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Year eight. What a time to be alive.
Ca$h kicked at the table until the teacher shouted at him to stop making scraping noises. He glanced at her and swung his leg further away from it so it was only hitting empty air.
“Quinn?” she asked. “Where’s Darren?”
Quinni glanced next to her, as if only just realising Darren was missing, although that was highly unlikely. “I’m, uh, I’m not quite sure, miss—”
She was interrupted by the slamming of the door against the wall, the hinges creaking. Ca$h let his chain drop from his mouth as he hurried to turn around in his chair.
“Darren,” the teacher said in what she thought must have sounded like disappointment. “You’re late.”
“Sure am,” Darren said with a smile. The dimple just under the right corner of their lips pressed its way into their skin before it was flattened again.
“Go sit next to Douglas, please,” she sighed.
“What?” Darren said. “What about Quinni?”
“Quinn will be fine for one lesson, Darren. Sit down.”
Quinni sent Darren a thumbs-up and a shaky smile, and Darren sighed dramatically and dropped down into the chair next to Ca$h, hooking their bag over the back.
“What happened to your—” he started, before looking at the penis drawings on the desk and playing with his chain. “Sorry. Never mind.”
“What happened to my eyebrows?”
Ca$h looked up at Darren’s smile. It was a nice smile, but only when they meant it, which was hardly ever. The dimple only showed on their fake smiles.
“I mean—” Ca$h shrugged. “Yeah. Those.”
Darren pulled a packet of chips from their bag and shoved a handful into their mouth. “Shaved ‘em.” They tilted the packet towards him. Ca$h turned them down, and Darren pulled the bag back towards them. Salt and vinegar flavour sucked ass.
“Why?”
“Wanted a change.”
“Is that… the only reason?”
“If I said ‘to get hot boys to notice me’, would you believe me?”
“Probably.”
“That, then.”
Ca$h smiled and looked away from Darren. “Did it — did it work, then? Did the hot boys notice you?”
“You tell me.”
Oh. Okay. Fuck. Ca$h’s fingertips were buzzing again.
“You’ve certainly got Spider’s attention.”
Darren choked on a chip. “I said hot boys, Ca$h, Jesus.”
“You don’t think Spider’s hot?” He nudged them playfully.
“Literally only his mother would be able to love that face. Mmm, and maybe Ant.”
That was true.
“Are you sure you don’t want chips?”
Ca$h shook his head. “Salt and vinegar kinda sucks ass, anyway.”
Darren laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
He didn’t dignify that with a response.
“Oh my God, Ca$h, you have the worst taste in chips.” They rolled up the half-empty packet and shoved it back into their bag. “I cannot be around you if you say such dastardly things.”
Ca$h laughed, even though he wasn’t sure if Darren was joking or not. He hoped so.
Darren traced their fingers along where their eyebrows used to be. “Okay, I really regret this. Literally only one hot boy has noticed.” Their eyes flickered sideways.
Okay. So that was. Uh. That was a thing that was happening.
“How long do eyebrows take to grow back?”
“Not long? They’re only short, so maybe a few weeks or a month—”
“Four to six months,” Quinni piped up from the front of the room. Ca$h shoved his fist over his mouth to (badly) cover his laugh.
“Shit,” Darren said. “I should have just dyed them bright pink. That’d only last, what—”
“Three to four weeks.” Quinni again.
“You can try that when your four to six months is over,” Ca$h said.
“Oh my God, shut up.”
They both laughed. Ca$h’s fingers buzzed again. Whatever bullshit guy had come up with the fact that people with crushes got butterflies clearly did not know about buzzing fingertips.
“Maybe we should shave your eyebrows, as well,” Darren said. “Get hot boys to notice you.”
“I’m good, thanks,” Ca$h said quickly. “My eyebrows are fine.”
“Sure are.”
“And uh. Maybe I don’t want hot boys to, uh, notice me.”
“Hot girls?”
“Absolutely not.”
Darren frowned. “What — oh. I see. Are you flirting with me, Douglas Piggott?”
“You fuckin’ wish.”
Darren made a face that looked like it was half a grimace, but it was mostly smile. “Well, if you are—”
Ca$h’s arms prickled. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If Darren mentioned sex — they were fourteen, for fuck’s sake. He was fifteen. Neither of them should be having sex.
“I’m not, though,” he said. It came out… a lot harsher than he intended.
“Alright, alright,” Darren laughed.
Their dimple returned in all its former glory.
Ca$h began kicking at the table again.