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.