Tich wasn't the type to cry over words, or care what someone she barely knew thought of her. But what type of person you are isn't relevant when you're drunk, on your period, your best friend died last month and you're celebrating your seventeenth birthday without her. That was why, when Helen found her curled up on the floor of the bathroom, she was sniffing a bit.

  "I saw you and Mark," Helen said by way of greeting. That was Helen all over. Busy presenting the facts before she recognised you were there, because she was so desperate to prove she knew something. She liked other people to have a proper sense of proportion. Marilyn had once very unkindly joked that that was why she had let herself go. Tich had never found the joke funny. "I think he left. Are you alright?"

  "Yes."

  Helen hovered in the corner of her vision, awkwardly. Tich had thought her flat response would encourage Helen to give her some space. She was mistaken.

  "Did you want to talk about it?" In other words, Tich thought viciously, Helen wanted to talk about it and wanted Tich to feel the same so that she wouldn't have to feel nosey by stooping to ask. Tich covered her eyes, recognising that she was lashing out at Helen because she was such an easy target, and forced a small, bitter smile onto her face. One tooth at a time.

  She'd never once considered whether she was a genuine person. Just because she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve didn't make her a liar. But looking at Helen's watery eyes, brimming with concern, she supposed she should give her something.

  "I don't get Mark," she started hollowly. She kept replaying the situation in her head, but she still couldn't see what about that conversation had led Mark to do that. Was she just being over dramatic? But no. Maybe she could have made allowances, if he'd been some random guy, who just saw her as a girl at a party. But he knew she wasn't there for anything other than... well, that was also a point. Why was she here? What had she been thinking? Had he thought she'd asked him to stay just for that moment? Had she led him on somehow? Also no, and she was annoyed at herself for even thinking that. She couldn't believe she'd kissed him. Or he'd kissed her. And she couldn't believe it had been over so quickly. She'd been the type to think first kisses were romantic, deep and soulful. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. "I'm glad Sylvia wasn't..." here to see. She finished the thought in her head, appalled. The double meaning was a slap to the face.

  "Wasn't what?" Helen asked. A bitter smile played about Tich's lips. She wondered what had happened to her punch. Or, really, she should get a glass of water.

  "Isn't sixteen too young? All you do is get crushes and giggle, and hope for more. You get by in school until you find the subjects you really love, and you've just about worked out which friends are the ones you really like when you have to start thinking about universities and following your dreams. But what's the point when Sylvia never got to live out any of her dreams? All she ever did was watch Al living out his golden years, getting famous and travelling the world. Tennis has always been his life, and she just watched him and she never did anything. She had a crush on Mark, but she never even properly talked to him, and you know, she wasted years like that. Years, liking him. She never found a boyfriend. Never kissed anybody." She sniffed as the tears wanted to come again. Her eyes hurt. "I hate that."

  Helen watched her, and for a minute there was no expression on her big round face. Then she took a deep breath in, and Tich knew with that sinking sensation she always got before Helen went off on one that she was about to be lectured again. Helen wasn't a master of tact or timing.

  "Wasted?" she asked, her large eyes appearing larger still over the brim of her glasses. "She was happy. You should know; you were there with her. You were happy too, weren't you? Even though you haven't lived either. You're the same. So don't decide now, at the end, that she was miserable all the time just because there were a few things she never did."

  Tich stared at the wall, and swallowed down her sadness. There was a sense to what Helen was saying. She laughed slightly because it struck a chord, and she remembered her words to Al. She'd loved the way Sylvia lived. The bit she'd missed out, because it was so obvious, was just how much she'd hated the way Sylvia died.

  "You always have to be right about everything," she whispered, ignoring the way her friend stiffened. It was true. Helen was always right, it drove Tich mad, but it was the way Helen knew she was always right that was even more maddening.

  "Do you know what I think about, Tich?" When she spoke it was in a very tight little voice. Tich looked up, aware from that sound that she'd hurt her friend's feelings. "You and Sylvia? I thought... I was so sure you were going to be best friends forever. Even now, I wonder if anyone will ever miss me the way you miss her. If anyone will ever love me that much, aside from my parents. So don't tell me it was pointless. That kind of thoughtless lie isn't fair to those of us who weren't as lucky as you. Don't talk like it never mattered."

  "Sorry," Tich mumbled, feeling bad. She hadn't realised Helen felt that way. She'd forgotten how lucky she was. She'd lived with the knowledge that Sylvia was her best friend for so long that she'd forgotten what not having a best friend felt like. Even though they'd fought sometimes, she'd known instinctively that they would always be there for each other when it mattered. To have that taken away from her, for Tich to feel like Helen did all of the time, she felt cheated.

  Helen was saved from replying when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Her lips parted as she read the screen.

  "Tich!" she said, her wide eyes round with horror, and their argument totally forgotten. "Marilyn's gone home with Victor!" Tich's jaw slackened. She reached a hand out to Helen for the phone, but Helen misunderstood the gesture and helped her to her feet instead. Marilyn fooled around. She kissed and told. Everyone knew, but she was also a notorious cock-tease. She'd never gone home with a guy before. "Do you reckon Milly knows?"

  Tich's heart sank as Helen dragged her back to the party. She didn't want to find the others, not if it meant running into Mark again. So, he was right, and Sylvia was dead. She knew that, but she hated him for saying so. She bet he wouldn't even be sorry if she saw him again.

  Her dream was restless and real. They were on a beach. Tich stared at the sand, and as she stared her perspective warped. The beach became an all encompassing desert as the sea shrank away, pulling the trees with it. Tich was standing on the edge of an oasis. The palm trees bent in the wind, and the dreamscape changed again, morphing into a dry country with a huge river. Egypt, Tich realised. This was the River Nile. The floodplain was a rich green from all the silt that had washed up onto the riverbanks. It was a strip of colour washing across the golden landscape, blades of grass leaping up in its wake.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Sylvia giggled, wetting her toes in the water. She was standing on the surface, perfectly balanced, the tips of her toes slightly submerged where she stood on point like a ballerina. She spread her arms out, laughing up at the sun as she danced in a circle.

  Isn't this glorious?

  "That's a neat trick," Tich said. Sylvia grinned.

  But, of course. Sylvia was full of tricks. Look at this one. She was now sitting by Tich's side on the bank, and before them the river stretched and writhed, turning inexorably into the sea again. The water extended impossibly into the horizon, a clear Caribbean blue. So, you met him?

  "Who?" But she knew. It was her dream. Her story.

  Mark Laton. He's not quite what we imagined, is he? Tich was silent, and Sylvia smiled, reaching out for her hand. A thrill shot through Tich as their fingertips connected. Come on. You can't be so afraid. The trick is to jump when the tide comes in. But when the sea rose above them like a tidal wave, Tich couldn't move her legs. She wasn't sure if she really tried to. All she was aware of was the feeling of Sylvia's hand. She took a deep breath, and as the wave broke over them, and the dream faded away, she was left with that impression as she woke. She was sure she'd been holding Sylvia's hand.

  Her brain processed the dream as she lay with her eyes closed. She clung to it as best she could, but it left her, and after a while, she opened her eyes to the morning. There were tears in her eyes, she blinked, and the moisture fell onto her cheek. Her heart was beating faster. She could hear it.

  She had a sudden compulsion to read the diary.

  Sylvia's diary. Tich had given it to her mum for safe keeping. But Tich knew exactly where it was. On the top shelf of her mum's wardrobe, behind the scarves, right where she kept the Christmas presents year after year. Tich licked her lips. She felt a bit sick and dizzy, but she forced herself to sit up. Her breathing was shallow. She was nervous. She was going to read it.

  Only this wasn't her room.

  When she realised where she was a wave of guilt washed over her. She was in Sylvia's house. Al's house, and she was sleeping in a sleeping bag. The others were crashed out in sleeping bags around her.

  She glanced around. Victor and Marilyn were still missing. No sign of Mark, either. Tich found she didn't really care.

  Jim's snoring filled the room. Beside Tich slept Helen, and Camilla on her other side was sleeping with her arms around Helen, her face buried into the other girl's hair.

  Tich tried to wriggle out of her sleeping bag, feeling claustrophobic, and winced as she put her hand into the plastic basin Helen had left there just in case. She stilled, hoping she hadn't woken anyone up. She could hear the rhythms of everyone breathing all around her. Alan lay sprawled out on the sofa. One muscular arm over his head. She could just make out his jaw line and the shape of his lips.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw it was almost six. She'd barely slept. They must have snuck in some time between two and three in the morning. Her mum would probably have still been awake, waiting for them if it were her house, but Sylvia's parents had always had a much less mental approach to parenting.

  She carefully tiptoed into the kitchen, and poured herself a drink. She couldn't help staring at the floor tiles as she downed the first mouthfuls. The exact place where Sylvia had died. One metre from where she stood. Feeling her legs grow weak, she sat down at the table and wondered, not for the first time, how on earth Sylvia's parents could keep living here.

  "What are you doing," she whispered to herself, putting her head in her hands. That dream was still with her. She couldn't quite remember what Sylvia had looked like, but she remembered that feeling of holding her hand so perfectly it was scary. It had been over a month and a half. Tich was seventeen.

  She felt older. To be specific, she felt exhausted.

  There was the faintest gleam to the sky, suggesting a sunrise was soon to follow. Tich finished her water, and then forced herself to drink another two cups. She needed a shower. She needed to sleep.

  There was a noise behind her. The creek of a floor board. She felt her heart leap in her chest with the anticipation.

  "Hey," she whispered, turning and feeling both elated and a little anxious that it was Al. Bleary eyed.

  "Hey," he returned. "That's a good idea." He pointed at the water glass when she stared at him dumbly. How did he even manage to make pyjamas look good? She caught herself staring and looked away. "Are you alright?" She put her empty glass down carefully on the side. She wondered what to say to him. It was so easy to say everything was fine, even when it wasn't. It made it easier to avoid the conversations she didn't want to have. But she was sure Al wasn't asking out of politeness. He was probably asking specifically about the hangover that was sure to hit her later on. But was it okay if she took his question a little more liberally?

  "No," she whispered. "I mean, yes, about last night - I'm a little embarrassed. But no, in general, I'm not okay." The tears that had been in her eyes when she woke weren't far away. The feeling of them was still in her throat and nose. He was standing only a few feet away. Obviously concerned, and all she wanted was to gain a little comfort.

  Without allowing a moment to second guess herself, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Her head was at his chest. She could hear the slow, sleep-dulled, sluggish beat of his heart beneath her ear. Feel the warmth of him. His arms went around her shoulders and squeezed her back. He was the perfect height. He was warm and strong. It was okay, wasn't it. To rely on him just a little bit. She felt like she could fall asleep right there without a worry in the world. She let a few of those tears finally fall, silently overcome by it all.

  She'd really discovered a great many ways of crying. She had bawled her eyes out, noisily and almost screaming. She'd cried the kind of tears that didn't fall - but that wracked her body with silent, shuddering gasps. But the tears she cried the most were the tight, constricted ones - where the tears gradually built up and overflowed from time to time. Like a leaky tap.

  Al held her closer, and she wondered if he'd expected her to fully fall apart. But it was the hug that she really needed. She'd forgotten what that felt like. To be hugged deeply, and meaningfully rather than the quick hugs of greetings and farewells. This wasn't a casual hug. It felt like she was literally being held up and supported. Accepted. Empathised with. She couldn't help but nuzzle against him.

  She couldn't say how long they stood there like that. But eventually she looked up at him and wiped away the few tear stains on her face.

  "Sorry, I've got your shirt wet," she whispered, smiling gently and appreciatively.

  "Don't be silly," he said. "I think we both needed that." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and she breathed in a little sharply out of surprise. He pulled back. "Sorry. Too much?"

  "Um." She blushed and looped her hair behind her ear. "I just wasn't expecting it."

  "Yeah." He breathed out. It wasn't the response she'd wanted. But he seemed just as surprised by his actions. She yawned suddenly, and tried to cover it with her hand, causing him to laugh slightly. "You're tired," he pointed out. "Let's go back to sleep."

  She nodded, but as she turned to go she caught him hesitating.

  "What is it?" she asked, surprised by his reluctance.

  "I'm... well, no, it's nothing. I'll tell you tomorrow."

  "Okay," she said it in that way that meant what are you talking about? He laughed and shook his head.

  "You've got practice tomorrow, right?" Tich nodded. "Okay, well, after that, let's find the time to properly talk. Without whispering, I mean. And when I'm not half asleep." Tich had just thought that they could go outside or find some other place to talk, but she heard him and let the thought die on her lips. She could respect that - that he wanted a clearer head. But it made her worry what it was he wanted to talk about. Her anxiety must have shown on her face, as he started to explain without her asking him. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you being here, Tich."

  "Uh, sure." She was blushing. She was sure it was obvious. She was so awkward. But there was this horrible feeling in her stomach. A knowledge that when they spoke tomorrow, she wasn't going to like what she'd hear. She'd only just started relying on him. Only just started relaxing and opening up. She swallowed. "You have to leave," she whispered, giving voice to her fears. "Don't you?"

  Author Notes: