5
He jolted upright. “Dog or boy?”
I felt my eyes widen and put my hands on my hips. “Boy!”
He pointed his bony forefinger at me. “Do you fancy him? Does he fancy you? What’ve you been talking about?”
I started to smile at the accusations, just a little after so much anger. If I didn’t explain our friendship, Dad would panic when they met. Brodie would seem to be a stereotypical fit boyfriend: big eyes, dark brown hair without his mother’s red in it, elfish face, deep voice, and almost posh accent.

4
I fell silent as we stepped off the pavement, out of the cold, and into the chip shop. I wrinkled my nose as feeling returned to it, inhaling the delicious smell of salt and vinegar. We crossed the black-and-white-checkered floor between the rows of two booths on each side.
In I way, I think our order of coping chips was to stall the actual coping. Even the much-pierced girl behind the counter must have sensed the discomfort between us.

A new chapter, and it's not even Christmas! I bet you feel special.

In all seriousness, today is a special day - my four-year anniversary of joining ApricotPie, and the first anniversary of James saving the site and becoming editor. You will never know what all this means to me.

3
“She’ll be all right?” immediately followed my exclamation and awkward embrace. I pretended I hadn’t buried my head in his black coat and that he hadn’t stroked my hair. But his lemony smell was still in my nostrils.
“Do you want to make sure?” he said. I nodded, and a few more tears blurred his image.
He disentangled himself and stood; I sprang to his side, unwilling to be alone for another second.
“Jess,” he said rather quietly, but his voice carried. She turned to look at him, at us together, and he waved.

The hours passed. The first man finished the papers and looked at the others. Neither returned the attention. Both were now staring at the door, consciously or otherwise it wasn't clear.

The first man slowly turned his head towards the door.

At that moment, the hinged piece of wood opened. A brown-haired, gray-eyed young man stepped in, dressed in a white lab suit and carrying a clipboard. He glanced at the three at the desks in front of him. And he smiled, a condescending smile.

“My name is Cliff. I'm here to tell you, your time is up.”

A gray room, its walls void of any decor. Three desks, stationed in three corners. In the fourth corner was a locked door.

At the first desk, there was a man of about twenty years old, diligently scratching words on page after page of questions to answer, decisions to make ...and the reasons why. Only briefly would his dark green eyes leave the page and wander towards the door, but then the golden brown shock of hair on his head would drop down again, back to his work.