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My body goes rigid at the mention of the incident.

“Thank God you got there in time, Bradley.”

“Yep,” is all I can muster, in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, thank God,” Xavier mimics sarcastically, and I shoot him a glare that saysshut the fuck up.Xavier nods in response. Olivia furrows her brow, noticing our change in behaviour.

“Why are you both acting weird?”

“We’re not acting weird.”

Olivia’s eyes narrow. “Righto, sure.”

I exhale quietly, hoping to dispel some of the tension in the air.

“Why didn’t Amelia come back here?” Xavier asks, being the nosy prick he is.

“Oh, she said something about heading to her parents’ house for dinner.”

Her parents’ house? Does she still not live with her parents? I can’t help but wonder.

“Does she not live at home?”

“Nah, she moved out a few months ago,” Liv replies casually, as if it’s no big deal.

Hm.Interesting.

Olivia shakes her head, still puzzled by our odd behaviour. “Well, I’m going inside. See you two later.”

As she heads inside, I finish my beer, lost in contemplation. The image of Amelia, navigating life on her own without the safety netof her family home, weighs on my mind.

“I should head off, too,” Xavier says, rising to his feet. “Need to help Isla with dinner.”

I nod to my brother and follow suit, grabbing the bottles and heading inside.

7

Iwalk into my classroom, and the vibrant energy of my little students instantly fills the air. The smell of paint and the sound of excited chatter fills the room. Today is art day, and the kids are buzzing with excitement as they gather around the tables, eager to get started.

I smile as I make my way to the front of the class, ready to teach my young artists the wonders of finger painting. The kids are already seated, their eyes wide with anticipation. I pick up a brush and dip it into the paint, showing them how to mix the primary colours to create new ones. Their faces light up with understanding as they follow along, mixing red and yellow to make orange, and blue and yellow to make green.

I guide them to use their fingers instead of brushes, as they are too young to handle brushes. Surprisingly, for a group of primarily five-year-olds, they’re incredibly smart. They catch on quickly, giggling with delight as they swirl their fingers through the paint, creating their own masterpieces. It’s moments like these that remind me why I love teaching and why I love art.

“Look, Miss, I made purple!” one of the kids exclaims, holding up their painted hands for me to see.

“That’s wonderful, Tommy!” I praise, giving him a high five and instantly getting paint all over my hand. I laugh, shaking my head at the mess. “You’re all doing such a great job!” I walk over to the sink, still grinning, and quickly rinse off my hands.

As the kids continue to paint, I can’t help but think about my own art. Painting has always been a passion of mine, and I often dream of one day showcasing my works in a gallery. But in our small town, opportunities for artists are scarce. For now, I’m content to paint for fun and teach these young minds the joys of creativity.

No one, apart from my family and Olivia, knows that I paint. It’s not like I have a big group of friends, anyway, but it’s not something I just willingly share with people.I’m too shy for that.My art is like a secret world that I escape to, where I can express myself freely without judgement. Maybe one day, I’ll have the courage to share it with the world. But for now, it’s enough to knowthat I have this creative outlet to call my own.

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text message from Olivia, my best friend.

Olivia’s always been so supportive of my art, and I’m grateful for her. But every time I think of her, Bradley’s right there in my mind, sending shivers down my spine.

Bloody hell. I thought by now, with a bit of age and wisdom, I’d be over this massive crush on him. But he makes it impossible. It’s like he’s everywhere lately, impossible to ignore.

At twenty-four, still being a virgin bothers me.