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someone who liked me rather than someone who didn’t.
    As we walk by the slide, I see Anj looking at us and I stick my tongue out and grin. She pretends to disapprove with a roll of her eyes, but when she turns back to her friends she’s grinning too. We pass Tyrone and Marcy and I slide my hand into Aaron Tyler’s pocket and take out his phone.
    “What are you doing?” he asks.
    “Nothing,” I say, aware that Tyrone has noticed as I tap my number into another boy’s phone. “Just giving you my number.”
    Tyrone watches as I return the phone to the pocket I took it from, linking my arm in Aaron’s as I do. I give my audience a sly wink. Tyrone gets it elsewhere, why shouldn’t I?
    The footpath leads down to the river and turns into a towpath. Neither of us says anything. My arm is still in Aaron’s, and I get a thrill from the warmth of his body next to mine. I lean in slightly and breathe deeply. He smells of something vaguely familiar. Something that makes me feel safe.
    I can see the bridge. It’s a good place, quiet at this time of night and there are some nice dark shadows between the pillars.

AARON
    Hannah leans into me as a breeze whistles up from the water under the bridge. It feels nice to have someone close again.
    Nostalgia for the life I left behind rushes in so fast it hurts: memories of sitting on desks next to my friends, elbows accidentally clashing now and again; the girls not minding if our legs touched as we sat too many on a bench; the lads putting an arm around me and pulling me in for a celebratory hug when I once got between the ball and the goal in a semi-final I shouldn’t have been playing in. Here it’s different. People apologize when they bump into me, girls and boys seem to occupy different hemispheres and the basketball lads celebrate with high fives and backslaps. They greet each other by punching fists. It’s all very passive-aggressive.
    The cynic in me suspects that Hannah isn’t just being friendly for the sake of it – but I want to believe she is.
    I feel her slow her step as we get under the bridge and she pulls on my arm, turning me towards her.
    Cynicism one, innocence nil.
    For a second I think about it: the way it would feel to have her press that body against mine, how I’d run my hand under the hair at the back of her neck to pull her in. God. It feels like for ever since a girl looked at me like this. Her mouth is pretty and her eyes smile slightly into mine … and that’s when I know this isn’t going to happen, because there is something about Hannah, something warm beneath the cold, calculating sexiness she spends so much time projecting. Something real.
    Real isn’t something I’m ready for. And whatever she might think, Hannah is not ready for me.
    I duck my chin as she closes the distance between us. Her kiss lands on the side of my jaw, but she’s fast and tilts her head so she’s in line with my lips once more.
    It would be too awful if she tried again, so I step back.
    “Hannah, I—”
    “What?” There’s a shortness to her question.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t want …” What’s the right thing to say? “… to kiss anyone.”
    “Me, you mean?”
    Yes. I do mean that, but I’m not going to say it.
    “No, I mean anyone. I’m not … it’s not…” Why can’t I get the words out?
    “I knew it!” She takes a step back and studies me, hands on hips. “You’re gay.”
    It takes a second for me to process her conclusion. I won’t kiss her so I’m gay? Wow. That’s pretty arrogant.
    “I’m not gay.”
    “It’s OK. You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. You’d be surprised at the secrets I can keep.” She’s grinning at me, inviting me to share, inviting me to tell her something that could form a foundation for friendship.
    Why can’t I just say that I’m gay? Why can’t I just be gay? It’s not like I’m looking to get lucky with girls any time soon.
    “Look, I’m really sorry, Hannah, I’m not gay. Really.”
    We