annoy him too much. The stupid dog had done enough damage already. I grabbed Mum’s antiseptic handwash and two clean tea towels from the kitchen and ran back out.
The boy was still wriggling about under the tap. He twisted his arm into a contortion over his back to try to get the muck off.
‘Um, would you like me to do that?’ I asked, my skin running hot and cold with embarrassment.
He looked up. ‘Yeah, thanks.’ He said it as if it wasn’t an issue, being touched by a strange girl with a crisped face.
I soaped a blob of handwash into his hair and rinsed that out first. His hair kicked up at the edges when it was wet, hints of curl.
Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . breathe in . . . try not to act like a complete loser . . . keep your cool . . .
Then, hands shaking, I started on his back. ‘This is going to sting, but –’
‘Be fine,’ he said, his head upside down beneath the tap.
I’d never touched a boy like this before – a real one that is, not a kid like Charlie. I knew they were supposed to feel different to girls, but I’d not really grasped what that meant until I was soaping his back. He felt . . . amazing. Soft skin stretched over taut muscle that made his body feel hard in a way mine didn’t. I shouldn’t notice that, but it was impossible not to and my fingers didn’t want to leave his skin.
He scrunched his face up as I cleaned his shoulder.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said through clenched teeth.
I soaked one of the towels under the tap and used it to swill him off until his back was clean and free of blood, but he was a mess – raw patches down one side and his shoulder and elbow mashed up. ‘This does look awful, you know. Maybe you should go to hospital.’
He stood up, his head dripping, and took another look. ‘It’s only a few grazes. Looks worse than it is.’
‘If you wore a T-shirt, it wouldn’t have been half so bad.’ I passed him the dry towel for his hair.
‘I like not wearing a T-shirt,’ he protested.
I checked out an eyeful of tanned chest and flat stomach. Who wouldn’t like him not wearing a T-shirt? ‘I suppose I could dab some antiseptic on and try covering it with gauze if you want.’
He grinned encouragingly. ‘That’ll do.’
He followed me into the kitchen and his eyes grew very big. ‘Wow, this is massive.’
As I opened a cupboard to get a bowl, I caught sight of my reflection in the leaded glass – I’d forgotten not to look, and I jerked back.
‘Are you OK?’
He was right behind me. I could see his reflection too. I shut the door quickly and rummaged in a drawer for the Dettol and first-aid kit. When I turned round, he was sitting on a chair watching me.
He touched the right side of his face. ‘What happened?’
Direct again. Like nobody else would. And he was looking straight at me.
‘Don’t answer if you don’t want to.’
Somebody braver than me said the words with my voice. ‘A car accident.’
‘It wasn’t long ago, was it?’
‘Earlier this year.’
I turned away and filled the bowl with water and Dettol. The water clouded up and the smell of disinfectant wafted around the kitchen.
‘My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?’
‘Jenna,’ I said, unrolling gauze.
I borrowed somebody else’s legs to walk over and put the bowl on the kitchen table.
‘I was dead lucky with the name, you know. Mum nearly called me Anarchy.’
I choked. ‘She nearly called you what?’
‘No, you heard right.’ He sounded gloomy, but I could see he was hiding a smile. ‘Anarchy. If I’d been a girl, I would’ve been Liberty. But I wasn’t so she used that on the boat instead.’
‘What changed her mind? About Anarchy.’ I dipped a length of gauze in the water and dabbed the top of his shoulder, intending to work my way down the cuts. He tensed. ‘Did that hurt?’
‘No, it’s not you. I was thinking what a lucky escape I had.’
Liar!
‘She said the runes told her not to.’
‘Er,
The boy was still wriggling about under the tap. He twisted his arm into a contortion over his back to try to get the muck off.
‘Um, would you like me to do that?’ I asked, my skin running hot and cold with embarrassment.
He looked up. ‘Yeah, thanks.’ He said it as if it wasn’t an issue, being touched by a strange girl with a crisped face.
I soaped a blob of handwash into his hair and rinsed that out first. His hair kicked up at the edges when it was wet, hints of curl.
Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . breathe in . . . try not to act like a complete loser . . . keep your cool . . .
Then, hands shaking, I started on his back. ‘This is going to sting, but –’
‘Be fine,’ he said, his head upside down beneath the tap.
I’d never touched a boy like this before – a real one that is, not a kid like Charlie. I knew they were supposed to feel different to girls, but I’d not really grasped what that meant until I was soaping his back. He felt . . . amazing. Soft skin stretched over taut muscle that made his body feel hard in a way mine didn’t. I shouldn’t notice that, but it was impossible not to and my fingers didn’t want to leave his skin.
He scrunched his face up as I cleaned his shoulder.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said through clenched teeth.
I soaked one of the towels under the tap and used it to swill him off until his back was clean and free of blood, but he was a mess – raw patches down one side and his shoulder and elbow mashed up. ‘This does look awful, you know. Maybe you should go to hospital.’
He stood up, his head dripping, and took another look. ‘It’s only a few grazes. Looks worse than it is.’
‘If you wore a T-shirt, it wouldn’t have been half so bad.’ I passed him the dry towel for his hair.
‘I like not wearing a T-shirt,’ he protested.
I checked out an eyeful of tanned chest and flat stomach. Who wouldn’t like him not wearing a T-shirt? ‘I suppose I could dab some antiseptic on and try covering it with gauze if you want.’
He grinned encouragingly. ‘That’ll do.’
He followed me into the kitchen and his eyes grew very big. ‘Wow, this is massive.’
As I opened a cupboard to get a bowl, I caught sight of my reflection in the leaded glass – I’d forgotten not to look, and I jerked back.
‘Are you OK?’
He was right behind me. I could see his reflection too. I shut the door quickly and rummaged in a drawer for the Dettol and first-aid kit. When I turned round, he was sitting on a chair watching me.
He touched the right side of his face. ‘What happened?’
Direct again. Like nobody else would. And he was looking straight at me.
‘Don’t answer if you don’t want to.’
Somebody braver than me said the words with my voice. ‘A car accident.’
‘It wasn’t long ago, was it?’
‘Earlier this year.’
I turned away and filled the bowl with water and Dettol. The water clouded up and the smell of disinfectant wafted around the kitchen.
‘My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?’
‘Jenna,’ I said, unrolling gauze.
I borrowed somebody else’s legs to walk over and put the bowl on the kitchen table.
‘I was dead lucky with the name, you know. Mum nearly called me Anarchy.’
I choked. ‘She nearly called you what?’
‘No, you heard right.’ He sounded gloomy, but I could see he was hiding a smile. ‘Anarchy. If I’d been a girl, I would’ve been Liberty. But I wasn’t so she used that on the boat instead.’
‘What changed her mind? About Anarchy.’ I dipped a length of gauze in the water and dabbed the top of his shoulder, intending to work my way down the cuts. He tensed. ‘Did that hurt?’
‘No, it’s not you. I was thinking what a lucky escape I had.’
Liar!
‘She said the runes told her not to.’
‘Er,
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