Page 10 of A Match Made In Evan
“Sabotage,” Joey agrees solemnly. “We might be anarchists, Mister Bernardi, but we’re not monsters.”
Anarchists. Jesus. This coming from the kid attending the exclusive private school on the Gold Coast.
Were James and I ever this obnoxious as teenagers?
“He’s going to destroy the establishment…while driving Daddy’s Mercedes,” James leans in and whispers into my ear, making me snort.
“His dad drives a Tesla, actually,” I murmur back.
James tilts his head back and cackles, and I feel my usual surge of warmth and pride at having gotten my usually-too-serious best friend to laugh so vibrantly.
Joey makes a swooning sound and I look over to find him smiling widely at us, his hands folded over his chest. “I want that when I’m old,” he declares.
“I’m thirty-five,” I argue with a frown, feeling very much offended. Pushing my glasses back up my nose again, I add, “I’m notold.”
Joey, the smug little turd, just shrugs. “It’s almost two decades older than me. So, old.”
“Jay, if I dump him in the river with the sharks, can you back me up and say he jumped?”
The other four kids giggle and Joey rolls his eyes. “I was just complimenting your relationship.” The sadness that flickers over his face momentarily, only to be replaced by his usual smugness, gives me pause. I actually feel a bit uncomfortable and guilty, especially when he nonchalantly adds, “I don’t get to see many gay couples IRL, y’know?”
Well, shit.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell this kid James and I aren’t like that when I realise that, yeah, we are. As far as the kid can know, anyway. And I’m hit with a terrible feeling that we’refaking itwhile this kid is probably struggling with being a hormonal sixteen-year-oldandwhatever is going on with his sexuality on top of that.
James and I were privileged with our upbringings. We both liked girls, so we didn’t need to look anywhere special for representation of the way either of us felt. Nobody ever questioned us about whether we were sure we were straight, it was just assumed that we were, like it was the default setting. We didn’t really have social media the way kids these days do, either, so we could disconnect from any shitty peers once we were home.
James must feel the same way, because he clears his throat and awkwardly says, “That’ll change once you’ve got a bit more freedom, I’m sure.”
“As long as I move out of home, sure,” Joey agrees. “Dad’s under the impression that, if I hang out with enough girls, I’ll change my mind about them. He’s an idiot.”
“You’re not wrong—ow!” I rub my arm, where Jay just pinched it.
“We don’t talk smack about people’s parents,” he says. “Especiallytotheir kid.”
“Who says ‘talk smack’?” Darcy laughs, while Mia goes pink and complains about how embarrassing we are.
One of the others, Rose, just shrugs and tells Joey, “If you need a beard for the formal next year, I’ll do it. It’ll get Mum off my back about why I haven’t got any interest in boys.” She looks at me and James and adds, “I don’t have any interest inanyone. I just want to dance. And sing.”
And, suddenly, I realise that this is a pretty decent group of kids after all.
They’re just a bit like gremlins and shouldn’t be fed in public.
Chapter Five
James
“Oh my God,” I collapse onto the queen-sized hotel bed next to Evan, scrubbing my palms over my face, “who knew that getting five teenagers to go to sleep in their own beds would take more effort than putting a colicky newborn to bed?”
Our room is between the room Darcy is sharing with Joey, and the room allocated to the girls. We’ve been listening to the doors opening and closing and the kids running between the two for hours.
I’m torn between relief that Mia is settling in and making friends, and exhaustion at having to try and control their antics. We have an early train to catch in the morning, and I also don’twant to have to face the ire of the principal or other parents if I return their kids all rumpled and sleep deprived.
“Well, I never really had to do the newborn thing, so this is eye-opening,” Ev says, then yawns. “Fuck,” he adds, “remember when we could stay up all night and seem rested the next day? It’s not even midnight and I’m buggered.”
I fold the covers back and try not to groan as I finally relax into the mattress. “Maybe Joey was right. Maybe we are old.”
“Bite your tongue,” he grumbles, then carefully removes his glasses and folds them, setting them on the nightstand. I feel a pang of something undefinable at that. I like it when he wears his glasses instead of contacts, but it’s not as if I’m not used to seeing him without them. He points his finger at me, shaking me from that random thought. “I was still a night owl until you roped me into co-parenting. This is your fault.”
