The characters are a bit different from what I'm used to in this story. I'm trying my hand at writing with characters who less resemble myself, and have, I don't know, more of a personality? *Shrugs* either way, I like writing from Ash's point of view =]. So, uh, if you see any mistakes, please point 'em out! And please vote/comment/review ;] Seriously, I really appreciate it. Cheers! =]

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Half an hour later I was sitting legs crossed on my carpet, still surrounded by a sea of clothes, CDs, and books. I wasn't a naturally tidy person, in fact I couldn't even remember the last time I had attempted to clean this bombsite. My mum had long since given up reprimanding me, especially after I showed her a rather bizarre website explaining that a teen's messy bedroom is part of the personality and personal growth and all that shit. 'Course she didn't swallow it, but she got the point. Resistance is futile.

"Ash? Have you cleaned your room yet?"

I glanced around at the small mountains of junk. "Can pigs fly yet?"

She ignored my comment and proceeded to climb up the stairs. I didn't even bother to jump up and pretend I was cleaning. Three thumps later my wooden door swung open with a deafening creak to reveal the tidal waves of junk.

My mother slapped a palm to her forehead. "Ash, what happened to 'tidy your room'? 'Tidy'!"

"Define 'tidy'," I joked, falling into my backup plan – sarcasm.

"Tidy as in you can see the floor."

I frowned and looked around the room. Sure, it was a bit untidy, but you could definitely see spots of grey carpet here and there. Still scowling, I shifted a few magazines away from her feet, clearing a small winding pathway that snaked around the more horrific piles.

"You can see the floor," I protested pointing at the ground.

"Yes, but can you walk on it?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. So she was going into total teacher mode then.

"Mum, I can promise you you'll make it out alive if you stick to the designated pathway."

Apparently she didn't want to waste her breath responding. Rolling her eyes, she exited the room, shooting me a small warning glare as she did so.

Whatever. Like I was going to actually clean up anyway. If this Jay guy was going to come and invade my personal space then I sure as hell wasn't going to go out of my way to welcome him. The box room already gave me a feeling of claustrophobia, never mind with the added baggage of another emotional teenage boy.

But his mum was sick...

I hated being guilted into stuff. I groaned, I pouted, and I complained to the walls, but I eventually got off my ass and started working on the room. First off, I picked up most of the laundry off the floor (and swept the rest under my bed) and dumped it just outside my bedroom door. Now that it wasn't in my room, it was no longer my responsibility... At least, that was the theory.

Twenty minutes, a lot of sweating and a little bit of grunting later, my bedroom looked reasonably ok. I stared around the room proudly. Even I was slightly impressed at how much the mess had improved. On a scale of one to ten, one being spotless and ten being a tornado just hit, the overall score would have been about a three. Or a four if you were picky...

The doorbell chimed throughout the house. Nervous, yet also strangely excited, I scampered down the stairs two at a time. Mum got to the door before I did though, and swung it back to hit my face.

"Ow! Jeez mum, watch it!" I complained, rubbing the aching bridge of my nose. As usual, she ignored me.

"Hello Jay. I'm Tracey, your Godmother. Come on in." A skinny wrist handed her a bulging suitcase which she handed to me. I stared at it. How long was this Jay guy planning to stay anyway? From the looks of his suitcase he was gonna be here for the next twelve years!

"Ash and you will have to share just now," mum said, ushering Jay in. "I'm afraid you'll have to top and tail. Here, why don't I make you a cup of tea while Ash shows you up to your room, eh?"

"I'll have a cuppa as well, cheers!" I shouted after her. No response. Typical.

Heaving the suitcase up a couple of steps I turned to look at Jay. He was tall, a good bit taller than me (not that that would be especially difficult), with a lightly muscled frame and sharp features. Shaggy brown hair fell into deep set eyes and his thin lips were pressed together. He looked like the shy type. I'd have to fix that.

"C'mon," I commanded. "We're up the stairs."

He stared blankly back at me. I frowned, and returned my attention to the impossible task of pulling that hunk of junk up the staircase. I wheezed a little as I pulled, but I eventually made it to the top with Jay trailing behind me. Red-faced, I dragged the suitcase into my –our– room and deposited it near the door then collapsed onto the bed.

"Jeez dude, what the hell did you pack in that thing? Few bricks? The crown jewels?"

Jay shrugged, blushed, and dropped his gaze to the floor. He's Mr Talkative then. Kicking off my muddy shoes and flinging them in any random direction, I stretched out and relaxed on the bed. Then I realised what I was doing and hastily scrambled back up to the top end.

"Oh, uh, that end's yours," I mumbled, gesturing to the rumpled covers at the bottom end of the bed. Jay nodded, but didn't sit down. My eyebrows knitted together.

"You're allowed to talk you know," I told him seriously. "I won't bite... much."

My warped sense of humour didn't seem to be appreciated because instead of responding with a sarky comment, or at least cracking a smile for crying out loud, Jay simply bit his lip anxiously.

"So... um..." I grappled around for a neutral conversation point that didn't lead back to his mum. Easier said than done, considering I'd only known about the bloke's existence for an hour.

"How old are you?" I blurted out. Jay stared at me curiously for a moment, before actually opening his mouth.

"Sixteen."

His voice was soft and slightly scratchy; if there hadn't been silence throughout the house I probably wouldn't have caught his mumbled response. I nodded, waiting for him to repeat the question, but when he didn't I decided to tell him anyway.

"Cool. I'm fifteen," I told him awkwardly, my attention on the small loose threads of my duvet. "I'm sixteen in a couple of weeks though. Well, six weeks but same difference."

Jay nodded again. I grimaced. I know the guy was going through a hard time but really, he wasn't making the situation any easier by standing there moping.

"I'm in fourth year," I offered, hoping he'd take the bait. He didn't. I sighed. "What year are you in?"

"Same," he whispered, blushing under his curtain of beige hair. I ran a hand over my face and hit my head off the bedpost. I wanted to yell in his face, Just talk dude! Talk!

But I didn't. Obviously. I'm slightly more dignified than that, hard as it is to believe.

"Boys! Tea's ready!"

I jumped up, grateful for the sudden excuse to leave. I bolted down the stairs, not bothering to wait for Jay. I'm pretty sure he could remember that you go down the stairs to get to the living room. The door slammed opened and I waltzed in, taking the milkiest, frothiest cup.

"Ash!" my mum scolded, taking the sweet tea out of my hands, much to my objections. "Let the guests choose first!"

Jay stood in the doorframe uneasily. I scowled, then stood aside.

"Pick a cup Jay," I muttered, not hiding the bitterness in my voice. He nodded and reached for the smallest, measliest mug on the crooked table and uttered a weak "Thank you".

Mum smiled at him. "Any time love. Fancy a biscuit?"

He shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

"I'll have a Jaffa cake!" I piped up. "Even though they're technically cakes..."

"I didn't offer one to you," mum snapped, handing me my cup of tea. My face fell.

"Gee, thanks. Offer one to Jay but not to your own son. Thanks a lot."

Mum rolled her eyes and whispered in my ear, "After you've finished put the dishwasher on and show Jay around the house. You know, get to know him. Make sure he doesn't feel lonely or anything."

"Mum, he's right here," I snorted. She glared at me.

"Just do it."

And she retreated into the kitchen with dad, leaving Jay and I standing in a tense silence.

Great...