Chapter 6

The first time any of us get a clue that something is wrong is on Tony's fifth day back at college. He's sat on a picnic bench, it's lunchtime and he's alone. Tony doesn't like being alone, he thrives to be the centre of everyone's universe whether they like it or not, so his behaviour is particularly unusual.

The second time is on the following Thursday when classes are done for the day. I'm strolling across the green with my sketchbook tucked under my arm and he's sat beneath a tree, his head tilted toward the sky and a joint balanced precariously between his lips. He's alone again and I find this strange because Tony has never really chosen to spend time on his own before now.

Michelle is missing today, too. When I asked Jal if she was OK before we headed into psychology, she shook her head, scowled at me and then marched into the classroom without a word. Why do I get the feeling that I only know half of the story? I pause in the middle of the grass, looking over at Tony and debating whether to go over there or not. I'm curious now and I know if anyone's going to have the answers to my questions, it'll be Tony.

I'm probably the last person he wants to talk to though so I continue walking, finally settling down cross-legged over on the other side of the green. From here I have a perfect view of his silhouette, but at the same time, the chance of him noticing me is a very slim one. It's wonderful. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I flip my sketchbook open to a blank page, pull a pencil from the confinements of my bag and begin to map out his outline.

Upon careful observation I notice that he has his mobile phone in his hand, his thumb darting over the buttons rapidly and his eyes downcast. I leave the phone out of the sketch, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I start on his features instead.

Tracing his jaw line, my head tilting to the right in concentration, I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. My smile soon fades and I put my drawing down at the same time Tony places his phone aside. Unsurprisingly, the text is from him, but it's nothing worth writing home about.

Party at mine tomorrow. You coming?

I'd love to say no to him, but I don't have it in me to turn down the invitation. He hasn't discarded me entirely then. I'm still a worthy party guest at least. I may not be worthy of anything else mind, but at least he's happy to let me drink his vodka and get high in his living room. Might turn out to be interesting, I guess it depends upon who's invited. No point in gracing him with a reply though, he's going to have to wait and see if I turn up or not.

With a smile, I put my phone away once more and continue my drawing. It's not the first time I've sat around like this and etched an unaware Tony. He's nice to draw; I'm hardly going to dismiss opportunities that are laid out before me.

Thirty minutes have passed before Tony makes any effort to get up, and when he does, he catches me by surprise, looking right over in my direction. Oh shit. The sketchbook falls guiltily from my hands and I can already feel my cheeks burning. That was not supposed to happen. We've made eye contact now and he's on his way over. Fuck, why couldn't he just stay where he was?

Sighing in frustration, I hurry to pack everything away in my bag and scramble to my feet. I don't want to talk to him; he was the one who decided to pay no attention to me in favour of spending all of his time with Michelle. I don't feel much like humouring him either. Pulling my bag onto my shoulder, I begin to walk back across the green acting as though I haven't noticed him. Unfortunately, Tony's not in the mood to let me go and I hear him call my name. I continue to ignore him, wondering how long I can get away with it for.

'Maxxie, you fucking retard! What are you, deaf?!' He's out of breath when he finally catches up with me, and I can't help but smile to myself; Tony Stonem chasing after me, now that I call progress.

I glance over my shoulder at him, acting carefree. 'Sorry, Tone, I guess I didn't hear you,' I reply, shrugging. That's the only eye contact I offer him, my gaze moving back to where I'm going as I jump over a low wall near the edge of the green. 'Did you want something?' I add after a lengthy silence.

Tony grabs hold of my arm, forcing me to stop walking and then spins my body around so that we're face-to-face. Apparently he did. He's holding me so tightly that I'm almost sure I'll have imprints where his fingers were once he lets go. Making sure he catches my eye by leaning down slightly, Tony's cheeks are tinged with pink as he ashamedly supplies, 'I miss you.'

'Fuck off, no you don't!' my reply is quick and I laugh, pushing away from him slightly, because it's the only thing I can think to do. He resists and I shake him off, turning away and rubbing at my arms. He can snap his fingers all he wants, but I'm not coming running this time. I shoot him one last feral glance and then march off, my arms folded indignantly. It's an act. A part of me desperately wants to believe him. I refuse to simply surrender though; he's put me through enough already.

He doesn't come after me, which isn't exactly a surprise, and forty-five minutes later I'm letting myself in through my front door. Pushing the door closed behind me, I turn back to the hall and I can hear music floating through the house from the living room. I smile, looking to the door a second, but decide against going to say hello and instead head straight upstairs to my bedroom. Family time can come later when I've sorted my head out.

Once I'm in the safety of my room, I sit down on the end of my bed, kick my shoes off and then move to cross my legs beneath me so I'm sitting Indian style. I take a deep breath, setting my bag aside, pushing my jacket off my shoulders and then exhaling slowly as I turn my gaze to the window in front of me. Had Tony really meant what he said? I'm not entirely sure that I can trust a single word he says anymore. I want to, God I want to, but how the fuck can I after everything that's happened? Fuck, it's turning into a nightmare.

Dropping my head down wearily, I come face-to-face with Pebble, mum's kitten, and he's staring at me with those massive blue eyes of his. Fucking pain in the arse. He's nothing but a ball of grey fluff with eyes, but mum seems to think he's something special. I'm never going to get rid of him now though. Bloody thing.

I sigh, patting the spot beside me and he jumps up immediately, taking advantage and walking his way across my lap. His claws are like needles and I wince slightly as I reach over to tug my sketchbook from my bag again. Pebble stops wandering around and chooses to curl up on my knee, watching my every action with curiosity. Typical, he's as nosy as mum is. I try to ignore him, flipping through the pages of the book in my hands and back to the drawing of Tony I'd been working on. I'd pretty much managed to finish his rough outline before I'd been caught. All it needed now was a bit of shading.

For a moment I twirl my pencil around in-between my fingers, smiling down at the picture. If Tony wasn't spending time with Michelle anymore; surely this had to be a good sign. OK, it probably wasn't very good for Michelle, but for me this was fantastic news and tomorrow night I'd find out for definite.

The thought makes me smile and as I begin to shade Tony's features on the piece of paper in front of me, my hopes are lifted somewhat. Pebble's taken an interest in my pencil now, swatting at it with a flailing paw and then toppling over onto his back, looking confused. I raise an eyebrow at him and laugh, muttering, 'Idiot.' He returns my stare for a moment and then with a swish of his tail, jumps back down onto the carpet, racing out of the room. Stupid cat. I refuse to believe they're supposed to be intelligent creatures. Pebble's the dumbest cat I've had the misfortune to meet.

An hour later, I tear the drawing from the book with a flourish and crawl across my bed on my hands and knees over to my pin board. I've had it for years, it's gone everywhere with me; every scrap of paper, every photograph telling a completely different story. My eyes are drawn immediately to the group picture which had been taken a few minutes before we'd boarded our plane to Russia. Everyone looked so happy, not one of us with a care in the world. That had been the day everything changed. We'd come back from that trip as different people. Some of us more than others, but still, it had been an experience.

I sigh and then pull a drawing pin from the board, placing it in-between my clenched teeth a moment as I decide upon the best spot for my sketch.

Some shuffling is required, so I move several photo's of myself with Chris and Anwar and a rough drawing of Pebble from earlier in the summer, finally nestling the new picture in-between a photo of Sid and Cassie and an advert for an audition that I've cut-out from the latest edition of the Stage. I hadn't simply been thinking on a whim when I'd considered trying out for a new show.

Sitting back on my heels, I observe my work. Not bad at all. I've definitely done better in the past, but for a rush job it isn't half bad.

With a grin I fall back onto the expanse of my bed, letting my eyes fall closed. Today has been a pretty good day and tomorrow things might just get a little better.