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Niall
I am so glad I decided to go to the Leavers’ Ball tonight. Dev just about convinced me not to, said that we deserved a quiet night in after all the shit that’s happened this year. But Nan had bought me a nice new suit, insisting the one I’d worn for Grandda’s funeral wasn’t appropriate, and I just know she would somehow figure out I hadn’t worn it. The music hasn’t been half-bad, either, and no one has managed to spike the punch thanks to Miss Possibelf standing guard next to the bowl. But the best part of the Ball is happening right in front of me, right now.
Baz is wrapped up in the arms of Simon Snow, and they’re snogging each other’s faces off.
I’ve just become a very rich man.
Dev
God, I fucking hate Nick Cave and his moaning voice. Who put this on the playlist? Was it Baz? He loves this kind of maudlin music.
I take a sip of my punch and look up at Niall to start griping, but something else has got his attention. He’s got this gleam in his eye like one of my uncle’s hunting dogs when they’ve pointed their bird – I half expect one of his legs to rise up off the dance floor. I follow his gaze across the Great Hall and see…no. No, no, no, no, no.
My cup drops out of my hand to the floor, and I sink to my knees. Punch starts soaking into my trousers because I’ve plopped down on top of the puddle running everywhere, but I can’t be fucked to care.
Now I have to kill my cousin.
Niall
Someone behind me wolf-whistles, and that finally pulls Simon and Baz apart. Simon goes pink in the face, and Baz looks vaguely pissed off. He must have forgotten that they were in public. How sweet.
“It’s about time!” Trixie calls out from over by the refreshment tables. She’s got her arms around Keris, who’s giggling into her hand.
“Right on!” Gareth says, holding his cup aloft. From the way he’s swaying around on his feet, I suspect he stashed a flask somewhere inside his suit jacket. Or maybe it’s inside his enormous belt buckle.
Then the whispers start up. Didn’t they hate each other? No, they’re roommates, how can they hate each other? I have to live with my stepmum, it’s totally possible to hate someone you live with. On and on. I hear more than one person gush about how cute they are as a couple.
Dev is still groaning at my feet. I kick him gently, and he growls.
“What’s his problem?” Simon, even with his massive dragon wings, has managed to make his way over to us without causing the crowd to part too much.
“I’ve become violently ill,” Dev mumbles from the floor.
“Quit making a scene, Devlin,” Baz remarks coolly. “This is our Leavers’ Ball. Behave yourself.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming out of you!” Dev glares up at all of us. “You couldn’t keep your lips to yourself for three more hours? Three more fucking hours, that’s all you would have had to do!”
“What are you talking about—”
“I just lost five hundred pounds because of you!”
I give Dev my best evil grin. “I accept cash or credit.”
“Niall Kelly, with all due respect,” Dev climbs back to his feet, “you can go fuck yourself.”
Simon’s eyes keep darting between us like he’s watching a frenzied tennis match. “Does anyone want to explain what’s going on, or…?”
“Gladly.” I clear my throat. “It was fifth year…”
Dev
It was fifth year, and we were all stupid.
That was the year when Simon and Baz wouldn’t leave each other alone. Baz was stroppier than he’d ever been, skulking around the grounds and corridors. Some nights, he would end up in our room, sleeping on the floor in between me and Niall’s bed. Actually, I’m not sure if he slept or just pretended so he wouldn’t have to go back to his own room. Anyway. Point is, he was trying to make himself invisible. Didn’t deter the Chosen One, though. He stalked Baz everywhere, even when he was with us. Always with this vigilant look in his eye, one that said I’m watching your every move. Gave me the creeps, honestly.
Niall and I were in our room one night, playing FIFA and hoping like hell that Baz wouldn’t show up for the third night in a row. It was getting old, especially because Baz would barely talk when he stayed over. If I wanted a statue for a roommate, I could have brought one of those ugly busts of my great-grand-whatever from home with me to Watford.
“They’ve got to knock this shit off,” I muttered while bashing my thumbs on the controller.
“They will,” Niall answered.
“You know they’re obsessed with each other, right? Snow and my idiot cousin.”
“Totally.”
“What can we do about it?”
“I don’t want to do anything about it.” I remember Niall managed to get a goal scored just as regulation ran out on our game. “Let them figure it out for themselves. I’m not getting involved in other people going mad about each other.”
“Yeah, but when are they going to figure it out? I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this.”
“Probably right as we’re about to leave school. Graduation night, Leavers’ Ball, whatever.”
“Fat chance,” I shook my head. “They’ll be nearly dead by the time they sort it out.”
“Wanna bet?”
I’d set my controller down as the stats for our game rolled by on the TV screen. Niall blinked at me, waiting for an answer.
What did I have to lose? I held out my hand. “Five hundred pounds says that Snow and Baz won’t figure their shit out until they’re fighting to their fated deaths, or whatever that prophecy says.”
“And I say they do it at the Leavers’ Ball.” Niall grabbed my hand and shook it. “Five hundred pounds.”
“Wait. How will we know for sure? You know they’re not going to give us a straight answer.”
“Easy. They’ll kiss in public. Baz doesn’t even like brushing hands with people when he’s going for dinner rolls in the Great Hall. You think he’ll just let Snow kiss him for no reason?”
That sounded logical enough to me at the time. Logical enough that we sealed our bet with magic. I thought I had this in the bag – there was no way Baz, with the giant stick he’s had up his arse since we were kids, would unwind his constipated knot of emotions far enough to realize he fancied Snow and convince Snow to go out with him by the time we graduated. Not when he was bent on being top of our class and the perfect nemesis to the Chosen One.
Obviously, I thought wrong.
Fuck Baz, honestly.
Niall
“I didn’t know gambling was allowed at Watford,” Simon says after Dev finishes telling the whole story.
“It is if you keep your mouth shut about it,” I say before turning back to Dev. “So, again. Cash or credit. I take both.”
“You’re gonna take my fist to your face if you don’t—”
“Oy, Niall!”
I glance over my shoulder, where Rhys has wheeled up to me.
“I know I owe you fifty quid, but I left my wallet in my room while I was packing up. Will you still be around tomorrow?”
“Of course, mate, no problem. I know you’re good for it.” I reach into my inner jacket pocket, pull out the tiny blue notebook I’ve carried around for the last three years, and flip through the pages. “Lloyd...Maddox…Moore. There we go, Rhys Moore. It’s actually only twenty quid you owe.”
“Even better,” Rhys smiles. “Should have known better than to pick the graduation ceremony.”
I shrug. “We all make bad calls. I’ll meet you outside Mummers tomorrow. Enjoy yourself tonight.”
Rhys waves to all of us and wheels away. I go to tuck my notebook back in my pocket, only for Dev to grab my wrist.
“You mind telling me what that was about?”
“Just a friendly wager between lads.”
“A friendly wager that you had to write down?” Dev plucks the notebook out of my hand and thumbs through it. With every page turn, the tips of his ears go darker. “What are these—this is like more than half the names of our year written in here, Niall. What did you…” He trails off, his face glowing with rage.
“All right, all right.” I hold up my hands, palms out, in surrender. “I’ve got a confession to make. After our bet, I may have made a small betting pool—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“You bet on whether Baz and I would get together?” Simon looks aghast. Dev chucks my notebook back at me, splutters, and storms off.
“All in the name of fun!” I insist. “It started with Dev, like he told you, and then after a while I thought it might be entertaining if more people got in on it. I didn’t think it would get this big, honest!”
“Dare I ask how much money is in this ridiculous pool of yours?” Baz chimes in, his eyebrow raised.
“…somewhere around four thousand pounds.”
“Jesus Christ,” Simon breathes.
“And I suspect my cousin is the largest contributor?”
“No one else bet more than fifty quid.”
“Good man,” Baz claps me on the shoulder. “Take Devlin to the cleaners. It’ll keep his ego in check.”
“I still have to work out the other payouts—”
“Let me make this easy on you.” Baz’s fingers squeeze my shoulder. “Snow and I worked it out just before last Christmas. Anyone who wagered close to that is second place. Anyone who wagered ‘sometime this school year’ is third. Everyone else gets nothing. Got it?”
I nod slowly. Baz turns and takes Simon’s hand, and they walk off together to get some punch. I notice something twitching in Simon’s trouser leg, and then a black pointed tip peeks out next to his shoe. Does he really have a tail? I thought that was just a dirty rumor.
I search around the Great Hall for Dev, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He must have gone outside for some air.
Dev
I’ve tried to light three cigarettes out of the pack I pilfered from Baz over Easter break, but no luck. They probably got soaked in my pocket during that one pick-up game we played during a downpour. I didn’t really want to smoke, anyway. I just…I don’t know what I want.
I really should go inside and apologize to Niall for being such a twat. He was only having a laugh, and I think it’s kind of brilliant he set up a pool with over half of our year. Had no idea he was secretly a bookie. You think you know someone…
“Hey.” He says it so softly, but his voice behind me is still the loudest thing out here in the night. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, and then, “No.”
“Talk to me.”
I shudder all the way down to my toes, which means I’m about five seconds away from crying, and I definitely don’t want to start that now. “’S all over after tonight, innit?” I say slowly.
“What is?”
“Everything.” I spread my arms. “Tomorrow morning, we pack our bags, and it’s all over. No more Watford. No more pick-ups on the pitch. No more studying while playing FIFA and FIFA while we’re studying. No more of this.”
“Well, yeah. That’s kinda what graduation means, mate. Means you’re done.” Niall peers around, trying to get a good look at my face.
“You’re my best friend.” Fuck me, my voice is getting thick in my throat. “And I don’t want this to be over.”
“Dev, we’re still gonna be best friends after this.” He grabs my shoulder and spins me to face him. “You know that, right?”
“But it’s never going to be like this again. Don’t you get it? We have to go on and have,” I throw my hand out toward the dark, “lives. Uni, dating, marriage—”
“Yeah, but that’s not gonna happen all at once! And we’ll always—”
“I don’t want to do this without you.”
My words hang in the air between us. Niall stares at me, letting everything sink in. Please, please let him understand. I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. Well. I do know how, but...
To hell with it. I go up on my toes, because Niall has an infuriating four inches on me, only for him to lean down and catch my mouth in a kiss. I stagger forward, losing my balance, and his arms are there to bring me in. My hands flex out awkwardly before I decide to chance reaching up for his face. Good move on my part – he leans his cheek into my palm and hums. The sound shoots right down to my toes, making them curl.
When we finally pull apart, his brown eyes are smoldering.
“I have my own confession to make,” I whisper.
“Think I have a pretty good idea what it is,” he whispers back.
“Move in with me. And before you say we’re already roommates,” I warn, holding up a finger, “I mean properly. In a flat, together.”
“Obviously.”
“Speaking of obvious, I’m mad about you.” I take a breath to steady myself. “Can’t remember when it started, to be honest. Fourth year, maybe, when you were mooning over that one lacrosse player. Brody or whatever her name was—”
“Her name was Niamh, and I wasn’t mooning over her. It was more like queer admiration,” Niall explains. “Thought she had a cool haircut.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m mad about you, too, you twit.”
“Bet you’ll say ‘I love you’ first,” I grin up at him cheekily.
“Yeah? What happens if you’re wrong?”
“You’re stuck with me. Probably forever.”
Niall kisses my cheek. “Then I look forward to you losing.”