“Excuse me. Sarah. Have you seen that key you gave me earlier?” I asked

Sarah looked confused, “Not since I gave it to you earlier. Why? Have you lost it?”

“I don’t think so. I left it in the keyhole, after locking it from the inside, to stop, erm…” I paused.

“Yes, to stop anyone else bursting in. Sorry again about that,” said Sarah, picking up my pause.

“Well, the room is now locked. With my other costumes in there,” I went on.

“Oh,” said Sarah, “just your costumes? Your change of clothes is still in the gymnasium?”

“Yes, Sarah.”

Sarah thought for one moment, “Well, why don’t you just leave your costumes in there for now? You can go and get changed, and pick up your stuff tomorrow, when we figure out who locked the room. It’s late now, and I am sure everyone has other places to be.”

I agreed with her suggested plan, and headed off towards the gymnasium. I started a mini panic, when I realised that door was also locked, and I started to rush back towards the main assembly hall. My heels clacking on the wooden floor like a pair of castanets. All of my boy clothes, my sisters make up and makeup remover, and her robe were in there; as was my school bag where I had stored my wallet and keys. All I had with me was my mobile phone, and what I was wearing; the black vest top, black skirt, black strappy heels and the black over-shirt that I hoped was still on the chair I had left it, in the assembly hall.

“Aren’t you going the wrong way?” asked Adam, who I was rapidly approaching. “Changing rooms are this way,” pointing in the direction he was heading.

“They’re locked,” I said in panic. “I’m going to get Ms Greenwood.”

Adam looked confused, “What’s she going to do? Kick the door down?” he laughed, to himself

“No. Don’t be stupid. She’ll be able to get the caretaker to open it. I saw him down here earlier, and I reckon he’s locked the door. I reckon he’s locked a few doors.”

Adam paused, as if he were thinking about his options. I’d always considered him a smart guy, always in the top sets at school, and gets good grades. I hoped he’d come up with something good. I was to be left disappointed.

“Right. I’m going home. I’ll get my stuff back tomorrow. See ya!” as he turned, and started to head off.

I was left open-mouthed. “Are you not going to the pub?” Immediately realising that really wasn’t the most pressing question to be asking, right now. “How are you getting home, dressed like that?” I realised I was still using my girlie-voice, and heard myself getting even more high pitched.

“Calm down, Sam. It’ll be fine,” said Adam, genuinely trying to reassure me. “My Mum’s already waiting for me in the car park, to give me a lift home. I wasn’t going to the pub. It’s my Dad’s birthday, and we’re going out for a family meal.”

Adam could tell I was still worrying, “My Mum would happily give you a lift home. If you wanted?”

I smiled at Adam. “Thanks. That’s really appreciated.” I was starting to think a bit more clearly. I realised leaving my things here would cause further problems tonight and tomorrow, and convinced myself that I’d just ask Sarah to ask the caretaker to unlock the gymnasium. He lives on site, and I think it’s part of his job to be on call all the time. “I think I’ll be okay, Adam. Thanks again, mate.”

Adam and I both headed back in the direction of the assembly hall; him turning left out of the school’s main entrance way, me turning right into the assembly hall.

“Do you know where Ms Greenwood is?” I asked a group of three of my friends, after scanning what was now a mostly empty space.

“Backstage,” answered Mike, getting back to playing on his phone.

After a smile of thanks he did not see, I walked up towards the stage, up the left hand stairs, and behind the curtain, where I could only see Ian, putting some things away. “Do you know where Ms Greenwood is?” I asked him

Ian paused from what he was doing, “Sup? She got a message that her dog was sick, or something, and has gone home. I’m just finishing off; she said we shouldn’t be here without her.”

“Shit!” I thought to myself, rushing on my heels back onto the stage, down the stairs, out of the assembly hall and through the door that Adam had just exited by. He had already gone. “Shit!”

“Shit! Shit!” I said out loud, trying to decide what to do next. I thought that I’d just have to bypass Sarah. If she was unable to ask the caretaker to unlock the gymnasium on my behalf, I’d just have to ask him directly. His small house was just the other side of the staff car park, so I headed off.

“Oh. You again?” he said, answering the door. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve had some of my things locked in the gymnasium changing rooms, would you be able to unlock them? Or, can I borrow the key, to do it myself? I’ll have it back to you in five minutes.”

He scowled at me, “If you think it’s my job to do what every random stranger knocking on my door asks - whether they’re the girlfriend of a teacher, or not - you are mistaken. Goodnight.” Closing the door and leaving me stunned. I had not followed all of that, apart from the fact he wasn’t going to help.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I declared again, heading back towards my three friends in the assembly hall.

“What’s up?” asked Mike, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He sounded genuine concerned.

I explained that all my stuff was locked in the gymnasium, and that I can’t get it unlocked. That I have just missed out on the chance of a lift home, and there’s no one home that can come and collect me. “Did any of you drive to school today?” They all shook their heads.

I was still thinking hard, “Have any of you got any spare clothes with you? I mean, from either your costumes or your school uniforms?” All three of them shook their heads.

“Not that I think will help,” said Chris. “I mean, I have a spare blazer and a tie. I was just wearing my school trousers and part of my ‘business suit’ costume.” The others nodded, indicating they were in the same position.

“You lazy sods!” I managed to joke, but with only a half-smile. “You got off very lightly!”

“What am I going to do?” I asked, to no one in particular.

“There might be something in lost property?” suggested Mike.

“Lost property?” I frowned.

“Yeah,” said Mike, smiling proudly that he’d found the solution. “I’ve borrowed sports kit from there.”

“Lost property in the gymnasium? That if I could reach, I wouldn’t even have this problem?” I pointed out

“Ah. Yeah. Sorry,” Mike’s pride suddenly falling.

“Taxi? I’ll lend you some cash.” “Call one of our parents for a lift?” “Get in touch with Ms Greenwood and guilt her into coming back?” were some of the perfectly reasonable suggestions the three called out.

“Thanks. But, I’m not sure I’m comfortable waiting here alone for half an hour or so, waiting for any one of those things,” I actually felt like I was about to cry.

Mike looked confused. “Why would you be on your own? We’d wait with you. Wouldn’t we?” he looked around and saw Martin and Chris both nodding.

“Well, aren’t you going to the pub? At 7pm? Which is like…” I looked at my phone, “… five minutes ago.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’ll be late,” said Chris, “Okay, we’ll be more late. Later.”

“Or,” said Mike, “We just go to the pub as we are?”

“You’re really not helping now,” I said to Mike.

“Actually, Sam, I guess we could,” Martin challenged. “Think about it. It won’t be too busy, most of the folks there will our cast and crew. I don’t think anyone’s going to see you, that hasn’t already, except James.”

“You want to swap clothes, Martin? Then you can be the one he rips the piss out of. You think about it!” I suggested

“Look,” Martin went on, “You can wear that rubbery black shirt over your vest, we can walk down there, you can remove your wig and wash the makeup off your face in the disabled toilet, and if you hide your legs under a table, no one will be any the wiser. You can then wait like that until a taxi can pick you up, or your Mum is back from work. It’s really not a disaster!”

Against my better judgement, I agreed. The plan being as Martin had suggested. I’ll never live this down.

The four of us walked into the pub. It was, as hoped for, not very busy, at least not indoors. Most of the drama club had decided to sit in the still-warm beer garden, and I decided that I’d prefer not to see too many of them, and explain over-and-over why I was still in costume. I scanned the main bar area, quickly spotting James sat on his own; I headed directly for him. I glanced back over my shoulder, and saw Chris and Mike heading to the beer garden - to no doubt have a cigarette - with only Martin following me.

James’s face lit into a broad smile, as he slowly recognised who was walking towards him, albeit looking like he had never seen me look before. I gave him a warm smile, immediately feeling more at ease with things.

I carefully lowered myself to sit across from James, taking great care to keep my knees together. “I’m suffering from a bit of wardrobe malfunction. I assure you, this isn’t by choice.”

“Well,” James continued to smile, “I wonder how good you’d look, if it were not an accident?”

I felt my cheeks flush, “Oh, please! This is my costume, one of my costumes, a hybrid of two of my costumes. It’s so embarrassing!” I managed to laugh.

“I can see you’re okay, James,” Martin said, “Sam? The usual?” asking if I wanted a drink.

“Yes, please. A large one, thanks,” I said to Martin, before pointing out to James that I did not have any cash.

“So?” James said, “Why the voice?”

I felt myself turn red again, which James clearly spotted. “I mean, you sound good. It suits how you look. You look great, by the way.”

I smiled at the compliment. “I hadn’t realised I was still doing it. I’ve been speaking this way for a couple of hours, and was starting to feel normal. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Sorry, if I made you feel uncomfortable. As I say, it suits you,” James gave me another reassuring smile, maintaining full eye contact. “And actually, it’s probably a good idea to keep it up, with you looking like that. I mean, for anyone overhearing us.”

Martin returned with the drinks, placing my glass of wine on the low-level table that the three of us now sat around, “Are you still slipping off to the disabled loos?” he asked me.

“No, I don’t think I will, now that I’m here.” I said, not feeling as uncomfortable as I had expected.

“What’s this?” asked James

Martin went to say something, but I got in there first, “It doesn’t matter, just something we talked about earlier.” We carried on chatting, with James keen to catch-up on what had been going on.

After about thirty minutes, Martin excused himself.

“I think he’s seen that girl he has been trying to chat up. He’s been meerkatting for the last five minutes,” said James, making me laugh. “You know her, don’t you? The one that works in the petrol station that’s about three promotions out of his league? Do you want another drink?”

“Yes, Stacy, she went to my primary school. You’d think he’d have given up by now; I don’t think she knows Martin exists. And yes, please. Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”

“There you go,” said James, as he placed a large glass of Rioja on the table. “Always thought it looked odd when we were out, you on the wine and the rest of us drinking beer; kind of suits you now though,” he added, with a warm smile.

“Cheers, mate,” I thanked for the drink, and ignored the new addition to a long-standing regular comment about my choice of drink, as James took his seat, still holding his pint.

“You’ve tied your hair back? Something looks different,” queried James.

“Yeah, I had a spare elastic band. It was starting to annoy me, as it’s quite warm in here. I wanted it off my shoulders,” I advised. “I’ve pulled it too tight though, it’s already giving me a headache.”

I released my hair again. Teasing off the hair band, then leaning my head forward, using my arm to flick my hair back over my shoulder. I also considered taking off the black over-shirt. I was, however, quite self conscious about how small the vest top was, and how much of my skin it left exposed. I was, however, starting to get extremely warm, in the non air-conditioned pub, that the sun had heated up throughout the day. Despite this, I left it on.

“I see. So, do you enjoy all of this?” he asked, gesturing towards me. His upturned hand slowly moving up and down, outlining my profile.

“This?” I clarified. Pointing towards myself, and specifically my outfit. Surprised that he wanted to go there.

James gave a small nod as he took a sip of his beer, looking upwards over the top of the glass, to maintain eye contact.

I adjusted myself to sit upright, my back losing contact with the chair, shifting my bum a tiny bit closer to the edge of the seat, ensuring I kept my bare, smooth legs tightly together. “Well, it’ll probably surprise you as much as it did me, but yes, I think I do. Yes, I do. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Not my idea of fun.” Replied James, in a very matter of fact way.

“Ha. I’m definitely not going to say it’s a case of ‘don’t knock it until you’ve tried it’. I agree, it’s probably not for you.” I said with a smile.

“Oh, no?” wondered James. “Why do you say that?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Was he really looking for a reason, or was he just teasing me? Was he trying to let me know something really important? “Well, it’d probably be more difficult given you’re like, what, six four? And built like the proverbial” I offered as a starter, not having had the chance to fully reflect on the potential depth to the question.

James looked a bit confused, furrowing his brow. He went to say something, but paused as the barman stopped at our table to collect the empty glasses from our first round of drinks.

“Oh... I forgot what I was going to say. Oh well. Anyway, what is it that you enjoy about it?” He recovered, surprising me with his level of interest.

“Oh, erm, I don’t know. It’s all of it together, I guess. Don’t think it’s just one thing. The clothes, high heels, the hair, makeup... feeling, well, pretty, and having the opportunity to be, I don’t know... girlie. Hmm, that sounded really gay, didn’t it?” I took a breath and smiled a nervous smile, surprised that I’d admitted this to myself, let alone anyone else. I smoothed my already smoothed skirt, put my hands and phone together in my lap, and anxiously awaited James response.

“Oh. Well, erm, that doesn’t matter at all, does it? As long as you’re happy, and it’s not hurting anyone else,” he immediately reassured. “But, erm, Sam, whilst that’s, erm, all interesting. That wasn’t what I was asking. I meant enjoying the play, not the, erm, dressing as a girl.”

“Oh my god. What have I done?” I thought to myself. Alarms were going off in my brain, “Rewind! Rewind!”

My hands, still half holding my phone, rushed to cover my mouth. Preventing any more comments leaking out was one thing, wishing that they could drag back in the revelation that I have allowed to escape was the other. My stomach turned over.

“James.” I managed to get out after lowering my hands, and putting down my phone. Not yet knowing what words were going to follow.

“You’d believe me, if I said I was joking. Right?” I asked, with a panicked half-smile.

James leant forwards across the knee-height table, and smiled sympathetically. “Sam. It’s fine. Don’t worry,” he said, whilst placing his large hand on my knee, before he leant back after a slight squeeze.

Still using his smile to reassure me he meant what he said. “Oh, and it’s six foot four and a half,” he added with a cheeky wink.

“Oh god. How embarrassing.” I couldn’t think of anything helpful to say, so just said how I felt.

“And the play? The drama club? Are you enjoying that?” He asked. It would appear trying to erase the last few moments, to get the conversation back on its previous track. “Actually,” he corrected himself, “that can wait; I need to tell you something.”

“Please don’t,” I thought to myself, concerned that my openness has triggered the floodgates to the sharing of some deep, dark secrets.

“Oh, yeah?” I queried, feeling guilty for not really encouraging my friend to say what he thought.

“I don’t think I would have asked you the question you thought I was asking” James went on.

I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows, my hands still planted in my lap, “Would you not?”

“No. Not just because, well, even after being mates for, what, almost six years, I’m not sure either of us would be confident enough to have that chat. And not because I don’t care. I do.”

Six years? I remembered the first time we met, in the first week at high school, aged 11. At our first afternoon games session, as one of only five boys out of about 100 that had ever played rugby before, we immediately became mates - making fun of the mistakes made by others who had only ever played football at their junior schools. Sporting successes and failures, first girlfriends and first kisses, getting into all sorts of trouble; all the things we’d experienced flashed in front of me in an instant, and I was left feeling that “I’ve put this all at risk. He will never see me the same way ever again. He must think I’m a freak. He won’t want to be friends any longer.”

I wanted to run. If I couldn’t turn back the clock, that seemed the second best choice. My mind had to wrestle, to stop my legs from making a break for the nearest exit door.

James paused, trying to find the words.

“No, none of that. I wouldn’t have asked, because I think I already knew the answer.”

“You did, eh? How so?” I asked through a frown.

“Okay. It’s simple. I’ve never seen you look happier within yourself than you have since you walked in tonight. I mean, you’re clearly a bit on edge, but you still look more comfortable in your own skin than I’ve known. It suits you.” He explained.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if you think you knew, or not. I’ve confirmed it for you.” After feeling so embarrassed and ashamed, I was looking to score some points; regardless of how meaningless. “But, it could have been finding that I enjoyed acting that was making me happy, the rehearsal could have gone well or perhaps I could have been acting a role of being happy. It’s not so simple, smartie pants.”

“Sam”, James replied, in a very self-assured tone, “I’m not talking about ‘being happy’. Scoring a try can make you happy, getting a good grade can. I guess you’re happy when you find a nice Rioja. No, you’re exuding happiness. Sam, you’re practically glowing. Unless you’re going to tell me you’ve got a new girlfriend, or maybe a boyfriend?”

“Are you taking the piss?” I asked, incredulously, edging forwards again in my seat.

“It’s not that incredible, is it? You’re sat there, looking stunningly beautiful, an absolute ten out of ten, telling me you’re enjoying being dressed as a girl. Look, if you were gay, that’s totally cool.” He reassured.

I felt my face go red. Being told I was beautiful was a strange feeling, whether it’s by your best mate or not. It wasn’t, however, an unpleasant feeling.

“I’m not. I don’t think I am, anyway. This has all been pretty confusing though. All sorts of strange, I suppose ‘girlie’ thoughts have been coming into my head over the past couple of weeks. Just yesterday, I found myself looking at a fit girl from St Joe’s in town, and I was wondering if her skirt would suit me. Nothing though about men in, you know, that way. Other than kissing Parker.”

“You what?” Said James in shock

“Ha ha! What, jealous? Ha ha! Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” James wasn’t laughing. “In the play, Parker has to kiss me. You’ve been there when Chris and Martin were mocking me about that.”

“Like a proper kiss?” James asked

“I knew you were never listening. Well, it’s a pretend proper kiss. It’s meant to look like a full on kiss, but it’s just acting - a stage kiss.”

James wasn’t convinced. “Why are they putting on a play in an all-boys school that needs sexy female characters and snogging? That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Sexy? Who exactly is digging the bigger whole for themselves here?” I teased. “But, I don’t know. I’d not really thought about it.”

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Okay. But look, as I said, it’s all cool. You just do you, right? You deserve to be happy, after what you’ve been through. Anyway, we can’t spend all night talking about you - you’ve got a reputation for being boring to maintain! Nothing shared tonight changes that,” James teased with grin. “Did you speak to John earlier? He said you were perhaps changing your mind about not playing cricket this year.”

“Oh god, not this again.” I thought.

An hour, and another round of drinks later, we realised Martin hadn’t come back. In fact, he and everyone else we knew had left.

“I guess we should be making a move, too”, suggested James. “How are you getting home?”

“Hi James,” said a female voice from over my shoulder. It was Stacy, the girl from the petrol station, walking passed James, towards the ladies toilets.

I paused, expecting James to acknowledge, her, and maybe have a chat.

“Well?” asked James, “I guess you’re not driving,” completely failing to notice Stacy.

“My Mum said she’d pick me up. I’ll give her a call, and she can meet me at the side of McDonalds.” I answered.

“I’ve got the car. I’ll give you a lift. It’s not really out of my way.” Offered James, more telling than asking, despite his warm smile.

“Great, thanks. But only if you’re sure?” I felt it only fair to give him a get-out, as it is actually completely out of his way, it’s literally the other side of town. “But, are you okay to drive?” gesturing to the empty pint glass on the table.

“Yeah, no problem. And I’ve only had the two pints; my first drink was a Coke.”

It was still a light early summers evening when we left. It had gotten a bit cooler since we arrived, but not so much as to worry about having no coat. I carefully stepped down the pubs three-step flight of stairs, James waiting and watching me from the street level.

“Whoops!” I exclaimed, as my right heel caught slightly on the last step, causing my grounded left leg to buckle slightly, from the unexpected weight shift.

“No more wine for you,” James joked. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” I was only embarrassed; it was just a slight stumble.

“Perhaps you need more practice in those things?” James said, gesturing at my feet.

“Yes, maybe.”

James hadn’t started walking away from the pub yet, and I didn’t know where his car was parked. So, I paused, once I’d steadied myself. It’s as if he was trying to remember himself, or thinking of something else.

“Milady, shall we?” surprising me, as he offered me his elbow.

I half laughed “Ha!” he didn’t withdraw him arm, even after I had acknowledged his apparent joke.
“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’m not having you stumble all the way to the car.” He stated quite seriously, not realising my acquired level of competence in heels was better than this small incident had suggested.

“Okay.” I resigned, as I slipped my nailed hand through the loop made by James’s bare forearm. He led me off is the direction of his chosen car park, the inside of my wrists tickled by his hairy, muscular arm.

“Here we are,” James announced, as we approached the passenger side of his car, arms still linked. “Let me get the door for you.”

“James, I never knew you were so chivalrous. What a gentleman.” I teased.

“Ha. It’s not just that. The door can stick, and there’s a knack to it.”

James then stepped towards the car, as I releasing my hold on his arm, and heaved the door open.

“It looks like that ‘knack’ is underpinned by twice-weekly weight training.” I joked, in reference to James’s well known addiction to the gym, for which his body is an obvious sign of the investment.

“Four times a week in the close season. This level of body perfection takes work, Babe.” James face dropped. “Sorry mate, I meant mate. I’m usually chatting up girls in the gym when showing off the bod.”

I laughed, “It’s okay. And you mean ‘trying’ to chat up girls?”

James left the door open and walked around to the driver’s side. Having never lowered myself into a car wearing a short skirt - or any skirt for that matter - I took to opportunity to jump in, before I had an audience.

James got in, started up the car, and we headed off. After about two minutes, I was reminded that James’s car, in addition to only one working door, didn’t have any air conditioning. Whilst the heat of the day had passed, the car remained uncomfortably warm. When we stopped at a set of traffic lights, I quickly unbuckled my seat belt, and took off the black top that I was wearing over my vest-top. Much more comfortable, I thought.

“Thanks for tonight, James,” I said, after a short period of silence.

“No worries, it’s not far out of my way. He replied.

“No, not the lift. I mean, yes, thanks for that, but for everything else. For sitting with me, listening to me, for not laughing, and trying to understand. It’s really appreciated.”

“That’s cool. But for ‘sitting with you’? What does that mean? I’ve actually built some credibility in that pub, from sitting with the most beautiful girl in there, all night. I’ll be a legend!” He joked.

“James, you’re a prat.” We both laughed.

“Look,” said James, after another pause in the conversation, as we waited at set of traffic lights. “What you shared. Whether you wanted to share, or not. I need you to know you can trust that no one will hear that from me. Whilst I don’t think you have anything to hide, it’s totally your business”.

“Thank you, James, you’re a true friend.” I replied, placing my hand on his as it rested on the gear stick, to signal my genuine gratitude. James looked at my hand, and then across to me, and I looked back. Is he going to say something, I thought?

“Beep!” The car behind sounded his horn, to point out to James that the lights had changed. I quickly took my hand away from James’s and turned to look out of the front windscreen.

“Typical!” cried James, as he accelerated through the gears. “That has to be some sort of record. Getting friend-zoned by a beautiful woman within 3-hours of meeting her”, before he bursted out laughing.

“James, you are indeed a prat.”

The rest of the journey, all 10 minutes of it, was spent listening to the radio.

“Thanks for the lift, but can you let me out?” I asked, after pulling up on the road in front of my house, and being unable to open the door.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry,” as a flustered James exited the car and rushed around to my door.

“Ah. Bear with me,” I said to James, as he stood in the now open car doorway. “I’ve not done this before.” Navigating my way out of this low car, without flashing my panties was going to be a learning experience.

James understood what I was struggling to figure out. “No sweat. I’ve seen this on TV. Movie stars and singers get training for getting out onto red carpets, so as to avoid flashing their pants to the paparazzi,” input James. “Right. Keep your knees together. And swing your legs out onto the road. Twisting your, erm, bottom on the seat.”

The twisting caused my skirt to ride up, but not far enough to risk flashing my panties, I thought.

I followed his instructions. “Now what, coach? With my feet together, I don’t have a base to lift myself up from. My abs aren’t that strong! Do I climb out?” I teased, looking up, smiling towards James who now towered over me.

James improvised. “Come on,” he said, offering his upturned open hands, “Take my hands.”

I put my small hands into his, and gently gripping them he effortlessly lifted me out of the car. “Oh, thanks,” I uttered breathlessly; surprised at how easily I’d been raised.

“We’re still stood in the car’s open doorway. We’re still holding hands,” I thought to myself. It was one of those moments that felt like it was lasting forever. My hands, felt so small and dainty in James’s huge paws.

As I felt James grip soften, I tightened mine to keep him where he was stood. I raised myself onto my tiptoes, my heels losing contact with the pavement, and I leant into his body and gently kissed his cheek. “My hero. Thank you for tonight.”

James, with a strange grin, just stood there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school. Thanks again”, I say, turning towards the house, with my long blonde hair flying around like a horses tail. As I put the spare key from under the flower pot in the front door, I look around back toward the car. James was still stood there. He gave a brief wave, and I acknowledged back. “Why hasn’t he gone”, I thought, as I went through the front door.

“Well, hello you dirty stop out, what time do you call this?” called my sister from the kitchen, with line of sight to the front door.

“Hi Claire. Erm, nine forty-five”, looking at the clock on the wall. “You been back long?” Ignoring my sister’s teasing.

“I messaged you about 30 minutes ago, saying I was back. Guess you were too busy kissing your boyfriend goodnight. Giving him something to remember you by later, eh?” said Claire with a wicked grin, having now come to meet me in the hallway. “And who could blame him, you look beautiful,” as she embraced me for a hug.

“You saw that?” I asked. “It wasn’t that kind of kiss. I was just...”

“You’re so easy to wind up!” laughed Claire, interrupting me. “It’s almost no fun. And yes, I know, it wasn’t a kiss-kiss. You didn’t correct me to say he wasn’t your boyfriend though,” with a wink, trying to get a rise out of me again. “By the way he was looking at you though, I bet he would have wanted it to be ‘that kind’ of kiss?”

“I think I would have wanted that, too,” I said half under my breath, avoiding eye contact with my sister.

“Excuse me? Right! We need to talk. Upstairs, into your pyjamas, I’ll get the wine; we need a sister to sister chat.” Claire ordered.

“But I’ve got school tomorrow, and I’ve already had three glasses.” I argued

My big sister just shook her head. “Look here missy, some things are much more important than school. Get up stairs!”