Page 7 of When We Were Young

Liv

I’m at the bus stop after school listening to the Will Bailey album for the hundredth time when I get a tap on the shoulder. I turn to see our school tie and crest at eye-level. There’s only one kid that tall and as I lift my chin to confirm it, my whole head ignites with embarrassment.

It’s Nathan Hall.

He hasn’t spoken to me since primary school, and even then, it was only to tell me to move out of the way. I pull out an earphone.

‘What are you listening to?’ he asks.

They’re the most confusing five words I’ve ever heard, and I gawp at him until I come to my senses. ‘Will Bailey. Have you heard of him?’ He shakes his gorgeous blond head. ‘This song’s on the trailer forNostalgia. It’s all over the TV.’ God, I’m such a nerd.

He points to my dangling earphone, so I hand it to him and skip back to the start, then immediately regret it – this track is six minutes long. Hyperventilating, I stand rigid beside Nathan for the entire song. I don’t dare look at him but I’m dying to know if the hairs on the back of his neck are sparking too.

By the time it’s over, I’m about to pass out.

‘Have you heard the new Liars song?’ he asks. When I tellhim no, he gestures for my phone. He types something into Spotify and the Liars track rumbles in my ear.

‘It’s good,’ I say, raising my voice over the jangly guitars.

‘If you like this, I’ve got a playlist you might like. We should swap numbers.’

I stop hyperventilating – now I can’t breathe at all.

With The Liars harmonising in our ears, we exchange numbers then stand awkwardly waiting for the song to finish.

Nathan interrupts the middle eight. ‘Here’s my bus.’ He pulls out my earphone and hands it back. ‘You’re coming to Beatland, right?’

‘Huh?’

‘Beatland. Festival. Everyone’s going.’ He jumps on the bus.

My insides are doing somersaults. ‘Er…’

‘Come.’ He flashes a grin as the doors close.

As the bus pulls away, I deflate like a popped balloon.

Because that’snevergoing to happen.

Dad is waiting for me at our usual spot, leaning against a pillar of the old market building. He’s always early. Sensing me coming, he looks up and beams.

‘Hi Dad.’

‘Hiya, Livster.’ When he wraps his arms around me, he smells of soap and freshly washed clothes. He plants a million kisses on the top of my head with embarrassing sound effects.

‘You’ll ruin my hair,’ I complain.

‘I can’t ruin your hair – it’s perfect.’ He takes my rucksack. ‘Bloody hell, what’ve you got in here? It weighs a ton.’

‘Homework.’

‘Ugh!’ He holds it at arm’s length, like it’s contaminated, then swings it onto his back as we head towards the cinema complex.

‘How are your ribs?’ he asks.

‘Still painful. The doctor said it could last up to six weeks. It’s worse when I laugh, so no comedies tonight.’

‘Okay. Pizza first?’