on a torn up chair. "What do you want?" Big Bill asks. Brandon takes a bit of paper from his pocket and thrusts it at him. Bill glances at it. "Alright." A couple of hours later and Brandon has some Celtic, razor-wire thing wrapped around his bicep. It looks badass.

"Well?" Brandon looks at me. "You getting some ink?" I glance around the room at the different designs taped up to the wall. "I dunno..." My eyes land on a shamrock with the Irish flag colored into the leaves. Why not? "Yeah, you know what." I shove Brandon out of the seat. "I'll get that shamrock, right here on my bicep." Slapping my hand over my arm. Brandon grins and high fives me. "We're gonna look so good."

Chapter Brandon 16 years old

I take a swig of the whiskey, wincing against the burn. Truthfully, I don't really like the taste of it, but my old man seems to find something he's looking for at the bottom of that bottle. I used to think it was because he missed my ma, but he treated her like shit, too, so I figure it's the oblivion he’s chasing. That feeling when you're shit faced drunk and nothing matters. I forget what it is to miss my ma. I forget that I'm stuck with that old bastard as a father, and it's just here and now and nothing else. I stumble through the doorway and people shift out of my way. I won another fight yesterday, but my jaw is covered in deep purple bruises, and people give me a wide berth. All except one. Nieve walks up to me all hips and tits and a tiny waist. Long blonde hair falls over her shoulder, and she flicks it as she places a hand on my chest. "Hey, Brandon." She presses her body against me and my dick goes hard instantly. "Nieve." I lift the bottle to my lips, taking another swig. She takes it from me, her eyes locking on my lips as she sips it. "Are you going to just stand there or kiss me?" She sets the bottle on a nearby table and I grab her by the waist, pressing my lips to hers. I lose all focus because all I can think about is my dick and her lips and those long legs...and getting between them. I push her against the wall and when her tongue touches mine, I groan. I'm this close to shoving her skirt up and copping a feel when she pushes me away. I frown and she smiles. She glances over her shoulder as she makes her way towards the stairs. I start after her, and happen to spot Poppy standing in the doorway with her eyes fixed on me. My heart thuds awkwardly in my chest, and it's a different kind of pull to the one going on in my boxers, but just as powerful. She's looking at me with this hurt expression. I kind of hate it, but this is how it needs to be.

So, giving into my dick, I follow Nieve. Halfway up the stairs, I hear Connor shout my name. I stop and look down at him. "Hey." "Hey. I just got here. You out already?" he asks with a small smile, his eyes locking on Nieve's arse. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be back," I say on a smirk. He shakes his head. "You get all the luck." So would he if he wasn't holding such a torch for Poppy. He's captain of the rugby team for Christ’s sake. Girls would queue up for him, but he doesn't even notice them. I get it, it's Poppy, but seriously, that boy needs to get laid. "Hey, do me a favour, go find possum." He rolls his eyes. "I am not stopping guys from hitting on her again. She gets mad and tries to hit me." "So hit on her yourself.” I flash him a grin “About time you got your willy wet mate, and we both know you're holding out for her." He glares at me, and I laugh as I disappear up the stairs so I can screw Nieve and force myself not to pretend it's Poppy.

*** I stagger out of Nieve's house at three in the morning. I can't find Connor or Poppy, so I guess they left. It's just me and a few guys from the rugby team left standing. I start walking, heading in the direction of home, but the closer I get, the heavier my feet feel. I'm drunk. My dad will be drunk. If I'm lucky he’ll have passed out, but if he's awake—it's going to be a fight. I'm pretty sure I could take the old man, but I won't because my ma would have hated it, so I do the same thing she did for all those years, the same thing I did when she was alive, I just take the hits. I reach the crossroad. I can go straight over to the camp or left to Poppy's house. My feet go left and I find myself standing in her back yard staring up at her window. I grab the trellis that runs up the side of her house and start climbing. The world tilts and spins, and by the time I get to her window, I'm sure I'm going to fall and wake half her street. I shove her window up and topple through, landing on the floor with a bam. She screams and I scramble to my knees. "Shhh! It's just me, poss." "Brandon Patrick O'Kieffe!" She exhales. "Don't do that to me." She's clutching her chest, dragging in deep breaths. I laugh. "Sorry." "What are you doing here?" she whispers. "I don't want to go home." I tell her. "Oh, well, why didn't you just stay at Nieve's?" There's a hard sigh.

"What? Why would I do that?" "Why wouldn't you?" There's an edge to her voice. "Uh, because I don't like Nieve. Her dad would probably shoot me if he caught me there anyway." "So will mine!" She groans, throws the duvet off her, and climbs out of bed, going to the door to close it. The light from the hall hits her for a second and she's only wearing a t-shirt and underwear. I have to bite back the groan that's trying to make its way up my throat and force my eyes away from her. And my dick is right there with me. It won't go away. Fuck. She hops back into bed and snuggles down under the covers. "Well, are you staying or leaving?" she asks. I should definitely leave. "Can I stay?" She sighs. "Fine, but I'm annoyed with you." "Aw, don't be mad at me, poss." "Well, then don't turn up here still smelling of skank." I laugh. "Skank?" "Yes, Brandon, skank." God, she's cute when she's mad. She's cute and beautiful and kind. She's Poppy, my possum, and my best friend along with Connor. "You smell like her perfume. Britney Spears..." She fakes a gagging noise. I laugh. "Aw, don't be jealous, poss," I say before I can stop myself. "Why would I be jealous of her? I don't care who you screw, I just don't want it on my sheets. That's all." It bothers me that she doesn't care, but that's good, right? I don't want Poppy to care about me that way because then we won't be friends anymore, and I need her. There are days when her and Connor feel like all I have left. Dad always says I'm good for nothing though, and I know he's right. I know one day she'll see it, and she'll leave, go to a university and leave me behind. She should. "If you're staying, get in the bed already.” She rolls over with a huff. “I'm tired and want to go back to sleep." I yank my shirt over my head and pull my belt off, but leave the jeans. Flipping back the duvet, I get in beside her and lie on my back, staring at that godawful Justin Timberlake poster on her ceiling. "Love you, poss," I whisper into the darkness. She sighs and rolls over to face me. "I'm mad at you." "I know." "You know what, you're an asshole!" I grin. "I know." "I mean, really, it's fine for you to go stick your dick in Nieve Kirkpatrick and then climb through my window and call me fucking jealous because I'm not too keen on having the stench of that whore in my bed, but me..." She sits up in the bed. "Let a guy so much as look at me and you're threatening to knock his teeth

down his throat." "I do not..." "Don't you," she jabs me in the chest, "don't you think I don't know you ward them off, asshole." I swipe my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. "Look, possum, when a good guy chats you up, he can have at it." "Why do you even care?" She flops back on the bed. "Go ward off guys from Neive Kirkpatrick why don't you?" "Look, my ma always said, there are girls you shag and girls you marry. Nieve is a girl you shag, so I don't care. You are not a girl for shagging, poss, but fellas will have a crack because you're pretty." "Fuck off." I laugh. "And then I'll have to murder the fuckers when they break your heart." "I hate you." "One day, you'll thank me." "God," she groans. "Shut up and go to sleep." I kiss her on the forehead and she shoves me away with a little sulk on her face. God, she's so fucking cute. "Love you," I say. She doesn't respond and I dig my fingers into her ribs. "Ow! Fine, love you, too," she says with a slight growl.

22

Poppy 16 years old The water laps at the sides of the boat. We rock back and forth on the wake from the speedboat that just went past. There's not a cloud in the sky and the warmth of the summer sun wraps around me like a cocoon. "Damn, midge!" Hope swats at the tiny bug, squashing it on her arm. "Disgusting." She flicks it off and grabs the suntan oil. "Anyway, I've told you Nieve Kirkpatrick is a whore. I hate her. You hate her. Everyone hates her, except the boys. They just want something to stick their willies in and wiggle it around for a bit." "Hope. Gross." "What, having a willy stuck in you and wiggled around?" She smirks. "It's really not gross, I promise." "Well, you would know." I snag the oil from her and slather it on my bare stomach as the sun beats down on us. "Hey, I take offense to that." "You have a reputation, that's all I'm saying." She shrugs. "I'm a reformed whore now that I'm with Silas." "Hope, you've been with him for all of two months." "And," she holds up a finger, "that's a record for me.” "True..." Sitting up, she peers over her shades at me. "What was all that the other night with Brandon? Huh?" "What?" "Him falling in the window...you two not showing up to the party." "Yeah, he was drunk." "And...you fucked him, didn't you? The two of you are screwing!" "Ew, gross. I wouldn't touch him if you paid me." I can feel my cheeks heat. "Yeah, fucking, yeah, Poppy, and I'm the Virgin Mary." She crosses herself and bows her head. "You've got it so bad for that cunt..." And I do. I always have since the day I met him, but I know Brandon is not the kind of guy you date. He's the kind of guy you obsess over and dream about, but promise yourself you would never be stupid enough to get involved with. "Just friends." "You think the two of you are just friends, you're an idiot, with all due respect."

She sighs. "Just like if you haven't realized Con's got a major thing for you—you're an idiot." "What?" Hope throws her head back on a groan. "Dear Blessed Jesus! Are you that oblivious? He's followed you around like a lovesick puppy since primary school. That time you went on a date with Liam McDavid..." She rolls her eyes, "He moped around for a week, shoveling Milkybars in his mouth faster than a two-dollar hooker going through a mountain of willies." No, I just remember Brandon pinning him up against a wall by his throat the next day. He didn't ask me out again. I prop myself up on my elbows and stare out over the placid water. Connor is pretty and perfect and sweet, and Brandon is rough and dirty and vulgar. "They're both in love with you, I think." "Oh, whatever Hope..." "I know these things, Poppy. I can read most guys like a fucking book. They both have it bad for you. Con’s nice," she says. "Brandon's a ripe cunt." "Brandon is definitely a cunt," I laugh. "Why don't you date Con? You two would make such a cute couple. And he'd treat you like gold, I mean, he already does." "Hope..." "Look, you're going to end up screwing one of them at least, trust me on this, I know these things. Con is safe." She sighs. "Brandon O'Kieffe is a disaster you want to avoid at all costs, Poppy. You ever do anything with him and it will all blow up in your face." "Why are you telling me this? I wouldn't do anything with him, I—" "That's a damn lie!" She stares at me. "I hate the fucker and even I, given the right circumstances, would find it hard not to fuck him one good time just to say I had." My jaw drops a little and a shocked laugh bubbles from my lips. "What..." She nods at me. "He's fucking hot and surly and just dirty." A wicked smile flickers across her lips. "I am one-hundred percent certain Brandon O'Kieffe would be one helluva dirty lay. Smacking your ass, pulling your hair, getting you to call him daddy. He’d ruin a girl." "Oh my god." I feign disgust because I am certain he is just like that. And then my mind does that awful thing where I can't help but to imagine him with Nieve or Polly or Lola. They do know how dirty he is, and it bothers me that they have a connection with him I don't have and never will. "Like I said though, Poppy. Fuck Brandon one good time if you want," she grins, "and you tell me how good it is, but don't you dare ever give that boy your heart. You give that to a guy like Connor. One that won't destroy it." To be honest, I feel like I've already given half of my heart to Brandon and the other half to Connor. I love them both and it's so hard for me to tell one emotion from the next. Where is that line between love and love? I'm starting to think that maybe guys and girls really can't be just friends...

23

Connor 16 years old "Have you kissed her yet?" Brandon asks, laying on my bed and bouncing a tennis ball off the wall. I sigh and drag a hand down my face. "No." "Con..." "I can't, alright?" He sits up and looks me straight in the eye. "Okay, this is getting desperate now. Time to change the plan." "Plan? There's a plan?" "Yep, operation: Deflower Connor." He groans. "Bran..." "We're gonna go on a double date." He announces. "You want me to have sex with a random girl?" "No, just...just come on the date," he says. "What's that going to do?" He smiles smugly. "You'll see."

*** Nieve practically has her tongue in Brandon's ear. I sit awkwardly next to her cousin Grace, eating my ice cream. Grace is staring at me with her shiny blue eyes, twirling her hair around her finger. "You're hot," she says and bites down on her lip. "Thanks." Brandon gives me a look and I sigh. He kicks me in the shin. I wince. Damn it. Taking a deep breath, I do what he told me to and reach underneath the table. My hand hovers over Grace's leg and then I grab it, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. When I look at her she's smiling. She moves closer to me. I pretend to yawn and stretch, putting my arm around her shoulders. She's so close that if I turn my head, I could kiss her, but I don't want to kiss her. Brandon winks at me and I groan. I know what he wants me to do. I mean, it's not that bad, right? It's not like I haven't kissed girls. I have. Just not the one I want

to kiss. Brandon's eyes flick over my shoulder for a second before he kicks me again. I turn to face Grace and she presses her lips against mine. "Hey, possum!" I jump away from Grace so fast. Poppy and Hope are standing right in front of the table. Hope's smirking and Poppy—Poppy...I don't even know what that look on her face means. Her eyes are narrowed, her cheeks red, her lips pursed. "Slutty Suzie wasn't enough for you I see," Hope says, smacking me on the back. "That was two years ago..." Poppy rolls her eyes, glances from me to Grace, and then storms out. "Hey," Hope calls after her, "where are you going? I want ice cream." And she chases Poppy outside. Sighing, I glance over at Brandon. "Great..." He shrugs. "Hormones?" "I'm just gonna..." I start to get up and Brandon kicks me. Again. "What the fuck, Bran?" "Just sit down and finish your ice cream." He flashes me a look. I don't want to sit here with Grace. I don't want Poppy to be mad with me. Why did I ever let Brandon talk me into this? This is fucking stupid.

24

Poppy 16 years old I open the door, and the second I see Connor standing on my porch, I slam it shut. The doorbell rings again. I groan as I turn around and grab the doorknob. I shouldn't have slammed the door on him like that, but I'm pissed. I've been pissed all day. Brandon can date whoever he wants. He's Brandon, it's expected. He pulled the heads off my Barbies and made them have sex. He got to second base when he was twelve, but Connor...and Grace Kirkpatrick! My chest goes all tight and my cheeks heat. I yank the door open, scowling. "What do you want?" I say with such hate dripping from my tone I barely recognize it. Connor's eyes pop wide. "To see what you’re doing..." "Oh, really? Well, why don't you go see what Grace is doing?" I go to shut the door again, but he catches it with his hand. "What is your deal?" "You!" I turn around and he has this confused look on his face. "What did I do?" And the thing is, Connor didn't do anything. He went on a date. He kissed Grace. "If you don't know what you did, well, then..." I stomp down the hall and head to my room. "Poppy..." I groan and throw myself on my bed. Part of me thinks I'm overreacting, but a bigger part of me doesn't care. I'm confused and angry and... I glance up to see Connor standing in my doorway. His dirty blonde hair hangs a little over his forehead, covering the little frown line I know is probably sitting between his brows. He folds his arms over his chest and I notice, not for the first time, that he's almost as big and muscular as Brandon now. He huffs a breath and scrubs his hand over the stubble of his jaw, bringing his blue eyes to mine. As I stare at him, I feel that little flutter in my heart. My stomach knots when I think about him kissing Grace. My chest goes all tight when I wonder if he told her she was pretty, when I wonder if he's going to start going over to her house and watching movies. I don't want him to like her, and I feel guilty about it because it shouldn’t matter. He's my friend, but the thing is, all those special things we do, I don't want any other girl to share those with him. I want him to look at me the way he looked at Grace. I want him to kiss me and hold my hand.

And what kind of friend does that make me? I think I'm in love with both of my best friends...whatever being in love means anyway. Tears prick my eyes and I bury my face in my pillow. I feel the mattress dip beside me, and then his hand brushes over my back. "Poppy..." He trails off. "Is it because Grace kissed me?" It is, but I'll never admit that. My head is spinning, my stomach turning. "No." "Okay." He pauses for a second. "Is it because of Nieve and Brandon?" he asks more quietly. I quickly sit up and glare at him. "No!" He drags both hands through his hair and groans. "Is this a girl thing?" "Just..." I shrug and take a deep breath. "Just go." "Fine. Maybe I'll go hang out with Grace, seeing as my best friend doesn't want to see me." He gets off the bed and heads toward the door. That stings. And makes me livid. And makes me want to cry. "Fine. Maybe you should." "I will then." "Maybe stop off by Slutty Suzie's on your way there." My heart is banging against my ribs, my blood pulsing through my ears. He sighs and turns around to face me. "That was one time when I was fourteen, and it was Brandon's idea." "Brandon's an idiot." "I know, but he was trying to help me...you know." His cheeks tinge pink and he looks at the floor. "Whatever, Con." And here we are, staring at each other, both hurt because it's not that simple any more. I don't know that any of us knows what we're doing, but everything is changing. Before long, it won't be me and Con and Brandon. It will be Brandon and Nieve, and Connor and Grace...and me. Me and Hope. And I don't want any other girl to have my boys’ hearts the way I did when we were little. "Okay. I'll just go then." My nostrils flare as I watch him turn and leave the room. I want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to ask him to come back, but I'm too stubborn to, so I just wait until I hear the front door slam closed and then I lie back on my bed, stare at Justin Timberlake, and cry and I'm not even sure why. I must have fallen asleep, and I almost jump out of my skin when the window creaks open. I glare at Brandon as he struggles to crawl through the gap. He's far too big to be doing that nowadays. "My dad's not here. You know you could just use the door like a normal person." "Where's the fun in that?" He grins, but his face falls when he looks at me. "You've been crying." I shrug. "Just give me a name and I'll fix it." "It's nothing." He walks over to the side of the bed and sits down. He smells like cigarette smoke and outdoors. All I want to do is hug him because I know that will make me

feel better. Without warning, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest. I take a deep breath. "I hate it when you cry, possum," he mumbles against my hair. And that just makes me want to cry again. "So are you gonna tell me who made you cry?" "No one." I sniff. "It's just...a girl thing." He laughs. "Well, I'm good with girl things." "Not those girl things, Brandon." I huff into his shirt. He pushes me back, a lopsided grin on his face while he cups both of my cheeks with his hands. He leans in, and for a minute, I think he may kiss me, but instead he presses his lips to my forehead. Brandon is a whore and a bad boy and a trouble maker, but he's my Brandon, and he makes me feel safe. And right now, I find myself asking, is it better to be the girl he has sex with, or the girl he tells all his secrets to, the girl whose bed he crawls into when his dad beats him? Nieve Kirkpatrick will never know him like I do, so she's welcome to his dick. This right here is what I love about Brandon. "Is this about Connor and Grace?" he asks, his thumb gliding over my jaw. I glare at him and he grins. "Oooh, so it is." "Why...Grace Kirkpatrick, Brandon? Really?" He throws his head back on a deep laugh. "That boy has got to pop his cherry soon, poss. It's not right." "Why are you always so gross?" He lets me go and lies back on my bed, folding his hands behind his head. "Not gross, poss. This is a simple fact. He's sixteen and a virgin. I'm pretty sure that goes against all the laws of nature." I open my mouth—"And before you say it, you're a girl. It's different. He doesn't want Grace, but there comes a point when you just got to get shot of the v card." "Well, if that's the case, maybe I should just go hand mine over to Davie Logan?" He sits bolt upright, a scowl on his face. "If that little fuck goes near you, I'm gonna break his knee caps." I roll my eyes. "Says the whore who will stab his dick in anything with a pulse? Polly, Heather, Nieve, Grace, Slutty Suzie—" "I did not sleep with Slutty Suzie...she just sucked my dick." "And now Connor can have your sloppy seconds, but heaven forbid I look at a guy." He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling, letting out a long groan. "Jesus, fuck, poss. How can you not see that Connor is obsessed with you? Poor kid's been wandering around with his balls in his hand for years." I wrinkle my brow and stare at him. "He's my friend..." "Uh-huh. Because girls get upset when their 'friends' go on dates. Do you cry when Hope goes on a date? Please tell me you shed a little tear for me." He smirks. Heat flashes across my cheeks and I clench my jaw. "Fuck you." He laughs. "Aw, poss, I'm just helping you out." He shrugs.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" I ask before I even realize what I've said and my cheeks instantly begin to burn, my heart thumping so hard I can hear it. A choked sound leaves him and he swipes a hand down his face. "Ah, poss, you can't ask me that." My pulse picks up and I'm mad at myself for sounding so pathetic. Brandon lifts his arms over his head and his shirt rides up enough that I'm staring at that deep V cut into his sides. I swallow and force my eyes away, reminding myself that Brandon is not the guy you give your heart to... "Don't give me that look! Of course I think you're pretty, so do half the guys in school. But it's you. You're my best friend." And even though that hurts, that is what I need to hear. I need to hear that I'm not Lola Stevens. I need to hear that I am only possum, and I scold myself for ever wanting to be more, for believing in those stupid fairytales and the butterflies in my stomach. I drop my gaze to the bed sheets, tracing the pattern of a flower with my index finger. Brandon sits up, and then his fingers are brushing my chin, forcing me to look at him. Those bright green eyes search mine as he takes a deep breath. "Don't think that I haven't thought about it, poss. Trust me, I have," he says on a cocky grin that has my stomach clenching. I look down at the sheets. I can't look at him now. He laughs and when I glance up, his gaze is fixed on my lips and the air seems to still. I can hear each heavy beat of my heart counting down the seconds. There's this pull between us, and I want it. I want to know what his lips would feel like on mine. And then his eyes close and his fingers tighten into fists. "Don't worry,” he whispers. “I know I'm not good enough for you. But Con is." His eyes open and touch every inch of my face, as though he were committing me to memory. His fingers gently brush over my cheekbone and he smiles. "I love you, possum." "Love you, too," I whisper. Without another word, he gets up and leaves the same way he came, through the window. And here I sit, wondering how much longer he'll be my lost boy, how much longer before my Peter Pan is climbing through someone else's window? **break** Hope's garden is littered with people from school. There's a bonfire going and everyone's already shitfaced. Nieve struts past, glaring at me. I swear to God, sometimes I'd like to just take her by that blonde ponytail and yank her head back a few good times. "Want a drink?" I turn around and Connor's standing right next to me holding out a wine cooler. "Oh, sure. Thanks." I peek around his shoulder. "Where's Brandon?" "Over there somewhere." He thumbs toward the patio where a group of guys are standing around, cheering on Brandon while he does a strawpedo with a bottle of whiskey.

"Oh, he'll be on form tonight." "Yeah..." I glance over at Connor and he's just staring at me, all glassy eyed. "Are you drunk?" "What? No." "Well then," I take a step away from him. "Why are you acting weird?" "I'm not. Where's Hope?" "Over there." I point to the side of the garden where she's sitting, lip locked with Silas. "He seems like a good guy for her." I snort. "Yeah. He's a dirty, old pervert." "See. Perfect." Connor laughs. "You look pretty." "Thanks..." There's yelling from the side of the yard and Hope's dachshund, Bullet, comes scampering past us. Several of the rugby players come chasing after him with a party hat. "Come on, pooch. Join in the party." And now, we're just standing here in silence while a bunch of drunks attempt to put a party hat on an overweight sausage dog. "You really are pretty, Poppy." Connor smiles and my stomach flip-flops a little. I swallow. He swallows. The tension between us is uncomfortable but exciting, and just when I think maybe, if me and Connor did kiss—maybe it wouldn't ruin everything, Chloe McMasters comes strutting up in her platform wedges and short skirt. "Hey Con," she says. Stepping between us, she puts her back to me. "Not busy are you?" "Uh, I mean, I was talking to—" "You're so cute." She giggles. "And so muscular." I watch as she grabs a hold of his bicep and he flexes. Hope is with Silas still, Brandon's...I don't know where he is now, but most likely with some girl, and now Connor's preoccupied with this bimbo. And I just want to be alone, so I turn around, set my wine cooler down, and I walk down to the pier. The laughter and music from the party fade into the background as I make my way down the worn pathway. The boards on the pier creak underneath my feet and the water laps against the edge of the bank, and I wonder, why do I even care? Why do I care if Chloe likes Con, why do I care if Brandon's fucking Nieve? Why does it matter? It shouldn't. I don't care what Hope does, I don't go into a depression when she hangs out with Silas, so why, if Brandon and Connor are really only my friends, do I care? And if they aren't just friends...how do I get over that?

25

Brandon 16 years old I spot Poppy sitting alone at the end of the pier, her shoes right beside her and her legs hanging over the edge. A slight breeze blows and catches her long dark hair. She doesn’t look up when I start down the rickety, wooden walkway, and she doesn’t say a word when I take a seat next to her. "Why you out here all by yourself, possum?" I fold my knees up to my chest. "Don't know." She shrugs, dipping her toes in the dark water. "Connor was looking for you—well, you and the Caramel Nibbles." I laugh and she rolls her eyes, but refuses to look at me. Those stormy grey eyes of hers just stare out over the water. "I'm sure Nieve is looking for you." There's an edge to her voice, and I try not to smile. I have spent years watching Poppy, wanting her, making sure no one else gets her, while always knowing that she's too special for me to ever do anything with her. But I can't pretend that her jealousy doesn't make me happy. It does. It means that even though I will never be good enough for her—she thinks I am. Poppy Turner wants me, the traveler kid with nothing to offer. It shouldn't mean anything, but it's everything to me because I love her. "Well, she can keep looking," I say. She tilts her face towards me, and I can't help but glance at her lips before I tear my gaze away. Damn it. This is getting harder and harder with her. "I saw you kiss her again the other week." She blushes. "She's pretty." "She's alright." I scoot a little closer to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder, drawing circles with my fingertip on her bare arm. "Wouldn't be jealous, would you, poss?" "Jealous of what? And stop calling me that." I laugh. She only tells me not to call her possum when she's really pissed. "Of me kissing her." "I don't care who you kiss." "You don't?" "No," she says with a sigh. "You've probably got mouth gonorrhea or something." I laugh and pinch her side. She jerks away from me, giggling. "My little possum is jealous." "Would you shut up?" She turns to face me, and she's so damn close, her lips

barely a breath away from mine. Her lips part and I lock onto the movement, wondering whether she'd taste like sweet like candy, the way I've always imagined she tastes. She closes her eyes and her breath hitches slightly. "I'd kiss you, too, if you'd let me..." The words leave my lips before I can think about it. I'm drunk, my head swimming in whiskey, and I can't talk myself out of wanting her right now. I brush her thick hair away from her neck. She trembles when my fingers graze her skin. Just one taste. I want to know what it's like to kiss her. Just once. Leaning in, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, sweeping my thumb over her jaw as I press my lips to her. They are soft and gentle, everything about her reminding me that she's delicate and perfect. I brush my tongue against hers and fight back a groan. God, she's fucking everything—every thing I'll never have. I tear away from her. "Fuck..." I stand up, pacing up and down the pier for a few seconds with the taste of her still on my tongue. Her wide eyes meet mine and I clench my fists. Damn it. Without another word, I turn tail and walk away. I need to get away from her. I need to drink some whiskey, smoke some weed, and go fuck Nieve so I can remember my place. I'm Poppy's friend. I refuse to fuck that up.

26

Poppy 16 years old He walked off. He kissed me and walked off. I wanted to shout at him, chase after him...but, I know Brandon well enough to know it wouldn't have mattered. I sit, staring at my toes as they disappear beneath the water again, and I honestly have no idea how I feel. That kiss was everything I imagined it would be: brutal and raw and wrong on every level. I can't handle him, and I know it. It was just a kiss...but it felt like so much more. My vision blurs behind tears and then I hear Connor shouting for me. I quickly blink those tears away and clear my throat. "Down here," I yell, and a few seconds later, Connor's walking down the pier. "Why are you out here by yourself?" he asks as he takes a seat behind me. "Aren't you cold?" he opens his jacket and wraps it around me, pulling me between his legs and hugging me to his chest. "Just..." I lean my head back against him, the warm smell of his cologne making me feel safe and secure, the way he always has. "Just tired, I guess." "Tired, well, you want to go home? I'm bored anyway." "Sure." He stands and holds out his hand to help me to my feet before he bends down and picks up my shoes. "And please don't ever leave me with Chloe McMasters again, God, she's annoying." I can't help but laugh because I'm glad he thinks she's annoying. "She is pretty though, Con." He wrinkles his nose. "You think? She's too blonde for me." I loop my arm through his and we walk back to Nieve's backyard. Brandon's got some tiny brunette shoved against the outside of the house, his hands up her skirt and his mouth on her neck. "Well, don't guess I need to ask if he's ready to go, huh?" Connor chuckles. Swallowing, I force a smile while I fight the knot kinking my stomach. "No. Guess not." Con pats him on the back as we pass by them. "See you later, mate." Brandon moves his face away from her neck long enough to nod at Connor. His eyes touch mine for a second and I look away, pulling Con with me. And we leave. I leave the party with the boy who owns one part of my heart,

leaving the other half of it behind, knowing it's for the best.

27

Brandon 17 years old I throw back the shot of whiskey and smile at the girl dancing in front of me. I can't remember her name but she's got a bright pink streak in her blonde hair and a dress short enough to almost show her panties. I'm game. She steps forward and brushes her finger over my bruised jaw. "Does it hurt?" she shouts over the music. I shrug one shoulder. "Maybe you should kiss it better?" Smiling, she leans in and kisses my jaw before she makes her way down my neck. I groan when he warm tongue touches my neck. They make it too easy, they really do. I reach for my beer and my split knuckles reopen, welling with blood at the movement. Last night was the hardest fight I've ever had, but it was worth it because I'm now the bare-knuckle boxing champion of Dublin. My dad finally looked at me like he was proud. Only now, it's too late. I don't want or need his pride. Pink slides her hand under my shirt and rakes her nails across my stomach. My hand slips beneath the edge of her skirt just as I catch sight of Poppy across the room. I freeze momentarily. Some guy is trying to talk to her, but her eyes never leave mine. I stare at her until I can't look anymore. I hate that every time I glance at her there’s this sadness in her eyes that never used to exist. I think I put that there because I was selfish. I made her think that I could give her something that I can't. I didn't need to convince her I was good enough for her because she's always seen me through rose tinted glasses. But worse, I almost convinced myself that I could be good enough. Good enough for her. For my possum. And now I have to prove to us both that I'm not. I will always be her best friend, but until she remembers that I am not the fairy-tale ending, I have to take a step back. No matter how much it kills me to be away from her. My eyes flick to Connor as he moves beside her. She looks at him, her lips stretching into a wide smile, and my stomach clenches tight with jealousy. God, I wish I could be like Connor. I wish I could be deserving. This is a form of torture all its own—loving her but staying away for fear of ruining everything. The fact is, I need her. I can't not have Poppy in my life, so if I must hurt her now to keep her in it, I will. "I'm going to get a drink. Be right back," Pink whispers in my ear. I nod and she disappears. Inhaling, I walk over to Connor and Poppy. They're still my best friends, no matter what, and they always will be.

"Hey," Connor says, narrowing his eyes at my banged-up face. "I hope the other guy looks worse, champ." He grins. "Yeah, he does." "I heard you won,” Poppy says. “Congratulations.” And there it is again, that sadness in her voice. "Hey, Con!" Matthew Anderson comes over and slaps him on the back. "Come on, Cap, we need you for beer pong." Connor groans and I have to laugh— Captain of the rugby team for three years and yet, he's never gotten the hang of the obligatory drinking games. He sighs and walks off with Matt, leaving me standing here with Poppy. "I'm sorry," I say. I don't even know what I'm apologising for, but I feel like I always have something to be sorry for when it comes to her. She doesn’t look at me. "Don't be." She takes a deep breath and shakes her head before glancing up at me. "You can't run forever, Brandon." "I'm not running. I'm standing right here, poss." We haven't spoken about this. It's been months, and we've both just carried on like nothing happened, whilst at the same time, everything changed. "That girl," she thumbs in the direction Pink walked off in, "all those other girls, the drinking..." she shrugs, “that is running Brandon, and it won't change anything." I swipe my hand down my face and step forward, bracing my hand against the wall beside her head as I lean down to bring my face closer to hers. "I hate that you look at me like that. I hate that I make you sad." I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale the scent of her strawberry shampoo. I can almost remember the feel of her lips on mine. It's cruel, really. "I'm sad for you because I don't think you will ever let anyone love you." "I love you, poss. And you love me. Like this, as best friends. I'm sorry I ruined that." Her eyes close and she slowly nods. "You didn't ruin it, you just changed it." "I don't want this to change." I release a long breath. "I need you too much." I can fuck my way through countless girls, but it will always be her bedroom window that I want to climb through when my dad's a dick. It will only ever be her and Connor who truly know me, and what she doesn't see now is that makes her worth a thousand Nieves and Pinks. A sympathetic smile shapes her lips. "Okay." I'm afraid she doesn't think it can ever be the same. "Promise we'll always be friends?" I hold out my little finger to her. Her eyes well with tears, her nostrils flare, and I hate myself for doing this to her. She links her finger with mine and smiles. "Always and forever." I pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. "Don't think I didn't see Adam Daniels sniffing around," I mumble. She punches me in the chest and I grunt. "You're a dick." I laugh and kiss her forehead before I release her. Connor comes back, wrapping

his arm around her shoulder. She looks at him, and there it is—the way she used to look at me, as if he's a life raft in a stormy sea. But that's the difference between me and Con, he’s the raft and I am the storm. He'll rescue her, where I will drown her. I step away because I know I have to. I know I need to. "I'll catch you guys later." I turn and spot a brunette in a pair of tight shorts. I need a distraction.

28

Poppy 17 years old It's two in the morning and I lie on my bed, staring at the window, waiting, but I know he won't come. He hasn't climbed through my window for months, not since that night. He's no longer my lost boy. Closing my eyes, I try to reason through it all. Brandon will always be my friend. We still talk. We still hang out, but now there's this unsettled tension, the knowledge that something happened. After that night, everything changed. I stopped being the person he came to, and now I don't know where he goes. There are some lines friends should never cross...but I thought we were closer than that. The sense of loneliness eats away at me as I imagine him in bed with some other girl, holding her, making her feel as though she's important to him. I know he still loves me, but right now, it's hard to believe. Eventually, I pick up my phone and type out a text to Connor: Can you come over? . I'm nearly asleep when I hear a tap on my window. Adrenaline buzzes through my body and I toss the covers off. When I pull the curtains back, Connor's hanging from the trellis. I open the window. He grunts as he climbs through the narrow gap and stumbles to the floor. "Bran makes that look way easier than it is," he whispers as he stands up. I nod. "Yeah, he does." I swallow around the lump in my throat. I don't even know why I'm so sad. He narrows his eyes, studying me as he sweeps his fingers across my cheek. "What's wrong?" I shrug and fight the tears building in my eyes because I would never tell Connor. "I don't know," I whisper. "Poppy..." "Just," I inhale, "I just feel alone, I guess." A small smile tears at his lips and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him and into his safety, into what's familiar. "Don't feel that way." I cling to him for a moment, breathing in that warm scent of his, resting my cheek against his hard chest and listening to the rhythmic thump of his heart. "It was sweet of you to come." "I'll always be here for you. No matter if it is two in the morning." He glances at the door. "It's locked, right?"

I laugh. "Yes." "Just don't fancy your dad slitting my throat or anything." Rolling my eyes, I step away from him and fall back on the bed. "He wouldn't..." Connor stands next to my bed, watching as I slip underneath the covers. He looks so uncomfortable, so uncertain. I flip the comforter back and pat the bed. "Stay." He drags in a deep breath before he nods and kicks off his shoes. He grabs the back of his shirt, tugs it over the top of his head, and tosses it to the side of the room. I can't help it, my eyes trace over his broad chest, his defined abs, his arms. His blond hair's a mess from the way he carelessly pulled his shirt off, and my heart's doing that stupid pitter-patter thing I can't seem to get control of. My stomach kinks with nerves when he slips under the sheets and turns to face me. "You know you'll always have me. No matter what. I’ll never leave you." His hand sweeps through my hair and I close my eyes. Connor has always had the ability to bring comfort with a simple touch, a word. His fingers trace along my jaw, leaving a soft heat in their wake, and when I open my eyes, I'm staring into Connor's blue ones. Brandon—I'll always love him, but he was my distraction from this. From Con. He was the wild thing you want to chase, you wish to capture and tame. He was chaos and mischief, and that pull he creates, it's electrifying and hard. Terrifying at times. And that, that is why I didn’t see this for so long because the pull between Connor and I, it's subtle and innocent and pure. Brandon is an inferno, and Connor is a haven. His warm breath blows across my lips and I can almost taste him. His fingers trail over to my chin, gripping it gently as he lifts my face closer to his. My breathing grows ragged—my heart slams against my chest as heat courses through my body. And, without thought, without hesitation, I press my lips to his. His hands cup the back of my head and my arms find their way around his neck. And it's perfect. It feels like this is how it always should have been. It feels like a love story.

29

Connor 17 years old I squint against the sun pouring in through the window, and when I inhale, I smell strawberries. I bolt upright in the bed—Poppy's bed, my pulse going haywire. She's asleep, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow. The disorientation lifts and I flop back on the mattress next to her. There's a knock on the door and Poppy stirs, mumbling something incoherently. "Poppy, I'm going into town," her dad says through the door and my stomach knots. Fuck, if he tries to open the door I'm going to get beat. "You need anything, sweetheart?" "No, love you," she says, her voice raspy with sleep. "Love you, too." And I listen as his footfalls disappear down the hallway. This is it. We kissed. And now...I turn and look at her. She smiles at me and my pulse starts thumping around like some jacked-up rabbit. "Hey," I say. "Hey." Silence. She clears her throat. I clear my throat. I just have to do it. Say it. Get it over with, like ripping a fucking Band-Aid off some disgusting scab. Over and done. I turn to face her and those dark grey eyes of hers are staring right back at me. Fuck. I swallow again. "So...you kissed me..." Exhaling, she rolls onto her back and faces the ceiling. "Sorry." "I want to kiss you again,” I say. She keeps staring at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip. Shit, maybe I shouldn't have said that. I nervously reach across the bed and grab her hand, tugging on it. "Come here." When she turns over, there are tears in her eyes, and I have no idea what the hell to do. I slowly let go of her hand and reach up to cup her cheek, wiping the tear that just fell away with my thumb. "You can't cry." "I'm not," she smiles. "I love you, Poppy. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember." And now the tears really start falling. Wrapping my arm around her, I drag her to me and lay my lips over hers. They are so soft and full and everything I've ever dreamed they would be. Just a tender kiss. One short kiss and I pull away. "And I've always loved you," she whispers, tracing her fingertip over my mouth. My heart clenches in my chest and I grin so wide my face hurts. "I feel like this can't be real."

A soft smile touches her lips as she leans in to kiss me, her small hand cupping my cheek. She's everything I've always wanted, everything I will ever want. It feels like my whole world has started and ended with her since that day on the playground. I sweep her hair back and gently brush my tongue against hers, fighting back a groan at how perfect she is. I'm going to make Poppy Turner mine.

*** I open the door and find Brandon on the doorstep. He's wearing his football shorts and a tank, and he's covered in sweat, I guess from running. "Hey." I push the door open wider and walk back inside. My ma has gone to town, so the house is empty. He closes the door behind him and follows me to the kitchen. "I'm making a sandwich. Want one?" "Sure. Thanks." He jumps up and sits on the kitchen side, watching me. "Why are you so damn happy today?" I shrug and his eyes go wide. "Wait. Did you finally get laid?" I drop my gaze to the floor and he laughs, slapping his hand over his thigh. "You did! Who was it? Chloe?" I rub a hand over the back of my neck and I can feel my cheeks heating. What if this changes things? The three of us have always been friends. "No, I...I kissed Poppy." I stumble over the words and then slowly lift my gaze. He's gone still, the smile slipping from his face. "Poppy?" he barely whispers her name. "It just happened. I went over there last night, and..." "You slept in her bed?" I nod and he swallows hard, fixing his eyes on the kitchen tile. I've never stayed in Poppy's bed, but Bran used to all the time because he couldn't go home. I think he felt bad staying here too much. "You know I've been in love with her since forever." “Yeah.” He hops down off the counter, slapping me on the back. "I'm happy for you, mate." He smiles, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes. Maybe he's worried that things will change now, but Poppy will always be the girl I love, and Brandon will always be the brother I never had. "I think I'm gonna ask her on a date." He nods. "Good, that's good. Yeah, you should take her out, do all that shit girls love." "How would you know?" I joke. "When was the last time you went on a date?" He shakes his head. "I don't date, Con. I'm the bad boy, remember? You're the good one." I hand him a plate with a sandwich on and he takes it. "Nah, you just put that shit on to get in more girl's knickers."

He snorts. "Whatever." "I wanted to talk to you about something else as well." "Oh?" I follow him into the living room and sit on the sofa next to him. He turns on the TV, pulling up a boxing match. I take a deep breath. "I'm going to join the army." "What?” His eyes snap to mine and he frowns. “Why?" "I don't know. I just feel like I need to do it. I want to do it." He sighs and drags a hand over his face. "Okay, fine. Where do we sign up?" "We?" He rolls his eyes. "Jesus fuck, Con, I'm not letting you go into the army on your own." "Brandon, you hate all forms of discipline." He grins. "Ain't that the truth. But I haven't got anything better to do. What the hell would I do if I'm not looking out for your arse?" "Bran, you don't have to do this." "Remember that night when you asked me to teach you how to fight?" I nod. "I promised you I'd always have your back." Brandon may be a hellion and a wrong'n, as ma says, but he's the best friend anyone ever had. "Shit, so we're really gonna do this? Together?" He grins. "Same way it's always been."

30

Poppy 18 years old - six months later Connor slams me against the wall right beside the front door, his lips on my neck as his hand travels up my thigh. "Con, stop..." I feign to push him away. "Just a quickie. You know that damn skirt does it for me." His fingers brush along the inside of my thigh and every bit of me feels like it's on fire. My muscles go weak. I want to give into him. "Come on," he teases, and I groan. "Don't make me beg..." He gets this pleading look on his face, that look he knows will make me give into him. Connor and I just happened. One day we were friends with a crush on each other and then one day...we weren't. When I think back on it all, it was always him, we were always fate. He's always been there for me, no matter what. From the day he came up to me on the playground, there was something special between us, and really, what purer love is there than the one between two best friends? "People will be here any second," I say on a moan as his finger slips underneath the hem of my thong. He bites my neck and then there's a knock at the door. "See," I sigh, pushing his hand out from under my skirt. He steps away from me, adjusting himself as I open the door. Hope is standing on the doorstep, shouting at Silas. "Just bring it in, would you?" He groans and disappears behind the back of the SUV. She turns around and looks at me, narrowing her eyes. "You two weren't just fucking, were you? You look all flustered." She steps inside and shoves a sparkly blue bag at Connor. "Here, that one's for you. It's a pocket pussy." She grins. "Thanks for the surprise..." He peeks inside the bag and sticks his finger in. "It feels so...fleshy." "And why are you giving that to Connor and not Brandon?" "You can Facetime him and he can pretend it's you, and let's be honest, Brandon's going to be shoving his nasty cock down every hooker's throat between here and London." "Wow..." Silas comes around the back of the car, dragging a barrel with him. "What the..." "It's all I could think to get the cunt," Hope says. "That or a prostitute and I wouldn't dare do that to a prostitute."

"A barrel of whiskey. He'll die." "Nah." She smacks me on the back. "He'll be fine. He's Irish." "And his liver's already pickled, babe," Connor says, wrapping his arms around my waist. Silas totes the wooden barrel over the threshold and sets it down by the kitchen. "Hey, Poppy. Hey, Con." He takes a breath and leans against the barrel. "Hey..." And it hits me. After tomorrow, nothing will be the same. Connor and Brandon will be gone, and since I first moved into this very house, they are all I've ever known. "Oh, shit." Hope sighs before she wraps her arms around me, tugging me away from Connor and hugging me so tight I can barely breath. "Don't get all sad." I smile and pull away from her. "I'm fine." Connor's hand touches my lower back, brushing over my hip as he pulls me into his side. Hope glances over my shoulder and glares. "I bought you whiskey, cunt," she says. I turn around and see Brandon leaning against the hallway door, a sly grin on his face. "For me? I think I might get emotional, ginge." She snorts. "Fuck off, pikey." Silas slaps Brandon on the back and then disappears inside the house with Hope in tow. Brandon watches me for a second, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. "Don't be sad, poss." I shake my head and try to smile. "I'm not." "Lies." Sighing, he pushes off the wall and pulls me against his broad chest. "It's just six weeks, and then we'll be back." When he lets me go, I step back against Connor's warm body. His lips press into my hair and I close my eyes. "I'll miss you guys. That’s all," I say. "Babe,” Connor hugs me, “we'll talk to you every day." "Well, unless I'm busy," Brandon says on a grin, crotch thrusting at me. "Ew, you're so gross." He laughs and backs away from me, lifting his bottle of beer to his lips. "But until then, poss, we have to party, and there's a whole barrel of whiskey out there needs drinking." He goes back into the kitchen and I roll my eyes. Brandon never changes. "We’ll talk every day," Connor murmurs in my ear. The thing is, it won't be the same. They'll come back for a weekend and then be gone again. And that will be my life, over and over. Weeks without them, days with them, when it's always been the exact opposite. I turn around and bury my face in Connor's hard chest, sucking in his smell. The world is made up of so many people, but these two...they are my world. "I just wish you hadn't done it," I whisper. "I hate this." "This will be good, babe. You'll see." Connor could have had his pick of any career, any university, but he chose to join the army. And of course, Brandon signed

right up with him because if Connor's going to have to fight, Brandon will always be at his side. It's the way they are. His hand cups my cheek as he leans in, kissing me gently. "You're leaving me all alone." "Never." His bright blue eyes lock with mine and my heart skitters in my chest when he smiles. When I glance up, Hope’s balancing on a chair. "Don't let me fall," she tells Silas. He grumbles something as he hands her a banner. He helps her tack it over the entrance to the kitchen. It reads: Sad to see Connor go. Good riddance to the cunt. "Hope, really?" I ask. Connor snorts under his breath. "Aw," she says jumping down from the chair, "you know I have a love-hate thing for him. Just wouldn't seem right if I was nice to him, you know?" There's another knock at the door and Hope rushes past me to open it. "Come on in." She steps to the side and a group of people walk inside. And we party. We laugh. Brandon gets shit-faced drunk and by the end of the night he's wandered off with some random girl, and then it's just me and Connor. We leave the mess and go to my bedroom door. Connor strips out of his shirt, stumbling before he falls onto the bed. "I think I drank too much of that whiskey," he says. I laugh and climb onto the bed, crawling next to him. "Does that mean you have whiskey dick?" Biting my bottom lip, I straddle him. "Babe, I could never get whiskey dick with you." He sits up, slides his hands beneath my shirt, and tugs it over my head. He presses his lips to mine and I wrap my arms around his neck, in a desperate bid to be as close to him as possible. "I love you," he says. "I love you, too." The way I love him is so untainted, so pure. It is a love of necessity because without him, I have no purpose. And so, I kiss him as though I may never kiss him again. ***break*** Bang. I sit straight up in bed, clutching the comforter to my chest when I realize I’m naked. "Shit, poss. Put those away would you?" I can’t help but smile, because I never thought my lost boy would come through that window again. "You fuckface," Connor grumbles next to me. "Use the door." Brandon groans and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to me. "I'm not gonna find a used Johnny on the floor over here am I?" "Who the hell throws used Johnnies on the floor?" I say, pulling his shirt over my head. It smells of cigarettes and whiskey. It smells like Brandon. "I mean, why wouldn't you? Just pull it off and toss it, let your willy

breath." Brandon smirks. Connor rolls over, pulling me back down onto his warm chest. "Still shocked that fucker wears one,” he groans. “That's a miracle all on its own." "Thought I'd climb in through your window one last time, poss, for old time’s sake and all that shit." He falls on the floor and I toss a pillow to him. "You were always like my safe haven, you and Con both." He sighs and my throat tightens. Tears burn my eyes as I choke back a sob. "Hey," Brandon sits up and laughs. "You remember that time I tricked you both into taking that shortcut to the camp, you know, through the swamp." Connor chuckles. "You have always been such a little shit." "Ma was so pissed when we rocked up soaking wet and covered in mud. God, poss was so sulky about having to wear my Transformer undies while her My Little Pony knickers where strung up on the clothes line to dry." He laughs. "No, what I was mad about was that Arnold ate them and then I had to walk home in your skanky Transformer's undies." "What about that time I took you to confession?" Connor asks. "I talked to Jesus," Brandon says with a snicker. And here we lay, the three of us talking until we fall asleep. I wake in the morning, still groggy. Connor's rustling around, shoving stuff into his bag. He kicks Brandon in the side and he groans. "Fuck's sake, Con. You trying to kill me?" "Fucker, I'm just trying to toughen your lazy ass up for the army." My chest goes all tight and I glance at the clock. Its eleven. They have to leave in an hour. "I already got the car packed, Bran." Connor says. "Did it before I drove over last night." "Jesus, you're a fucking genius." And for the next hour, I walk around in a daze. Numb because, if I let myself feel, I'm going to fall to pieces. I hold it together while we eat brunch. I smile. I laugh. But the moment we walk out to Connor's car, everything inside of me crumbles. Tears stream down my face and I fall against Connor's chest, dragging in uneven breaths. My chest is so tight; I can see now why they call it heartbreak. It physically hurts. "Hey, hey," he says, cupping my cheeks and tilting my head back. "I'll be back." "I know, I'm just gonna miss you." "Aw, poss, it's not like we're dying or anything," Brandon says, placing his arm around my shoulder and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. Connor presses his lips over mine and that serenity I find only with him fills me for the briefest of moments. "I love you." "I love you, too." He pulls away and smiles sweetly at me. "This isn't goodbye, babe. Only see you later."

And I watch those two boys who became my entire world ride off, leaving me alone for the first time in my life.

Follow their story into the original story of WAR POPPY BUY HERE Poppy Love and war. Two words that should have little association, but to me the two go hand in hand. Both are a tragedy. They rip you open and spit you out. The war killed my husband, Connor, shattered my will to live, and took my best friend. Brandon may not have physically died in that war, but his soul did. And now we're left to pick up the wreckage. Expected to move on when all that is left is the ruins of a life we once had. Brandon War. It took everything from me, even myself. When you're only able to exist, death seems like a blessing. Pain...a welcome distraction. I ran from everything associated with my past, and then she found me, fighting, drowning myself in whisky, trying to forget. She reminds me of Connor, of what I've lost—what we've lost. In the midst of destruction, she's a salvation I don't deserve. I shouldn't love him. I shouldn't love her. Love is a war we never should have fought.

War Hope is releasing in May 2017.

PRE-ORDER HERE.