Clay is balancing on his bike at a slow speed, alone as he slowly wiggles down the pavement, thinking I am right behind. But I have purposefully lagged behind because a girl called Dolorous threw me a stink eye whilst we were diving into our shoes, Clay was cursing under his breath and Jackie had too much already as he slowly crawled up the stairs.

"Hey."
"Yeah."
"So..."
"Uh huh."
"What?"
"Nothing, Frey."
"Okay. About the Coca Cola wall, my mum has to go to News House the day after tomorrow, bring along Jackie too since he's the Babe of the Hour and everything . . ."
"Hmm."
"And we can muck around the swap near the Pony Traders. But don't get too high on hope. There are no ponies."
"I know."
"And, Dolorous."
"Yeah?"

She is leaning on the spine of the back door frame where the kitchen light is shooting just enough to illuminate my existence.

I can make out every detail of her grown face but she can barely spot my silhouette even though I am standing at a close distance.

"I don't know..." I start and the huge gulp stands in my way of words.
"I was wondering if we can meet at . . . um . . . Red Herring . . . tomorrow? Or anytime soon."

She says nothing but I am on edge to spot even a whisker on her face which's casual movement shall leak a secret or two.

"I have Geo tomorrow and I'll throw it off. Harvey's bumming too. He can drop me off. You see . . . the thing is . . . I have to write the letter . . . and maybe we both can dip into it . . . And I do have to see Red Herring by myself."

She grants a silly smile as she looks away to the street where Clay is still crawling at a slow speed. I wonder if he's still mumbling, thinking I am right beside him.

Her smile still stays spot on.

This is the moment, when she says yes.

"Frey. Um . . . tomorrow's isn't a good day."
"Friday, then. Yeah, I can do Friday."

I can feel the sudden rise in my temperature as she prolongs to smite me with an answer.

My head is swelling up and giving off the same feeling when you wear a headband for too long.

"No, it's not that . . . um . . .  Frey, how do I say this?"
"Say what?"
"It's just that . . . I don't think it's okay . . . appropriate . . that."
"What? Are you leaving soon? When's that? I thought you were on vacation."

My body is tensed up. This is the humane reaction before a dangerous event is played out.

Like a car crash.

"No, I'm going on Saturday. It's not that . . . "
"Then what?"
"You and I . . . it's not . . . it's bad for you . . . to."
"Oh, no . . . I wasn't trying . . . I didn't mean to be . . .  I think you misunderstood."

I know I have lost the charm of conviction since the silly smile has stayed surfaced on her face.

"I was just expecting you to . . . I was wanting company . . . I didn't . . . no."
"Frey. It's fine. I just . . . got out the whole thing . . . well you know so I won't explain . . but."
"I think you're just misinformed . . . I wasn't thinking anything."
"Besides, I think it's best . . if I just have some alone time."
"What? With Jackie and Clay and everyone else? Alone time?"
"No, it's not like that . . it's--"
"Dolorous, you're clumsily moving your hands on your face. You're definitely lying."
"I'm not lying!"

The bike's constant screech of cogs has died down in the background.

I cast a quick peak to see the state of Clay.

He's aware of my absence and searching.

"Technically, not." Her reply drowns and doesn't help her in any way.

She's at a disadvantage.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about anything . . . there's not much to tell anyway."
"Yeah, I figured . . . you aren't that sort of kid, Frey."
"What sort?"
"The snitching type."
"Do you know any other snitches and cheats?"
"Dylan."
"So, what am I to you?"

She prods her mouth open to answer but I punch the silence with my own view.

"You dislike me because I know a bit too much, at an uncomfortable rate. Now you'll always think I'm judging you from afar. Well, you know mine, don't you?"
"I thought it was a lie."
"It isn't, Dolorous."
"I seriously don't want things to be complicated like this."
"Then don't make it."
"This is too much of a talk, Frey."
"So, when are you coming back again?"
"I don't know . . Christmas, maybe. Maybe not, my parents don't travel near New Years."
"Where can I write to you?"
"Why do you even want to? Let's just stop . . . things the way they are."
"I thought I was interesting enough."
"Clay's coming back."

She nods as the screaming cogs of his bike becomes louder and louder to a disturbing state.

She's standing on the first step of the back stairs and I am appointed to stand on the bottom under three steps.

Posture is a powerful feature in manipulation.

I am at a disadvantage.