Page 20 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Poppy
December 2001
It had been three months since we’d started secondary school, and Brandon and Hope still had a battle of wills going. Like there was some unspoken law that wouldn’t allow them to be civil to one another, but I figured, given enough time, they would eventually warm up to each other. Which is one of the many reasons why I didn’t tell Hope whose house—or rather caravan—we were going to.
We stopped outside the gate, our breath turning to puffs of fog the second it met the cold air. I climbed over the rickety metal, but Hope stayed on the other side. Her gaze drifted over the caravans dotted haphazardly around the overgrown field. "You brought me to a Gypo camp?”
I hated the term Gypo. “It’s a gypsy camp. And yeah”
“And why, exactly, are we here?” Her arms folded over her chest.
“Brandon lives here.”
"Of course, he does.” She gave a flippant roll of her eyes before she hoisted herself over the gate and fell in step behind me.
We wove through the maze of make-shift homes, right past Old Man bundled up in wool blankets and passed out in his tattered lawn chair.
“Is he dead?” Hope nudged his foot with the toe of her shoe like he was an animal left on the side of the road.
“He’s just drunk.”
She shrugged and followed me to Brandon’s door. As soon as I knocked, Brandon peeked out from the side of the curtain. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Brandon’s ever-growing frame blocked most of the doorway. His gaze darted over my shoulder, and he tossed his head back on a groan. “Ah, poss. What’d you bring her for?”
"Because I like her." I placed my palms against his chest to shove him out of the way, letting them linger a touch too long before I shouldered past him with Hope in tow.
Connor greeted us from the plastic-covered couch, never looking up from the smoldering cigarette gripped between his fingers. Over the past year and a half, Connor had begun untucking his shirts, swearing—doing little things that emulated Brandon, so I wasn’t as shocked by the cigarette as Hope seemed to be. She gasped, clutching a dramatic hand to her chest. “Milkybar. Don’t let the pikey taint you.”
“It’s just a cigarette.” He grinned when his gaze trailed to me.
“Want one, poss?” Brandon stepped between us, already handing over one of the thin sticks.
In my gut, I knew it was a bad idea, but… Brandon handed one to Hope, then took one for himself and placed it to his mouth, drawing my attention to his lips. His eyes locked on me when he lit it.
As much as I hated it, I liked the way my stomach kinked when smoke crawled between his lips. Something about Brandon had always made my heart do a stupid tap dance in my chest. Always.
"I don't know,” I sighed and rolled the white cylinder between my fingers. “What's the point?" The point, at least to me, was to impress Brandon. To show him, I could be just as bad as he was.
His gaze lifted to mine on a shrug. "Because it's what grown-ups do.” He passed the lighter to Hope. "It’s just badass, poss."
"Yeah.” Hope pointed at Connor and snort-laughed under her breath. “Milkybar looks like a real badass."
After a hesitant second, Connor halfway lifted a middle finger. "Shut it, McGrath." His eyes watered the instant he took another puff, and the attempt he made to hold his breath lasted less than two seconds before he went into a coughing fit.
Hope nudged my shoulder. “Total badass,” she mumbled, then lit hers before handing the lighter to me.
I stared at the black piece of plastic with a picture of a girl in a bikini, thinking that Brandon must have nicked it from his Uncle Darren…
Hope blew out a cloud of smoke on a hard wheeze. “It’s not that bad.”
Not that bad. I wanted to roll my eyes because the disgusted look on Hope’s face when she glanced back at the cigarette told me it was nothing short of awful. But, at our age, we wanted nothing more than to be grown. To be taken seriously and not told what we should and shouldn’t do, so she took another drag, visibly fighting the urge to cough.
“I swear, Poppy. It kind of makes you tingly.”
“Come on, poss.” Brandon stepped closer to me and dipped his head so that his eyes were level with mine. “Do it.”
The tiny lighter felt like a lead weight in my damp palm. Brandon inched closer, his nose almost touching mine. The scent of soap and something absolutely Brandon almost swallowed me whole. I wanted him to stay right there, and maybe that was why I pressed my thumb to the striker and paused, holding his gaze. So he’d stay close to me like that. Just a little longer.
"You don't have to do it," Connor managed between coughs.
