1. candles

“Give it back!” I shrieked, but it was a shriek of pure delight and unconstrained laughter as Tommy held my lucky scrunchie over his balcony. I didn’t really care about it. It wasn’t even that attractive (actually it wasn’t attractive at all—it looked like it was made out of straw). I only thought it was lucky was because it was the scrunchie I was wearing when I first bumped into him.

Thinking back to the time, why did I have to be wearing such an ugly scrunchie when I met him anyway?

“Just how badly do you want it?” he teased with that uncontrollably soft but sneering voice of his, balancing the scrunchie precariously on one finger. I loved his voice; it was soothing and slipped into a whisper whenever he spoke quietly. Tommy wasn’t nice—pretty far from it. He didn’t care about anything very much and took things to the limit.

“Don’t drop it,” I warned. I could tell he knew I wasn’t exactly serious. Even if I was, and he dropped it, I couldn’t be angry at him. Nobody could ever be angry with Tommy. At least, not entirely.

“Why, are you gonna dive after it? Kind of like that bitch in the apartment the other day? The one who jumped off her balcony when she was on some kind of hallucinogen.”
I stiffened at his coldness, “Don’t talk about her that way.”
“Did you know her?”
“Well, no, but—“
“Then you shouldn’t care,” he said offhandedly, “for all we know she could have been a very, very bad person.”
“Or a very good one.”
“I doubt it.”
“How would you know, Tommy Hayford?”
“I don’t.” And with that, he dropped my scrunchie. I saw it coming. Even so, I let out a startled cry and took a step after it. Tommy quickly reached out and held me firmly on the shoulders, as if afraid that I really would leap off his balcony.

“Luck isn’t in a scrunchie, Ashley,” he murmured. I didn’t say anything. I just watched the straw-coloured bundle fall into the ocean below to be engulfed by the crashing waves, my heart sinking. I knew I was being silly, I knew Tommy would tell me I was being silly, but it felt like a part of me disappeared along with the scrunchie. It was, after all, my lucky scrunchie.

“You look upset,” he commented, then released me. I looked down, my long blonde hair falling down my face as I did so to conceal it.
“I’m not,” I lied stiffly, “It’s just a scrunchie. It was ugly anyway.”
“It wasn’t lucky,” he said quietly, then walked back into his room, “how did that start off anyway?”
“I don’t know, you’re the one who...” I thought for a moment, “No, actually I really don’t know. Don’t you just hate it when you want to say something but you forget what you’re going to say? I mean, it’s so annoying ‘cause it could’ve been something really important but you forget it! It’s also annoying this way because we can’t even remember what made you drop my—”
“Whatever, Ash,” he cut me off loudly and leapt onto his bed, the side plank ramming into the already chipped wall as he buried his head in his pillow. He had made that a habit—jumping onto his bed rather than calmly sitting on it like a normal person.

“I’m so tired,” he yawned, closing his eyes and lying face-down on his pillow, “Give us another pillow.”
“No ‘please’?” I asked expectantly, already knowing what he was going to say.
“You know I don’t say that.”
“Whatever.” I tossed a pillow, deliberately at the back of his head. Without lifting his head, his hand searched for it, found it, and placed it under the other pillow. Honestly, he slept so much in the day I sometimes wondered whether he was nocturnal or not and more than often questioned his night time activities.

“You’re welcome,” I said, rolling my eyes when he didn’t say thank you. Not that I was surprised; he didn’t even know the meaning of the word etiquette.

As he languidly lounged on his single bed, I took a leisurely stroll around his room, poking my head into places here and there. It struck me as odd for him to have a single bed of which his feet were only centimetres from the edge; with a house as grand as his, you’d think every room would have a king sized bed and an ensuite.

The massive pool in his equally massive backyard was, as far as he was concerned, a huge waste of space. His mother never had any time to swim in it, and his father... I didn’t even know if his father existed. I’d never seen him in my life, and Tommy never—I repeat, never—breathed a word about him.

The pool spent its days dry and empty. Of the eight years I had known him, it never had a single drop of water in it, except after rain. Pity, and a waste. I’d like to swim in it.

I’d been to his room many times and as far as I knew, there was always something new in it every time I go over. Today, he had an attractive 10 kilo Yellow Pages open on his table.

“Oh, Tommy-poo,” I sang.
“What?” he asked, a little irritated. He always got annoyed when I added a suffix to his name so as to make him sound a little weirder than he actually was. Or maybe it was because I was interrupting his nap; he treasured that too.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked, holding up the Yellow Pages and tapping the open page.
He opened one eye and said, “People who bullied me for being half Asian in primary school so I can track them down and kill them in the most painful, bloody, and gruesome way I like.”
I flinched, “Killing is a sin. You’d go to hell.”
“You always say that.”

But there were always some things that were always there. For example, he had exactly eight candles standing up around the room. I sniffed one. It was scented with strawberry. Pretty.

They weren’t dumped there; it was obvious he had put them exactly where they were. And there were always eight of them. Well, last year there were seven of them, and six the year before that. I guessed he was just adding to his collection.

“You know I don’t like that,” he muttered. Tommy wasn’t very outgoing when it came to his personal things. Still, he appeared to be tired and didn’t even make a twitch to stop me. Instead, he mumbled, “You know, one day you’re gonna find something you wouldn’t like to see.”
“Why, you got something disgusting hidden in here?” I teased.
“Yes, I’m one of the three witches from Macbeth,” he said idly, still not moving.
“Oh, no!” I feigned distress, “Are you going to tell me I’ve got to avenge my dead father because my uncle killed him because he wanted to get into my mum’s pants because he wanted to be king because he wanted to rule the world?”
“That would be Hamlet.”
“Oh.”

Someone opened the door. I jumped and knocked over one of the scented candles. I swore under my breath and cast a glimpse over to Tommy, praying that he didn’t see me drop one of his precious, carefully placed candles. He didn’t. If anything, he had fallen asleep.

“Oh, hello, Ashley,” Mrs Hayford said a little cheerily, bowing; that touch of an Asian accent still hadn’t failed to slightly amuse me.
“Hi Mrs. Hayford,” I replied politely with a toothy grin, bowing back at her.
“Stupid boy,” she shook her head. Tommy had fallen asleep, “he always come home so late and now look at him!”
“He’s just tired,” I said, a little defensively.
“Maybe he wouldn’t be if he don’t come home at 3 in the morning yesterday.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, when he wake up, tell him I want to take him to the... doctor,” she said, and then briskly left the room, muttering some Japanese under her breath. The little hesitation before she said ‘doctor’ told me that was exactly where he wasn’t going. Or maybe it was just her influent English.

I looked back at Tommy. He just slept there, his lanky arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. I always wondered about what he planned to do with his half wasted life. Maybe he would become the first person to be like a crocodile and eat his own babies.

I walked over to him and sat at the foot of his bed, near his cold, surprisingly small feet. A weird thing about Tommy—he got cold so easily that it was a little strange. I could almost feel a cold... aura being emitted from his presence. Maybe his mother wanted to take him to the doctor to check it out.

I reached over and brushed a lock of his dark, silky hair from his pale face. His face scrunched up, and he opened his dark violet eyes, eyes I found so beautiful and mystical because they changed colour in different lightings.

After I was finished being mesmerised by his eyes, I jumped from his bed, “You’re such a light sleeper,” I said, visibly but unintentionally appalled.
“Why,” he stretched, “did you want me to stay sleeping?”
“N-no,” I stammered, “I was merely checking your feet out. They’re hotter than you.” Exaggerated wink.
He smirked, “So, you look like you have something to tell me.”
“I hate how you always know what I’m thinking,” I mumbled, and sighed, “Your mum thinks you’re a lazy pig and she wants to take you to the doctor so she can confirm her theory that you have some kind of laziness syndrome. I’d also like to let you know I think you have it too, because you’re always sleeping half the time I’m around you. Even in school. Did you know that if you sleep during class in a class of thirty people, you have a 96 percent chance of getting caught by the teacher and yeah?”
“Intriguing,” he mused.
“Yup, make sure you tell me all about your diagnosis.”
“Sure thing,” he said, ruffling my blonde hair, “Now...” he gestured to the door, “Go home.”
I stood there, staring at him, “What, again?”
“You heard me,” he shrugged, “Go home.”
“Why?” I cried.
“Because I said so.”
“Tommy, you’re such a meanie poo,” I wailed childishly.
“You’re supposed to be used to it.”
“I’m never talking to you ever again!”
“You said that the last time I kicked you out, and look who’s here.”
“But I always come here! It’s like my second home and everything,” I pouted, “I might as well have my own bed here.”
“Yeah, and this is my first and only home and I’m telling you to go to your first and official home.”
“Why?” I asked again, tugging at my sleeve, “What if the Green Goblin comes in and kills you?”
“I’ll get my cauldron and cast a spell on him.”
“What if he knocks over your cauldron and spills its boiling, bubbling contents all over your floor?”
“My mum will kill him for doing it because she’s gonna have to clean it up.”
“What if your mum’s not home?” I asked viciously. He didn’t have an answer to that. I knew he didn’t.
“I’ll get out my magical wand and turn him into a teddy bear,” he said, expression bored.
“What if—”
“Ashley, go home.”
“Fine.”

He stood under the yellow kitchen light and showed no remorse as I sadly turned and left, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from his beautiful, clear blue eyes.
Then, “If the green goblin does come here, make sure you don’t kill him,” I warned him seriously, “Because if you do, you’ll go to hell while I’ll be going to heaven and we won’t be able to play with each other anymore”
“It’s not like I’m not going anyway.”