Chapter 6

Jocelyn ran her hand through the thick forest on her head. She'd never felt less uncomfortable with herself (appearance) like she did now. She brought out the lip gloss she'd snucked into her bag earlier that day at home.

Acknowledging the fact that there was a mutual infatuation between Andy and her brought her the best feeling conceivably - with it's inconveniences.

"I'm a girl," she whispered to herself. "I've got the hypnotism; but darn! isn't he so cute?" Jocelyn let out a deep breath.

After applying some of the gloss to her lips, she caressed them by rubbing both lips against each other, forward and backward.

Looking around the restroom, she sighed. It was as though she were expecting to see something. Her eyelashes flapped, meticulously, over her eyes, as she catwalked about the room, eyes fixed to the mirror. Her head wondered from one thought to the other.

Just then, the fears popped up. She'd know Andy all her life, literally. He'd never had a date (non that anyone knew of, that is). What if he didn't feel comfortable about how he was feeling towards her? Towards "them". They were very close; he probably saw their intimacy not more than that of "just a sister" or "nextdoor neighbour".

She gulped down the thought, then forced a smile on her face.

"But what if he feels casual hanging out with other girls?" She clenched her hands in a fist, clearly aware of what she'd do. "The bitch would regret her potential feeling!"

Her words, surprisingly, brought her an unusual comfort.

"But what if he doesn't like me?"

The thought with the question mark hung before her forehead in mid-air. She didn't want to find the answer to that question of course; it would definitely be a screeching halt to further relationships in her life.

She slapped her forehead, then robbed her face, as though it would kill the concept, then a knock at the door pulled her to a jerk.

She was about asking who it was when reality dawned on her that she was in the restroom.

"Just a moment," she called out, instead. Hurriedly, she arranged her stuffs back into her handbag.

Done and dusted!

She placed her hand on the knob and, carefully, pushed it out to reveal her former best friend - Amanda Shane.

Joce stared at Amanda - hand still on the knob - for an awkward moment or two.

"Are you done?" Amanda's tiny voice broke the solid silence.

"Done? Oh, yeah. It's all yours."

Amanda nodded, after a quick split-second examination on Joce. She understood clearly well that something, other than this, was disturbing her. But-

What does it matter now?

She nodded and walked through the frame. Jocelyn walked out with her dangling handbag sitting delicately on her arm. She could feel Amanda's eyes burning against her back.

Remembering the cause of their enmity, itself, brought fresh anger across her mind.

Amanda was putting on a linen-made gown, ankle-length. Her oval face housed a little round nose, and a sparkling pair of eye. She sighed as she walked with those short legs of hers to the sink for a quick face wash. Next, she fished out a ribbon she'd kept in her purse to park her hair. She forced a smile on her face and checked if puberty had done any mess on it - nope, crystal clear.

As she added light makeup for her cheeks, her mind drafted back to a year ago. She smiled, realising how long she and Joce had been friends - 6 years; until the moment of which we speak about. The event came to her eyes as clear as a fine painting.

That week, she'd been spending lots of time with Andy on some stuffs she just couldn't get right in Chemistry.

As usual, Andy saw it as an opportunity to share his knowledge - as humbly as ever - with someone. So they met, sequentially, at the school library during free periods.

Joce was listening to music from her earbuds as she strolled, when she noticed them in the school library; Andy's back was against her, while Amanda sat just across him, giggling so hard with her tiny, sweet, treble voice. Her crush and her best friend.

No way!

Amanda noticed Joce and was about to wave her over, when she spotted the nefarious look written across her face. She was riddled, so decided against calling her over.

The next day at launch, when they'd met, Amanda realised from the way Joce placed her words that she was angry because she'd been together with her long time crush. Although Amanda tried to defend herself, it all fell on deaf ears.

"You took advantage of the fact that I couldn't speak to him, to do so yourself-" and then the conversation burst into a quarrel which passersby couldn't pick from; as they spoke in unfathomable terms.

Amanda shaked it all off. That was in the past. Besides, she had a date tonight with her boyfriend Jake. Wouldn't want a nanosecond to spoil her mood.

* * *

It was evening. Anderson just concluded from his improvised lab to hurry and refresh himself for dinner with Mr Hans and his wife. That done, he skedaddled his gaze across his wardrobe. It was an informal meeting so he didn't have to worry about collars and ties. He pulled out a red tee-shirt with stripes across. Then he unfolded a knee-length trouser - he'd be cycling, he wanted something that wouldn't add more burden to the occasion. Opening the window to note the temperature, he shaked his head - cold! Then he picked up a hoody with the italics: IRELAND. He remembered getting it from his cousins over there; Conor and Noah.

Conor and Noah were his best cousins. He liked everything about them: accent, manner of words arrangement, manner of walking. He was British, of course, and so he laughed anytime they spoke. Conor was same age as Anderson, while Noah was two years younger.

As kids, they visited one another by train, during the holidays, with their year-saved pocket money.

"Mother, it's Summer Holiday. And by July the sixteenth, I shall be visiting my cousins; Conor and Noah," Anderson remembered telling his mother one day, he was about eleven years old, then.

"You will, won't you?" asked his mother. "And where will you get your transport fee from, for I shan't do a flitch to my money, dear gentleman."

He shot his mother those I'm-better-than-that-to-rely-on-your-money looks of his.

"Well," he began, "every English gentleman has a pocket full of penny, Mother. And I, as you've rightly said, am a gentleman."

She smiled at him, warmly.

"And what happens if my sister, her husband, and the kids are on vacation in Dubai?"

"Then we shall do likewise," he replied, not baffling his mother who was so used to her son. "And just so you know," he added, "I've already sent them a letter with the date in proposition, and have their feedback with me here-" he pulled it out of his waistcoat, "-they are excited to receive me." The he pointed to the signatures at the base of the letter. "These are the signatures of them, and their parents."

He handed the letter, hiding a smile, as he watched the dropped expression on his mother's face.

"I understand you'll be missing me, again, but then - you always have me." He walked away to his room as he said those words with a glow in his chest.

The vacation went well, they'd even gone to visit Granny in London for the rest of the holiday. She was impressed with Anderson's latest invention of a little dull which he controlled with a remote he'd equally made. He programmed the dull to say, "Hello, howdy do!" when he pushed the orange button on the remote - it was typically his recorded voice, of course.

Granny always nagged his father for not putting him in a private school.

"How can such a brain contend with a class full of dummies and scumbags! You're wasting my grandson's life, for goodness sake!"

But then Anderson had a resolved father. If he said the earth would stop spinning, then so be it; it just would. He felt his decisions were perfect, and so by default, Anderson grew up with that mindset to himself as well.

"The child has to learn the thick and thorns of life."

But trust Juliet Simpson - Andy's mother - she didn't think it twice to enroll Andy to a taekwondo class. She made sure he went everyday after school, throughout Elementary School. So we have here, an extremely intelligent child who knows how to defend himself from bullies; a rare case right?

Normally, "nerds" were the central attention to bullies. Not for Anderson Simpson.

He could remember, one day, when James snatched his candy from him. He flung his bag to the floor and gave James the beating of his life. When James' parents came to see the "bully" who'd hit their child, they were shocked to see a much tinier fellow with a weird looking glass pair on his nose.

"Wait, a nerd beat our son?"

Anderson laughed as the flood of thoughts sucked thirty minutes of his time. He smiled, wanting to linger, but then-

He left a note to his dad saying he was off to Mr Hans' place, as he'd previously informed him.

He dashed out of the walkway with his bicycle, paddling swiftly.

THE DOORBELL rang over their heads.

"Honey, can you help me with the door?" Hanson's old voice asked. "I think he's here."

"Just a moment," Elizabeth said, readjusting the tablecloth on the dining table which held three covered plates of food, a jug of juice, and three glasses.

"Oh, hey there," said Elizabeth, opening the door to a smiling Andy.

"Hello, Madam Lizzy."

"You came right on time," she said, checking her watch which told her it was half past six.

He smirked. "I always do."

He walked inside to see a very large living room, just like his. It had chandeliers hanging down, delicately, on the ceiling. The curtains were up, revealing some expensive French windows where invigorating breeze ran in through.

His eyes did not miss the arrangement of the couches; it was in the form of half a moon at one side, half a moon at the other side, such that opposite chairs faced each other. Right in the centre was a polished table that shone of expensive sycamore. At the far end of this sitting area were lots of neatly stuffed books in a shelf; he wished his bookshelves looked half as good as those.

The whole place was rugged.

There was a little platform at the vertical end, with parted curtains that revealed a table, some seats and kitchen utensils; he couldn't see the table vividly. But he could see that the dining area was painted pink, unlike the orange-painted area where he now stood.

Anderson fed his eyes with lots of pictures and paintings on the wall; some of them exhibiting Mr Hans and his wife in their youth. He looked at one in which they locked hands and was sure the picture was taken years before the couple got married. There was a beautiful family picture he also saw that carried the image of Hanson, Elizabeth, and a young man and woman whom Andy's instincts told him were the children of Hanson. Some other pictures of the children in their younger ages were hung on delicate parts of the house.

In the other end of the left side of the room, there was a staircase that spiralled up to the other rooms.

The sitting area itself was so wide that one could host a graduation party there.

Anderson also noted that there was no television in the room. He sighed and concluded to himself that they preferred it to themselves in their inner rooms.

All of these observations were taken in a period of ten seconds.

"Young Simpson!"

Hanson came out with an outspread arm, putting on a blue top, over a pair of pant. His head was completely enveloped with a Papa's Cap. Anderson was so pleased he returned the hug, warmly.

"Hello Mr Hans."

He couldn't for his life believe the old man's house looked like this in the inside. He'd passed the old house lots of time, but this time he finally got to see the interior.

This man was rich! he thought to himself. How could anyone ever tell that he didn't do his work because of the money? Now, Anderson understood that the old man, indeed, loved his work.

From the adjoining kitchen, a perfume of spices lurked around his head.

He was invited to the dining room where he was shown his meal.

"I hope you'll like it," Elizabeth said, smiling impatiently.

He read the expression and opened the cover to reveal a Sunday Roast! His favourite. Now just in case you're not familiar with British foods, a Sunday Roast is made up of roasted meat (beef, chicken, lamb or pork; here it was lamb), roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, stuffings, vegetables (usually a selection of parsnips, Brussel sprouts, peas, carrots, beans, broccoli and cauliflower, not necessarily all, even though this one did have all) and gravy. As he pulled the cover lid up, he was enveloped by the marrow-breaking smell. It drained his soul as he yearned to put it in-between his teeth and savour it. The food made his mouth water.

They stared, watching to see his reaction after the first bite.

As he clenched his teeth against the Roast, there was an exorbitant burst of sauses and flavours on his tongue. Just that bite took him through time to his own dining room many years ago, tasting his mother's Sunday Roast for the first time, and not having a word to place it stronger than "delicious."

He didn't know why, but he almost let a tear slip off his face. He quickly closed his eyes as a defence against the tear, and succeeded, letting himself swallowed by his meal. . .