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The Wanderer

chapter two: sugar cookies and christmas trees.

jeremy frazier x oc.

The clock above the board at the front of the classroom ticks away aggressively. Aggressively, because one of the hands is broken and hanging on by a thread behind the glass, while the other is half-snapped off entirely. It’s loud, and it would be a beautiful evening, if it were the only noise in the room. Somewhat peaceful, even! Except…

Jeremy Frazier sits beside her at the desk, turning the pages of his book every few seconds, and writing in the margins.

The clock says it’s almost five o’clock, and they’re waiting for their parents to arrive on the scene. Jeremy says his won’t come at all and it’s pointless him being there, but Sadie is sure when hers arrive there’ll be hell to pay. She almost envies Jeremy and his family, despite all that she’s heard about them.

They’re sitting in detention, because she launched a paper-mache airplane at his head in a fit of rage. Jeremy declared her tripping over his outstretched feet as an accident, when they’d been the last two in the classroom to pack up. To her, having had a rough week, it was the last straw.

Could you stop? sits on her tongue. But after throwing a hard object at him, and him having retaliated by throwing it back at her, it feels a bit mean to have a go at him for reading. Even so, the sigh that leaves her nose is enough to stop his page-turning.

“Is there a problem?” He drawls, irritation lacing the words.

“No,” she snaps. “Not at all.”

There’s a red and purple spot under her left eye that is sore to touch and tender. Truthfully, she hadn’t thrown his paper-mache airplane that hard at his head, but Jeremy saw red, too, and hit back twice as hard. He won’t bruise but she certainly has. The eye socket is tender and raw, and he has not apologised.

“Good.”

“Good!”

The clock ticks some more, until she can’t take it.

“What are you reading?”

Jeremy inhales deeply, and flicks the book shut to the front, wrinkled page. It's cover is simple, and the title rather boring.

"Crime and punishment," he offers the page to her. "Dostoevsky."

She hums in amusment. "You're one of those." Sadie looks down at the page of paper before her, scribbled all over in blue ink pen with the lyrics to U2's song 'Hold me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me'. Lily plays it on a loop every night before she goes out to work, so it loops around Sadie's brain in the day at school.

Jeremy tilts his head, his expression a little jarred. With a confused hike of a laugh, he says, "One of those? What does that mean?" Offence is sprinkled in his tone.

"One of those that thinks they're above all other readers because they read 'proper' books by old men.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy snaps. "Wasn't it you reading 'Make Lemonade' yesterday for our extended essay?"

Sadie flays a hand to say yeah, and? "Virginia Wolff rocks. Dostoevsky? That guy sucks. And anyway, 'Make Lemonade' is about getting into college and the trials of being a teenager. Crime and Punishment is something those old people who run the community centre would read for fun."

"Well, I think Virginia Wolff is shit, man."

"Did you ever give her a chance?" Sadie flings herself around in the seat, and startles; Jeremy's looking already at her, brows pinched together, mouth curled in distate.

"Did you ever give Crime and Punishment a chance?" he retorts.

No, she did not. And it seems her silence is Jeremy Frazier's answer.

When their detention ends, they leave the room in silence, dismissed by the ancient Mrs. Vaughn, in her heavy woolen coat and polished boots. In the foyer, down the hall in the midst of being renovated and decorated with bits of peeling plaster, Lily stands with her arms folded across her stomach, face plastered in makeup ready for her shift at O'Grady's, the bar downtown. Her skirt is pulled down to her knees so as not to give Vaughn the impression that she makes her money by having it higher (which, Lily would admit proudly, she does).

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you!" her voice rings in Sadie's head. "It isn't my fault you don't have anything to flaunt." Lily's classic and re-used phrase to starers and old people who think they owe her their opinion.

When she hears them approaching, pushing through the set of old, squeaky doors, she digs a hand into her coat pocket and produces a cereal bar, throwing it in Sadie's direction. She catches it with a cracking clap.

"Come on, then. Get in the car."

The Car is Lily's prized possession. It's painted blueberry-blue, and the inside smells of Fresh Pine from the blueberry-coloured freshener hanging from the front mirror. The seats are polished to high heaven, and God Forbid Sadie drops anything on the floor. Her life wouldn't be worth living. For Lily's twentieth birthday, their parents put together their savings and combined them with Lily's own, to buy the 1994 Dodge Ram.

The walk through the parking lot is cold, and their breath is visible in the air, clouds of mist and smoke.

"He do that to your face?" Asks Lily, leaning over mid-walk to take Sadie's face in her hand and turn it, inspecting it. "Hit him harder next time."

"Oh, I plan to," she vows. Lily swipes around the socket of her eye, and it stings like hell. "Ow."

"Oh, shut up," she snickers, and turns her blue eyes away. Her eyelashes are brushed with black mascara tonight, not brown. Although that could be because Sadie stole it, and consequently lost the tube... "Put some ice on it when we get home."

"I ate all the ice."

"Alright, then put frozen peas on it? You little weirdo, what are you eating ice for?"

"I was craving it!"

Four days pass before she sees Jeremy Frazier again, late in the evening on Saturday afternoon. The Sixth Sense has just been released on the big screen, and from the looks of the seating in the theatre room, the whole school has shown up for it.

"Okay," Abbie mumbles, walking along and leading the way down the dark aisle. The room is loud with yells and talking from teenagers excited for the movie, and equally as scared for the thrills. It's supposed to be the biggest movie of the year. "We're row C, seats seven and eight."

"I can't see shit in here!" Sadie squints at the letters stamped into the rows, going backwards from Z to A. "Is that a K? I think that's a K. Oh, wait, hang on, that's not a K."

"It is, that's a K."

"I'm sure that's an L." She throws popcorn in her mouth.

"Definitely not an L..AHA!" They both freeze on the brightly-patterned carpet, and turn down row C, squeezing past rude boys who refuse to move their legs, and girls older than them who pay them no mind, chatting amongst themselves. "Uhhh, here!"

Looking up, a voice is familiar, in seat number nine. It's a boy in a dark denim jacket, the sleeves rolled back in the heated room, head thrown back into the seat, laughing at the boys beside him. They're called Jacob and Daniel, and Sadie recognises them from biology class second period. The final boy she recognises from art class, and detention. Her shadow casts over the boy, his frame so tall the top of his hair is ever so slightly above the chairline.

Daniel's eyes raise from his friends to Sadie and Abbie, and his smile drops shortly but his words continue. Unfortunately, while Jacob keeps laughing at Daniel, Jeremy looks away, and turns his attention to an unimpressed Sadie, and a deadpan Abbie.

"Oh, you're kidding me," he sighs. "Of all the seats in here, you had to choose the one next to me?"

"It wasn't exactly a choice," she sneers, sitting down heavily, like Woody from Toy Story. "I'd never choose to sit next to you."

"Hey, watch your mouth, Sadie," Daniel leans forward to look her up and down. "It's fucking rude."

"Speak for yourself!" Abbie leans back into the chair, getting comfortable. "Now fuck off."

"Yeah? Watch it, or you'll be looking like her."

Boys. They always take it too far.

Sadie frowns. She can't help it, but leans back into her own chair and gets comfortable, knee over the other. Her mind turns to the blue-purple bruise under her eye, and from the corner of it, sees Jeremy, looking uncomfortable.

Thank God the trailers start. As the lights dim, the room cheers, and pieces of popcorn go flying over the rows of seats. Jeremy looks away, and the opening credits begin to roll.

Truth be told, it's a good movie! Creepy, as people yell out at certain scenes, but it's the best movie she's watched all year. Admittedly, she's a little cautious of having her feet on the ground, and wishes there was the space available to pull them to the chair. Even Daniel jumps in his seat once.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Abbie whispers during the tent scene. "But I'm scared, Sadie."

"Well," she swallows. "You ain't getting me out of this chair any time soon."

The boy next to her laughs quietly, a gentle exhale through his nose. His long legs shift, extended under the seat in front.

"Something funny, Jeremy Frazier?" Sadie mutters.

He tilts his head a little against the seat. "No, ma'am."

Hmm. The theatre falls silent, watching as the boy runs to hide in his tent. Everything is still as both the boy and the audience wait, watching and waiting. And then all chaos breaks loose, as the tent pegs begin to rip open one by one. Sadie averts her eyes, and then looks up again. Abbie is shrieking beside her, and the rest of the theatre does, too. When Sadie looks up, there's a little girl, waiting for the kid. It's unsettling, and quite frankly, awful.

"This is the worst movie I've ever seen!" she hides behind her hands. Abbie's own fly out to grip Sadie's arm painfully, screaming at the girl waiting outside the tent.

"She's in the tent! She's in the tent!" Abbie screams. Her terror blends with the rest of the room.

The cacophony settles down. Lifting her hand away, Sadie can't help herself from looking to her right...where Jeremy Frazier is mesmerised by the horror on-screen. Though his arms crossed against his stomach are relaxed, and his body lanugage doesn't give any fear away, his eyes are shiny and big, and they're absolutely glued to the image, the terrifying scene on the big screen.

"You look like you're enjoying a horror more than you should be," Sadie whispers into a quiet moment as the theatre noise lowers.

Those dark eyes slide in her direction, irises in the deepest shade of brown. Something cold trails down Sadie's spine, like icy water in the shower, but unable to look away, her own gaze is glued to Jeremy's. Her mouth parts just so, absolutely captivated by him. It isn't the first time; they've lived in the same town their whole lives, attended the same schools and teams, seen one another at church and community events. Jeremy Frazier is and has always been captivating, a looker in his own right, and every girl knows it. Sadie knows it, and their fight doesn't change the gaping feeling in her stomach, dragging down and down and down even further. Jeremy Frazier is one of a kind, and she'll never admit that she's admired him from afar.

"This isn't scary," he mutters calmly. He surveys her, gaze sidling from her bruised face to her nose, and across her cheeks. And then he leans his head back against the seat and looks away, like nothing happened.

The end of the movie is a relief. She feels somewhat weak from the constant on-edge feeling for the whole of the film. With half a tub of popcorn left over, she and Abbie take their time getting ready to leave, eating and talking as they pull on their coats ready to go out into the frosty November air. The theatre is loud again now, the lights turned on, but it's steadily emptying out, popcorn and wrappers left behind on seats and the floor disrespectfully. Jacob Jones, the boys' friend, leaves to get a ride home, leaving his two friends behind.

"So," an authoritve voice calls amdist the shuffling of people getting to their feet. "What did you think of the movie, Abs? Scary?"

Abbie scoffs loudly, not even looking up from her Ericsson T28, squinting as she read the screen. "Don't call me Abs."

"So?" Daniel pushes, the boy in crisp Nike's leaning forward in his seat on the other side of Jeremy, looking intently at Abbie. He is a contrast to Jeremy: his eyes are crystal blue, his hair a shock of yellow-blond. Abbie once told him that Hitler would have loved him, and he threw a book at her.

She huffs through her nose, turning from her phone and looking him up and down. "I nearly shit my pants. Happy?"

He grins, jumping his brows. Abbie gags. "Very."

"God, you're such a creep. Seriously now, get out of here before the cleaners clean out the crap. That’s you, Daniel, thicko.”

The seat Jeremy resides in creaks with age as he stretches out his long legs. He's tall without trying, without having to stand on his toes; it makes Sadie want to smack him out of sheer spite. She isn't short by any means, standing at full height at what she considers to be a beautfiful five-foot-four and a bit. But it's as if with every stretch, Jeremy is flaunting. God. Eugh!

Daniel and Abbie are arguing over her fear of the tent scene, when Jeremy sits up straighter, clearing his throat.

"Sadie!" Abbie cuts across, before he can get a word in. "Should we get going? It's nearly midnight already."

She's already ready to go, with her coat on and her bag across her body. Her own Ericsson is vibrating in the bag, no doubt her mom or Lily bugging her to come home.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted now, anyway."

Abbie bids a jokey fairwell to Daniel, although they'll see each other in class next week. She's set off down the row, the boy following after her pulling on her coat. Leaving Sadie to collect her popcorn bucket and shift from foot to foot, eyes sore in bruises, and tiredness.

"Um...I'll see you in class, then?" She attempts, unsure as to why she's bothering to say goodbye to the boy who hurt her face.

Jeremy, even if he is confused, doesn't show this. He nods, gathering his bits together to leave. "Yeah," he smiles politely. "We have gym together on Monday, right?"

"Unfortunately," she rolls her eyes. Then blanches. "No. I meant it's unfortunate that we have gym, not that I have gym class with you."

Jeremy just laughs it off. "It's cool, really. I knew what you meant."

Somehow that's even worse. She can only smile tightly, bid him a 'see you, then', and rush off after Abbie, who nags that her mom is waiting outside in the car.

At home, she fills in her mom and Lily about The Sixth Sense, and the boy who sees dead people. She spends an hour on the house phone racking up the bill, talking to Abby and Jane respectively, conversing about their planned trip out of town in a few weeks to the mall. She has work in the morning, waittressing for only three hours at the tiny diner downtown by the hardware store for a bit of extra cash. Her birthday is coming up, and she has her eye on the Dior perfume in the magazine on the coffee table.

She falls asleep that night, terrified of what might be lurking under the bed, and haunted by a red tent.

It’s hard to get up on time the next day. Lily is banging on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, telling Sadie she’s running late, but when she looks at her alarm clock, she’s two hours early.

When confronted in the kitchen, Lily simply shrugs, and smirks. “I didn’t want you to be late.”

She can’t do anything but shake her head in disappointment and pour some cereal into a cracked bowl.

By nine-thirty, she’s dressed for work, ready and out of the door, walking with her coat yanked so tightly that it feels like she might be strangling herself. It’s a quiet morning in town, but people will no doubt come for breakfast on a Sunday morning. Not always—some weeks, she doesn’t see anyone all shift—but others, there’s a good mix of regulars who come for a warm drink and cooked breakfast or pancakes, or visitors from out of town who want to explore the ‘quirky’ and ‘cute’ places to eat. They come in, ask Sadie questions about ‘small town living’ as she pours their coffee and serves their waffles and pancakes, and laugh obnoxiously about how little there is in the area. ‘Quaint’, they call it, ‘Interesting’.

There is nothing worse than tourists.

Luckily, there are none this morning. Fionnuala, the woman who so generously gave Sadie the sought-after job after three weeks of begging, has already set the place up when she walks in. It smells of sugar and breakfast, with a hint of bleach and Estee Lauder perfume. The bell above the door rings twice when Sadie enters, and Fionnuala herself comes out of the kitchen entryway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, expecting customers. It is in fact, Just Sadie. She beams nonetheless.

“Oh good,” Fionnuala winks, “I was startin’ to think you’d passed out at the theatre. Good night?”

“Craaaazy night,” says Sadie. “Never watching that ever again. Like ever.”

“Oh! That bad? Really?”

Sadie finds the energy in the early morning to slam her bag down on the counter, and stare down her manager. “Fionnuala—there is nothing worse than that movie in the world.”

The older woman throws her hands up in surrender at the attacking tone, allowing herself to turn around and head back into the kitchen. “I’ll take your word for it!”

Since it’s so quiet, Sadie spends the morning polishing cutlery that is already polished. Dipping the metal utensils into a pot of boiling water would have once burned her fingertips off, but after so long in the industry, her nerve endings are pretty much fried. It’s a slow and quiet morning, very relaxing after the late night out at the theatre, so she passes through all of the cutlery in an hour and a bit, moving on to pulling everything off of the shelves to clean and replace them shortly after.

Every little thing in the cafe is strategically coloured and placed—the walls are painted beige and pearl-pink, and the sconces holding the lights around the place are shell-shaped in the colour pearly-white. The floor is tiled black and white, an original feature from the nineteen-forties, and the tables are shabby-chic style in white and brown. They’re, most decidedly, awkward colours, but the overall feel of the cafe is that of relaxation.

She’s halfway across the tea and coffee shelving when the bell above the door rings. With one knee on the counter and the other foot on a chair, reaching for the top shelf, she casts a look over her shoulder.

A gust of cold air enters with them: Jeremy Frazier, and his mother, Sara. He’s in the same jacket from last night, black denim and a heavy black coat, blue jeans and Nike’s. His mom wears that navy skirt all the moms are wearing this season, scallop-edged, paired with a thick coat and boots. Those damn boots—they’re all Sadie’s own mom is talking about. Jealous, she is, because Jeremy’s mom can afford new winter boots.

“Hi!” She steps down onto the chair, and then the ground. Casting the cloth aside, Sadie tries to calm her racing heart. Serving Jeremy Frazier and his mom was not on the cards for a Sunday morning. Usually, it’s just his mom, so Sadie can’t help feeling a little self-conscious acting professional in front of her school mate. “Take your pick of seats, guys. I’ll be right over.”

Sara hasn’t looked at her yet, but Jeremy raises his eyebrows once in silent thanks, following his mom to her usual table by the window. The edges are a little misted up today, it’s so chilly on the other side. She’s chatting away to him about something her son very obviously is not listening to, throwing in absent ‘yeah’s and ‘I know’.

Digging out the notepad and pen from her pinny, Sadie rounds the counter and heads over to their table, going over the script in her head on the way over.

“So, what can I get for you?”

Sara looks up with eyes similar to her son’s. Her mouth is pulled up in a brilliant smile, slim-faced and stress-lined. Kind—Sara looks kind. That expression changes instantly when she looks at Sadie, dropping in horror.

“Sadie!” The gasp is sharp and short.

She shifts awkwardly. “That’s me!”

Sara looks between she and Jeremy. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad!”

“Oh, mom, stop—”

“He did this to you?” Sara demands, nodding at her. “My son gave you a black eye?!”

“Uh—” she taps the pen frantically across her notepad. “I started it, to be fair.”

“My son gave you that!”

She sounds wounded, and sick, as if the fact that Jeremy bruised Sadie’s face was a crime against humanity, or the worst thing imaginable.

Jeremy is red in the face. He’s sunken down in the chair, staring out of the window at the uninteresting scene across the street: the hardware store being repainted.

“You already knew this happened,” he rebutted. “When you picked me up from detention.”

“I didn’t think it was this bad! Sadie, you look like somebody’s smashed blueberries across your face.”

And finally, something Sadie can react decently to. She barks a laugh at the unexpected comment. It’s funny, the way she says it.

“Well, it’s a good job I like blueberries.” She winks. Sara inhales shakily and tries for a smile—it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But, seriously now, it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.” A total lie, but anything to not get fired. “Now, is there anything I can get for you both?”

Sara orders the usual, slightly distasteful given the circumstances, blueberry muffin and omelette. Jeremy orders toast and jam with a side of blueberry muffin. It’s put through the til. They get their food. Tension is high. And Sadie goes back to cleaning.

The bell rings again, David and Holland, husband and wife, come in for a visit. They take a sweet tea each, the elderly couple in worn winter jackets, with tired but kind faces and they express their concern for Sadie’s ‘blueberry’ face. She tells them a tiny white lie.

“Clumsy as hell, I am,” she giggles. “Walked into a door!”

“Be more careful in future, Sadie!” Holland chides, taking Sadie’s hands in her wrinkled pair softly, patting them like a grandmother would.

Fionnuala sticks on the radio for a little while, and the news filters through in the background.

It’s nearly twelve o’clock by the time Jeremy and his mom leave. She’s out of the door before he is; Sadie watches them from the corner of her eye, polishing tea pots at the counter side. Jeremy Frazier stands hovering by the door, but turns at the last minute, approaching her. Although she wants nothing more than to avoid him, she sets down the teapot in hand, clenching the rag with the other, and smiles politely, silently.

He has his hands in his pockets. Jeremy sighs. “I wanted to apologise.”

The rag is twisted between her hands. “What for?”

He scoffs. “What do you think, Sadie? My mom.”

The twisted rag is burning her palms. “Well,” she tenses. “Your mom wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. I did start our fight.”

“Just accept the apology and move on. My mom shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. And…I wanted to apologise too. For…doing that. It was an awful thing to do. I’ve been thinking about it since the movie last night.”

Sadie slaps down the rag, and sets her folded arms on the top. “I meant what I said. It doesn’t even hurt that bad, now. Case closed.”

“So do you accept my apology?”

“Will you read ‘Make Lemonade?”

Now it’s Jeremy’s turn to shock. He side-eyes her, turning back to look briefly outside, and huffs a confused laugh. “What?”

“‘Make Lemonade’,” Sadie repeats. “Virginia Wolff. If you read it, I’ll accept your apology, and we can start over. All violence forgotten. If not…I guess you’ll have to watch out for kamikaze dodgeballs in gym class.”

At last, Jeremy’s face turns positive. He nods his head slowly, considering it, before clenching his teeth together and breathing in deeply. “Okay.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

He raises his hands and pulls the collar of his shirt higher. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is that a threat, Jeremy Frazier?”

He doesn’t answer, only chuckles and swings open the cafe door, out into the cold again.

Sadie feels warm, watching him go.

She’s got a truce with Jeremy Frazier.

They have detention together Friday evening.

“Why?!” Lily exclaimed at the wheel, throwing her hands up with every word. “Why, why, why, why?!” At pick-up, she’d gone insane.

The explanation to why: they had gym class. They were on the opposite teams. The hall was deafening with screams and shouting. The teachers had evacuated the area.

Sadie, bored, threw a ball so hard at the wall for fun that it bounced back, and smacked Jeremy in the face, standing behind her. He took that same dodgeball and launched it right back at her. She busted his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

“You broke my nose.” He deadpans.

Sadie flays her hands out wide, leaning over the desk. Jeremy sits on the other side, reclining in the seat. “So we’re even. You busted my face, I busted your nose. We’re cool now!”

“We’ve never even been friends. How are we ‘cool now’. If anything, this should make us far from cool.”

Ouch. How can she make this event easier to stand? It’s growing late, Jeremy’s growing on her, but…

“Look,” he sighs. She shifts her eyes from the window to the boy. His curls have grown out, brushing his ears, dusting his eyelashes. “My mom said to tell you that she wants to talk to your mom about having you ‘round for Christmas. To make up for, well, nearly smashing your face in.”

She blinks hard. “That sounds violent.”

“So can you ask your mom?”

“Guess I’ll have to.”

“Guess so.”

“Does your mom know that I broke your nose?”

“Yes,” he quips, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“And?”

“And what, Sadie Fells?”

“Why does she still want us ‘round for Christmas if she knows I broke your nose?!” Sadie yells.

Jeremy practically flings forward in his seat, eyes wild. “How am I supposed to know? Ask my mom!” He grimaces, hands rushing to his plastered nose. “Stop yelling, it’s hurting my face.”

“You’re hurting my ears.”

“Sadie.”

By December, and the date Jeremy’s mom has set for the get-together at their house, the universe has thrown them together four more times outside of school. Once, at Sadie’s work. A second time at the Thanksgiving parade in the street, when his mother came over to compliment Sadie's on her new, identical boots. A third occasion at the movies, sitting with Abbie and Daniel. And the fourth?

Well, he broke her nose.

Accidentally.

With a dodgeball.

Together in the nurses office, holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to her face, they rambled on about their mutual hatred for one another. In the music room during class, they laughed as a group with Abbie and Daniel about that sitcom they watched the night before. At the cafe, when he 'popped in' coincidentally on her shift, talking at the counter on a slow day.

By the time December comes around, they’re almost close friends. Close, because the universe has forced them together. Almost, because there's a part of Sadie that feels suspcious as to why Jeremy has been so accepting of their recent troubles. And friends, because they may as well be.

However, today feels oddly uncomfortable, because despite their recent closeness, she's never been to Jeremy's house. They're here because Sara invited them, and there's only so many times that Sadie's mother, Anya, can decline Sara's offers of a hot drink and cake. She caught them at the car in the parking lot the day Jeremy broke Sadie's nose, spluttering apologies faster than she could breathe, and absolutely demanded that the family come around for Christmas cake and a talk, mainly to make up for the constant fighting between their children, but also just for a get-together.

The Frazier house sits on Jefferson Street, number 125, right in town, a red, three-storey with arched and stained glass windows, a large home with christmas lights strung around the tree in the yard, where a large treehouse sits. The lights give the yard and the driveway a multi-coloured glow, perfect for the winter theme. The driveway is well-scrubbed, and the front yard free from any stray vines or ivy. It's a beautiful home, and Anya makes sure to tell Sara just that.

"Welcome!" Sara beams sprightly, opening the front door. It's painted a dark-brown colour, and has three diamonds of glass down the front. "Come in out of the cold, Sadie, that's it."

Her mom ushers her in first, and she flounders in the hall, waiting awkwardly. "You have a lovely home, Sara! The yard is gorgeous!"

There's Christmas music playing from somewhere in the kitchen, and people standing in groups, talking away about things Sadie doesn't care about, and sitting on the chairs in the living room, arranged just so that they're easily sociable. Fold-up chairs are scattered here and there around the ground floor, and the people sitting in them are laughing and talking and stuffing their faces. The Christmas tree, thick and full of life, stands proudly in the corner of the living room, directly in front of the door, blue and gold and red baubles hanging from its branches, with multicolour lights fading in and out. The Santa string lights strung along the banister of the stairs are singing a mechanical tune and flashing bright red.

Hands lay on Sadie’s coat. She jumps violently, turning, but it’s just Sara. She laughs like Sadie’s the funniest thing since sliced bread. “Oh, bless you! Let me take your coat, Sadie. I’m sure Jeremy’s around here somewhere. JEREMY!”

Her sudden shout makes Sadie cringe. Her eyes dart around for her own parents, but they’ve disappeared somewhere. She can’t see them, but she can hear her mother’s cackle.

“Jeremy!” Sara tries again. She’s drowned out by the Christmas music and guests voices. “Stay here, I’ll go find him for you.”

Sadie chokes. “Oh, that’s okay! I’ll go find my mom—”

“I’ll be one minute!” She smiles and pats Sadie’s back, sliding past her to start up the stairs. It’s a staircase that winds sharply, accompanied by yellow patterned wallpaper with dark-brown wainscotting underneath and a banister of the same colour. The kitchen, just around the corner, is full to the brim with people, but the same wallpaper is visible, and the lighter-brown cupboards and immaculate tiles. Along the top shelves, cookware and bakeware sit: a blending machine, a coffee machine, a couple of pots and pans, and cooking books. On the refrigerator stand magnets, but she can’t make them out; people keep moving in front of them.

It’s awkward being alone in someone’s else’s home. She’s almost glad when Sara returns to the ground floor with her son in tow, trudging with his hands in his pockets like he’d rather be elsewhere. It makes sense, really. She doesn’t particularly want to be here, either.

Sara claps her hands together and shrugs her shoulders once, ecstatically. “We’re all here! Wonderful. You two get along now. We don’t need any more broken bones, do we?” She laughs.

To be polite, Sadie giggles along and agrees, but honestly she would rather die than laugh at that, because it really hurts her face.

Jeremy must notice it pretty quickly. He watches his mom go, and then turns around, starting up the stairs. Watching silently, and a little hurt, Sadie frowns. He’s ripped off the bandaging on his nose, and it’s still a little discoloured but it’s getting there, more blue than black, spread under his eyes. It’s an awful sight. The bruising hasn’t come out of her injury yet, and she’s dreading it.

As if he can feel her eyes on him, Jeremy stops on the corner, rolling his eyes to her. He waves a hand. “What?”

She startles. “Well—I don’t know anyone else here. That’s what…why your mom went to get you.”

“You didn’t bring your sister?”

“She didn’t want to come.”

He sighs, turning around, and stomps back down the stairs. “Bring her next time.”

“Actually, go back to where you came from, asshole,” she scowls, crossing her velvet-covered arms over her chest, and making for the kitchen, where the buffet is laid out. “I didn’t ask to come here.”

She doesn’t hear a reply, so she assumes he’s left her alone. Pushing between gathered people, she makes it to the kitchen table, strong mahogany scratched with years of use. There’s a thin tablecloth running down the middle, tiny snowmen zig-zagging across. Jeremy’s parents have put out a huge display, more than enough to keep everybody at the party going, so she takes a place and gets together a great bunch of food, pouring a glass of peach schnapps and lemonade where the drinks are set out at the corner of the table. She’s a casual drinker, allowed only at events with her parents, and special occasions…also with her parents, and only ever three glasses. But since they’re not here in the room to supervise, she pours a bit more than a double, and a bit less lemonade than she should.

A shadow at her side casts over the food. His hands reach out for his own plate, and the serving tongs after.

“Look,” he begins. “That was rude of me. I’m sorry.”

Is he, really? Maybe not. Maybe he’s being polite because technically he’s being rude to guests, and Sadie gets the feeling that his parents aren’t the kind to take that lightly.

“Well,” she swallows back a mouthful of peach schnapps. “Thank you for apologising.” She doesn’t have the guts to look him in the face, especially with this giant plaster across her sore nose. Eyeing his outfit from behind her hair, he’s made an effort tonight: black pants and shoes, but a good-looking cerulean quarter-zipper sweater, rolled up at the elbows, and a white collared shirt undone at the buttons but folded loosely at the collar. He looks put-together, well-done.

“My mom made me wear it.”

Sadie jolts, heart hammering, caught out. “I didn’t mean to stare,” she coughs, and swallows her embarrassment in the drink. “Just—the colour suits you.” An even more embarrassing attempt at saving herself.

But Jeremy isn’t embarrassed or disgusted. He chuckles, Sadie raises her head, and he nods to the glass bottles of Budweiser beside the bottles of peach schnapps. “Thank you. Can you grab me a bottle?”

She does, setting down her own drink on the side to get his, and handing him the bottle opener after. He mutters a thanks.

Sadie searches her brain rapidly for some good conversation starter. “How’s your nose now?”

Jeremy tilts his head, but a grin comes to face. “It hurts. How’s yours?”

She snickers, and then gags, because holy hell it hurts to do that. And Jeremy knows it, cracking up at her mistake. “Hurts,” Sadie manages, and knocks back the rest of her drink to curb the ache later. She turns to face the rest of the party, leaning on the table, and Jeremy copies.

“I really am sorry about before,” he mumbles, paying full attention to the tiny salad sandwiches on his plate. “It was rude. I don’t know why I said it.”

She shrugs. “I broke your nose. I threw paper-mache projects at you. That’s why you said it.”

“No, it’s not that. I mean,” he meets her gaze, “if anything, I got you back. I busted your eye socket. I broke your nose back. Mine was an accident but with yours, I was just angry. And I’m sorry. Seriously. Nobody deserves that.”

It’s true! It’s so true that she can’t help nodding her head with his words although the people-pleaser inside is dying to correct him. For once, can she push that urge aside and just accept somebody saying sorry for hurting her?

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll accept your apology. Can we be even, now? No more broken bones or bruises? I’m tired of it.”

He bumps her shoulder softly. “Sure. Break even?” And then he holds up a pretzel off of his plate, offering it out to her with a sure hand.

She raises her own shaky one, and pinches the other side of the salted pretzel. “Break even.”

They each tear a bit off, and that’s that.

It’s late into the night when everybody leaves, but as usual, Sadie’s parents are the very last to leave. Her family and Jeremy’s are gathered in the living room after everyone else has gone home. Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree is playing for the tenth time, and Sadie is sitting beside her mom, curled into her side with Anya’s arm around her. Jeremy has placed himself on the floor in front of the electric fire, his parents on the opposite sofa.

His dad is very, very drunk. He’s spluttering some hate about a guy from earlier, a man he had been laughing with, and eight bottles of Budweiser sit at his feet on the floor. While he’s totally relaxed in the corner of the chair, Sara is plumping up the sofa cushions erratically, karate-chopping the top of each one for that added detail.

“Alan,” Ted Frazier slurs, sitting forward so suddenly it sends Sara into a frenzy of fluffing the cushions faster. “I mean it, that guy won’t be back in this house ever again.”

Alan Fells isn’t far from Ted’s state. Sadie looks past her mom’s shoulder to her dad on the other side. He smells of strong vodka all the way from the other side of the sofa. He hums firmly. “Good. Vile man. Vile.”

Anya moves, pulls her arm away from Sadie, and stands. “Let me help you, Sara.”

“Oh, that’s alright, you’re a guest! D’you want another drink? Let me get you another.”

Her mother waves Sara off. Her dress has wine splashes down the side, and her hair’s turned frizzy from the warmth and the alcohol tonight. It’s the same colour as Sadie’s in a dull brown. They share the same wide eyes, but Anya has an upturned nose just like Lily. Sadie got her father’s nose, straight at the bridge, small and buttoned at the end.

“Mom,” she quietly says, between Ted Frazier’s hate speech and her father’s agreeing.

“What, Sadie?” She hisses.

And that’s the end of it. Being alone with two extremely drunk men is terrifying enough, never mind it being in someone else’s house.

She and Sara leave for the kitchen, collecting dishes as they go, and talking about some tv show Sadie’s never heard of. She watches them go, around the corner down the hall.

The sofa dips beside her, but it isn’t her father. Ted is still on the other side. Jeremy has taken her mom’s place, reaching out his too-long legs across the carpet. He stinks of beer, but she smells of peach schnapps and secret gin, so they even one another out.

“I hate when he gets like this,” Jeremy whispers, and reaches behind them for the window ledge. When he pulls his arm over again, he produces a magazine for her, one of his mom’s. It’s a kind gesture to kill time and a good distraction, but she can barely make sense of the words in her fuzzy mind. “It puts my mom on edge.”

“It’s not nice,” she agrees, flicking to the first page. Things are starting to grow blurry with the tiredness taking over. How much has she drank? Four glasses? Five? Three is usually the limit, because it makes her feel unwell the next day. “He get this way a lot?”

The boy hums lowly; it lights a fire in her chest. “Most nights. Not this bad, though. He stops at about five bottles. Think the guy’s been through five crates tonight.”

“Mine’s the same.” She concedes. “He enjoys a rum nightly. Never gets this pissed though.”

“Are actually bonding over our parents getting drunk?” He huffs.

“Might be.”

“Hm.”

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree is playing for a final time when Alan gets to his feet. He’s a little wobbly, but not too terrible that he can’t pull on his coat. Sadie’s father is a tall guy, and his red hair is thick and straight, and when he gets drunk, his Californian accent rings loud and clear.

“Get up,” he tells her, heading for the door. “Let’s get going. It’s late.”

It’s actually nearly four in the morning, and she’s half-passed out on the couch with Jeremy in a slumber beside her, but she manages to find the heels she’s half-kicked off at some point and pull them on, properly, with her mom emerging from the kitchen to hurriedly help her with her coat.

“Thank you for coming! We’ll see you soon?” Asks a worn-out Sara, whose smile is exhausted.

“Of course!” Anya pulls her daughter into her side. “Same time next week?” She jokes.

All Sadie can think is, as Sara sticks sugar cookies wrapped in tissue in her hands, better not be same time next week.

chapter three ->

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