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AFTER SCHOOL, CARMEN AND I WALK out the front gates side by side, the sun dipping low behind us. The weather is getting somewhat warmer but it’s still cold-it’s that kind of weird chill that’s comforting She’s got her hood up, her hands stuffed in her pockets, and I swear, she’s shivering even under that thick coat.
“You alright?” I ask, nudging her gently with my elbow as we head to the car park.
“Yep.” It’s noncommittal. Her eyes stay fixed on the floor.
She doesn’t say much, but I don’t push. It’s not awkward. Just… calm. Like we both need a bit of quiet after the chaos of the day. Her fingers are playing with the strap of her bag, twisting it around and around, and every now and then she glances up at the sky like she’s thinking of something too big to say out loud.
When we reach the car, I unlock it and open the door for her without a word. She looks at me with a small smile, like she wasn’t expecting that, then slides in.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, brushing her hair out of her face. It’s half-up today, loose curls falling down her shoulders. I don’t say anything, but I notice. I always notice with her.
I hop in the driver’s side, start the car. The engine stutters like it’s had a rough night, and I smack the steering wheel. “Don’t start embarrassing me now, yeah?”
She lets out this tiny laugh, like she’s trying not to smile. That alone makes the stupid sputtering worth it.
As we pull out of the car park, I glance at her. She’s got her elbow on the window, her fingers pressed lightly to her lips. Thinking. Always thinking.
“What’s on your mind, Blondie?” I ask, voice low, trying not to break the moment.
“Do you reckon people ever look at the moon and think it looks different depending on how their day went?” she says suddenly.
I glance at her. “What do you mean?”
“Like… if you’re sad, it looks kind of lonely. But if you’re happy, it looks full. Whole. I don’t know.” She shrugs, eyes still on the sky. It’s not even night, the moon is barely visible, yet that’s what’s on her mind.
I slow at a roundabout, thinking. “Never thought of it that way. As a kid. I just looked at it and wonder why it always follows you. No matter where you go.”
She blinks. Looks at me. “That’s kind of poetic.”
I laugh under my breath. “Don’t tell the lads. They’ll start calling me Shakespeare.”
A chuckle escapes her lips. “I’ll have to think about that.”
I take a left toward my street, and for a while, we fall into this easy silence. The kind you don’t have to fill. The kind that means something’s settled between you.
We pull up outside my house. End terrace. Brick chipped near the front step. Small garden round the side that’s overgrown as hell ’cause Dad and I keep saying we’ll sort it and never do. It’s nothing fancy, but I’m not ashamed of it. It’s home. I’m grateful for it.
I turn to her before we get out. “Just us in there. Dad’s at work and Cora’s at her friend’s house.”
She nods, eyes flicking over the house before following me up the path. Inside, I kick my trainers off, gesture for her to do the same. She does, tucking them neatly by the radiator. That alone tells me everything-she’s polite, to mind herself. But there’s something tired in the way she moves. Like even politeness is costing her something tonight.
I lead her upstairs, floorboards creaking with every step. My room’s second on the left. I open the door and step back, watching her take it in.
She walks in slow, eyes drifting over everything. The bed made too neatly-not because I’m tidy, but because I knew she was coming over today-the desk cluttered with notes, the games next to my Xbox. The posters on the wall of footballers that I put up when I was eight and never took down.
“You were a proper little fanboy, weren’t you?”
“Still am.”
She turns to me, arms crossed. “I expected more… chaos.”
“You saying I give off chaos?”
She just smiles. “Maybe.”
“You wanna hear a secret?” Her eyes light up with curiosity and she hums, nodding her head. “I only cleaned my room for you.”
She laughs, grin wide, and head thrown back. Something in my chest loosens. “You swear?”
“Swear down.” My tone is serious. “I’ve got to impress you, no?”
She shakes her head, the bright smile still on her face. “You didn’t need to.”
I shrug my shoulders. I definitely needed to. If I’m being honest, it was a mess before today. Clothes on the floor, clutter on my desk, my football gear in the corner. I didn’t want her walking in on that.
I take her bag off the floor and set it against the wall at the end of the bed. When I turn around, she’s at my desk, fingers brushing over the box she gave me.
She mumbles something under her breath but I can’t hear, I’m too far away. I walk up behind her, hand hovering over hers as I gently place the box back down. The ribbon’s still folded inside, along with the note she wrote for me.
“Thank you, by the way,” I mutter, my lips barely brushing her ears. She turns around slowly, making us merely inches apart. “I love it.”
“Did you…”-she pauses, her voice soft-“did you listen to the songs?”
“I did.” And I loved every single one. She added the song that we danced to in the rain, the one by The Frey. Maybe she didn’t notice but I definitely did. “No one’s ever done this for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“A gift like this. It’s thoughtful. Like… you actually thought about what I’d like.”
“I-” She cuts herself off, biting the inside of her cheek. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything to me.” Without thinking, I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your hair looks good like this.” My voice comes out as a whisper.
“You think?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, my gaze meeting hers. “But it always looks good.”
She raises a brow. “Trying to prove you’re a gentleman after yesterday’s conversation?”
I grin. “You know I am, Blondie.”
She scoffs, but she’s still smiling. Then she spots the FIFA disc on my desk and picks it up. “Felix and I used to play this all the time. I always beat him.”
“Oh, really?”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “You don’t believe me?”
I shrug. “I’ll need proof.”
“Let’s play, then.”
“After we study.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “One hour, then FIFA.”
“These are your mocks, Carmen.” I want her to do well. I know she can do well, she just needs a push.
“Two hours,” she bargains.
I sigh. “Alright. Two.” I can’t say no. The way she’s looking at me with her bright brown eyes through her thick lashes. It’s too mesmerising. Too hypnotising. I had to agree. I nod toward the bed. “Get comfy. I’m gonna make sure you pass.”
She flops onto the mattress of my bed with a groan. “Right. Let’s study then, before I start crying over simultaneous equations.”
I open my drawer, getting out a pair of grey sweats and a basic, black shirt. “Gonna get changed,” I tell her. “You’ll be fine without me?”
She rolls her eyes at me, arms crossed. “I think I’ll survive, Aaron.”
“Don’t miss me too much.” I send her a wink before I walk out, heading to the bathroom.
I change quickly, check myself in the mirror, fix the curls on my head, spray cologne on my neck.
Before, I said I don’t get nervous. Not for games. Not for tournaments. But today? I’m nervous as shit. Carmen’s in my room. Carmen Castro. The girl who’s been on my mind for months. I’m not trying to do anything with her. I’m just… buzzing.
She’s here. With me. And I hate the way she’s been lately-so distant, so sad. It’s become my mission to get her to smile every day. And I’ve been winning more than losing.
When I head back, she’s on my bed, back against the wall, legs crossed, maths book open on her lap.
“You that excited that you’ve started without me?” I joke.
She glances up, eyes tracking over me for a second too long. She doesn’t say anything about it, just clears her throat. “Can anyone be excited for maths?”
I sit next to her, opening up another maths book. “Let’s start with the basics. What do you remember?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Oh, really?” She does. I know she does. The thing is, Carmen doesn’t believe in herself. I don’t know the reason why, but in her mind she can’t do this. In my mind, I know she can.
She leans over the page, eyebrows furrowed as she reads over the equestrian. “You have too much hope in me.”
“No, you have too much doubt in yourself,” I correct her.
Her eyes meet mine for a split second before they dart back onto the book. I don’t miss the look in them though. The look of shock that I actually believe in her. Is it really that surprising to her?
She’s quiet for a few minutes, really focusing. Her hair keeps falling in her face and she keeps tucking it behind her ear, and I keep pretending I’m not staring. I’m not fooling anyone, though.
When she finally solves the first equation by herself, she turns to me, grinning. “I did it.”
That’s my-bloody hell. Never mind. Not yet.
“Yeah, you did.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “You just needed me in your life.”
She rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling. We go through another three questions, her confidence building with each one. She even gets one of the trickier ones with barely any help, and I swear I’m more proud than I’ve been about any match this season.
We move onto different units she was still stuck on before and I didn’t stop helping her until she understood it perfectly.
“Alright,” I say eventually, stretching my arms out. “I think we’ve earned a break.”
“Please say it’s FIFA time.”
I get up, turning on the Xbox and tossing her the controller. “You’re about to get smoked.”
She raises a brow. “Pick your team, O’Connor.”
I go for Man United. She goes for Man City.
“Interesting choice,” I say, clicking into the match.
She shrugs with a small smirk. “Just wanted to piss you off.”
She never can but I don’t think she realises that yet.
We load in. First ten minutes, I’m cocky. Passing clean, getting a few shots in. But then she starts pressing harder. Knows the controls. Knows how to time a sprint. Next thing I know, it’s 2-0. To her.
“What the-“
“Don’t panic,” she says sweetly. “You’ve still got… oh, wait. You just missed again.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re still trying to piss me off?”
“Never said I stopped.”
I make a comeback. 4-4 by the final minute. And just when I think we’re heading to penalties, she scores. Scores.
The whistle blows.
She jumps up, arms in the air. “Yes!”
“It’s by one goal,” I mutter but actually, I’m actually happy for her.
“A win is a win.”
“That’s what losers say,” I huff and her lips part in shock.
“The only loser here is you, Aaron O’Connor.” She shrugs, plopping back down with the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen. “You underestimated me.”
“We’re running it back.” Then I remember-she hasn’t eaten since lunch. I open my bedside drawer, pull out a pack of prawn cocktail crisps, and toss them at her.
She catches it, surprised. “I take it back. You’re sweet, Aaron. And a gentleman.”
“What did I tell ya?”
A few seconds later, we’re loading into a new game. We tie the second, 3-3. To no one’s surprise, Carmen wins the third, 4-2.
I’m losing. And loving every second of it.
She laughs, breathless but her eyes then fall onto the digital clock on my bedside table. Then, all at once, her expression changes. Just slightly.
“I have to go.” Her shoulders drop as the realisation hits her.
“Now?” It’s almost eight. Can’t she stay longer?
Carmen heaves a deep breath and as if she can read my mind, she says, “My parents don’t want me out late.”
“Okay.” But none of us move. I study the look on her face, her tense muscles, the way she’s fiddling with her fingers like she does when she’s nervous. It’s as if she doesn’t want to go home.
And then I realise-every time she has to leave, her whole demeanour changes. Exactly like how it just did. She goes from happy to this within seconds. Only one question is on my mind. Is something going on in her house? Something that gets her to act like this?
Fuck. Something that got her on drugs?
Abuse?
No.
I can’t imagine Coach Castro hitting her.
What the fuck? That’s what everyone says. They can never imagine it, but it still happens.
So is that it?
“Can I-can I use your bathroom?” Her voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
I nod, standing up. “Second on the right. I’ll wait for you downstairs” She disappears down the hall, and I sit back on the bed, heart still pounding-but not from the game.
From her.
From the way she looked just now, in the middle of that moment, like something was creeping back in. That thing that always pulls her away.
I get up slowly, pack her books back into her bag, drape her coat over my arm. Head down the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
By the time she comes down, the mask is back. The silence. The polite smile. I hand her the coat, open the front door for her as she’s putting on her shoes.
The drive to her place is quiet. I don’t turn the radio on this time. I don’t want to ruin the last few minutes I have with her by pretending things are fine. But, she turns it on anyways. Like she always does.
We pull up outside her house, and I put the car in park, fingers tight on the steering wheel.
“I liked today,” I say, finally. “Hanging out with you, I mean..”
She glances at me, lips parting like she might say something, but then she just nods. “Thanks for the help.”
“Any time.”
She opens the door, steps out, and pauses. Like she wants to say more. But she doesn’t. Not even a goodbye. She just walks to her gate, opens it, closes it behind her, and disappears inside.
And I just sit there, watching.
The silence pressing in all around me and suddenly it isn’t peaceful anymore. It’s loud. Crashing. Unbearable. I sit there in the car, engine off, hands still on the wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring me.
But nothing feels steady.
The car smells like her perfume. Like cherries and something sweet, something soft I can’t name. Her laugh is still echoing in my ears-bright and fleeting and real.
And that moment-when she looked at me after she solved that stupid maths question, all proud and a bit surprised at herself-keeps replaying in my head like a loop I can’t switch off.
I can feel and hear my heart thudding like I’ve just finished a sprint.
But it’s not adrenaline.
It’s not nerves.
It’s her.
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