Page 6 of The Boy I Once Loved

Chapter Two

Next class, I have double Media Studies and my heart dips when I walk in and see Dylan standing at a table talking to a cute guy with glasses. I take a seat near the front, hoping that Dylan will sit somewhere near the back. To my utter despair, he takes the seat beside me. I groan and lower my head to the table. "Will you take the hint and fuck off."

He chuckles. “Told you Ella umbrella, I’m not going anywhere.”

My breath catches in my chest when he calls me that. I haven’t heard that nickname for a long, long time. He would always call me that when we were kids. He would sing my name, ‘Ella, Ella, under my umbrella.’ As in the Rihanna song. Ignoring him, I pull out my pad and pen and rest my head on my hand to block him from my view. The class goes by painfully slow. When I do briefly move my head from my hand, I can feel his gaze upon me, unnerving and unsettling me. For the first time in three years, I feel out of control of my own emotions and I hate it.

As soon as the class is over, I bolt out of there like a rocket. Luckily, I hear him get waylaid by a girl and I grin to myself in thanks. I high-tail it to the school car park as fast as I can and start the bike, throwing my helmet on. As he bursts out of the school doors, I grin to myself as I whizz out of the car park right past him. I am a master at avoidance.

I arrive home to the smell of food. I’m not sure what is cooking, but boy does it smell good. I dump my schoolbag in the hallway and head straight into the kitchen at the back of the house. Mum stands at the oven, her hair up in a messy bun. She is stirring the contents of a large pan.

"Hey, honey." She greets warmly, all smiles and over-enthusiasm. "How was your first day back? Did you see Dylan?"

I take a seat at the kitchen island. “It was okay and yes, I saw Dylan briefly.”

“Ah, he is such a lovely boy. It will be nice for you two to hang out again.”

“We won’t be hanging out,” I scowl. “Dylan and I aren’t friends anymore. We haven’t been friends for a long time.”

My mum gives me an exasperated look as she plates the food out. Chicken casserole - my brother’s favourite. The smell of the food and the memories of us sitting around this very kitchen all eating together hit me with a jolt. “You made his favourite?”

She flinches at my reference to him. “Oh, I thought this was your favourite.”

I shake my head. “No, it was his. Mine was always your spag bol.” I stand from the stool. I can’t be here right now. “Look, I’m really not hungry. I’m going to make a start on my homework in my room.”

My mum’s cheery face drops. “I was hoping we could eat together like old times. You know catch up properly.”

“Why?” I snap. “You haven’t wanted to catch up for the last three years, so why?”

She visibly winces at my accusing question. “I’m trying here, Ella.”

“Yeah, well,” I smirk, “you should have tried three years ago. Why did you make me come back here? I was happy with Uncle Matt. I’d built a life there.”

She holds onto the worktop as if grounding herself. “I wanted us to be a family again.”

I scoff. “We haven’t been a family since the day he died, and you checked out on life.” Without a backward glance, I leave the room. Once in the safety of my bedroom, I throw myself on the bed and I allow myself to cry. I don’t want to be back in this stupid town with all its dark memories.

I’m lying on my front on the bed a few hours later catching up on some reading for English when I hear the doorbell go and hear my mum’s cheery voice greet someone. A second later, she shouts up for me to come down. Curious who it could be, I throw on a jumper and head down.

I stop still, three-quarters of the way down the stairs when I see him standing there. My Mum stands beside him, all encouraging smiles. "Look who is here. Dylan's come to see you. Isn't that nice?"

I fold my arms and come to a stop on the third step from the bottom. “Why are you here?”

He grins, ignoring my cold welcome. “I thought we could catch up. Mums made muffins and she would love to see you.”

I hesitate. I loved Dylan’s mum; she was funny and kind, and she had been like a second mother to me growing up. “I’m busy. I have homework.”

“Nonsense,” my mother states. She wraps her arm through Dylan’s. “Come on in, love. I don’t have muffins, but I do have cookies.” He grins in response and allows her to pull him through to the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder at me and winks, and I clench my fists in response. What part of I wanted nothing to do with him did he not get?! He sits at the kitchen island with a familiarity that hurts my heart. I stand there hovering like an idiot. Mum grabs the cookie jar and opening it offers him one.

“They are your favourite,” she tells him, smiling. “Double choc chip.”

I snigger. Really? She makes his favourite cookies.

“Sit,” she demands, the insistence clear in her tone. Scowling like my life depends on it I sit around the other side of the island. If I have to sit there, I am sitting as far away from him as possible. I feel his eyes upon me, and I fidget under his gaze.

“How is school?” She asks him as she pours him a glass of cola.

“Good,” he grins. “Especially now I have Ella back there with me.”

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