Page 62 of The Long Way Home

“Thought I was your best friend?” I slipped my arms around her waist.

“And what might your intentions here be, Best Friend?”

“Ahh,” I grinned down at her, “I’m glad you asked.”

Slid my hand under her little pink dress, felt her up.

She unbuckled my jeans and I stepped out of them.

I turned her around to undo the back of her dress and just as it was falling off her body was right when fucking Thatcher Hendry’s drunk arse stumbled into the room.

“Ey! What’s going on here!” He grinned over at us. Parks started laughing, embarrassed.

I ran over, shoved him backwards out the door. Re-locked the door. Tested it to check it was locked. It wasn’t. Tried to lock it again. Didn’t work.

Parks had caught the full-blown giggles by then, and I was looking back over at her, frowning and laughing, telling her to shut up.

“It’s a standard-issue lock—” She rolled her eyes.

“From fucking 1821!”

“It’s very easy to use, you just turn the key—”

“—It’s a broken—”

She marched over to prove me wrong and I grabbed her and kissed her, lifted her off the ground, pulled that dress off her that’s still in her closet today, I bet. She’d never get rid of it.

Then I grabbed the quilt from the bed, took her hand and led her to the window, nodding my head towards the garden.

We were on the second floor and she took my hand without a second thought.

We scaled down the roof, me first, then her.

The shit we did to be alone together back then… Fuck, the shit I’d do still to be alone with her now.

I wrapped myself around her and the quilt around us both — smooth moves, even for me — walked her backwards towards the tree, banged her up against it.

Got her bra off with one hand — felt proud of myself because those things felt like Fort Knox back then and from there it was a quick escalation to the good stuff.

“Wait! Fuck—” She pulled her face away. “I can’t remember whether I took my pill today.”

I bit down on my lip. “Shit.”

“Do you have a—” Her question trailed off breathlessly into my ear.

“No. Fuck.” My head dropped in dismay. We hadn’t used them in forever. Not since she started using the pill.

And that night, I don’t know — something about the combination of pure teenage arrogance and straight lust clouding all smart decisions — I was already inside of her by then — she was biting down on her lip and there was that ache you get in your bones sometimes, to finish what we started. Consequences were abstract up til then; she was and I was and we were invincible.

And then Parks’s husky little voice whispered, “I don’t care.”

I grinned down at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

I remember thinking about that while she stood in front of me in the school carpark, changing my life forever while I said nothing back.

Nothing.

You ever told someone that you’re pregnant and then have them just stare at you? For fifteen seconds. I counted. Because I was an arsehole.